“I’ll pay for the abortion,” Ma said in a matter of fact tone as she stepped slowly to the counter and riffled through her purse. “I’ll cut you a check right now—$500 bucks. Take her over to the place right on Peterson and get it done.” She found the checkbook and a pen and slowly limped back to the kitchen table. She sat down in her yellow-cushioned chair at the foot of the table.
“My daughter’ll have an abortion over my dead body!” Karen’s mom said in a cold, rigid tone with her hands neatly folded over each other atop the oak table.
Dad furiously washed his tall, clear glass in the empty sink. I heard the gush of water and the squeak of his hands and fingers slathering on the dish soap. The suds clapped to the tin sink basin, and his white mustache undulated under his hawkish nose.
Karen cowered beside her mother on the bench, sniffling into a big, fuzzy ball of Kleenex. Her hair was done-up in a giant, blonde perm. Blake paced in and out of the passage between the kitchen and the TV room in his blue-and-white Drake University football letterman’s jacket. His sculpted face and long, narrow nose were crunched in a deep scowl. He passed from the dark TV room to the bright kitchen over and over like a defender masking a blitz.
“He’s got one year left to graduate. How’s he going to do that with a child to raise?” Ma urged.
There was a pop, followed by the sound of glass folding. Dad crushed his cup in his massive paws, and then he softly placed the broken pieces in the sink as not to make any noise.
“He’ll have to drop out and marry her,” Mrs. Kerney snapped, contemptuously.
“That’s not happening,” Dad declared, spinning around from the sink. A spray of soppy droplets whisked from his fingertips and clapped to the linoleum floor.
“Well, he’ll be a father soon,” Mrs. Kerney said as she rose from the oak bench. Karen followed. “He better have a way to provide for the child.”
Mrs. Kerney briskly stepped past Dad with her small button nose jutted toward the ceiling. Her eyes pursed, nearly closed, and Karen scuttled after her, still sniffling into the Kleenex wad. Karen followed her mother’s gray heels as they clicked sharply down the hall to the front door. Us kids scampered back up the adjacent stairs. Mrs. Kerney swung the heavy door open and slammed it shut behind them.
•
I SAT NEAR MY BEDROOM WINDOW one night when Blake and a few of his friends rambled down the front porch stairs.
“She still pregnant?” one said.
“Yeah,” Blake said. “Those things don’t go away on their own, ya know.”
“Just shove her down some stairs,” Blake’s friend Steve said, and the group erupted into laughter. “Hell, I’ll do it!”
“You’d do that for me?” Blake sighed. “Damn, Steve, you’re a real friend.” They blasted into more laughter as they sauntered away down the sidewalk.
It made me sick to my stomach to think of it. I saw the protesters outside the abortion clinic on Peterson sometimes. Ma had had one. The child before me was diagnosed with Down’s Syndrome, and they chose to terminate it. Even today, I don’t know what I’d have done. The quality of life, all the terrible consequences of having a child with serious special needs—it’s tough.
I guess teenage girls get abortions all the time, but with Blake, it was different. He was in a relationship with Karen. They were supposed to love each other. And the baby inside of Karen was going to be my nephew or niece—my family, ya know?
I ended up leaving the house and walked down the street toward Hermitage. Hyacinth was out on her front porch doing her homework. I walked up to her, and she frowned at me. I still felt bad about what I’d done to Angel a couple weeks before.
“Hey, I’m sorry about fighting with Angel.”
She sighed.
“I shouldn’t have.”
“That wasn’t a very nice welcome to the neighborhood, ya know.”
“I know.” I hung my head. “Can I sit with you?”
She scooted over, and I sat beside her. It was a cool night. The wind blew in slowly off the lake.
“Something bothering you?” she asked.
“Yeah, well I, I don’t know.” I dragged my hand through my hair.
“What is it?” She smiled at me.
“My brother, Blake.”
“The football player?”
“Yeah. He got his girlfriend pregnant.”
“Wow, jeez. That’s tough.”
“Yeah, he’s got a year left to graduate college. He’d be the first to do that in my family since, since, a while, I guess.”
“What are they going to do?”
“I think they’re going to get an abortion.”
“They’re gonna kill the baby?”
“Yeah, I think. I think they stick a vacuum inside and suck it out.”
“Oh my God, that’s horrible.” She gripped her stomach.
“My Ma wants to do it, and Blake does, too, I think.”
“That’s really sad.”
“I don’t think Karen wants to. I think she wants to have the baby.”
“That’s so sad.”
“I know. Everybody’s so proud of Blake. Me, too. I’m proud of him. I want to be just like him and go to college.”
“But you’re not so proud anymore?”
“I, I don’t know what to think anymore.”
She patted me softly on the back.
“Maybe it’s better if they do it and don’t have the baby and he finishes college and can get a good job, and then they could have all the babies they want.”
“Maybe. I just think about the baby that’s inside Karen. What about the baby?”
I started to cry a little, and I was embarrassed. I looked away and dug my fists into my eyes to squelch the tears. I started to get up to leave, and she reached out and held my arm with her soft, warm hand. She slowly pulled me close to her, wrapped her arms around me, and hugged me. I slid my arms around her and hugged her back. She kissed me on my cheek, and suddenly, my heart was beating quickly, and I wasn’t sad anymore. My whole body started to throb. Her front door cracked open, and I shot to my feet and said, “Thanks for telling me the homework for today.” Her father scowled down at me from the doorway.
I turned rigidly and walked away quickly. Maybe she really does like me. I was confused, all mixed up. I looked back, and she waved with a sad smile. Maybe she just felt sorry for me. I guess it’s pretty sad. I hope they keep the baby.
•
IT DIDN’T GO WELL FOR BLAKE after that. He’d switched to strong safety from receiver, where he’d been getting less and less reps. He was second string, and by that next camp, he was coming full-bore for the spot. He beat out the starter, and after the first scrimmage game of the season, he ended up at a local college bar. Blake ran into the guy he’d beaten for the position—a black guy from (ironically) the West Side of Chicago. A few choice words exchanged, then Blake made a mistake with his textbook pompous demeanor. He puffed his big chest out, and a wide grin spread on his smug lips. Then, he popped his chin up, turned to one of his pals and said, “Dis guy thinks he can take me.”
The West Side brotha did not hesitate