Page 70 of The Summer of ’98

“Ellie?”

“Ellie?

I shot up in bed and gasped. My heart was beating as furiously as it had been in the dream. I clutched my chest and took a few deep breaths to calm down. The dream had felt so real that I almost expected to look around and find baby clothes and toys. But there were no signs to indicate that it was anything but fiction.

Before I could forget it, I shot out of bed and ran over to the small desk in the corner of the room. I started writing it down. What had happened, what the cute names of the children were. Abby was the name that Leroy had used when we were grocery shopping in Castle Rock. Doubts had been clouding my mind from the get-go. As much as I wanted to be sure about what I wanted, there had been a niggling battle going on, my heart and head at war. I knew what was sensible, but what I felt was love—love for a child that I’d made with the man I love—and that dream felt like our future. A future that I wanted.

Hope started to swell within my chest as I thought about phoning Leroy. We could do this, right? Together, we could do it.

I was halfway through scrawling down the dream’s events when the door swung open and Momma walked in without an invitation. She pulled the curtains open and silently went about picking a few things up from the floor.

“I made an appointment at the clinic for nine on Monday,” she said, her tone cold. “It’s a consultation but it’ll get the process going.”

“Momma? I . . . I don’t think I want to do it now. The termination. I don’t think I want to do it.”

I couldn’t even look at her, knowing that she would be fixing me with that stare. The one that would weaken my resolve and push me into doing what she said. She had that effect on me.

“Ellie, you don’t have to go through with the termination,” she said. The weight off my shoulders was enormous, but alas, it was short-lived. “But you will be giving it up for adoption.”

“What?”

“You can’t raise a child. You are not having a baby under my roof. Are we clear?”

I couldn’t think of what to say that would allow me to make a decent argument. She sighed and carried on speaking. “Think about this with some common sense, child. You don’t have a dime to your name, apart from the measly savings you have for business classes. Our house is small. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. A child isn’t a smart idea and think about how immature you still are. You can’t cook. You can barely drive. What on earth good would you be to a baby?”

My nose stung and my lip quivered as I slowly sat down on the edge of my bed, looking out into our minuscule back garden, a dry lawn, and the fence just a few feet back from the house. The view had never looked so imprisoning. She was right: I would do no good raising a child. I couldn’t expect Leroy to support us through it, even though I knew he wanted to. He didn’t understand what a burden it would be and how much of an effect it would have on his career. A dream wasn’t enough to go on. That sort of thinking was childish in itself. Getting excited over the idea of a happy ending couldn’t secure a happy ending, no matter how we felt right now.

My shoulders shook with violent sobs as I realized that I had to do this alone. I had to give this baby up without involving him because he shouldn’t have to bear that burden or endure that hurt. He would believe that I’d terminated and that it was for the best. But it would mean losing him and that hurt more than anything.

Ellie

The following morning, after Momma had told me I wouldn’t raise my own child, I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, feeling no motivation to leave the confines of my comforter. The phone in the kitchen rang, but I ignored it.

My bedroom was my favorite place in the world. My own space. There was a bookshelf in the corner beside the closet. Old vinyl records made a mural on the wall, there were posters of music legends from floor to ceiling, my bed in the middle of the room was covered in throw pillows, a stack of CDs sat beside my vanity, and my drawers were covered in collectible stickers. The best part: I’d scored almost everything in here from thrift stores. Momma didn’t care for room décor. She said a bed and drawers were essential and extras were up to me to provide. So, I had.

But now, looking around, it didn’t bring me the same joy that it once had. It was just stuff. Stuff couldn’t tell me it loved me or hold me or assure me we’d be okay. I missed Leroy to the point it was painful.

“Ellie, Ellie, Ellie,” Amber’s friendly voice came from the hall a moment before my bedroom door swung open. She stood at the threshold and folded her arms. “Girl, I’ve been calling but no one’s answering. What’s doin’? You know it’s beautiful outside, right?”

“Is it?” I sat up, aware that I looked like a creature. “Where’s Eric?”

“He’s chillin’ at the music store. I’m going to meet him later, but first,” she came into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, “what’s going on? Something happened with Leroy, right? You’re a mess.”

“I am.”

She tilted her head. “What’s going on, chick? Talk to me. You didn’t come home for no reason. You looked so sad at the airport.”

“I’m pregnant, Ambs.”

Her brows shot up and her mouth fell open. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Maybe if you keep saying no, it’ll be true.”

“I’m sorry,” she said and fell backwards, staring at the ceiling. “I just can’t even . . . that’s bananas.”

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