Karen Young - In Confidence

“All set?” she asked Kendall. “Got your lunch money? Homework?” In her backpack and little denim jumper paired with a pink shirt, and sneakers that looked out of proportion, her baby appeared ready to go.

“Can I take my camera, Mommy?” She held up the inexpensive digital model she’d begged for on her birthday.

“You know you can’t, honey.”

“Puleeze, Mommy…”

“Do you want your teacher to confiscate it?” Rachel grabbed her coffee in a travel cup and opened the door.

“What’s conferskate mean?”

“Take it away from you.”

Mouth in a dejected droop, Kendall reluctantly placed the camera on the counter. She had probably gone through a dozen throwaway cameras before getting the digital for her birthday, and she treasured it above anything she possessed. At first, Rachel had been amused at a nine-year-old’s interest in snapping photos right and left, thinking the novelty of it all would soon fade. Then she’d realized Kendall’s interest went beyond a child’s obsession with a new toy. The pictures were sometimes quite good. To the little girl, photography was no longer a novelty, but a passion. Still, taking her camera to school was out.

Rachel shooed her through the kitchen and out the door that led to the garage, where Nick sat behind the wheel of the BMW, waiting for them with the motor running. Rachel hadn’t driven to school a single day since he’d gotten his student permit three months ago. She wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be satisfied to ride with her and Kendall, but a car of his own was not in his immediate future, no matter how intensely he lobbied for it. A camera for Kendall was one thing. A car for Nick was another entirely.

“Is Daddy gonna come home tonight and eat with us?” Kendall asked, studying the empty space in the garage where Ted’s Lexus belonged.

“I don’t think so, sweetie,” Rachel told her.

“So, what’s new?” Nick muttered as he backed out of the garage.

Finding no reply to her children that wouldn’t sound lame, Rachel turned her gaze to the spacious, upscale homes lining their street and said nothing.

Thirty minutes later, she was at her desk gazing into the pale face of a teenage girl. Ashley had been observed vomiting in the shrubs along the north side of the school before the morning bell. Had the observer been anyone but another teacher, Rachel probably wouldn’t have had this chance to talk to the girl. Fortunately, it had been a teacher.

“How are you feeling now, Ashley?”

A glance down at knotted fingers in her lap. “I’m okay.”

“Do you think you’ve picked up a stomach virus?”

“Probably.” Gaze still fixed on her hands.

“Then we should call your mom to pick you up. These things are contagious, you know. They spread like wildfire among the other students.”

“No!” Ashley’s head jerked up. “I mean…ah, it’s okay. I don’t think I have a virus. I’m feeling better now.”

“Did you have any breakfast this morning, Ashley?” Rachel opened a drawer in her desk and offered a blueberry muffin she’d picked up in the cafeteria.

The girl’s face went from pearl white to pea green. She put both hands to her mouth and closed her eyes, breathing deep. Rachel stood up and quickly brought her waste can within reach just in time to catch another spate of vomiting. However, this time, there was little left in her stomach for the girl to throw up. Rachel waited with a handful of tissues until the retching stopped, then poured a small amount of ice water from a Thermos carafe on her desk and urged her to take it. “Don’t drink much, honey. Just a taste.”

“Thank you,” Ashley whispered, then after using the tissues, she took a tiny sip or two, grimacing.

“Here, I think you’ll feel better lying down.” Rachel helped her to her feet, then led her over to an oversize sofa—one she’d purchased herself—and gently urged her down on the big cushions. She took an afghan and spread it over the girl, then watched her dab at tears, now trickling from the corners of her eyes. She looked absolutely miserable.

Rachel spoke with quiet understanding. “Are you pregnant, Ashley?”

The girl didn’t respond for a moment or two, then closing her eyes, she nodded.

“Have you told anyone?”

One bleak negative move of her head.

“Do you have any idea how far along you are?”

“Four months, I think.”

Rachel winced at the reply. Ashley wore an oversize sweater and jeans that she was probably having difficulty zipping all the way, but only a practiced eye would spot the signs. She was a bit overweight to begin with and apparently concealing her condition had not presented a problem. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to conceal the bouts of nausea that sometimes accompanied pregnancy.

“Have you been to a clinic, seen a doctor?”

“No.”

“Have you told your boyfriend?” Ashley and Mike Reynolds, a star football jock, had been dating steadily since they were in eighth grade. Things, apparently, had progressed naturally when two healthy, sexually active kids had been unable to resist going all the way. Without protection.

“Mike knows.” Her face was turned away now. “He said I should get an abortion.”

“And you disagree?”

“I don’t know.”

“And since you haven’t told your parents, I’m assuming you don’t need to hear what they might think about such a decision.”

“They’ll hate me.”

Rachel sighed, pulled the chair over that Ashley had just vacated, sat down and took the girl’s hand. “They won’t hate you, Ashley. Just because you’ve made a mistake in judgment doesn’t mean your parents are going to stop loving you. And you need them now. You shouldn’t have to handle such a momentous decision on your own.”

“I know all that, Ms. Forrester,” she said, beginning to cry again. “But they’re gonna be so disappointed in me. I—I was supposed to g-go to college and now I’ve ruined everything. Besides, I think I’ve waited almost too late, as it is. Last night—” she gulped, wiping hard at her eyes with the tissue “—last night, I felt the baby move.”

“Then the sooner you talk with your parents, the better.” Rachel reached over and, with a gentle touch, brought the girl’s chin around to look into her eyes. “I will be happy to call your mother or both your parents—whatever makes you more comfortable—and help you tell them. Would you want to do that?”

“I guess so.”

“Is your mother at home today?”

“No, she’s in Dallas shopping with my aunt. But maybe she could come in Monday.”

Rachel stood up. “Tell you what. I’ll phone her now and leave a message. Then, when she calls, we’ll arrange to meet at a time we both agree on, okay? I’ll let her know that it’s urgent.”

“Okay.” Ashley was sitting up now. Her color was better. She brushed her mane of straight blond hair away from her face with both hands. Her blue eyes were red and slightly puffed, but she got to her feet easily, then stood with both hands cradling her tummy. Cautiously, she took a step toward the door.

“You’re welcome to stay and rest awhile until you feel able to take on the day,” Rachel said.

Now at the door, Ashley turned back. “No, that’s the funny thing. When this happens—the nausea, I mean—I just feel horrible, like I want to die. But then when it’s over, it’s completely over and I feel just fine.”

Rachel smiled, knowing the feeling after giving birth twice herself. “Pregnancy’s like that, Ashley.”

“I hate it.”

“Which is all the more reason to have this discussion with your parents and try to work something out.”

She nodded. “Thanks, Ms. Forrester.”