The White Horse (8 page)

Miss Johnson looked embarrassed.

She waved to the Superintendent, who drove by looking grim. She said, “It's fun to make new friends, isn't it,” and pulled into the traffic.

They got stuck on a hill when the gearshift locked. Cars piled up behind them, horns blaring.

“My God,” the teacher moaned, “this is a nightmare.”

“Why don't you get a new car?” It was the first thing she'd said since she'd gotten in.

“Good idea. Let's leave this one here.” The teacher wrestled the car into first, and they lurched across the intersection.

The teacher's house was warm. Some lights were already on.

“Let me take your coat. How did this get ripped?”

“A guy tried to stab me.”

“You're kidding.”

“No.”

The teacher's mouth opened and closed. Then she said, “Can I get you a soda?”

The kitchen smelled clean. The fridge was full of stuff. The teacher eyed a bottle of wine.

“Go ahead,” Raina said. She didn't miss much. “It's too late to be a bad influence.”

The teacher looked startled. “That's okay. I'm just thirsty.”

She opened a bottle of mineral water. Raina chose cranberry juice.

“Sit down, make yourself at home. I'll get supper going. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah.” Her stomach rumbled, and the baby kicked. It had been moving for months, but she'd refused to notice. The baby had been a secret she wouldn't even tell herself.

She sat on the couch in the living room. There were pictures on the walls and shelves of books. She longed to stretch out and close her eyes, but the teacher was saying something.

“… not much of a cook. I usually have a sandwich and soup. Or pasta and salad. Would you rather have that?”

“Whatever.”

The only time she'd been in a house like this was when she and Sonny had broken in. His dad had changed the locks, so they smashed a window, but most of the stuff they took was Sonny's, so it wasn't really stealing.

What would it be like to live in a house with clean soft carpets and shaded lamps and towels in the bathroom and baskets of plants and magazines fanned across the coffee table?

“I'm defrosting some chicken,” the teacher announced, setting down a plate of cheese and crackers. “Is that okay? Are you a vegetarian?”

“I'll eat ants.”

The teacher smiled as if she had gas and sat in a chair across from the couch.

“So,” she said. “Pretty cold tonight.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you warm enough? Shall I turn up the heat?”

“I'm fine.”

“Are you sure? Shall I make a fire?”

“You don't have to.”

“I'd be glad to.”

The teacher jumped up and started crumpling newspapers. She fed the fire, and it leaped to life. It felt odd to be in the teacher's house; as odd as it felt to have someone in her belly.

For a long time they watched the flames dance.

Then the teacher apologized again. She said she never should have gone off like that and made those remarks about Raina's family; her behavior had been completely unprofessional. It wasn't Raina's fault she couldn't have a baby. And wasn't it incredible, I mean talk about ironic, that the Superintendent chose that moment to show up?

“Life's funny,” she added unconvincingly.

“Yeah.”

“I really am sorry, Raina.”

“That's okay.”

Her mother never apologized for anything, as if it would make her seem small and weak and she had to stay big and tough. She wouldn't say sorry no matter what. Not even for Bobby.

“I better go check the chicken.”

Raina took off her shoes and slid onto the rug, as close to the fire as she could get. She knew what the teacher was thinking: Now what?

She's afraid she's stuck with me, Raina thought, like a lost dog nobody wants. Anyway, it wasn't like she could stay there forever and the baby and the problems would disappear. That wasn't going to happen. What was going to happen?

The teacher was shaking her gently, saying, “Do you still want to eat? Then you can hit the hay.”

“Okay.” She was instantly awake. It was always safer that way.

They sat at either end of a long table. Raina ate while the teacher tried to make conversation.

“It seems funny to be here together, doesn't it. I mean, instead of at school.”

“Yeah.”

“We'll figure out what to do tomorrow. Tonight you can get a good rest.”

“Okay.”

“Thank God it's Friday.”

“It is?”

“What a week. Do you ever have a week like—it's just been crazy.”

There was chocolate chip ice cream for dessert.

“Can I get you something else? Would you like some tea?”

Raina didn't want tea but she said yes because it felt so good to be waited on. They drank their tea and watched the fire die then the teacher showed her to the guest room.

Imagine having a room for people who didn't even live there. She had never had a room to herself. There was a quilt on the bed and pretty things on the bureau. Raina picked up a tiny glass doll and saw the teacher's eyes reflected in the mirror.

“Don't worry,” she said, “I won't take nothing.”

“Of course you won't.” The teacher looked ashamed.

She gave Raina a nightgown and a toothbrush and a towel for her very own bathroom, right next door. There were blankets in the closet, if she needed more. Then she said she'd see her in the morning.

Raina washed up and pulled on the nightgown. It was way too big and smelled clean and fresh. The pillowcase was embroidered with flowers. The blankets felt heavy on her legs.

I shoulda took a shower, she thought, then her eyes closed and she slept.

When she woke up the next morning the teacher was gone. She'd left a note on the kitchen table:
I'll be back soon. Make yourself at home
.

Raina wandered through the house looking into all the rooms. It felt strange having so much space to herself. Strange but good. She had toast and juice, then stayed in the shower forever. The baby kicked. She watched her belly ripple, the tiny wave rolling beneath the skin; wondering: Who's in there?, the thought so scary, she let it drift away and just washed her hair. Then she dried herself and put her clothes back on.

The teacher returned with bread from the bakery and a big bag of clothes from Penney's. She said, “I hope these fit. I guessed at the sizes. You're so little it kind of makes it tough.”

“Yeah, it's hard to find maternity stuff in the kid's section. Thanks,” Raina said. “You didn't need to.”

The bag was full of underwear and pajamas and sweatshirts and three pairs of jeans with stretchy panels in front. When she pulled on the pants, her stomach popped out like a sigh she'd been holding in for months.

For lunch they had cold chicken and salad and bread. The teacher had bought her a big jug of milk. How long is that supposed to last? she wondered. How long am I going to be here?

Then it was time to talk. She didn't want to. She wanted to smoke a cigarette, but the teacher would have a fit. Besides, she couldn't do that anymore; there was the baby to consider.

She hadn't meant to have a baby, wasn't trying to get pregnant. When the pills ran out she forgot to get more. At the time it hadn't seemed important; Sonny usually couldn't make love.

“Let's sit in the living room,” the teacher said.

She sat on the couch while the teacher built a fire. Rain blew against the windows. She felt so odd, sitting in this house in her stiff new clothes, as if she were wearing someone else's body.

She wanted to get things over with; to say or do something so crazy and stupid, the teacher would throw her out. She wanted to live in this house forever. She wanted to crawl inside the teacher's heart.

The teacher said, “I'm in kind of a delicate position here, Raina. I'm not supposed to interfere in your private life.”

“I don't mind.”

“It's the sort of thing Superintendent Kelley wouldn't like. I seem to remember him mentioning that.”

“Me too.”

“Now here you are, sitting in my house. I could get in a lot of trouble.”

“Join the club.”

“Do you understand what I'm saying?”

“Yeah. But it's not his choice. Or yours. It's mine.”

“Exactly.” The teacher nodded, smiling. “Now we're on the same page.”

“That's a weird saying. We're not on a page; we're in real life.”

“It's just an expression. The thing is, Raina, you've got to figure out what to do.”

“How?”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don't know.”

“It appears that it's too late for an abortion. Would you say that's correct?”

“Yeah.”

“That leaves you two options: Try to raise the baby yourself, or give it up for adoption.”

“I don't want to give my baby away.”

“We're not talking about leaving it in a box outside Safeway. We're talking about finding a family for the baby. A real home. There's nothing wrong with that, Raina. Sometimes that's the most loving thing a mother can do.”

“I know.” Of course she couldn't keep the baby. What kind of life could she give it when she didn't have a life herself? But she knew how it felt to be unwanted, rejected. How could she do that to her own child?

“You're right,” she said, “but I feel so bad.”

“It's one of those times when none of the choices are good ones. I'm sorry, honey.”

The word made her want to cry. She said, “What if you kept it?”

“Me?” The teacher looked alarmed.

“You said you always wanted a baby.”

“Yes, but that was a long time ago. I'm too old now.”

“How old?”

“Forty-five.”

“That's pretty old.”

“I wouldn't say that. It's just that—things are different now.”

“You can have it, if you want. I trust you.”

The teacher shook her head. “I can't take your baby.”

“You'd be the mother. I'd just visit sometimes.”

“It's not that simple. Raina, listen to me, please. I'm glad you trust me, I really am. But I can't keep your baby. I promise you we'll find a wonderful family who'll love this baby as their very own and give it a wonderful life. The kind of life you should've had. You can still be happy. But you've got to think this through, Raina.”

“You're not just saying that 'cause you think it's fucked up and you don't want a fucked-up kid?”

The teacher frowned. “Of course not. Babies are very resilient.”

“I might've drunk too much. I did crank sometimes.” She could kill herself from shame and guilt, but the baby would die too.

“We have to assume that the baby's fine and take it from there. That's all we can do. You need to take care of yourself, Raina. Eat the right foods, go to the doctor. And not smoke or drink or take any drugs.”

“I'm not.” It was probably too late. “I stopped.”

“You're welcome to stay here until the baby's born. We can call some adoption agencies next week. We'll figure everything out. If that's what you really want.”

Her heart soared, but her voice was flat. “It probably wouldn't work, me staying here.”

“Why not?”

She struggled to put her thoughts into words. “There's inside cats and outside cats. I'm kind of an outside cat.”

The teacher smiled. “Actually, you're not a cat at all.”

“It's just an expression. You might not like me around.”

“I like you fine.”

“You could get in trouble.”

The teacher shrugged. “What else is new?”

“You're sure?”

“I'm sure.”

“Okay, then,” Raina said.

It was settled, like that. She wasn't alone; the teacher was going to help her. She felt as if she'd stepped outside herself and into a new life.

Later, the teacher had to meet a friend.

“We're going to the movies. I'll be home before supper. I'll bring back some ice cream, to celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?”

“Our collaboration. Do you have a favorite?”

“Chocolate's fine.”

The teacher put on her coat and left. How does she know I won't steal stuff? Raina wondered. How does she know I won't wreck everything?

She curled up on the couch with a magazine and read for a while, then fell asleep. When she opened her eyes she didn't know where she was. Then she remembered. She felt happy.

She went into the kitchen for a glass of milk and filled a pretty plate with crackers and cheese. Then she noticed the phone, the goddamn phone. Her mother had said to call her back. Not that she cared what Raina did. But maybe she'd be different because of the baby. Maybe just this once—don't be a chump.

If only the teacher were there.

“Hey, Ma.”

“Where were you? You were supposed to call.”

“I did. We're on the phone right now.” She heard her mother light a cigarette, almost felt the comfort of the smoke in her lungs.

“So how's it feel to be having a baby?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“I got it all figured out. You can get on welfare and get an apartment with Lyn and the baby. That asshole Gary kicked her out.”

“I don't need an apartment.”

“How come?”

“I'm staying with this teacher.”

“What teacher?”

“From school. I'm giving up the baby, Ma. I can't keep it.”

Her mother's silence was worse than words.

“I don't got any choice. I'm too young to be a mother.”

“You'd give away your baby, your flesh and blood? What kind of person are you?”

“Ma, listen. I can't have a baby.” But her thoughts wouldn't come out in the teacher's words. “I got nowhere to stay.”