New Girl in Little Cove Damhnait Monaghan (best ebook reader android .txt) 📖

“Oh my God,” I said. “Is she all right?”

“They’re after pumping her stomach. It looks like she’ll be okay, but they’re keeping her in for now.”

“Patrick,” I said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell anyone about the pregnancy. Cynthia made me promise.”

“You did what you thought was right,” he said.

“But was it?”

His heavy sigh whooshed down the line. “There’s nothing right about any of this. Don’t drive yourself mental with shoulda woulda coulda.”

“I think Judy’s pretty mad at me.”

“Cynthia’s a relation of hers,” Patrick reminded me. “So I expect she feels responsible. Which, by the way, she isn’t. None of us are. Cynthia’s in the Clayville hospital for now, but she might be transferred to St. John’s for a psychiatric consultation. She’s asking for you. Do you think you could go see her tonight?”

“Sure,” I said. “As soon as I hang up.” Until recently, I hadn’t even been aware of the Clayville hospital and now I was heading back there for the second time in less than a week.

Cynthia had been admitted so I went up to the reception desk to find out her room number. The young clerk looked up from her gossip magazine. I gave her Cynthia’s name, and as she checked her log book, she said, “Be good for Diana to have a friend on the inside.”

“Sorry?”

She tapped the magazine cover. Just below the picture of Andrew and Fergie was the caption “A friend for Di?”

Sheila and I had risen early to watch Diana and Charles get married. I was hopeful, gushing about the dress and the train. But Sheila had watched between her fingers, saying “It’s doomed” over and over until I had to hit her with a pillow. I hoped Fergie would bring Diana some joy and said as much to the receptionist. She nodded her agreement, then pointed me in the direction of Cynthia’s room.

Just past the nursing station, I began to feel light-headed. Meeting Biddy in the waiting room was one thing; visiting Cynthia as an in-patient was something else.

I stopped at a fountain and braced myself against the wall for a minute before taking a drink. When I reached Room 17, I paused at the doorway and peeked in. The lights were dimmed, except for one directly above Cynthia, which glinted on her glasses. Her face was whiter than the sheets, and her hair was uncombed and dirty against the pillow.

I waited until she opened her eyes.

“Hi, miss,” she said softly. “I’m some stunned.”

“No, you’re not.” I sat down on the chair beside her bed as tears began to roll down her cheeks. I pulled a tissue from the box on the tray table and passed it to her. She poked it up under her glasses, dabbing at her eyes. Then she balled up the tissue in her hand, sniffing.

“You were right,” she whispered.

I felt no satisfaction at hearing this. “About what?”

“Everything,” she croaked. She broke down again and I waited until her sobs subsided. “Ron’s after dropping me, miss. He says I’m too young and foolish for him.”

I patted her arm. “I’m sorry. But he was so much older than you.”

What was it with girls who fell for the bad guys? I’d never understood it, although Sheila had dabbled on the dark side when we were younger.

“Where did you get the sleeping pills?” I asked.

“Ron had them in his bathroom, I guess on account of the car accident last year.” Cynthia chewed at the ragged skin of her thumb. “Everything’s ruined,” she said. “I gave up school for nothing.”

“Never mind,” I said. “Concentrate on getting better. Think about the baby.”

“I lost it.” Her voice was flat; I couldn’t read her feelings.

I took her hand in mine. “That’s hard. But maybe you can come back to school.”

“It’s too late for this year,” she said. “Mom asked Mr. Donovan and that’s what he said.”

“There’s always next year,” I said, but she dropped her gaze.

I put the box of tissues on her lap. “Things will seem brighter soon,” I said. “I’m sure of it. Can I bring you anything from the store?”

“No,” she said. “Mam’s coming in later with a few things.” Then she closed her eyes.

“I’ll leave you to rest,” I said, getting up to go. I walked briskly down the hall, my pace quickening as I neared the exit. I pushed the buzzer to open the hospital doors, staggered around the corner of the building and retched repeatedly, until there was nothing left to come up.

The entire time I’d been in Cynthia’s hospital room, I kept pushing the memories away and they kept flooding back in. Now, I walked woozily to my car, sagged into the driver’s seat and let them surge over the breakwater.

I had been in my bedroom, two weeks after the disastrous graduation party, flipping through the photos of that evening. I hadn’t even known my mother had sent them off to be developed. I lingered over a photo of Sheila and me. We were laughing so hard, our eyes were squeezed shut.

In the next photo, Jake had his arm slung around my shoulder and I was smiling up at him. It was probably taken shortly before that girl showed up. Looking at it made me nauseous and I’d ripped it into pieces. Then I felt my breakfast rising up and ran for the bathroom.

After I threw up, I wet my face and looked in the mirror. It was the second time that week, and suddenly I had a horrible thought. I counted back the days to my last period. It couldn’t be. I was on the pill. I ran back to the bedroom and checked the little dial. I hadn’t missed a single day. People often talked about how the pill was only ninety-nine percent effective. I guess someone had to be the one percent.

Now, sitting in my car outside the Clayville hospital, I remembered how I’d reached for the phone to call Sheila, my hands shaking