I’ve never been superstitious, never been scared of black cats or broken mirrors, but that night something came over me. I was still reeling from my visit to the doctors. I couldn't wrap my head around the new life growing inside of me, let alone it had been there for three months. Pregnant. The word seemed to have little meaning after the 100th time I had said it that day. When I saw the shooting star I decide to make a wish because it seemed like that was all I could do. I wished for peace. Not for me necessarily, but for the town. Maybe it was me projecting onto other the way I felt with myself. I was angry that I had gotten drunk that night, potentially harming my baby. But most of all I was angry that I had no control over my life, a fact I was slowly realizing. The wish was my pitiful way of denying that.
I was growing more and more anxious to find out my test results. My carelessness the day of Mr. Evans funeral could result in a lifetime of struggles for my unborn child. I should have known I was pregnant. I was months late and my usual bloating had been drawn out. For reasons I was trying to forget, I had denied the obvious.
As soon as I found out, I went to Alice’s. She had been my surrogate mother since I had moved to East Maitland and I knew she would have the best advice. “It will all work out, Bessy.” She said, soothingly. I hoped she was right.
I had finally worked up the courage to call my mother. I knew I had to tell her soon, she was coming to visit in a 2 months and my bump was getting harder and harder to hide. She knew something was wrong the second she picked up the phone.
“What’s wrong? What happened? Is it that guy?”
“Mom, its okay, I’m fine. I’m excited to see you!”
“Me too sweetie. What’s wrong?”
"Nothing mom, I'm really okay. I'll talk to you later." I hung up.
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