Rory
Ilean against the side of the barn door, my body sagging as the vet drives away, his rusted pickup bouncing along the dips of the unpaved driveway.
Jax is going to be okay. His colic was mild. We’ve taken turns walking him throughout the day, trading off between that and other barn chores. As the late afternoon sun glows orange, things are settling back into their usual place.
I’ve been running on pure adrenaline since the minute I got Mandy’s call. Now that the danger seems to have passed, all of that is seeping out, leaving me drained.
“Thanks for keeping everything running while we got Jax sorted,” Mandy says, leaning against the opposite wall.
“I’m glad he’s okay.”
Even though Jax isn’t my horse, I feel a kind of bond with all of the animals at the barn. Losing him would have been devastating.
“Same. We’re lucky to have a vet in town now. Not all that long ago, the closest one was almost forty-five minutes away. If it had been worse, or Jax had needed surgery?” She shakes her head. “Anyway, I’m glad it all worked out.”
A comfortable silence falls between us. I’m beyond relieved that Jax is going to make a full recovery. And I’ve been so consumed with everything going on at the barn that I haven’t had time to think about what’s going on with me.
What might be going on with me, that is. Or not.
I mentioned it to Mandy briefly, almost as a hypothetical. We haven’t had a chance to talk about it, but I want her thoughts. She’ll know what to do. She always does, somehow.
I chew my lip. “So. About that thing I mentioned earlier.”
The thing I mentioned was a vague reference to whether pregnancy tests are one hundred percent accurate. I was trying to make it seem like the thought had just occurred to me. Like it wasn’t something grounded in any particular circumstance involving me.
“Ah. Right.” Mandy lifts an eyebrow, studying me. “When did you take this hypothetical pregnancy test?”
I blow out a breath. I should have known that Mandy would see through any bullshit.
“A couple days ago. But I can’t really be…you know. Can I?”
She tugs off her wool cap to run her fingers through her mess of salt-and-pepper hair. “Well, I suppose the only person who can tell you with one hundred percent certainty is a doctor, Rory.”
That’s what I was afraid of. “Isn’t that jumping the gun a little? Like, shouldn’t I be sure before I make an appointment?”
“It’s not a bad idea to take another one of those home tests, I suppose. What are your thoughts on the potential outcomes?”
Spam chooses this moment to enter the conversation, dropping his stick by my feet. He gives a high-pitched bark in case I somehow failed to notice him.
I pick up the stick and toss it toward the driveway for him to chase. “I have some tests in my backpack.”
I ignore her question on how I feel about the potential results because I truly have no idea. For now, I’m focusing on sorting out the facts. Then I’ll decide how I feel.
“You’re just carrying around pregnancy tests now?” Mandy folds her arms over her chest.
I offer a half-hearted shrug, as though keeping these things on your person is a totally normal thing to do.
“I was about to take another one when you called me this morning. I didn’t have time to…
you know, because I had to rush over here for Jax.
And I just stuffed a bunch of them in my bag so they weren’t lying all over the bathroom. You know.”
“I know what, exactly?”
“I just… I don’t want Nate to see this huge pile of tests. Like, without context. What would he think, right?” I try for humor, but it falls flat.
“What would he think?” Mandy sets her hands on her hips.
Her stance and expression remind me of the time I accidentally left one of the stalls unlatched while doing chores as a teenager and a horse got loose.
I squirm beneath her gaze. “That’s the thing. I don’t want him to make assumptions.”
She lets out a long sigh. “I think the assumption he’d make is that there is a human living in his house who has a uterus.
And that the human in question might be wondering if there is a fetus in that uterus.
He might even wonder if it’s you since I’m assuming you’re having sex with your boyfriend.
Is this your way of saying that you haven’t told him about all of this? ”
I study the toes of my boots intently. “Not yet.”
I mutter the words, but Mandy seems to have superhuman hearing.
“Rory Kelley, I swear to all that is holy. You need to talk to Nate. You fucking love him. Right?”
Something twists in my gut. “Of course I do.”
“Then tell him what’s going on, Rory. For the love of God.”
How do I explain all of the emotions and worries that slosh around inside me every time I think of doing just that, though?
“I’m going to tell him. I don’t want to ever keep anything from him. I just don’t…know what to tell him. I want to know for sure what’s going on. I don’t want to make him worry or get excited about something that might not even be real.”
There are a few beats of silence. I wonder if I really am wrong here.
Mandy pushes off the doorframe and steps into the barn, gesturing for me to follow. “Okay. Sit.”
She points to a bale of hay. I drop onto it and bury my face in my hands as every last emotion comes bubbling to the surface.
“What do I do, Mandy? I don’t know what the right answer is. Nate has so much on his plate right now. Work and this stupid pageant and everything in town, and I don’t want to add something else to that. I want to be the one supporting him for once. He shouldn’t always have to be the strong one.”
I wait for her to say something, to come up with some pearl of wisdom that will make everything make sense, but it’s not until I finally lift my head and meet her gaze that she speaks.
“I can’t tell you what to do, kiddo,” she says, her face softening. “All I can do is share my own experiences and the wisdom I’ve gained over the years. You have to make your own decisions.”
I run my sleeve over my nose, sniffling. That’s what I’m afraid of.
“I had a…friend,” Mandy says. Her eyes focus on a point over my shoulder, or maybe she’s looking into the past. “It was a long time ago. She was in a similar situation to where you are. Not exactly the same, but close enough.
“She skipped a period, was feeling queasy, all of that. She didn’t know anyone who had been pregnant, so she was just going off…vibes, I guess the kids would call it now. But back then, we just called it a feeling. Knowing something was going on.”
I hold my breath as she speaks. I need to know what happened with her friend.
Mandy’s lips curve into a small smile. “She took a pregnancy test after a while. Actually stole it from the market. She was too embarrassed to bring the thing up to the cashier.”
I can relate. “At least I didn’t steal any. I just sent Stacey to buy them.”
Mandy gives a short laugh. “Yeah, I get that. That’s the thing about small towns, eh?
I’d say that eventually you’ll stop caring about what other people think, and maybe you will.
But I’m sure that in a town like HiLo, you’re just asking for rumors to circulate if you buy pregnancy tests.
I’ll bet the old biddies are already taking guesses on who Stacey is having sex with. ”
Oh God.
“I didn’t even think of that. I don’t want to put her in a weird position.”
Mandy waves her hand dismissively. “Nah. Stacey’s a big girl, and from what I’ve heard, she has a good head on her shoulders. If she was worried, she wouldn’t have offered to pick them up for you. Anyway, you have the tests, so that part isn’t important.”
My gaze slides to my backpack, hanging from a hook.
“Anyway,” Mandy says, “I… My friend took her test in the store bathroom, and it was negative. She was all relieved and figured everything was fine.”
She pauses, almost like she’s working up the words to finish the story.
A few more seconds go by, though.
“What happened after that?” There has to be more to this story, right?
She blows out a long breath. “She kept feeling like something was off, even though the test had been negative. So a few days went by, then a week, and she ended up getting another test.”
“Did she shoplift that one, too?”
This gets a small smile out of Mandy, who shakes her head. “Not this time. She waited until one of her friends was working their after-school shift as a cashier at the market and bought it then.”
My heart beats faster. “And?”
Mandy tilts her head. “What do you think?”
There’s a lesson to this. There always is with Mandy’s tales, and it relates to my situation somehow. I rack my brain trying to figure out which angle this applies to.
“Was the second test positive? What did she do? Did she tell her parents? Her boyfriend?” The words come out in a rush, the questions flowing from one right into another.
“Whoa, there,” Mandy says, holding up her hand, palm facing me. “One question at a time.”
I settle on the one that’s burning at the front of my brain. “Was it positive?”
She nods. “The first one was a false negative. It can happen. I’m not saying that will be the case here, but it’s a possibility, even if you take one and it turns out negative.”
I’ve spent all day praying that whenever I get around to peeing on this stick that it’ll be negative. It hadn’t crossed my mind that the test might be wrong.
“Do you think I could be pregnant?” I whisper.
I can barely get the words out.
“Would that be the worst thing in the world?”
My lips twist to one side as I think. It wouldn’t be terrible. I want kids someday, and I want them with Nate. This would just push the timeline up. But at the same time…
“I guess not. I had things planned out, though. I wanted to get married first. And thinking about a baby or a wedding or any of that without Mom being here is hard.”
Grief twists my chest. It’s taken up residence there, spending more and more time dormant but just waiting to pop up at a moment’s notice.
I wonder if it will always be like that.
“Aw, kiddo.” Mandy crosses the space between us and pulls me to my feet before wrapping me in a hug. “I get it. I do. And I’m here for you, no matter what. And so is Nate. Give him a little credit.”
I lean into her embrace. “I just don’t want to ruin things between us.”
“He loves you, Rory. When you walked out on him, one of the first things he did was to reach out. To me, and to other people, too. It takes a lot of guts to ask for help. And when things are right between two people, it takes an awful lot to ruin them.”
Mandy seems to have a knack for knowing exactly what I need to hear, and this time is no exception. My shoulders relax, and after a few more deep breaths, I step back.
“This is silly.” I’m not sure if I’m reassuring myself or her, but it works either way. “I have an IUD. They’re supposed to be really good at preventing pregnancy. I’m probably getting all worked up about nothing.”
She nods. “I’ve heard that about IUDs.”
“I’m probably being oversensitive, too. Stress can mess up your cycle. I’ll bet that’s all it is. And the first test was just a shadow or something.”
“You have been under a lot of stress,” Mandy confirms.
“So it’s probably just that. And I’m making a big deal out of nothing.”
At this point, I’m just attempting to reassure myself. I have enough insight to realize I’m hoping Mandy will confirm my ramblings.
She doesn’t seem inclined to do that, though. Instead, she picks up a pitchfork and meanders down the hallway toward one of the open stalls.
“So. I shouldn’t worry, right?” I call after her.
She doesn’t answer.
“Right?” I say again.
My voice carries down the length of the barn, and I know that she damn well heard me, but she doesn’t even turn around. Not until she’s picked up a pile of manure, shaken off the sawdust, and tossed the waste into the waiting wheelbarrow.
Finally, she meets my gaze. “What do you think, kiddo?”
That’s the scary thing. I don’t know what I think.
Mandy lifts the handles and maneuvers the wheelbarrow down the hallway. As she passes me, she pauses, patting my shoulder, but she doesn’t say anything before she just carries on.
I don’t know how long I stand in that one spot, but it has to be full minutes. And even when I finally force myself to move, I don’t know my answer to her question.
All I know is that I need more information.
The need for more concrete data is the only thing driving me to turn around. To walk across the hay-covered floor. To unzip my backpack and pull out one of those little cardboard boxes.
I grip it tightly in one hand as I head for the bathroom, a small building set twenty or so feet from the barn.
I’m almost on autopilot as I step inside and lock the door behind me, even though the only humans for a few miles are me and Mandy.
As soon as I’m in the bathroom, my body decides it needs to pee. Pavlovian response? Maybe. Helpful in this specific scenario? Definitely.
I cross my legs while I open the box and unwrap the little stick of plastic that has far too much power in determining my future. I grip the test stick as I tug my jeans down with one hand. Sit, pee, wait two minutes.
And then I’ll know what’s really going on. What I need to tell Nate. If I need to tell Nate anything.
But as I start…taking the test, as it were, I see something that changes everything.
Something that makes me stop mid-stream and toss that little stick right into the trash.
Oh my God.