Chapter One
Four Weeks, One Day (4W1D)
Annatha lay sprawled out limply on the hard tile floor in the bathroom, her face pressed against the cool ceramic side of the toilet bowl. Surprisingly, it felt good against her sweaty brow. She felt flaccid, like the Raggedy Ann doll she played with as a child. Her stomach heaved involuntarily again, and she fought the nasty-tasting acid reflux surging towards her throat. It appeared her digestive system was merely a trampoline now that kept bouncing everything she swallowed back up, climbing higher and higher until it reached her mouth. She gagged on nothing in particular and a shudder wracked her body. What the hell, she wondered aloud, is going on? Disgusted, she stared at her sweaty palms and wiped them on her light green velour pants.
Three days ago when this illness began, she thought it was a stomach virus and stayed home in bed. It was a reasonable assumption: she felt bone tired, chilled, and her mouth erupted like a stuttering volcano almost all day long. The persistence of the same symptoms for more than two days now was unusual, as the stomach flu had never lasted over a day before. The drained, ragdoll feeling was probably from the constant puking, but she was tired of being bedridden. It was like Superman getting a continuous intravenous kryptonite solution, without the cool outfit. All in all, she was sick and tired of being sick and tired.
Before heading for the gut dump, the name she had given her toilet the past two days, she had been scouring the Internet for medical help. On WebMD she had typed in her symptoms and one of the top hits had been pregnancy. To say this had caused a sinking feeling in her gut didn''t come close to describing her reaction. Sixteen and pregnant? In her mind, that wouldn''t simply be a disaster; it would more than likely be a teenage Armageddon. Sure, there was always abortion to make such a predicament disappear, although she had never thought of it in terms of herself, only as agreeing in principle with a woman''s right to choose. The other alternatives of adoption or keeping it if she were pregnant weren''t even on the table, but an abortion didn''t miracle itself into one''s life. There was the telling of the parents, getting the money and then having the procedure. The last item on the list seemed like a cake walk compared to the first two. Her real father had died last year and his replacement, born of her mother''s desire for material comforts, was a monster. Brandon, her stepdad since she turned twelve, was a Microsoft software engineer and part-time animal killer.
She wanted to blame his dastardly deed of putting her cats to sleep two weeks ago for this possible misfortune, if indeed she was pregnant. However, her dad''s words always haunted her when she tried to skirt responsibility. After a round of finger-pointing when she got into trouble, she would reluctantly remember him admonishing her to take one hundred percent of the responsibility for her actions in any situation, even if she was only partly to blame. He begged her not to follow in his footsteps and to learn this lesson sooner rather than later to avoid years of self-pity. It was a lesson he had passed on from Alcoholics Anonymous, where he sobered up during the last year of his life. Ironically, the day after receiving his sixty-day chip, he was diagnosed with cirrhosis of the liver, a fatal consequence alcoholism had seen fit to bestow upon him. Of course, the topic that prompted his advice on responsibility in the first place had been Brandon. It was always Brandon, but her dad had a way of helping her through these times.
She felt a rising tide of liquid in her throat and quickly placed her head over the side of the smooth bowl to spit a wad of slimy green fluid into the toilet. Maybe she was being possessed, she thought in a half-hearted attempt at humor to lighten an otherwise miserable situation. That last offering looked a lot like the vomit spewing out of Regan''s mouth in The Exorcist. Her dad had taken her to see it at the drive-in, a ritual repeated often as they both enjoyed horror films. The night she saw The Exorcist for the first time, a heavy rain pounded on the car roof and fogged the windows. Her dad had to keep the windshield wipers on so they could see. He didn''t seem to mind and told her it added to the creepiness. The memory stirred her senses, and she could almost smell the familiar aroma of her dad''s cigar-drenched upholstery mixed with his leathery aftershave. Oddly enough, it had always been a comforting scent and she longed to inhale it again. God, she missed him.
Back to the real world, Annatha asserted and slumped against the toilet. If she was pregnant, she had no real friends at school to confide in. Her classmates were all too busy trying to look like the skinny MTV mannequins that danced on the music videos. She didn''t see herself as uncool-far from it-but she didn''t go for redefining herself to match the mindless media babes that other girls in her class used as role models. Unfortunately, that made her a kind of nerdy freak in their eyes, but so be it. She fed her soul by painting and loving her cats, and Brandon had taken half of that from her.
She teared up again as she thought of Buster and Spanky being dropped off at the pound and going to their deaths like defenseless Jews at the Nazi death camps. Without her knowledge, Brandon whisked them away after Annatha left for school and didn''t tell her what had happened until it was too late. They were already gone. All because he didn''t like the fact her picture on her MySpace profile showed cleavage. She enjoyed wearing cute clothes, and cute clothes for a sixteen year old showed cleavage and some skin between the shirt and jeans. His reaction struck her as over the top, since she didn''t mimic the street whore look other girls her age on MySpace seemed to go for.
Annatha heaved a large sigh and grabbed the side of the toilet. She struggled to raise herself up and turned on the cold water tap at her sink. Resting one hand on the countertop, she brushed her long auburn hair out of her eyes. Jesus, she thought, I look like a raccoon. The mascara she put on so carefully this morning had been no match for the salty tears that smeared her makeup each time a wave of nausea hit her. She washed her face with soap and water and scrubbed around her eyes until the skin was red. Looking in the mirror after she dried off, it was hard to decide which look was worse; the raccoon or the zombie, night-of-the-living-dead creature that stared back at her now.
The tank top she was wearing was drenched with sweat, and she shook it to air out her sticky skin. Then she pulled it tightly against her chest and examined her breast size. She winced, as they were tender when she applied pressure. That''s new, she thought, and wasn''t it on the list of pregnancy symptoms from the WebMD site? Her breasts were a B cup and with her small frame, she was a size 32B. The new bras were good at pushing them together so she could sport a cleavage. It wasn''t so much to attract men as it was that she enjoyed showing them off since they had taken their sweet time, finally appearing when she turned fourteen. Her dad had not approved of the revealing attire either, but he didn''t kill her cats. He had explained that she was advertising an attitude, and that attitude said "I''m easy." She had disagreed vehemently, but in the end, his disapproving look had spoken more words than anything he could have said aloud. After his death, Annatha had briefly regretted her juvenile defiance, but she couldn''t take it back and her dad always told her guilt was a destructive emotion, so she had decided to let it go.
If he was still alive she could go to him with her dilemma, but given her current situation, she would have to handle this alone. First things first, she reminded herself while she measured a strip of toothpaste on the brush and began cleaning the foul taste from her mouth. Tomorrow, after the vomiting gave her a reprieve, she would go by the drugstore and get a urine pregnancy test. Then she would know once and for all if she was pregnant or simply dying of a terminal disease.
Shedding her tank top, Annatha slipped into a night shirt, climbed into her bed and snuggled cold feet under the pink and green floral quilt. Thankfully, she had this room that served as a refuge from her family. No one bothered her here, so this is where she spent most of her time. There was no family time, watching movies with popcorn and Milk Duds; the only thing they did together was eat. She had learned to scarf her food down quickly to avoid any more contact with Brandon than was absolutely necessary. Her mother pretty much left her alone, as she was too busy with her social events. The resentment Annatha carried against her was that she never took up for her only daughter, no matter how cruelly Brandon spoke to her or how unreasonable his punishments were. When he finally told Annatha about the fate of her cats, her mom had sat silently, sipping on her nightly martini. It was a familiar escape she had indulged in every night for some time now. Funny how she had left her dad because of his alcoholism and Annatha believed she was headed for the same fate. She''d probably drink, too, if she was married to that ogre, she reflected as she opened her Dell notebook and waited for the browser to open.
Annatha entered Yahoo messenger, logged in as sassybrat18 and chose a Washington State chat room. She was curious to see if legaltenderguy was on tonight. She had not seen him since the night she met him online two weeks ago. Putting her head in her hands, she rode a wave of nausea that had jumped out of nowhere. She cursed softly, as she didn''t want to be forced out of bed again after getting cozy under her blankets.
Damn, girl, what were you thinking? Annatha scolded herself as the chat room screen reminded her of the ill-fated night that was the cause of her suspected predicament. Full of anger after the news about her cats, she had gone online two weeks ago on a Saturday night when her mom and Brandon were on vacation in Belize. She had vowed to get revenge against her stepdad by sleeping with someone she met online and springing the news on him the next time they fought. This brilliant plan was, of course, hatched after she had downed two shots of tequila from the downstairs bar.
Navigating to another chat room, she began searching the ID column on the right. She remembered how the smooth-talking legaltenderguy had swept her off her feet that night with his charm and empathy for her loss. He told her he had cats and couldn''t imagine how he would feel if someone had them put to sleep. In her inebriated state, she had been drawn to him like a tractor beam and agreed to let him send a cab to take her to his hotel near SeaTac airport. Fortunately, her stepsister Dee had gone to a party with her friends that night. Brandon had coaxed her into watching Annatha while they were gone. Dee was a brilliant 4.0 student and soccer star. She attended Pacific Lutheran University in Tacoma and was the apple of Brandon''s eye. As far as he was concerned, she could do no wrong, and he constantly threw her accomplishments up to Annatha as a role model for her to emulate. It could have made her hate Dee, but Annatha actually liked her. She was fun, smart and treated her well. But Brandon''s favoritism made it almost impossible to feel close to her. She suspected her stepsister might break a confidence she divulged in order to curry favor with her dad.
The cursor stopped over an ID name legaltenderstud and Annatha felt a knot in her stomach. Was this the same guy? She watched the chat room dialogue and quickly came to the conclusion it wasn''t. This pig was asking all the females in the room to show him their boobs on cam. Legaltenderguy had been courteous and respectful, which was why she had decided to IM him and set herself on course for their rendezvous.
The thirty minute cab ride from her home on Mercer Island to the airport was not enough time for her to sober up and back out. Besides, she didn''t have enough cash to pay the driver and couldn''t use her credit card, as Brandon had forbid her to do so unless she was buying gas. He gave her a printout every month of her purchases with the ones he questioned highlighted in yellow. She sarcastically referred to it as his CIA intelligence report, as it was calculated on an Excel spreadsheet.
Annatha continued her chat room search. So far there was no sign of her one-night stand. It wasn''t something she was proud of, but there was no taking it back now. She recalled after she arrived at the hotel, legaltenderguy paid the taxi driver and escorted her to the hotel bar. He was what she would call "hot" for his age. About thirty-something, tall, well-proportioned with short, thick brown hair, he was very charming and polished. He was dressed well in a pair of tight jeans and an Eddie Bauer pullover shirt. She found herself staring at his deep blue eyes through the alcoholic stupor and was surprised how attracted she was to him despite their age difference. Most likely, the tequila had something to do with her perception. The waitress wouldn''t serve her drinks because of her age, but Thomas-his real name, she learned after introductions-ordered doubles and shared with her. After a few potent servings, he had her well-lubricated for a trip to his hotel room.
Annatha also recalled she was a little too drunk to remember much, but his experience was obvious compared to the few episodes of sex she had with a high school senior six months before. Thomas had taken the precaution of asking her how old she was and she lied that she was eighteen. She also lied about being on birth control. Her father had taken her to Planned Parenthood so she could get on a birth control pill, but for reasons she couldn''t recall at the moment, she stopped taking them after his death. The following morning she had awakened alone in the hotel room and Thomas was gone. A sweet note and cash for cab fare were next to her neatly folded clothes on the dresser. In the light of sobriety and a God-awful hangover, it had only made her feel cheap.
The chat rooms were busy as usual, but legaltenderguy was nowhere to be found. Annatha closed her laptop and fell back on her pillow, staring at the drab, textured ceiling above her. Tomorrow is "P" day, she thought. If she was pregnant, there was only one thing to do: Contact Thomas and let him know of her condition, then see if she could guilt him into paying for an abortion. That way the problem would be taken care of and no one would be the wiser. Her plan to tell Brandon about the liaison with a stranger seemed almost suicidal now that she wasn''t high on alcohol. The only thing she would accomplish would be to stir up a hornet''s nest, and she wasn''t willing to face his wrath in her current state. No telling what he would do, maybe even kill the neighbor''s dog. She frowned. Truthfully, he would probably take away her car, and she definitely didn''t want that. It represented some degree of freedom to her, and shocking him with news of a sexcapade while he was on vacation wasn''t worth the consequences.
Despite her desire to think through her options if she couldn''t find Thomas or if he refused to help, fatigue overwhelmed her and she fell fast asleep.
Chapter Two
Four weeks, Two days (4W2D) Wendy Malloy absently studied the heavens from her clinic office as she waited for her last patient of the day. Gloomy clouds scurried across the sky, dumping showers in fits as they nervously moved west. The frequent breaks in the cumulus parade allowed brilliant sunshine to bathe the earth, steaming the heated grass. She squinted against the bright light and quickly closed the blinds.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Gestationby Richard Henegan Copyright © 2009 by Richard Henegan. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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