handsome and charming?”
My cheeks burned with another one of my splotchy blushes. “Oh, May. The truth of the matter is that Lucas was right to be suspicious of me. He called me a whore, and that’s . . .” I covered my eyes with the heels of my palms. “That’s actually the truth. The Herrick poem and all this death surrounding me inspired me to do something rather impulsive and stupid.”
May’s chair creaked again. “Ivy?” she asked. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
I nodded, my eyes still covered. “I gathered my rosebuds.”
“Holy Moses!” She clapped her hands together and laughed in an impressed sort of way. “When you burst out of your cocoon, you come out in a full blaze of color and fireworks.”
“Do you happen to know if there’s anything I can do that would help prevent . . . ?” I lowered my hands. “I know Margaret Sanger published that pamphlet about birth control . . .”
“I don’t have any douches or quinine, which she claims will help. But I do own a bottle of Nujol.”
I winced. “I was hoping to sneak back out in the dark and drive that ambulance soon. I don’t want a laxative in my system.”
“A hot bath, then? That might help. Add a little Lysol to the water.”
“Oh, God, no. That sounds horrid.” I pushed myself to my feet. “In any case, I’m late for helping the girls with the ambulance.”
“Why are you going straight back out there if APL busybodies are creeping around in the dark?”
“I don’t want to just sit here and fret about everything. Ever since my father and brother came home the other night, I’ve only felt better when I’m doing something.”
“What about the hot bath?”
“I’ll just head off to my driving and pretend that everything will be all right.”
May exhaled a curt laugh. “You can’t just pretend away a pregnancy.”
“I can try.” I hustled toward her kitchen. “Pretending that unmentionable things never occurred is a Rowan family tradition. It’s what we excel at.”
“Are you sneaking out the back door?”
“Yes,” I called to her from the kitchen, rounding her bulky black range. “If you don’t mind, I’ll steal across your yard and cut across the rest of the neighborhood so I don’t have to run across any more APL snitches.”
She might have minded—she might have warned me to be careful or to reconsider taking the Nujol, but I tore out of the door and into the damp-smelling air before she could talk me out of leaving.
T H E A M B U L A N C E W H E E Z E D and choked in the distance again, drowning out the faraway bass line and the melody of the jazz. I sprinted down the sidewalk, terrified Nela had stalled the thing on the tracks a second night in a row.
When I rounded a corner, however, I spotted the ambulance parked in front of the brick and stone headquarters of the Buchanan Red Cross. My feet slowed. My arms swung back and forth across my waist as I brought myself to a stop in front of the vehicle. Nela crouched down in front of the grille again, puffing and reddening and turning the crank with both hands.
“Here.” I bent down next to her. “Let me teach you how to turn the starter so you won’t hurt yourself.”
“Bah!” She stood up straight and kicked the grille with the toe of her boot. “I hate this goddamned truck!”
Addie’s masked face peeked out from the passenger side, her eyebrows raised.
“It’s all right.” I waved at Addie, and I guided Nela aside by her elbow. “I’ll show you what to do. Is the emergency brake set?”
Nela gave a brusque nod. “Yes.”
“Good.” I shoved the crank into place below the grille. “First of all—and this is highly important so you don’t break your hand or lose an arm—you only use your left hand to turn the crank, and keep your thumb tucked next to your index finger. And only pull upward.”
Nela set her hands on her hips and blew a lock of blond hair out of her eyes. “Yeah, OK. Left
My cheeks burned with another one of my splotchy blushes. “Oh, May. The truth of the matter is that Lucas was right to be suspicious of me. He called me a whore, and that’s . . .” I covered my eyes with the heels of my palms. “That’s actually the truth. The Herrick poem and all this death surrounding me inspired me to do something rather impulsive and stupid.”
May’s chair creaked again. “Ivy?” she asked. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
I nodded, my eyes still covered. “I gathered my rosebuds.”
“Holy Moses!” She clapped her hands together and laughed in an impressed sort of way. “When you burst out of your cocoon, you come out in a full blaze of color and fireworks.”
“Do you happen to know if there’s anything I can do that would help prevent . . . ?” I lowered my hands. “I know Margaret Sanger published that pamphlet about birth control . . .”
“I don’t have any douches or quinine, which she claims will help. But I do own a bottle of Nujol.”
I winced. “I was hoping to sneak back out in the dark and drive that ambulance soon. I don’t want a laxative in my system.”
“A hot bath, then? That might help. Add a little Lysol to the water.”
“Oh, God, no. That sounds horrid.” I pushed myself to my feet. “In any case, I’m late for helping the girls with the ambulance.”
“Why are you going straight back out there if APL busybodies are creeping around in the dark?”
“I don’t want to just sit here and fret about everything. Ever since my father and brother came home the other night, I’ve only felt better when I’m doing something.”
“What about the hot bath?”
“I’ll just head off to my driving and pretend that everything will be all right.”
May exhaled a curt laugh. “You can’t just pretend away a pregnancy.”
“I can try.” I hustled toward her kitchen. “Pretending that unmentionable things never occurred is a Rowan family tradition. It’s what we excel at.”
“Are you sneaking out the back door?”
“Yes,” I called to her from the kitchen, rounding her bulky black range. “If you don’t mind, I’ll steal across your yard and cut across the rest of the neighborhood so I don’t have to run across any more APL snitches.”
She might have minded—she might have warned me to be careful or to reconsider taking the Nujol, but I tore out of the door and into the damp-smelling air before she could talk me out of leaving.
T H E A M B U L A N C E W H E E Z E D and choked in the distance again, drowning out the faraway bass line and the melody of the jazz. I sprinted down the sidewalk, terrified Nela had stalled the thing on the tracks a second night in a row.
When I rounded a corner, however, I spotted the ambulance parked in front of the brick and stone headquarters of the Buchanan Red Cross. My feet slowed. My arms swung back and forth across my waist as I brought myself to a stop in front of the vehicle. Nela crouched down in front of the grille again, puffing and reddening and turning the crank with both hands.
“Here.” I bent down next to her. “Let me teach you how to turn the starter so you won’t hurt yourself.”
“Bah!” She stood up straight and kicked the grille with the toe of her boot. “I hate this goddamned truck!”
Addie’s masked face peeked out from the passenger side, her eyebrows raised.
“It’s all right.” I waved at Addie, and I guided Nela aside by her elbow. “I’ll show you what to do. Is the emergency brake set?”
Nela gave a brusque nod. “Yes.”
“Good.” I shoved the crank into place below the grille. “First of all—and this is highly important so you don’t break your hand or lose an arm—you only use your left hand to turn the crank, and keep your thumb tucked next to your index finger. And only pull upward.”
Nela set her hands on her hips and blew a lock of blond hair out of her eyes. “Yeah, OK. Left
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