And that was it; it was so easy for her. My own memories did not even belong to me.

But I knew she was wrong. I had seen that comet. I knew it as well as I knew my own face, my own hands. My own heart.

The next morning we locked up the house, fed the cat and left money for the petsitter, then piled into the car for one last visit with Grandma Halley. Evergreen was quiet then, with the visitors already having hit the road, getting the jump on each other. My father said his good-bye quickly and went out to the parking lot to stand by the car, eyes on the freeway ramp, his head ducked against the wind. Inside, behind the sealed-for-your-own-safety windows, we couldn’t even hear it blowing.

I sat for a long time next to Grandma Halley’s bed, her hand in mine, with my mother on the other side. She was coherent, but barely; she was tired, the drugs made her woozy, and she kept closing her eyes. Her cheek was dry when I kissed it, and as I pulled back she put her hand against my face, her fingers smooth and cool, smiling at me but saying nothing. I remembered the girl in the pictures, with the roses and the long dancing dresses, and I smiled back.

I waited in the hallway while my mother said good-bye. I stood against the wall, under the clock, and listened to it ticking. Inside, my mother’s voice was low and even, and I couldn’t make out any words. Next door, the man with the tubes was alone again, the equipment by his bed beeping in the dark. The TV over his bed was showing only static.

Finally, after about twenty minutes, I walked back to the half-open door. My mother had her back to me, one hand on Grandma Halley’s, and as I looked closely I could see Grandma Halley had fallen asleep, her eyes closed, breath even and soft. And my mother, who had spent the entire holiday weekend almost manic with reassurance, squeezing my shoulder and smiling, forcing conversation, was crying. She had her head down, resting against the rail of the bed, and her shoulders shook as she wept, with Grandma Halley sleeping on, oblivious. It scared me, the same way I’d been scared the night I came home from Sisterhood Camp and found Scarlett in tears on her porch, waiting for me. There are some things in this world you rely on, like a sure bet. And when they let you down, shifting from where you’ve carefully placed them, it shakes your faith, right where you stand.

Chapter Thirteen

Now that it was Month Five, there was no hiding anymore that Scarlett was pregnant. With her stomach protruding and her face always flushed, even the drab green Milton’s Market apron couldn’t keep her secret. The first week of December, she got called in to talk to Mr. Averby. I went along for moral support.

“Now, Scarlett.” Mr. Averby looked over his desk and smiled at us. He was about my dad’s age, with a bald spot he tried to cover with creative combing. “I couldn’t help but notice that you have some, uh, news.”

“News?” Scarlett said. She had this little game she played with people; she liked to make them say it.

“Yes, well, what I mean is that it’s come to my attention—I mean, I’ve noticed—that you seem to be expecting.”

“Expecting,” Scarlett said, nodding. “I’m pregnant.”

“Right,” he said quickly. He looked like he might start sweating. “So, I just wondered, if there was anything we should discuss concerning this.”

“I don’t think so,” Scarlett said, shifting her weight in the chair. She could never get comfortable anymore. “Do you?”

“Well, no, but I do think that it should be acknowledged, because there might be problems, with the position, that someone in your condition might have.” He was having a hard time getting it out, clearly, that he was worried about what the customers might think of a pregnant sixteen-year-old checkout girl at Milton’s, Your Family Supermarket. That it was a bad example. Or bad business. Or something.

“I don’t think so,” Scarlett said cheerfully. “The doctor says it’s fine for me to be on my feet, as long as it’s not full time. And my work won’t be affected, Mr. Averby.”

“She’s a very good worker,” I said, jumping in. “Employee of the Month in August.”

“That’s right.” Scarlett grinned at me. She’d already told me she wouldn’t quit for anything, not even to save Milton’s embarrassment. And they couldn’t fire her. It was against the law; she knew that from her Teen Mothers Support Group.

“You are a very good worker,” Mr. Averby said, and now he was shifting around in his seat like he couldn’t get comfortable either. “I just didn’t know how you felt about keeping up your hours now. If you wanted to cut back or discuss other options or—”

“Nope. Not at all. I’m perfectly happy,” Scarlett said, cutting him off. “But I really appreciate your consideration.”

Now Mr. Averby just looked tired, beaten. Resigned. “Okay,” he said. “Then I guess that’s that. Thanks for coming in, Scarlett, and please let me know if you have any problems.”

“Thanks,” she said, and we stood up together and walked out of the office, shutting the door behind us. We made it through Bulk Foods and Cereal before she started giggling and had to stop and rest.

“Poor guy,” I said as she bent over, still cackling. “He never knew what hit him.”

“Nope. He thought I’d be glad to leave.” She leaned against the rows of imported coffees, catching her breath. “I’m not ashamed, Halley. I know I’m doing the right thing and they can’t make me think any different.”