After. Part 15

"And did you-the two of you-use any kind of protection? A condom? Or-"

Devon turns to look at Dom, sharply. "No!"

"He didn't offer-"

"No! It wasn't like that. It just . . . happened. We didn't plan, we . . ." Devon looks back down at her knees, hugs herself. "I just don't . . . want to talk about it anymore."

Dom and Devon, they sit side by side, saying nothing for a while. Then Dom says, "So, you were the one who ended the relationship. Not him." She's silent again, thoughtful. "Why didn't you want to talk to him, Devon? See him again."

Devon swallows. "I couldn't. I wanted to forget I ever knew him, forget that anything ever happened."

"Why? Did he hurt you?"

"No! Because!" Devon jumps up, crosses the room, leans against the wall there, her back to Dom. "Because I made a promise."

"To whom, Devon?"

Devon's body starts to shake again. She feels the tears in the corners of her eyes, the achy lump in her throat swell. She drops her forehead to the wall, closes her eyes. "Myself." Her voice squeaks, her shoulders tremble.

"It's okay, Devon," Dom says. "It's okay."

"No, it's not! Because I promised myself every single day of my life. I promised myself, that I'd never end up like my mom. And when I . . . when I did it . . . with him . . . when I let it happen . . ." Devon's voice is thick, she feels it grating against the lump in her throat. "Oh, G.o.d! I was just like her."

Pictures churn in her brain, a jumble of morphing images. His arms. His muscles strong and safe, his hands gentle. His lips touching her face, her lips touching his. She lies back, pulls him over her. Their eyes, so much there. Their hearts beating, their breaths matching, only fabric between them. Her hands. Stroking his hair, his cheek, his back. Her eyes close then, her mind turns off. She lets herself fall away. Lets her body take over.

Devon bites the collar of her orange jumpsuit, feels it rough between her teeth. "Exactly like her." Her tears are rolling now, down her cheeks. She brushes her eyes against her shoulder, the motion quick and rough, leaving a wet spot there. "I hate her!"

There, she'd said it. The relief she feels saying those three words, it's there in her chest, opening a small s.p.a.ce around her heart. Devon hates her mom for leaving her all those nights alone, lying tiny and afraid under her blankets, straining her ears for the sound of a key turning in the lock. Hates her mom for the times when that sound never came, when Devon was left to those solitary mornings, left to dress with clothes she'd pulled from the dirty clothes pile, left to pour Cap'n Crunch and skim milk into a bowl, then lock the door on the empty apartment. Left to walk to the bus stop alone so she wouldn't be late for school. Hates her mom for the times when Devon had tiptoed down the hall, needing her mommy to hug away a bad dream or a scary night sound and finding some man lying there, beside her mom in the bed, the sheets rising and falling with his breathing. Hates her mom for the c.r.a.ppy apartments, the police sirens waking her as they pa.s.sed through the streets late at night, the eviction notices and shut-off utilities, the cigarette smoke that permeated everything, the frozen TV dinners and ramen noodles. Hates her mom for pushing Brian-the one good guy she ever dated-out of their lives. The man who'd read Devon stories and took her to the library. Who'd watched her soccer games and created that glow-in-the-dark solar system on her ceiling and came to the holiday program at school to hear her sing her one-line solo in Winter Wonderland. Hates her for having to be the person her mom wasn't, for her middle name "Sky."

For not being here for her now.

"I think everyone reacts against their parents," Dom is saying, "in one way or another."

Devon turns around. Dom's still sitting on the floor, her face contemplative and sad. Did Devon just tell Dom those things? Had she just opened up her mind and allowed all those memories to spill from her mouth?

"Yeah, I've had to deal with it, too, unfortunately. Not in the same way as you have, but it's that old parent expectation thing. It's why I'm here with you, actually, instead of with my dad in his big Seattle law firm." When Dom says those last four words-"big Seattle law firm"-her lips twist, and she makes a bitter laugh. But then she pushes off the floor and to her feet, rubs the back of her neck and shrugs. "It's just tough being someone's kid sometimes." She checks her watch. "Well, it's time. I've got somewhere else I need to be."

Devon watches Dom as she walks over to the table, starts gathering her papers and files together, places them neatly in her briefcase.

"I think we've made some real progress today." Dom looks over her shoulder at Devon, smiles. "Good job. Really, really great. I mean it. You've given me a lot to work with."

Devon looks down at her feet. She feels utterly wiped, suddenly. But also relieved, somehow. She envisions the rubberized mattress, her cell with the toilet in the corner. She could use a nap.

"I've arranged for a psychiatrist to talk with you this afternoon. I know it's a lot for one day, but she's agreed to testify for us as an expert witness at your hearing on Tuesday, and there's just no other time that she can fit in meeting with you. I think you may remember her-Dr. Bacon?"

The woman with the long gray braid. Devon nods yes.

"Can you please look at me, Devon?"

Devon looks up at Dom.

"I need you to be open with her. As open as you were with me just now, okay? The things you told me today, about your mom specifically, I am going to share with her-"

Devon frowns, opens her mouth to protest.

Dom puts her hand up. "Look, nothing that you're going to tell Dr. Bacon will surprise her. Believe me, she's seen everything. She's been dealing with families and their issues for a long time now. It is very important that you cooperate with her. I can't stress that enough. Do you understand?"

Devon nods, mumbles, "Okay."

"I mean it, Devon."

"Okay."

"Okay, then." Dom picks up her warm-up top from the floor and puts it on. Zips her briefcase, arranges it on her shoulder. "Oh, and Devon?"

"Yeah?"

"You never told me his name, you know."

Devon pulls at her wristband. A flutter ignites in her gut. "I know."

"Well?"

Devon brings her thumb up to her mouth, but encloses it in her fist instead.

"Devon. If he's The Boy, then he's the father of the baby." She pauses, speaks softer. "Don't you think he has a right to know?"

Devon presses her lips together. Slowly meets Dom's eyes. Dom looks solid, like she could stand there all day if she must, even with that briefcase on her shoulder and places to go on her agenda and that shower to take. "Connor," Devon whispers.

Devon's heart made a little flutter when she'd said his name. After all this time, just his name on her lips, and her body reacts.

"Connor." Dom nods. "Okay . . . and does Connor have a last name?"

Devon shrugs, looks down at the floor.

"He does, but not today, right?" Dom sighs. "Okay, Devon. Baby steps. Just Connor. For now."

Dom puts her arm around Devon's back, gives her shoulder a little squeeze. "Come on. Time to go. I think your school's already started."

Devon feels herself lean into Dom as they walk toward the conference room door. Dom reaches for its handle, pushes downward, popping the bolt. She holds the door open for Devon to step through first, taking a step back to let her pa.s.s.

"I'll be in touch soon," Dom says. She reaches out and gives Devon another light shoulder squeeze. "Have a good day, Devon."

Devon watches Dom walk away, round the corner toward the pod's entryway.

"You, too," Devon whispers.

chapter thirteen.

Devon approaches the cla.s.sroom slowly; the door to it is open. From the entryway, she can already hear Ms. Coughran's voice from inside the room: "Ladies! Why is it that when we change activities you think it's time to open your mouths? You want to do math facts for the entire day? Because I can definitely make that happen. . . ."

Devon stands in the doorway now, feels her heart speed up, under her arms grow moist. She hates walking into places late. Hates the moment when everybody stops what they're doing and looks at her. Her mom doesn't, though. She loves a grand entrance, loves it when people pause and take her all in.

Enough about her mom. She's not here. It's been exactly a week since Devon's last seen her, been almost five full days spent in this place, and she hasn't even bothered to call or leave a message. It doesn't matter what her mom would do.

Devon raps on the open door three soft times.

Ms. Coughran, perched on her stool, turns toward the door. She smiles over at Devon, waves her inside. "Just grab that empty seat"-her arm is extended, a finger indicating-"over there."

Devon turns her eyes, mentally connects the invisible dots between Ms. Coughran's finger and the a.s.signed seat.

Karma is there, one seat away from the only empty seat at that table, the only empty seat in the room, actually. Freshly sprung from Lockdown where she'd been for the past day and a half. And she's watching Devon from under her heavy lids, a slight smile twisting her lips.

Devon gets a sinking feeling inside, a draining sort of dread.

"You're just in time for our weekly health department's presentation," Ms. Coughran is saying. Then she addresses the room. "Did you hear that, ladies? We're having a guest speaker. Allison should be here any minute. So that means I expect your behavior to be . . ."

Devon takes a breath and starts moving toward the table, careful to keep her eyes focused on that task and nothing else. She purposefully doesn't acknowledge Karma's stare.

A small girl who Devon doesn't recognize is sitting beside Karma; she's between Karma and the open seat. The girl's hair is so blonde it looks white. Long and thin, like spider silk. Well, good. Devon won't be sitting right beside Karma, at least.

Karma whispers something in the small girl's ear, then gives her a shove. The girl quickly slides over, then ducks her head, long bangs veiling most of her face. Just as Devon arrives, Karma looks up, makes a big smile and pats the now empty seat beside her. "Right here, Dev," she whispers. "Saved you a seat. Ain't I sweet?"

Devon glances over at Ms. Coughran; she's busy with two girls at the front of the room, working out some kind of dispute. She hadn't witnessed the seat switch. Devon wonders what she would've done if she had. Send Karma back to Lockdown for the rest of the day? Devon pulls out the chair and sits. Puts her elbow on the table, rests her head in her hand. Turns her back to Karma.

The chatter in the room picks up now that Ms. Coughran's attention is diverted. A buzz of white noise.

Karma's mouth is suddenly near Devon's ear; Devon can feel her breath. "Miss me?"

Devon doesn't react at first. Then, "Not particularly."

"'Not particularly,'" Karma repeats in a fake British accent. She kicks the back leg of Devon's chair and laughs. "Yes, I pride myself on my rather vast vocabulary, darling."

"Ladies!" Ms. Coughran yells at the room. "What is up with you today?" She stands, holding up her right hand, checking her watch on her left. The noise grinds down. Someone on the other side of the room spurts a sudden loud laugh, squeals, "Dang, girl!" Then, "Oops. Sorry, Ms. Coughran."

Ms. Coughran watches her own foot tapping the floor-tap, ta-tap, tap-waiting for complete silence. When she finally gets it, she looks up. "It seems that Allison is running behind. So, while we're waiting on her, let's have some quiet time-notice the emphasis on the word quiet?-thinking about your goals for today. I'm talking very short-term goals here, all right? They can be as simple as not losing any points today or eating your lunch without complaining about what it is."

"The only good thing is when we get pizza," someone says from another table. A small girl, black hair, cut short, little face with tiny features and wide dark eyes. An anime girl.

"Wow," Karma whispers to herself. "That was random."

"I didn't see a hand, Macee," Ms. Coughran says to the girl. "Please use it next time." She turns back to the room. "So, ladies, I want one goal you have for yourself. All right? Then I want a second goal involving a good deed you're going to do for someone else. Again, it can be small. It can be as simple as a smile. It can be a compliment. Or it can be more significant, like helping someone with her ch.o.r.e. But you need to pick out a specific person and then come up with a specific deed. Understand?"

Jenevra raises her hand.

Ms. Coughran looks over at her. "Yes?"

"Can pa.s.sing out the pencils count? 'Cause I already did that today for you. Actually, for all of us. Before we did that Sudoku stuff. Remember?"

"No," Ms. Coughran says. "It can't be something that somebody told you to do. You can't count the ch.o.r.es you've been a.s.signed, ladies. It has to be something you come up with all on your own, out of the goodness of your heart-"

Karma snorts.

"But that was a good question, Jenevra. Thank you. Anyone else?"

Ms. Coughran looks around the room.

Karma kicks Devon's chair again. "Watch this," she whispers. Then she raises her arm.

"Okay," Ms. Coughran says. "Karma?"

"'You have two hands. One to help yourself, and the second to help others.' A wise saying from my good friend Anonymous, which I thought would inspire all of us to work really extremely hard on our goals today."

Ms. Coughran smiles. "Thank you, Karma, for that contribution. Anyone else have something to share?" n.o.body says anything. "Okay. Let's see. . . . Karma. Since you seem so excited about the concept of serving others, why don't you show us how it's done? Please get some paper off the shelf for me and hand out one piece to everyone."

"Absolutely, Ms. Coughran." Karma stands, stretches both arms high over her head, then saunters over to a cluttered shelf, removes a small stack of white paper.

"I want these goals on paper, ladies," Ms. Coughran continues. "It'll seem more like a contract that way, and hopefully you'll, in turn, feel more obligated to actually follow through with them. If we have time, whoever would like to share her goals with the cla.s.s may."

Karma takes her time pa.s.sing out the paper, weaving around the three tables, saying "for you" to each girl as she hands one sheet to her. When Karma gives Devon hers, she leans over and whispers in Devon's ear, "You're welcome, Devil," then kicks her chair before moving on.

"Keep your feet to yourself, Karma," Ms. Coughran says.

"Ooops!" Karma slaps her hand up to her mouth. "So sorry! I guess I tripped?" She shrugs. "Well, as they always say, 'A stumble may prevent a fall.' And I know you wouldn't want me to fall, Ms. Coughran. Would you? You always have my best interests at heart." She throws her arms out. "So, it's all good! Right?"

"All right, Karma, just finish up."

Devon looks over at Ms. Coughran. She's back on her stool, twisting her funky beaded gla.s.ses chain around her index finger, watching. Devon's eyes meet hers. Devon can't read what Ms. Coughran is thinking, but she's definitely got something working in her mind. Devon quickly moves her eyes away, looks down at her blank paper.

When Karma's finished, she returns the remaining stack to the cluttered shelf, then drops into her seat beside Devon.

"Thank you, Karma," Ms. Coughran says. "Now, ladies, get busy. Quietly. This is not a group project." Ms. Coughran retreats behind her desk, starts sorting through papers, tossing some of them into the trash can at her feet.

The room is surprisingly quiet; Ms. Coughran's paper shuffling is the most prominent sound. Devon glances around. Some girls are staring up at the ceiling, others down at their hands. A couple of the girls have put their heads down on the table, obviously sleeping or trying to. The white-haired girl Karma shoved is one of those. Devon checks on Karma out of the corner of her eye. She's drawing anarchy symbols, retracing them over and over, dark broad strokes slashing across her paper. Her thumbs are looped through holes torn near the cuffs of the long-sleeved white thermal shirt she's wearing under her jumpsuit, the fabric pulled tightly over her hands so only her fingers show.

Devon closes her eyes. She's so tired. That meeting with Dom, it was exhausting. She can feel that exhaustion deep inside her bones. How could merely sitting in a room wipe her out so thoroughly? But she hadn't been "merely sitting" at all. We've made some real progress, Dom had said. We've. Plural. Dom and Devon-like a team. Dom had smiled at her, too, told her she'd done a good job. Really really great.

And, just like that, Devon realizes she has a goal for the day: she'll try her very best to cooperate with the doctor. Dom had asked her to.

Devon feels a kick at her chair. Her eyes fly open.

"Wake up," Karma whispers. Then she leans in close, speaks directly into Devon's ear. "Why are you so happy, Smiley Face? Having a sweet little dream?"