Dottie laughed once, then sniffed. "I mean he's going to jail."
Ruth was frightened. "Why?"
"Because of what he did to you, of course."
"But he didn't mean to. He just forgot-"
"Forgot you were only eleven? Jeez!"
"It was my fault too. I should have been more careful."
"Honey, no, no, no! You don't have to protect him. Really. It's not your fault or the baby's… Now listen, you're going to have to talk to the police-"
"No! No! I don't want to!"
"I know you're scared, but what he did was wrong. It's called statutory rape, and he has to be punished for it… Anyway, the police will probably ask you a lot of questions, and you just tell them the truth, what he did, where it happened… Was it in the bedroom?"
"The bathroom."
"Jeez!" Dottie nodded bitterly. "Yeah, he always did like it in there… So he took you to the bathroom-"
"I went by myself."
"All right, and then he followed you, and then what? Did he have his clothes on?"
Ruth was aghast. "He stayed in the living room, watching TV," she said in a tiny voice. "I was in the bathroom by myself."
"Then when did he do it?"
"Before me. He peed first, then I did."
"Wait a second… He what?"
"He peed."
"On you?"
"On the toilet seat. Then I went in and sat on it."
Dottie stood up, her face twisted with horror. "Oh no, oh my God!" She grabbed Ruth by the shoulders and shook her. "That's not how babies are made. Pee on the toilet seat. How could you be so stupid? He has to stick his cock in you. He squirts sperm, not piss. Do you realize what you've done? You accused an innocent man of raping you."
"I didn't-" Ruth whispered.
"Yes, you did, and I believed you." Dottie stomped off, cursing.
"I'm sorry," Ruth cried after her. "I said I'm sorry." She was still not certain what she had done.
Dottie turned around and sneered. "You have no idea what sorry really is." Then she went inside and banged the door shut.
Though she was no longer pregnant, Ruth felt no relief. Everything was still awful, maybe even worse. When her mother returned from the laundromat, Ruth was lying under the covers in bed, pretending to be asleep. She felt stupid and scared. Would she go to jail? And though she knew now that she was not pregnant, she wanted to die more than ever. But how? She pictured herself lying under the wheels of the Pontiac, Lance starting the car and taking off, crushing her without even knowing it. If she died like her father, he would meet her in heaven. Or would he too think she was bad?
"Ah, good girl," her mother murmured. "You sleep, feel better soon."
Later that afternoon, Ruth heard the sounds of the Pontiac pulling into the driveway. She peeked out the window. Lance, grim-faced, carried out some boxes, two suitcases, and a cat from the cottage. Then Dottie came out, dabbing her nose with a tissue. She and Lance never looked at each other. And then they were gone. An hour later, the Pontiac returned, but only Lance got out. What had Dottie told Lance? Why did Dottie have to move out? Would Lance now march up to their door and tell her mother what Ruth had done and demand that they move out that same day as well? Lance hated her, Ruth was sure of that. She had thought being pregnant was the worst thing that could have happened to her. But this was far worse.
She stayed home from school on Monday. LuLing became increasingly fearful that a ghost was trying to take her daughter away. Why else was Ruth still sick? LuLing rambled about bony teeth from a monkey's jaw. Precious Auntie would know, she kept saying. She knew about the curse. This was punishment for something the family had done a long time ago. She put the sand tray on a chair by Ruth's twin bed, waiting. "Both us die," she asked, "or only me?"
"No," Ruth wrote, "all O.K."
"What okay-okay? Then why she sick, no reason?"
On Tuesday, Ruth could not stand her mother's fussing over her any longer. She said she was well enough to go to school. Before opening the door, she looked out the window, then down the driveway. Oh no, the Pontiac was still there. She was trembling so hard she feared her bones might break. After taking a deep breath, she darted out the door, scooted down the side of the driveway farther from the cottage, then edged past the Pontiac. She turned left, even though school was to the right.
"Hey, squirt! I've been waiting for you." Lance was on the porch, smoking a cigarette. "We need to talk." Ruth stood rooted to the side walk, unable to move. "I said we need to talk. Don't you think you owe me that?… Come here." He threw the burning cigarette onto the lawn.
Ruth's legs moved shakily forward. The top half of her was still running away. When she reached the top of the porch, she was numb. She looked up. "I'm sorry," she squeaked. The quiver in her chin shook open her mouth, and sobs burbled out.
"Hey, hey," Lance said. He looked nervously down the street. "Come on, you don't have to do that. I wanted to talk so we could have an understanding. I just don't want this to ever happen again. Okay?"
Ruth sniffed and nodded.
"All right, then. So settle down. Don't get all spooky on me."
Ruth wiped at her teary face with her sweater sleeve. The worst was over. She started to go down the stairs.
"Hey, where you going?"
Ruth froze.
"We still have to talk. Turn around." His voice was not quite so gentle. Ruth saw he had opened the door. She stopped breathing. "Inside," he ordered. She bit her lip and slowly climbed back up, then glided past him. She heard the door close and saw the room go dim.
The living room smelled like booze and cigarettes. The curtains were closed and there were empty TV-dinner trays on the coffee table.
"Sit down." Lance gestured toward the scratchy couch. "Want a soda?" She shook her head. The only light came from the TV, which was tuned to an old movie. Ruth was glad for the noise. And then she saw a commercial, a man selling cars. In his hand was a fake saber. "We've slashed our prices-so come on down to Rudy's Chevrolet and ask to see the slasher!"
Lance sat on the sofa, not as close as he had been that night. He took her books from her arms and she felt unprotected. Tears blurred her eyes, and she tried hard not to make any sounds as she cried.
"She left me, you know."
A sob burst out of Ruth's chest. She tried to say she was sorry, but she could make only mouselike sniffles.
Lance laughed. "Actually, I kicked her out. Yeah, in a way, you did me a favor. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have found out she was screwing around. Oh sure, I kind of suspected it for a while. But I told myself, Man, you got to have trust. And you know what, she didn't trust me. Can you believe it? Me? Let me tell you something, you can't have a marriage if you don't have trust. You know what I mean?" He looked at her.
Ruth desperately nodded.
"Nah, you won't know for another ten years." He lit another cigarette. "You know, in ten years, you'll look back and say, 'Boy, I sure was dumb about how babies are made!'" He snorted, then cocked his head to get her reaction. "Aren't you going to laugh? I think it's kind of funny myself. Don't you?" He started to pat her arm and she flinched without intending to. "Hey, what's the matter? Uh-oh, don't tell me… You don't trust me. What are you, like her? After what you did and what I certainly did not do, do you think I now deserve this kind of treatment from you?"
Ruth was quiet for a long time, trying to make her lips move right. Finally she said, in a cracked voice, "I trust you."
"Yeah?" He patted her arm again, and this time she didn't jerk stupidly. He continued talking in a weary but reassuring voice. "Listen, I'm not going to yell at you or nothing, okay? So just relax. Okay? Hey, I said 'Okay?'"
"Okay."
"Give me my smile."
She forced her lips to pull upward.