The Woman From Montevideo

By Dana Ravyn

THE WOMAN FROM MONTEVIDEO is the story of two women from different worlds who share a hidden truth—both are survivors of sexual assault. Moira, who grew up in a pious home in rural Missouri, is tormented by the dark memories of a father who stole her childhood. Lilja's serene life in Lapland was fractured forever on a long Nordic night, leading her to Uruguay in search of answers. When they meet in an online community for survivors, Moira and Lilja forge an immediate bond. Through a transformative journey of healing, they give voice to their experiences and create a space where they can reclaim the intimacy and trust robbed of them. But soon, their blossoming relationship is put to the test as one finds solace through forgiveness and the other seeks retribution. Is their love strong enough to bridge the gulf between them? Or will their destinies divide Moira and the woman from Montevideo?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 4, 2024
• ISBN: 9798987912058

Dana Ravyn

DANA RAVYN received her PhD in microbiology and MPH in epidemiology from the University of Minnesota, where she was an educator and researcher until 2000. Dana's research garnered two patents and her medical and educational research has been published widely. Since then, Dana has been a medical writer and physician educator, authoring accredited content used for continuing education by physicians, nurses, and pharmacists. Dana is the author of two other novels, Fearless Heart (KDP, 2014) and The Suicide Switch (Wynkyn Worde, 2023) and a book of poetry, A Supplication For Crows, (Una súplica para los cuevos), winner of a 2024 Delaware Press Association award for a full-length book of poetry. In 2023, she was selected to take part as a poet in the Juniper Summer Writing Institute at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst. Dana lives in Delaware.

Book preview

Content Advisory

This novel deals with potentially disturbing matters,

including sexual assault and gender-based violence.

Anyone with concerns about sexual

assault can call the National Sexual Assault

Hotline available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

800-656-4673

Online chat is available:

online.rainn.org (English)

rainn.org/es (Español)

The Woman From Montevideo

A Novel

Copyright © 2024 by Dana Ravyn

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, organizations, or locales is entirely coincidental. Although some settings in this book are based on existing places, they have been fictionalized and do not necessarily reflect actual characteristics, events, or persons of any locality.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any medium, enduring, digital, or online, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Quotes or recitations of brief passages are permitted.

This book is solely a creation of the author

and contains no AI-generated content

First paperback edition

June 2024

Cover Design: Dana Ravyn

Layout and typography: Dana Ravyn

Cover Art: Bader Oleksii

ISBN 979-8-9879120-4-1 (Print)

ISBN 979-8-9879120-5-8 (Ebook)

Wynkyn Worde Publishing

[e-mail]

For the survivors

Table of Contents

MOIRA

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

LILJA

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CIUDAD VIEJA

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

MY HOME IS IN MY HEART

CHAPTER 1

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Acknowledgements

MOIRA

We must avoid possession, he said,

but, oh, let me kiss you.

—Anaïs Nin

CHAPTER 1

When the doorbell rang, Keri Ann wiped her hands on her red-checkered apron. She looked at her reflection in the toaster and fluffed her perm.

Harlan? Hon? My sister. Keri Ann sighed. I’ll get it.

She stopped halfway across the living room, planting herself in the green sculpted carpet, and stared at Harlan. He was sitting in his burgundy Broyhill recliner, the crushed velour worn to a shine on the arms and a faint grease halo around the headrest. He held a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon, turning from the Bills and Lions game to look at Keri Ann. She thrust her jaw and mouthed, What? The doorbell rang repeatedly, and she dashed to the front hall and looked through the sidelights.

Hiya, Kerr, Mark said through the half-opened door. He thrust a bundle of blue miniature carnations at Keri Ann, cellophane crinkling, and walked in, his other hand wrapped around a bottle of Wild Turkey. Mark brushed past Keri Ann and stood in the living room.

Hey, Harlan, who’s ahead?

Harlan reached into a red cooler next to his recliner and pulled out a beer. Without looking away from the TV, he shook off the ice and offered it to Mark.

Bills.

Can’t stop the Drew, Mark said.

He pulled back the tab on his Pabst and sucked oozing foam from the top as he made his way to the sofa. Harlan stared at Mark, his faded blue polo shirt bore the pills from a decade of wash cycles. Mark extracted a handful of candied peanuts from a carnival glass bowl and popped them into his mouth. Harlan took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled in Mark’s direction.

Annabelle looked at Keri Ann and shrugged. They hugged and Annabelle stepped back. Look at you, girl, you look fine.

Keri Ann proffered a crooked smile. Come on, I need help with the green bean casserole. Yours was always the best.

"Oh, no, Mom told me she liked yours best, on account of the little almond slivers."

They laughed and made their way to the kitchen. Annabelle walked to the cupboard and took out a wine glass. She took a half-empty magnum of Fetzer pinot grigio from the refrigerator, poured a splash into Keri Ann’s glass, and filled hers halfway.

As Annabelle poured, Keri Ann noticed her white knuckles. She remembered Annabelle’s once childish hands wringing Mom’s underwear on laundry day, how they would giggle. She once envied her older sister’s responsibility, now she sees it was only drudgery.

How’s Moira? Annabelle asked.

Ugh, teenage girls.

Ha, well, Sarah just turned sixteen. I don’t think she’ll ever grow out of the puberty blues. She’s at her boyfriend’s this year. I think I might hear wedding bells. Where’s that casserole stuff?

Keri Ann pointed to a pile of green beans in a yellow bowl. Annabelle walked over, taking her glass, and started plucking the beans, tossing ends in the sink. Her back was to Keri Ann, who was stirring the gravy with a wooden spoon.

What about Mark and you? Keri Ann asked.

She picked up a bean and examined it. It was limp, and she threw it in the sink. I don’t know, I don’t have the time to fuss with it. Annabelle sipped her wine and turned to Keri Ann. Is everything alright, you know, Moira…and Harlan? Annabelle spoke in sotto voce.

I have no idea, Annabelle, Keri Ann said, stirring faster.

You don’t know?

My gravy always has lumps. I hate lumps.

Come here, Annabelle said, and wrapped her arms around Keri Ann. Aww, hon.

Keri Ann swiped at her cheek.

Shh.

Keri Ann’s hand gripped the wooden spoon, and it pointed across the room like a magic wand. Gravy dripped to the floor in an anonymous libation. She trembled and Annabelle hugged her tighter.

Harlan walked into the kitchen and saw Keri Ann’s back to him, Annabelle peering over her shoulder. He glanced at her, and she shook her head.

Come for some glasses, Harlan said.

Keri Ann moved from Annabelle, stirring the gravy. Harlan reached into a cupboard and took out two cut-glass rocks tumblers. He left as the women stared into the saucepan of gravy. They heard ice clinking in the cooler. Keri Ann jumped when hoots and shouts exploded from the men.

Honey, you’re going to stir that into oblivion, Annabelle said.

Keri Ann smiled sheepishly.

They set an impressive table with yams, pearly mashed potatoes, two gravy boats, sweet gherkins, and a plate of cranberry sauce Moira had cut in slices, embossed with rings from the can. A plate of sliced white bread and margarine sat next to the centerpiece of powder blue carnations, dwarfed by the glass vase.

Let’s go, everyone, it’s ready! Annabelle shouted. Harlan! Mark!

The boys came into the dining room and surveyed the resplendent spread. Mark and Annabelle sat across from one another, and Keri Anne hovered over the table. Harlan held the back of his chair and yelled, Moira! Get down here, now!

Moira had already come down and was in the living room. When she walked in, Keri Ann said, Oh honey, you look so beautiful.

Moira groaned. She despised her only two dresses. Today she wore the salmon pinafore with straps tied in bows on her shoulders, like poofy epaulettes. Behind, it sloped down to her mid-back, where a sash was tied in a perky bow.

Harlan turned to her and said, Sweetheart, you look radiant.

He turned to the table and pointed to the chair next to Mark. Moira hesitated and glanced at Keri Ann.

Sit, sweetie, Harlan said.

As she walked over to the seat Harlan looked at her long ashen hair cascading down her back, watching her gather it up and pull it to the side as she sat back. Keri Ann sat and reached out to squeeze Moira’s hand and offer a strained smile.

Hon, Keri Ann said to Harlan. Hon!

Oh, yeah, he said.

Harlan slipped out of the dining room and emerged from the kitchen with a platter in hand. The bronze turkey lay on its back, resigned to rest on a ring of parsley and cherry tomatoes, its partially amputated legs lunging in the air, as if to run away with no feet. Oohs and aahs erupted around the table.

Moira looked at Keri Ann with wide eyes. It’s beautiful, Mommy.

A hush fell over the group as soon as the platter touched the table. Harlan reached for Annabelle’s hand, then turned to Mark, who hesitantly took his. Moira allowed only the tips of her fingers to slip into Mark’s hand. They lowered their eyes.

Harlan cleared his throat. Jesus, we thank you. Your grace never leads to license, always to repentance. Lord, transform us from sin to bring glory to you and not ourselves. Thank you, Jesus, for dying for us, and giving us the gift of eternal life. Amen.

Amen, the others echoed.

Harlan picked up his highball. He raised the glass, and the others took theirs in hand. Moira hoisted a glass of lemonade.

He looked around the table and said, I am grateful for such a loving, God-fearing, and hard-working family. I… Harlan’s throat caught, and he swallowed, I love my wife and daughter more than anyone could ever know. Cheers!

Okay, Mr. Samurai, carve! Keri Ann said.

Mark turned to Moira, smiling. She had a pained expression staring at her plate. It was printed with a scene from the desert, saguaros standing tall in a golden sunset. Moira wondered why they had them, no one she knew ever visited a desert. Except Braylee Martin in her class, who moved here from Tucson.

How’s school going this year? Mark said, but Moira didn’t look up.

Moira?

I’m sorry, what?

School, how’s school?

It’s okay, I mean, yeah, it’s okay.

What’s your favorite subject? Mark asked as he thrust a fork brimming with mashed potatoes into his mouth.

I like art a lot. I’d like to be a painter.

Keri Ann watched the conversation as she toyed with the green beans on her plate.

Painter? Like Van Gogh? Mark asked.

Moira shifted in her seat and sipped her lemonade. I like Georgia O’Keefe.

Georgia O’Keefe? Mark said. Now, really. He turned to Keri Ann and said, Did you hear that? Georgia O’Keefe, is that what they learn these days?

Keri Ann shrugged. Moira’s a good painter. She won first prize at the Temple Knob High School Art Show.

Keri Ann, this is just the most fabulous dinner. Everything is delicious, Annabelle said. There were murmurs of agreement.

Delicious, dear, Harlan said, chewing turkey. A drop of gravy found its way from the corner of his mouth and crept down his chin. He swabbed it with his napkin, placing it back on the table.

Annabelle took Keri Ann’s hand. Mark glanced at them as he cut a slice of turkey into small pieces, dipping them in his mashed potatoes and gobbling each one by one.

Keri Ann took her hand away and said, I’m sorry the gravy has lumps.

Mark said, "Yeah, but they’re good lumps. My mother’s gravy always had lumps. It reminds me of hers."

When everyone was sated, it grew quiet.

Well, it’s time for coffee and pecan pie, Keri Ann said.

Another drink, Mark? Harlan asked.

Mark looked at his glass. There was a half-inch of brown concoction of highball and melted ice. Looks like I have an evaporation problem. Why not?

Moira took a bite of pecan pie and turned to Keri Ann.

May I be excused?

Keri Ann looked at Harlan.

Sure honey. Turning to Annabelle he said, Kid studies constantly, straight A’s. Her guidance counselor told her she’s too smart for art school. And she’s not interested in boys at all.

Honey, she’s only thirteen, Keri Ann said.

I would think the boys would be lining up, Mark said. His smile melted as he glanced at Annabelle for validation.

Harlan belched.

Seriously, Harlan, it’s Thanksgiving, Keri Ann said.

Hey dear, we’re among friends, right? He turned to Mark and slapped him on the shoulder. Right?

Right. Mark said.

The girls will take care of the dishes. Let’s go see if the game’s started, Harlan said.

Annabelle stood and started clearing plates from the table. Keri Ann said, Honey, I’ll do that. You’re our guest and guests don’t clean.

Come off it, Kerr, Annabelle said, you cooked, I mean, Lord, girl.

Hours after everyone left, Moira fell asleep, a copy of As I Lay Dying on her stomach. She woke when she heard arguing.

No, you certainly are not driving!

A door slammed and muffled voices came from the hall.

She dozed off again, then woke with a start. The red numbers on her alarm clock glowed 12:54. Moira turned onto her left side, back to the door, and hugged her knees. Screams murmured through the wall from the other end of the house. After a long silence, she calmed. Then a thundering bang came, rattling the walls, and she shuddered. She wanted to sob but feared being overheard.

Moira hummed her favorite hymn: All my fears swept away, in the light of your embrace, when your love is all I need and I ever shine in grace.

After it quieted, Moira switched on her light. She opened her diary and began writing. She heard their bedroom door open and close. Momma, coming to see if I’m okay.

She slipped the diary under her mattress, turned off the light, pulled the covers up, and feigned sleep. But no one came. At least, not for a while.

Then the door opened. Slowly. She didn’t turn over. She didn’t have to. The smell of bourbon found its way to her. A tear escaped and tickled her nose, but she dared not wipe it away.

When the door closed, the light from the hallway disappeared. They were alone in the familiar darkness, a darkness that would stay with Moira forever.

CHAPTER 2

THREE YEARS LATER

Keri Ann knocked on Moira’s door.

Moira, you’re late. Moira? Is everything okay?

With a cup of coffee in one hand and a piece of toast in the other, Harlan stared at Keri Ann.

What’s going on? he asked, slurred by a mouthful of toast. He washed it down with a swig of coffee.

Moira! Keri Ann shouted. As she raised her hand to the door to knock, it flew open. Moira pushed her aside and bolted to the bathroom. Keri Ann and Harlan listened to her heaving several times, then the door to the bathroom slammed. Keri Ann looked at Harlan.

What? he said.

What do you think? Keri Ann said and walked away.

Harlan looked at the last puddle of coffee in the bottom of his cup, swirled it around, downed it, and wiped his chin with the sleeve of his uniform. He shot his arm out and looked at his watch.

Shit, he said, late again.

As Harlan walked into the kitchen, he saw Moira hunched over the table. Keri Ann was making her tea and toast.

You okay, angel? Harlan asked.

Moira looked up, her face ashen, and a rope of wet hair stuck to her cheek.

I’m great, Daddy, never been better. Thanks for the vibe check.

Harlan glanced at Keri Ann. She shrugged.

Okay, well I’m late, girls, Harlan said.

Keri Ann pecked him on the cheek. He walked around the table and leaned to kiss the top of Moira’s head. She moved away.

I reek, Moira said.

Harlan moved into the hall and put on his black tactical boots.

Okay, I’m leaving, he shouted.

He stood for a moment. When no response came, he left, slamming the door.

Keri Ann put a cup of weak tea in front of Moira. She lifted it to her mouth and blew over the top. When she took a sip, she gagged.

I’m going to take a shower.

* *  *

Moira stopped at Percy’s Pharmacy on the way home from school. The store was once a lively spot. People would chat and gossip as they lined up for their prescriptions. High school kids would mob the store at three p.m. to the chagrin of Percy, who watched them like a hawk as they perused magazines.

Hey, this isn’t a library. Are you going to buy that, or what?

Kids arrived with munchies after taking a few tokes on the way home. Percy watched helplessly as they raided the freezer chest packed with Arctic Bars and Choco Tacos, while others cleared the shelves of chips and cakes.

Since they built the superstore in Wyandotte, few experienced the musty smell, creaking floors, and steep prices at Percy’s anymore.

Today the only soul was a mother with a small boy in hand, examining large white and orange plastic bottles of FiberAid. The boy tugged her arm, pointing, as if the drink cooler was a magnet. Behind its foggy door were countless colors in endless shapes, all offering ice-cold sweet temptations.

Mommy, can I have a—

Mommy’s busy, Scottie, I need my medicine.

Moira walked to the magazine stand and picked up a copy of Thrasher, flipping nonchalantly through the pages. She loved the smell of glossy magazines. It reminded her of visiting her Aunt Ella in White Cloud. When she was alive, they would go on Sundays for fried fish and sweet potato casserole lunches with pineapple punch. Moira would sit for hours thumbing through all her crisp magazines: National Geographic, House and Garden, Southern Living.

Moira liked the free copies of Elder Life that came in the mail. She stared voyeuristically at the ads for walk-in bathtubs, adult diapers, and caustic drops to eliminate warts overnight. Moira especially enjoyed the sprawling ads for assisted living ‘estates’ with plush, manicured grasses and elaborate floral landscaping. The luxurious communities were dotted with cheery young women in white uniforms shepherding residents through daily activities like eating, watching movies, and playing cards.

It had reminded her of an article she read about Aokigahara, the serene forest at the foot of Mount Fuji. It was overcrowded with vengeful ghosts of the countless people who go there to die by suicide.

The woman finally decided on her daily fiber powder. Scottie selected a can of orange soda, and holding it in two hands, followed his mother to the register.

Moira took a Pregnaguard test kit from the shelf. She was about to slip it into her bag when the door opened and cowbells clanged as the woman left, the boy trailing after. Moira looked up.

The woman at the counter wore a waist-length lab coat. Her black hair was cropped to the right and shoulder-length on the left. It was tied back with a tiny pink barrette, but a few strands fell over her face when she leaned forward.

She was holding a yellow pencil and stared at pieces of canary paper on the counter. She lifted the top sheet, looked at the one below, then flipped back to the top, one hand holding the pencil close to her lips. Moira watched as she mouthed something, then with a look of satisfaction, circled one of the sheets several times.

Setting the pencil down, she looked up, right into Moira’s startled eyes. Moira wanted to look away, but couldn’t break their shared gaze. She smiled. The woman smiled, then turned away. Fuck it, I’ll pay. She grabbed a Mountain Dew and went to the register.

Hey, Moira said, putting the soda on the counter. Oh, yeah…and this. Moira glanced at the woman’s name tag. June.

June scanned the pink box. She reached below the counter and grabbed a white bag with a picture of a mortar and pestle and a big ‘Rx’ in red ink, but put it back, and picked up a brown bag. She slid the box in with the receipt and what looked like an ad.

Thirteen ninety-five.

Moira looked into her pack for her leather clutch, opened it, and thumbed through. She pulled out some bills and found only ten dollars. Shit. She hadn’t planned on paying. Moira felt her ears flushing.

Um, just a minute. Sorry.

She ransacked her bag, trying to find the coins that elusively clinked at the bottom as June watched with a bemused expression.

Moira handed the bag back to June. I’m sorry, I don’t have enough.

June smiled and handed it back. She took the ten dollars. No worries, I’ll take care of it.

Moira had been staring at the counter. She looked up and smiled. Really?

Yeah, really. Uh-huh.

Thank you, Moira said. Thank you, June. Moira pointed to her chest. I’m Moira.

Moira slipped the paper bag into her sack, zipped it, and said, I’ll come back. I mean, you know, to pay you. She turned toward the door.

Wait! June called.

Moira froze and turned around to see June holding up the green can.

You forgot your soda.

CHAPTER 3

When Moira got home, she found a note on the kitchen table. The blue paper had two gauzy angels on the top. An ornate script read: ‘God uses valleys to mold our character’. Keri Ann’s cursive handwriting told Moira she had gone to get her hair done and pick up groceries and to please take the meatloaf out of the freezer and defrost it in the microwave.

Moira headed to the bedroom and put her pack on the bed. She took out the brown paper bag and shook it out. The pink Pregnaguard and a small card fell out. She leaned down and picked up the card, it was plain white with ‘Planned Parenthood’ in blue letters. The tagline: ‘Care. No matter what.’ Under that was the phone number for the Kansas City clinic.

Moira tossed the card on her bed and took out the test. She pulled the instructions from the box, unfolded the long sheet, and squinted at the tiny print in Spanish, Haitian Creole, Chinese, and French. She turned it over and found the section with instructions in English.

For the most accurate results, take the test after you missed your period, Moira said, mumbling as she read the instructions.

When was my period due?

Moira opened the calendar on her phone. She scrolled back to the previous month and found the day she’d met with her guidance counselor. She remembered rushing to the lavatory for a pad and being late for the meeting. She counted four weeks, then scrolled down to today.

Holy shit, I’m two weeks late.

She took the test stick into the bathroom. Moira let out a little urine, then put it under the stream and counted to ten. She put it on the counter, finished peeing, and washed her hands. It was hard for Moira to stop looking at it. She paced across the living room until her timer went off. When her phone chimed, she ran to the bathroom.

Snake fangs, Moira said. She groaned. Fuck!

Moira grabbed a pack of American Spirits from her bag and headed out to the porch. She was shaking so badly her cigarette bobbed up and down when she tried to light it. Damn! She took several shallow drags and tossed it over the railing. She kicked the plastic patio chair across the deck. Fuck! The chair knocked over a neglected geranium and potting soil scattered across the dingy gray boards of the deck. The white granules of vermiculite spread over the black soil looked like stars in the night sky.

Moira slammed the sliding door coming in. In the bathroom, she pulled a few feet of toilet paper off the roll and wrapped the test in its shroud. She lifted an empty tissue box that had been discarded in the bin and put it underneath.

There were footsteps on the front porch and Moira heard keys rattling. She dried her face and wiped the splashes off the counter. Harlan compared her washing to an elephant, that she was lucky any water ended up on her face.

Hello? Moira?

I’m in here, Momma, Moira shouted.

Hello?

Moira sighed and walked out of the bathroom. Here, Momma.

Keri Ann turned around. Honey, are you okay? You’re white as a sheet.

I’m fine.

Could you help me put away the groceries?

Moira joined Keri Ann in the kitchen. She took out creamed corn from the bag and placed it in the row of other cans on the shelf.

Moira, honey, that doesn’t go there.

Oh, sorry. Where does it—

Honey, why don’t you take a rest before dinner? I can take care of it.

Moira glanced upwards, then left. Yeah, maybe.

Keri Ann opened the refrigerator and put a bottle of ginger ale on the door. She pushed things aside and searched the shelves.

Moira, where’s the meatloaf?

The meatloaf? Oh shit, I’m sorry, I forgot.

Great.

Keri Ann closed the refrigerator and hauled open the freezer draw. She pulled out boxes of frozen breakfast sausages and bags of frozen peas and put them on the table, then extracted the meatloaf in its glass baking dish. Keri Ann set it on the table and put everything back into the freezer, checking the expiration dates, and arranging them, newest at the bottom. Moira rolled her eyes and put the meatloaf in the microwave. She pressed Defrost and stared absentmindedly as the baking dish made glacial turns on the carousel.

Moira? Moira, honey, don’t stand so close.

Moira stared through the perforated white screen behind the glass.

I’m not having dinner.

Keri Ann put down a box of saltines on the counter and sighed. Without turning around, she said, Honey, meatloaf is your favorite.

I’ll be in my room.

Keri Ann looked into the microwave. She shook her head and returned to the groceries, pulling out a pineapple-shaped air freshener. When she held it a few inches from her nose, her face screwed up. It doesn’t even smell like pineapple. In the bathroom, Keri Ann set it on a white doily on the toilet tank. She focused her attention on the yellow plastic pineapple, then moved it an inch closer to the center. She lifted the lid of the trash and tossed it in the wrapper. When she looked into the bin, she sighed.

How many times do I have to tell Harlan the tissue box is recyclable? she murmured.

Keri Ann lifted the box out of the trash and lowered the cover. Turning around, she suddenly stopped and put the box on the counter, then walked back to the trash can. She opened it and stared. She pulled out the wad of toilet paper and the pregnancy test slid out and fell face down on the floor. Keri Ann’s knees buckled, and she sat on the toilet. Lifting the cross on her necklace to her lips, she whispered, Please, God, not this.

For a long while, she just stared at it. Finally, she picked it up and turned it over. Her eyes were glued to the quavering stick, they blurred, and the two red lines melded together.

Hello? I’m home, Harlan announced as he came in the front door.

She shut the door and shouted, I’m in here!

Keri Ann looked around, then picked up the wad of toilet paper, wrapped the test, and shoved it to the bottom of the trash. She flushed the toilet and washed her hands. Harlan knocked on the door and opened it slightly.