Stolen Innocence - Lisa Pulitzer [128]
“Lesie!” she gasped. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m having a miscarriage, Mom,” I said in a lifeless voice, the words barely audible from my stooped position.
A pained look spread across Mom’s face as she placed an arm around my shoulders, leading me upstairs to her new room in the north wing of the house.
“Do you need to see the midwives?” she asked.
“No! That’s the last thing I want to do now,” I told her. She was worried, but I was too delirious to care about anything.
“I am sorry this is happening again,” Mom said with a mix of anger and sadness in her voice. “It’s going to be okay.”
My mother’s reassuring words were the final thing I heard as I dozed off in her comfortable queen bed that morning. Over the next few days, Mom watched over me, which set my mind at ease. Her tenderness filled me with nostalgia; I was catapulted back to childhood, when skinned knees and bruises could be magically healed by my mom’s touch. It felt so good to finally let her in after trying to keep my pain from her for so long. In this moment, I could be the little girl and let my Mom share some of the burden I’d been carrying alone. At least I wouldn’t have to deal with Allen in this condition. My body was so worn out. Between my nights with Allen and in my truck, I’d barely been getting sleep. That exhaustion, combined with the physical trauma of yet another failed pregnancy, had taken its toll on me.
By this point, Allen didn’t have much contact with my mother, but when he phoned to find out if I was there, I overheard Mom telling him that I was really sick. The tone in her voice telegraphed her anger. She also called the restaurant to alert my manager that I would be out for a few days. It was a relief to be back under Mom’s protective wing, and I snuggled deep under the covers content to be free of Allen for the moment. But periodically, one worry would surface in my mind: the stranger who had helped me with my tire. I worried about who he would tell and what they would say. With paranoia so rampant in our community, I knew he would say something. It was only a matter of time.
I was at my mother’s for several days before I finally had the strength to get up, and I knew I needed to get back to work. Looking in the mirror I saw that my eye was still bruised, but luckily I’d perfected the art of concealing my bruises with makeup, even though we weren’t supposed to have it.
Meg had been worried about me and was happy to see me back at the restaurant. I’d barely made it through the door before she rushed over to find out how I was doing. I’d told her about the miscarriage, my tire, and the man who’d helped me on the dirt road in the desert that night. Meg assured me that Lamont Barlow wouldn’t tattle on me to Warren. She’d known him for a while and believed that he was a good guy.
My friend had her own pent-up drama from her days without me, and it came spilling out once she was sure that I was okay. For the last several months she had been in love with a boy from Short Creek named Jason, and they’d been sneaking off together until he left the FLDS. It was a risky situation, but she was worried that he’d forget her now that he was gone for good. I could tell that she really liked him, and often when we were driving together, she’d beg me to circle the block around his house, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. We acted so silly, giggling when we saw him out on the lawn or through a front window. We’d always duck down, hoping that he wouldn’t see us. At night sometimes I’d drive her to secret rendezvous points where they could steal a few minutes together while I waited in the car.
A part of me worried that she would find herself in a situation much like my stepsister Lily’s. I didn’t want her to end up in a loveless marriage like mine, but I didn’t really know what to say to her to make her feel better. As long as she was a member of the FLDS, she could never live out her dream of being with Jason.
It didn’t take long for the lunch rush to hit. I was taking an