Q:    Turn into her how?

M.S.: She was destroyed because my father left her. And because she was destroyed, she was a terrible mother.

Q:    Do you think you’re destroyed? That you’ll end up a terrible mother?

M.S.: End up? It’s already happened. I’ve been a terrible mother for months. I have to get over this. I have to get better. Or, yes, I’ll end up just like my mother. I can live with almost anything but that. So how am I going to get over it?

Q:    I think we need to address your guilt.

M.S.: The baby was inside me. Of course I feel guilty.

Q:    What was happening in the days before you found out the baby’s heart had stopped?

M.S.: The days before? I don’t know. I don’t remember much. What difference does it make?

Q:    The fact that you can’t remember suggests to me that it might matter very much.

M.S.: The usual things. I was finishing a draft of a piece of proposed legislation before maternity leave. And we were trying to potty-train Ella, and she kept peeing on the carpet, which sounds funny now. But it wasn’t funny then. All I kept thinking was that we were going to have to get the carpets cleaned before Justin’s family came to see the baby.

Q:    And what about Justin? Was he busy, too?

M.S.: So busy. He’d taken over a class for a colleague, and he was presenting two different papers at two different conferences in the three weeks before the baby was due. We were both really busy. That’s life, right? Everybody’s busy.

Q:    I’ve never heard you be frustrated by that.

M.S.: That Justin was busy? After how much he’s given up to take care of us since? How could I possibly be irritated by that? Besides, I was the one carrying the baby.

Q:    And so he bears no responsibility?

M.S.: He has responsibilities, yes. He helped with Ella afterward. And before, too. But he was working all hours. That wasn’t his fault. He had a job to do.

Q:    You seem very frustrated now, though.

M.S.: I am frustrated. With you. Listen, our problem wasn’t who folded more laundry or unloaded the dishwasher or who last took out the garbage. Our baby is dead, that’s our problem.

JENNA

MAY 28, 1994

It finally happened!!! The Captain and I had sex! I’d call it making love, if that wasn’t so gross. But that’s what it felt like: love. Everything about it was so perfect. His parents were away, so we had the house to ourselves and I lied and told my parents that I was staying at Tiff’s house.

And it worked like a charm. For once, they didn’t even call Tiff’s mom to check. Otherwise, they would have found out that her family was away at a wedding in Philadelphia.

The Captain actually COOKED dinner for me first. Like he was my husband or something. It was some kind of spaghetti that was kind of gross, but I never tasted anything better in my whole entire life.

And it was amazing. Didn’t hurt at all like Tiffany said it would. The Captain was so sweet and gentle. And he didn’t even know it was my first time. (I didn’t want him to be freaked out, and anyway it’s not like it’s that big of a deal. I’ve done A LOT of other stuff with A LOT of other guys.) He didn’t tell me he loved me afterward—I wouldn’t have wanted him to.

It was so much better when he just held me like he did.

Sandy

At least there weren’t any cars in the driveway when Sandy got to Hannah’s house. Her heart was still beating hard, though, as she jumped off her bike.

Sandy never would have gone to Hannah’s if she’d had any choice. After making it out of the chief of police’s office, the last place she wanted to go was his house. But it was the way Hannah had sounded on the phone when she’d given up on texting and started to call Sandy—like she was sliding down to the bottom of a well. Sandy had thought: This is it. This is the end. The whole time Hannah had been a house of cards. And finally, those motherfuckers had started to slide. Maybe right into the hands of the chief of police.

He’d been nice enough to Sandy, had said he would look for Jenna and all that. But there was something about the way he acted after Sandy said Jenna’s name. Like it had changed everything for him. For sure Hannah’s dad at least knew of Jenna, had heard her name before. Maybe that could be a good thing, but Sandy sure as hell wanted to get in and out of his house before it turned into a bad one.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Hannah said when she opened the door. She gave Sandy a teary, worried smile, then pulled her into a tight hug as she dragged her inside. “It’s so good to see you. I’ve been really worried.”

“But you really don’t have to worry,” Sandy said. Even though she already knew there was no point. Nothing she said was going to get them out of this wack-ass country they’d gotten lost in. “I’m all right, I promise.”

“Do you want a drink or anything?” Hannah asked, leading Sandy toward the kitchen. “God, you look tired. Did you ever end up seeing a doctor?”

Barely in the door and there Hannah went. Sandy had been hoping Hannah wasn’t going to do this—make them have this conversation face-to-face. Seemed stupid now, but Sandy had actually thought she and Hannah would never talk to each other again after that night. That Sandy would never have to talk to anyone about what happened. And after a while—a long time even—it would be like it hadn’t. Looking now at Hannah’s worried face, Sandy could see just how wrong she’d been.

“I’m all good,” Sandy said. “Like I said a bunch of times. Totally fine.”

The truth was she felt like crap. She hadn’t slept in two days, and she didn’t think she’d ever be hungry again.

“Sorry to drag you over here,” Hannah said. “But I have to watch my brother. He hasn’t been . . . he’s not feeling well. He’s okay right now, but my mom had to go out and, well, I didn’t know when I was going to get the chance to get out again.”

“Listen, can we go upstairs? Just in case your parents come home, I don’t want to be sitting here, right near the front door.”

Really it was that Sandy could hear the TV in the other room, where Hannah’s little brother must have been. And it was giving her bad flashbacks.

“Sure, come on,” Hannah said, smiling as they headed for the steps like she was eight and Sandy was there for a sleepover. “We’ll go to my room.”

It wasn’t the first time Sandy had felt like a little girl around Hannah. It was part of why Sandy had liked hanging out with her. She felt like a regular kid when they were together, gossiping about stupid, regular shit.

“You’ve never had a boyfriend, ever?” Sandy had asked during one of their last tutoring sessions. She’d been telling Hannah about Aidan, which felt dumb. It wasn’t like he was her boyfriend. “How’s that possible? You’re, what, seventeen? And look at you. I don’t believe you.”

It wasn’t like she and Hannah had known each other long, but lately they had been talking about all sorts of stuff that had nothing to do with Sandy’s coursework. Hannah had suggested it the first time. You know, if Sandy wanted to hang out after. And it was nice, Hannah wanting to do that, because it wasn’t like she was hard up for friends or something. Unless what Hannah wanted was a friend as messed up as Sandy, to feel good about herself by comparison. But Sandy could live with that. Everybody needed something.

“What do you mean, you don’t believe me?” Hannah had laughed a little. “I’m serious, no boyfriend ever. It’s true.”

“Fine, whatever, but for the record, I don’t believe you.” Sandy had waved a pencil in Hannah’s face. “You’re too pretty and nice and smart— Wait, are you gay?” That felt like it might explain a lot. “I mean, I don’t give a shit. But in this particular situation, I think that would count as lying. Girlfriend, boyfriend, same thing.”