Pearl

Owen did, in fact, call. The day after I had escaped my Momma’s wrath and found Olive’s note, I was in the kitchen making porridge. Glancing at the clock that read six in the morning, I knew that it had to be him. I truly debated whether I should answer the phone or not, but I had decided that I had made my bed and had to lie in it.

“Hello?”

“Pearl! Hi Pearl! Thank God you picked up.” Owen’s voice became very real. And he was no longer words on a page or a telegram, it was just him. I immediately closed my eyes and started sobbing. What had I done?

Owen sensed my silence and when my breathing hitched audibly, he spoke up. “Pearl,” he said softly, “It was a mistake, you know. Mr. Moz took me to this ball in London after I won my first fight and Eve was there. And we’re friends! But Mr. Moz suggested we pose for pictures and she came to the last match. She, uh, she did kiss me. But, Pearl, it didn’t mean a thing. But it did get me on the cover of a ton of newspapers, which I guess is what everyone wanted.”

I didn’t say anything, only covered the receiver and bit back my remorseful tears. “Pearl? Can you hear me? I’m in Rome! Can you believe it?”

I didn’t say anything. “Are you there?” he asked.

Finally, after biting my knuckle, I felt composed enough to speak. “Yeah. Yeah, I am here.”

“Olive said you were real upset when you listened to the match.” He left it there, expecting me to fill in the gaps.

“I was upset.” I realized that I sounded curt, but I couldn’t help it. I could only do one of two things: be short or unceremoniously begin to bawl. I preferred the former.

“I understand if you still are,” he returned.

“I’m not.”

“You sure do sound like you are.”

“I am not upset,” I said blankly.

There was a long and awkward silence. I could practically hear our discomfort over the line.

“Olive says you’ve been spending time with Jake Merlotta an awful lot,” he finally spoke softly.

I said nothing again and a dramatic pause ensued once more. It seemed that those days, I was learning very quickly that I was no more than a coward.

“Pearl? I love you, you hear?” His voice was suddenly stern.

“I love you too. Listen, the girls are getting up. I have to go. I love you. Goodbye.”

I hung up the phone and stood against the wall with my heart in my throat. My naiveté was tremendous; I hoped that I could lie enough or feel guilty enough to make all of it go away. But I was just a little girl then.

I had no idea that that phone call would be the last time I ever spoke to Owen Weaver on amicable terms again.

_____

Weeks passed and the air became hot and muggy. Owen’s letters came in a steady flow from then on. My letters, however, began to dwindle. They did not dwindle in quantity because I did mail him a letter in response to every one of his, but the quality of content began to wither away. I basically said the same thing in all of my letters. I wished him luck in training; told him all was well at home, and that I loved him. All was true, except for my reassurances that everything was fine at home. I stayed cooped up in the house, hoping to avoid Jake and Olive, and serve my time to my family until Owen and Father returned.

However, Owen began to get agitated. His last letter ended with Is it because of my Momma that you don’t love me anymore?

Something was wrong with me. I believe now, looking back on it, that I faithfully denied the truth. My stomach was in knots at all times and I could barely keep my food down. Life was a constant headache and I found myself dozing off during the day and staying awake with an ache in my bones at night.

One morning, Momma came into the room that I shared with Jane and shook me awake. “Pearl. Get up,” she whispered in my ear. I jolted up and watched her move around in the dark. “Why?” I asked. Momma was fumbling around my closet, picking a cerulean dress off a hanger. I rubbed the sleepiness from my eyes and glanced over at Jane; she was tucked under her covers with her blond hair around her face. Momma threw the dress on my bed and looked me straight in the eye, she firmly muttered, “We are going to see somebody.”

I got up and pulled the dress on. Momma exited the room and whispered for me to come and get some breakfast after I had washed my face.

I made my way downstairs after I had washed. There was toast and water on the counter for me. I was grateful, as it was all I could keep down in the last few weeks of my life. Momma sat across from me as I took slow bites of my food. She looked miserable and I almost thought she was going to cry.

“Who’s taking care of the girls?” I asked her when I took the last bite.

“Claire is on her way. She’ll take care of them.”

I nodded. After I had washed my plate, Momma took my hand gently and led me out of the house. It shocked me because she hadn’t been kind to me since I was a little girl. She opened the car door for me and hobbled her way to the driver’s seat. We slowly made our way into town. I was distracted by watching the sunrise and hadn’t noticed that we had parked right in front of the doctor’s office. I turned to Momma. “What are we doing here?”

She said nothing, only shook her head and we made our way onto the empty street. Momma knocked on the door of the office because it looked like it was closed, but a nurse who we knew as Miss Betty answered. Miss Betty had gone to high school with Momma and they were good friends. They talked in low whispers and finally we walked in.

“Momma, you’re starting to scare me,” I whispered.

“Hush,” she silenced me and continued whispering in conversation with Miss Betty. Doctor Little then walked into the waiting room. I had always believed his name ironic because he wasn’t little at all, he must have been over six feet tall.

Momma greeted him. “Hello Doctor. Thanks so much for seeing us so early.”

He looked quite solemn. “No problem, Ethel. Now follow me, you two.” He led us to his examination room. I had expected this to be Momma’s way of telling me that she was not recovering from her stroke. Or that she had wanted me to support her during one of her dreaded trips to the doctor.

I was surprised to see that Mom and Doctor Little signaled for me to sit on the examination table. Momma leaned against the wall and sighed tiredly, as if she had just gone into battle and could now rest. Doctor Little straightened his glasses as he focused on me. “What’s going on?” I asked.

He smiled sadly and asked, “Pearl, when was the last time you bled?”

My ears began to cave into my head. My face was on fire. “What?”

“When was the last time you had your period, Pearl?”

I looked at Momma, feeling utterly betrayed. Then I decided to stare at the pink and white striped wallpaper for a whole five minutes. “How could I be so stupid?” I said aloud.

“Pearl, answer me please. When was the last time you bled?”

“Early May,” I replied.

I strangely felt numb. Momma took a deep breath and closed her eyes at my response.

“I will be back. Nurse Betty is gonna take some blood and we will find out for sure if, well, you know….” Doctor Little trailed off.

Miss Betty immediately walked in with a syringe and vial. “Pearl, you’re gonna be okay,” she whispered as I wordlessly extended my hand and let her poke the inside of my elbow. Momma started biting her nails and when the nurse left the room, I continued on with my blank gaze.

“I’ve been worried about you, but I knew that you wouldn’t have come if I’d told you,” she whispered.

I nodded slowly. It was very much like the very night that I’d spent with Jake, like I was outside of my body looking in. This experience, however, was tortuous.

It took an hour. Momma and I sat in silence. She tried to comfort me and I reacted with emotionless one-worded replies because the thought of her showing me kindness was just as surreal as the situation itself. When Doctor Little walked in, I knew by the expression on his face that his news was most unfavorable. In fact, my exterior broke and the floods of panic began to drown me. Doctor Little saw my rattled hyperventilation and softly said, “Calm down. Calm down, Pearl,” but I could tell he was very disturbed by me. I could tell he thought less of me. He turned to Momma and gave her one single nod. I only caught the last whisper, “…she is. It’s positive.”

I stood up. My vision was blurred from tears, from nausea, and from shock. Momma followed me and tried to grab my hand. “Pearl. We can work this out. We can work this out,” she repeated as I pushed through the empty office and onto the street. I pushed her away. Momma’s frail face looked devastated, but she quietly asked me as I thrashed about, “Who’s the Daddy, Pearl?”

I stopped for one split second and looked her in the eye. “Jake,” I mouthed.

Then I made one final pull and started running in the opposite direction of home. Momma hollered after me.

“Where are you going, Pearl?!”

To the water, the water, I thought.

I was going to drown myself in the lake.