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escape anything by swimming, to lose myself in the water.
But not now. Not this time.
take deep breath and sink below the surface, the
world dissolving instantly, all sounds of the pool, of
people, of life outside, fading as my hair swirls around me
like mermaid’s. Down here, everything’s in slow motion,
the sounds muted, the blue water and the lights rippling
above, so peaceful
Is this what it’s like for you, baby? think. Floating in there, so peaceful and quiet? So safe?
It seems impossible that only week ago went to
the clinic—it’s been the longest week of my life. How is it
that I’ve never noticed how slow
second is, how the
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hours stretch endlessly through the morning, the long
afternoon, into the eternal black night. Day after endless
day. But finally it’s almost here. Tomorrow is my
appointment. Just one more sleep. One more endless
night. Then decision time.
Think about it Charlotte said. I’ve done nothing but.
What if
What if it’s negative? That’s easy. Hurray,
we’re safe. My life can go back to normal—ish—and can
start trying to deal with my pregnancy like any other
teenager.
What if
What if it’s positive?
shiver runs down
my spine. Then know what to expect. I’ve read enough
now, watched enough heartbreaking videos online. know
exactly what’s going to happen to me. What might happen
to my baby.
My eyes sting from the chlorine and my lungs begin
to burn as
watch the air bubbles float silently to the
surface.
Would
treat my child any differently, knowing?
Knowing his or her future? Knowing mine? Will people
treat me differently, judge me, make assumptions if I’m
positive? If tell them
Charlotte said that should consider applying for
benefits like long-term-care insurance now, before get
tested, because if I’m positive it’ll be more difficult—
impossible, even. It could affect my employment, my life
insurance, my baby’s insurance
unless
can find five
hundred dollars to pay for the test anonymously.
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Though the answer to that one’s offered itself on
plate, think bitterly, remembering Kitty’s letter—the first
ever—that arrived this morning. After eighteen years, now
she suddenly writes to me, apologizing for missing my
entire childhood, offering me money—ten thousand
dollars—as back payment for all the birthdays and
Christmases she’s missed.
Yeah, like that makes up for
lifetime of
abandonment.
My blood boils in my temples.
don’t need her, don’t need anything from her.
Ever. She can stick her freaking money. She can’t buy my forgiveness—not after what she did. I’ll find another way.
Somehow.
close my eyes and float like
starfish to the
surface, my lungs exploding with the burst of oxygen,
tears brimming my eyes as surrender to the water, to
fate.
always thought I’d like to see the future, what life
had in store for me. What didn’t realize was that some
things are set in stone. I’m not like Ebenezer Scrooge, who
can see the misery in his future and change it. This is DNA.
It’s unchangeable. There’s no cure. If you’ve got the
mutated gene you’ll definitely develop Huntington’s. If
you don’t, then you’re free. Fifty-fifty. All or nothing. The
toss of coin.
If only it were that easy.
Charlotte’s given me an information packet—
testimonials from other people who were at risk.
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Huntington’s is not the end of the world, she says; lots of
people lead fulfilled, happy lives, even knowing they’re
positive. Scientists and athletes and academics—brilliant
people who might not have achieved what they did if
people had treated them differently. If their horizons had
been fenced in. Thirty to forty years is
long time, they
say. You can either live while you can, or treat it like
prolonged death sentence, overshadowed by the future.
know it’s meant to be comforting—inspiring,
even—but I’m pregnant, there’s another life at stake here.
know Charlotte says can abort at up to twenty weeks,
but honestly don’t think could bear it. My baby already
seems so much part of me that need to decide before
then. Before I’m showing. Before everyone has to know.
When might still be able to try to pretend that none of
this ever happened.
Tell people Charlotte had said. But how can I?
Melissa keeps calling and coming around, but can’t face
her, can’t talk to her. How can tell her why Josh and
broke up without telling her about Huntington’s? How can
tell her about Huntington’s without telling her about the
baby—her brother’s baby—Melissa’s niece or nephew—
while Josh doesn’t even know I’m pregnant?
While I’m still considering abortion
can’t. can’t tell anyone. Even Dad. As much as I’ve
tried, as much as
want to tell him
there’s just too
much.
can’t spill one drop without the rest coming
pouring out in an endless flood, and I’m afraid I’ll drown
in it. I’m afraid we all will. squeeze my eyes shut, giddy in
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this endless circle, fumbling around desperately for the
way out. There is no way out, realize, no Get Out of Jail
Free card, only
choice to stay in the dark or to know
where I’m headed.
Where we’re headed. It’s not just me anymore.
There’s my baby. Josh’s baby.
Josh God, Josh. He sat outside my room all night,
begging me to talk to him, then left me letter saying that
he understands need some space, some time to deal with
everything, but that he’s there, ready, waiting for me
whenever need him. That he loves me
My eyes sting.
made the right decision, ending it with Josh,
know did. I’m saving him, just like I’d be saving this baby.
From life of misery—of endless heartache.
It was the right decision—the hardest decision of
my life.
So far.
With rush turn and heave myself onto the side of
the pool, shivering in the sudden cold, the harsh lights, the
echoing noise of the real world.
grab my towel and hug it around me, reaching into
my purse for my notebook, and pull out the photo inside.
To my surprise, two pictures slide to the floor—the scan
image and Rosie’s photo of Trudie, her chestnut hair
gleaming in the sun, so like mine.
My heart twists. How did Trudie do it? How did she
cope, knowing that her child, her little girl, was watching
her deteriorate, watching her die, knowing she might
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develop HD herself one day?
brush my finger gently
across the photo, across the kink in her ear, noticing for
the first time her finger curled in her hair. untwirl mine
self-consciously,
fu
She did that too
There are so many things don’t know—so many
questions I’d ask her. Would she have done things
differently if she’d known? Would she have taken the test?
Would she have had an abortion?
My eyes flick to the scan picture, my heart twisting
painfully as my fingers trace the tiny form.
The only reason to take prenatal HD test is if you’re
considering terminating your pregnancy …