Hush Little Baby Read Online Free PDF Page A

myself, gather the drawings in my arms, drop them at my office, then leave for my appointment—my annual gyn exam, postponed three times, which landed it on my birthday and I had too much shame to postpone it again.
    I’m fifteen minutes early and the doctor’s running an hour behind.
    I settle in with my laptop.
    An hour and a half later, my phone buzzes. Caller ID says it’s Melissa Williams, Drew’s room mom. My first instinct is to ignore it.
    No, I can’t make cupcakes for the bake sale.
    No, I’m not available for the field trip.
    No, I don’t want to be a part of the PTA.
    On the fourth ring, I answer.
    “Hi, Jillian, it’s Melissa. How are you?”
    Not as chipper as you. “Fine.”
    “I’m calling because I’m concerned about Drew.”
    I don’t even know the name of her son, nor do I have the slightest concern about him.
    “This is the third time this month he’s come to school without lunch.”
    Shame blindsides my irritation as the brown bag sitting on the counter at home etches into my brain. I close my eyes and bite my lip.
    The door to the inner sanctum of the doctor’s office opens. “Jillian, we’re ready for you,” the nurse says at the exact moment Melissa says, “Jillian, are you there?”
    As I stand to follow the nurse, my laptop slips and I juggle the phone, and when I recover, the phone is off. I just hung up on Melissa. I power it on to call her back, but the nurse stops me and points to the sign, “No Cell Phones.”
    Drew has no lunch.
    “So you might be pregnant,” the nurse says, scanning my updated medical questionnaire and smiling. “Congratulations.”
    *  *  *
    On the way back to the office, I stop at the drugstore and buy a box of Next Choice, irrationally scanning the store for Gordon as if he might be watching. I swallow the pill in the restroom and dispose of the evidence. It’s still too early to know whether or not I’m pregnant, and if I wait, it will be too late.
    I can’t handle what I have.

8
    I look at my family in the sterling-silver frame on my desk—we’re at an Angels’ game. Addie wears a sunhat with daisies, and her smile fills her face. Drew has on a blue cap with an A embroidered on the front and holds up a giant foam hand with the finger extended that says, “Go Angels!” Gordon’s arm is around my shoulders, and I look happy.
    I put my head on my folded arms on my desk.
    Addie crying without a good-bye.
    I feel bad.
    Drew, no lunch.
    I feel bad.
    Gordon. Jeffrey.
    I feel bad. I feel bad. I feel bad. The chorus beats with my heart.
    “Mr. Harris would like to see you in the cafeteria.”
    I wake myself to look at Tina, who stands expressionless in the doorway, and make a mental note: Tina is a brilliant liar. Her flat, expressionless features betray nothing as she invites me to my birthday glorification.
    *  *  *
    “SURPRISE!”
    Fifty forced smiles face me, and I force a grin back as a few risk glances at their watches. A bouquet of balloons floats from the center table, the inflated “40” rising above the other rainbow orbs.
    “Thank you, you really shouldn’t have.” They really, really shouldn’t have. “But since you did, and since the cake looks delicious, let’s celebrate my old age. Dig in.”
    The group breaks into the smaller groups of the office—the twenty- and thirty-something singlettes, the future up-and-comers, the over-the-hill, just-trying-to-maintain-status-quos, and the power brokers who are already making their way toward the door. The cake is dissected and passed around, and a few more watch-glancers stealthily slip out the door.
    Tina walks up, her dark bob bobbing, and hands me a piece of white-frosted yellow cake with red filling.
    “Thank you,” I say, wondering how long I have to endure the tribute before I, too, can slip away.
    “Would you like a drink?” Tina asks.
    A stiff one. Saying that to Tina would almost certainly cause the girl’s fine-teased brows to furrow, and then she’d