“These events always hit close to heart,” Madeline responded to the unusual statement. “Every incident like this is heart wrenching and avoidable.”
“Yes, but this one specifically for you,” the journalist continued. “I hear you knew Jay Flynn’s mom.”
“What? Keisha Flynn?” Madeline knew the name from the news. “I can’t say I knew her.”
“She used to go to a community center up in Harlem,” the journalist said. “Where you volunteered when you were at Columbia. She said you took her friend to get an abortion.”
“Oh,” Madeline responded.
“Let me ask you, Mrs. Thomas, how come you never talk about your experience volunteering in Harlem? Especially when the bill you are championing significantly affects the population you volunteered with? It seems like your experience volunteering would make you a much more reputable source for this bill. But it’s never come up in your campaigning.”
Madeline thought for a minute on how to respond. She didn’t like when journalists approached her with unexpected questions. Jane’s job was to ensure that didn’t happen. “Well, as you see, I dealt with some sensitive situations while there. To protect people’s privacy, I don’t really discuss what I did there.”
“Apparently you were one of the only caucasians to volunteer there,” the journalist continued. “What brought you there?”
“I lived in Harlem,” she responded. “When I studied at Columbia. I thought I could be helpful. Do you have any more questions about my bill?” Madeline rushed the journalist off the phone and called Jane into her office.
“Everyone needs to be on their toes,” Madeline said in a slightly raised voice. “Things are going to come up and we need to be ready for everything.”
“Of course, we’re always on our toes,” Jane responded, unsure why she felt like she was being reprimanded. But she knew her boss was under a lot of stress and she got back to work, telling herself she would do better.
Madeline was unsettled by the mention of her volunteering at the community center. She had never mentioned it for the same reason she had never mentioned Hunter—it was something she kept safe, locked away in a box where she contained her old life. She couldn’t pull out one part of her old life without pulling out the rest, everything was connected like a chain of linked circles. Her old life didn’t mix with her new life. Hunter, the community center, the abortion she helped that girl with, they needed to stay in that box.
Madeline tried to remember Keisha, but the name didn’t ring a bell. She remembered the girl she helped with the abortion. She was a young, timid girl who seemed like she was trying hard to fit in where she knew she didn’t. What was her name? The years seemed to have erased that specific detail. Madeline didn’t remember the girl’s friends either, but she recalled other girls who used to hang out at the community center, all of them with their beautiful braids and fatal nails. She was surprised any of them would remember her after so many years.
Trying to put the comment aside, Madeline got back to work with her team. By morning they had rewritten her speech for the event, developed a new strategy for the SAVER Bill and perfected her response to the incident. She hadn’t spoken to any more journalists. When they called, Madeline said to give out their prepared press release and email any other specific question. No one emailed questions about the community center.
When the sun was already up, and the first light of the morning had faded into daytime, Madeline decided to go home. She would take a quick shower, change her clothes and be back in the office until the evening’s event.
Chapter 27
Rhonda was waiting outside her apartment at dawn. She was waiting for the white lady—Madeline she would try to remember to call her—to come pick her up and take her to take care of her problem. She was early because she hadn’t slept the night before and once she saw that dawn was approaching she pulled herself out of bed and snuck out, careful not to wake up her brothers and sisters.
She had only told two people about her problem: her best friend Keisha and the white lady. “Congrats, bitch!” Keisha had said in response. “Do I get to throw you a baby shower or something? Get yourself some hopping new clothes to go over your belly? What’d the baby daddy say? He’s good for it, right?”
Rhonda had feigned excitement with her best friend and the two of them fantasized about raising the baby girl—they hoped for a girl—together. They would dress her up, paint her nails, it would be fun, like having a doll, as neither of them had had a doll before. Keisha promised they would do everything together, they could both be mommies. All the meanwhile, Rhonda felt scared. It was fun pretending with Keisha, but Keisha couldn’t understand. After all, she wasn’t the one throwing up after first period at school. Nor was she the one who would destroy her vagina by pushing a baby through it. What would happen after that? She wasn’t sure she trusted that Keisha’s enthusiasm would last. And where would they live? Rhonda lived with her parents and two younger siblings in a one-bedroom apartment. Her mother, who was only 18 years older than her, had told her plenty of times that she would kill her if she got pregnant before getting married. Rhonda believed her mother was capable of following through with this threat, but even if not, she was sure her mother wouldn’t let her raise the baby at home. Keisha, on the other hand, lived with her three older brothers. Her parents were gone—she didn’t know where—and Rhonda wasn’t sure there was room for a crib there either.
The baby daddy? Well,
