Chapter 15
DRESSED AND MOSTLY NUMB, Clare sat on the edge of the exam table. Twins.
Dr. Ashley Allen sat on a stool in front of her, looking over Clare’s chart. “Everything looks good, Clare. Both babies are just the size I would expect them to be at this point. They’re fraternal, separate sacs, and both sacs are intact. Everything looks really good.” She looked up and smiled. “My sister had twins. You’ll survive. I promise.”
Clare didn’t say anything. Couldn’t think of anything, except twins. Just that one word over and over. Twins.
“Three out of every one hundred women will carry twins, so it’s not as usual as some people might think. Fraternal twins are hereditary, so the fact that you have that in your family history takes your odds to one in seven. That’s pretty good odds.”
“Yes,” she said numbly, trying to smile. She knew that. Her own mother was a fraternal twin. Her great-grandmother had given birth to two sets of fraternal twins. But still.
Twins.
* * *
CLARE’S ANKLE BOOTS CLICKED down the hall of Saint Bartholomew’s to Sister Jean’s office. She pulled her sweater tighter around her. Even in the first week of May, it still wasn’t what she’d call warm. She’d found a note in her box saying that Sister Jean wanted to see her. She figured she wanted to talk to her about next year. There were no openings coming in the upper grades that she knew of, but she wouldn’t mind staying in kindergarten. She loved it more than she’d thought she would.
Or maybe, she thought nervously, the Nosy Nellies ratted me out for giving the class an extra recess yesterday.
She turned right at the end of the hallway, toward Sister’s office. She’d been thinking more and more that she would like to stay at Saint Bart’s. Other than Jess and her brother, she really had no reason to move back to Missouri, and it felt like a cop-out. Like she couldn’t make it on her own. She could stay in Chicago, have her children, and build a life. She was done looking back at the old.
She could see her children going to school here one day, wearing the little navy-and-green uniform. The church had a Mother’s Day Out program and a preschool. Two of Nicole’s kids were there now. She smiled, thinking it’d be nice to have her babies so close. She could work and make the three of them a home and a life. It might not be how she’d planned it, but it was going to be fine. Better than fine.
As she neared the principal’s office door, she tugged the sweater down and around her slight belly. She paused at the closed door and knocked.
“Come in.”
Sister Jean sat behind her neatly organized desk, a soft smile on her wrinkled face, her hands folded in front of her. “Hello, Clare.” Sister Jean spoke in that quiet, serene way she had that made Clare feel loud and extremely unholy. “Please, sit.”
Clare lowered herself onto the padded seat facing the wide, dark desk. The one a child would sit in, heart pounding, as they considered their poor choices.
“How are you, Clare?”
“I’m good, Sister. How are you?”
“Good. Good.” Sister Jean stared into her eyes.
Clare would swear the woman was looking straight into her soul. Clare’s heart began to pound.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
“Oh. What is it?” Was she retiring? Clare hoped not. She liked Sister Jean quite a bit, even if she did feel a little in trouble every time she saw her.
“I’m going to have to let you go.”
“Let me go?” She stared in shock. “But…if this is about not following the playground schedule, I’m only trying to do what I think is best for the children.”
Sister Jean smiled sadly. “It’s not that, dear. How are you feeling? Are you well?”
A trickle of unease slid down her spine. “Yes. I’m fine.”
“But you’ve been sick at school a few times, isn’t that right?”
“Yes. A couple of times.” She’d thrown up several times, but she thought she’d covered herself.
“Clare,” Sister Jean said, her voice dripping with equal parts disappointment and compassion, “I know you’re carrying a child.”
Her mouth worked like a guppy’s. Open. Closed. It was rumored that no child left Sister Jean’s office without admitting their offense. “Yes. I am. Two actually.”
“Well. A blessing.” Sister Jean nodded. “But I’m afraid it does pose a problem. It’s most unfortunate, and I wish I could wait, but as there are still nearly two months left in the term…” She held out her hands, palms up. “A few parents have expressed concern, and more will follow, over the questions their young children will ask. Ones they’d rather not answer.”
Clare swallowed, and she fought her lip that wanted to quiver.
“I’ve talked to the superintendent, and she agrees, regretfully, that this does indeed fall under the moral conduct breach of contract. I’m sorry, Clare.”
No more brick walls. No more holding Leo’s hand during the Our Father. This wasn’t about playground schedules or being asked back next year. She was being fired.