The Stars Never Rise. Rachel VincentЧитать онлайн книгу.

       FIVE

      The walk home felt longer and colder without Melanie next to me. When I passed the Mercer house, two doors down from ours, I wondered who was watching Matthew and his sister. Then I wondered if Sister Camilla had ever let the poor kid off his knees. The Church had discretion—she could keep him until his parents came and signed for him if she wanted, and there was little his parents could do or say about it without seeming to support their son’s sins.

      A child’s behavior was widely considered a reflection of his parents’ private lives, and few ever protested a child’s harsh punishment for fear of being declared an unfit caregiver and losing custody of the “sinful” child in question.

      The drizzle had stopped, but daylight was already fading, accelerated by the dreary cloud cover. Soon Matthew could add his fear of the dark to his current cold, wet misery.

      Our house was quiet when I went in through the back door, careful not to let it slam behind me. Mom usually slept through dinner, and most days, if we were careful, by the time she got up we’d already be in our room for the night, whispering while we finished our homework. But now things had changed. I’d planned for us to eat one of the cans of soup I’d taken from the Turners, with a slice of bread each, but was that enough for an expectant mother? Should I make both cans? Or give her the last of the peanut butter as well?

      I’d just burned my bridge at the only store within walking distance, which meant that when the soup and peanut butter were gone, I’d have to break into the emergency cash for bus fare to an actual grocery store and either pay for some food or risk getting caught shoplifting by employees whose habits I didn’t know.

       One more year.

      If Mellie and Adam had waited one more year to give in to their hormones, I would have been old enough to work full-time.

      But then, I had no high ground to stand on. I couldn’t even claim to have loved the boys I’d used in my carnal rebellion against the Church. At least my sister had that—someone who loved her. And surely once she told him about the baby, he’d want to help feed it.

      And its mother.

      Melanie’s satchel hung over her chair at the kitchen table, but that was the only obvious sign that she’d made it home. When I opened the bedroom door, my sister sat up on the bed, her eyes wide with fear until she recognized me in the dying light from the half-covered window. “Did she wake up?” I whispered, pulling the door closed behind me.

      Melanie shook her head, and I knew with one look at her rumpled school clothes that she’d been in bed all day, not because she was tired or sick, but because moving around the house would have increased the chances of our mother waking up to find her at home.

      “Anabelle scheduled the makeup physical for next week, but she couldn’t get you out of this.” I reached into my satchel for the disciplinary notice and handed it to Mellie. She set it on her scuffed nightstand without reading it. She knew what it was with a single glance at the heading on the paper.

      “And I picked this up for you on the way home. I figure we should be sure before we start borrowing serious trouble.” I pulled the stolen cardboard box from my satchel and tossed it onto the bed. Even if I’d had the money to pay for it, I couldn’t have—you have to show identification and a parenting license to buy a pregnancy test.

      Melanie picked up the box with shaking hands. “I didn’t even think of that.”

      “I know.” My sister was smart but impractical. She thought about things all day long, but rarely about anything that would put food on the table or clothes on our backs.

      “Should I take it now?”

      I set my satchel on the end of my bed. “The sooner, the better.”

      Melanie opened the cardboard box—her hands still shaking—and read the directions while I changed into the same jeans and long-sleeved tee I’d worn the previous afternoon. “I’m pretty sure you just have to pee on the stick,” I said, when she still seemed confused by the time I was fully dressed.

      “I know. But when I do that, we’ll know. For better or worse, we’ll know for sure, and I’ll have to stop pretending everything could still be okay.”

      “Everything will be okay, Mel. One way or another. I promise.” She gave me a small, terrified smile. “Now, go pee on the stupid stick.”

      I followed her to the bathroom and stood in the doorway while she took the test and then covered the end of the stick with its plastic cap and set it on the bathroom counter. We both stared at the indicator while she flushed the toilet and rinsed her hands.

      The directions said we had to wait two minutes before reading the results, but the second line appeared in the result window in less than half that time. Before Mellie could even dry her hands.

      Phantom obligation settled onto my shoulders, and I felt my connection to the outside world severed, as surely as I’d felt the snip that severed my genetic line—not physically, but absolutely. There would be no college, no teaching, and no career. For me, there would only ever be New Temperance and whichever factory job would put the most food on the table and diapers in the pantry.

      “That’s it, then.” Melanie sank onto the toilet seat, the test stick held between her thumb and forefinger as if it might break. “This is really happening.” Two fresh tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. “I’m actually pregnant.”

      “You little bitch!”

      Melanie’s gaze snapped up and her eyes went wide. I turned to find our mother standing in her bedroom doorway, one bony, blue-veined hand clutching the doorjamb. Her faded tee hung from her shoulders straight to her bare thighs, too big on her thin frame, and her skin was paler than I remembered. Paler than it had been the day before, somehow. I could see most of her veins through her flesh.

      My mom grabbed my arm and hauled me out of the way with more strength than should have been possible from such a frail form and wasted muscles. Her grip bruised. She stepped into the bathroom doorway, her thin feet straddling the threshold, and somehow she seemed to take up more room than she should have.

      Melanie tried to back away from her, but she was trapped between the toilet and the tub.

      “How far?” My mom’s voice was rough. Scratchy, as if she’d been gargling gravel.

      “I don’t …? Wh-what …?” Melanie stuttered, and the pregnancy test fell from her hand to clatter across the floor.

      Mom picked it up, and her knees cracked when she moved. I frowned, staring at her ankles. Had the bones always been so prominent? She glanced at the test, then threw it at Melanie.

      Mellie flinched. The plastic stick hit the tile beside her right ear and broke into several pieces. I did an automatic inventory of the bathroom, trying to anticipate what would be thrown next and how badly it could hurt