How to Keep a Secret

Nancy struggled to keep up. Her daughter was badly injured, bleeding and about to go for an operation, and all she could talk about was the fact that she wasn’t pregnant? Why would that be top of her mind? Unless—

“Have you been trying for long?”

Jenna clung to her. “Feels like forever.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Nancy stroked Jenna’s hair away from her face, trying to ignore the blood streaks that made her want to panic. Scalps bled a lot. It was one of the few things she remembered from when the girls were little. “These things can take a while.”

“We’ve been trying awhile, Mom.”

The Mom almost undid her, as did the knowledge that this was the first time Jenna had mentioned this to her.

Nancy stood feeling helpless, buffeted by the pain that flowed off Jenna in waves.

Why was it that you felt your child’s pain more acutely than your own? She could bear anything that happened to her, but she couldn’t bear anything bad happening to her girls.

What could she say that might help?

She so badly didn’t want to get this wrong, but they had a matter of minutes before Jenna was taken into surgery. It was hardly the best time to be having this conversation.

“It took me two years to get pregnant with Lauren.”

Jenna sniffed. “Really?”

“Yes. Nature is a funny thing, that’s for sure. What does Greg say? Have the two of you talked to a doctor?”

“He doesn’t want to. He says I need to relax.”

Oh, you silly man. “Have you called him?”

Jenna burrowed her face into Nancy’s shoulder. “Not yet. Lately we haven’t been getting along so well.”

Nancy stroked her daughter’s back gently, hiding her shock. She decided this was one of those moments where it was probably better to listen than talk. And she was absolutely not going to deliver an opinion as her grandmother would have done.

Well, Nancy, of course it’s your own fault for—

It’s up to you of course, Nancy, but if I were you—

“Tell me what happened today.”

“I was five days late and I’ve never been five days late.” Jenna hiccupped, her words disjointed. “I was sure I was pregnant, so I did a test at work. I didn’t want to wait. And I thought it might fix things with Greg.”

“And the test was negative.” Nancy imagined Jenna in the cold, impersonal school bathroom. She wished she’d thought to pack tissues in her bag. “No wonder you were upset.”

“That’s not all.” Jenna’s breathing juddered as she told her mother everything.

Nancy held her close and listened, trying not to react as Jenna described the car accident.

She wasn’t going to think about what might have happened.

It was hard to hear, but hardest of all was Jenna’s anguish about her lack of pregnancy.

“I want to be a mom. It’s all I want. And it’s never going to h-happen—”

Nancy held on to Jenna’s trembling frame, terrified that so much distress might make the bleeding worse. “You don’t know that, honey. We’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it out together. We should call Greg. He needs to know you’re here. He’d want to know.”

A woman appeared next to them. “Mrs. Stewart? I’m Gail Johnson, the surgeon. We need to get Jenna to the OR right away. We’re prepping for that now.”

Jenna’s eyes filled. “Could I have a minute more with my mom?”