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But I can’t stop thinking about it.”“Go ahead,” she said.“Why didn’t you just go on the pill?”She thought about that. He hadn’t asked her why she was foolish enough to get involved with a man and then let him between her legs. He wasn’t asking who the father was, or why she had left him. There was nothing judgmental in his question.“My friends...” She paused. “The women I thought were my friends had sources of information in the medical profession,” she said. “They didn’t know what I was doing. They would not have approved of ... who I was seeing ... and they would have found out if I got a prescription. They would have asked about it.”“You wouldn’t have had to tell them anything,” he suggested.“You don’t understand the culture in that town,” said Agatha. “There were the decent folks, and the undesirables. If they’d have found out who I was seeing, I’d have been shunned.”“Did you like him?”It was the most personal question he’d ever asked her.“He changed my life,” she said. “He. This was an unusual morning; unexpected, and now becoming very troublesome. “I wouldn’t have done what I did, oh wow! …Why?” Tricia repeated almost chanting “why, why” over and over several times, silently under her bitter breath, troubled indeed, to say the least. Her old sagging mattress and thin, worn sheets usually evade comfort, forcing her to fight the springs and the lumps for slumber, and bundle for warmth. But at this very moment on the day that should have been, was supposed to be, was publicized by the Mayan calendar as being the last, the bumpy bed offered an unusual comfort. This sort of trouble was unusual for Tricia. Usually the good girl in any crowd, Tricia never made waves, never went to the edge. This was all so very new. Foggy and hung over from the unexpected adventures of the past night, and with a ratty strand of Christmas lights blinking a tedious, dreadful pattern of glare and gloom above her head, Tricia with eyes closed, carefully began putting last.
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