She borrowed a cell phone from a guy who was in her chemistry class. She’d looked the number up last night, memorized it. Dialed while she walked to a shady corner of the deck. The Planned Parenthood office answered on the first ring. She made an appointment for the next day. Deleted the call from the cell and gave it back. Took a nice, long toke from a joint passing through the crowd, which made her feel better than she had in a couple of months, then hurried to the house to get the money.

No cars in the drive. Siobhan wasn’t home, which meant Joe was off somewhere with her. Sutton’s ploy had worked well. He had become so disgusted and fed up with Sutton’s bad behavior he’d left her alone, and Siobhan got all his attention, which her mother didn’t like but put up with because free rent was worth a black eye here and there, wasn’t it?

So when Joe came home early, alone, and caught Sutton opening the lid of the barrel, a fight ensued.

He’d threatened to call the police. She’d told him to fuck off. He’d slapped her, hard enough to send her head backward into the wall.

Something inside her had snapped, a taut line breaking, and she attacked. The lid of the barrel was heavy in her hands, and she slammed it into Joe’s head with all the force she could muster. He went down, and that was it. Legs, nails, teeth, everything she had that could hurt, she used. And like all bullies, Joe the Schmo proved to be weak. Her fury and frustration and fear overwhelmed him, and she beat him until he was crawling on the floor, trailing blood, moaning for her to stop.

She finally did. Her hands were bruised; one finger was definitely broken. She had skin and hair under her nails. Joe was in bad shape; she could hardly believe the damage she wrought.

She went for the Crown Royal bag. She’d need all the money now, some for the abortion and the rest to get out of town. She took the wad without counting, threw a few things in a ragged backpack, and ran.

She slept in a field on the outskirts of town. She was hungry and thirsty and cold and desperate. The police caught up with her the next morning, trying to keep her appointment at Planned Parenthood.

They arrested her for assault. The irony—and yes, she knew the meaning of the word by now—was not lost on her.

Elizabeth Sutton Wilson gave birth to the baby in juvenile hall, three months before she was released.

All she knew was its sex. It was a girl.

Home Is Where They Have to Take You In

HOME IS WHERE THEY HAVE TO TAKE YOU IN

Now

Graham was a good listener. She didn’t judge, she didn’t interrupt.