“Yes, I know.” I remembered the priest explaining all the sins in church. Honour thy mother and father; Thou shalt not steal; Thou shalt not murder; Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s goods. A long list of things you weren’t allowed to do.

“Grace, look at me please.”

I raised my eyes to meet her face, feeling my cheeks redden in embarrassment. I guess she could see, after all.

“You know, fornication outside of wedlock is a sin.” She pointed her crooked, arthritic finger at me. She inhaled deeply, her chest expanding. “‘Let marriage be held in honour among all, and let the marriage bed be undefiled. God will judge the sexually immoral and adulterous.’ Do you know what that means?”

I shook my head. Some juice dripped down my lip but I didn’t lick it off.

“It means those who sin will be punished in the afterlife. It may be too late for your parents, but you can still be saved.” She began her struggle to get up, grabbing ahold of the table and pulling herself to her feet. “Don’t make the same mistakes as them.”

Chapter 49

Jack and I drove in silence, his hand on the back of my head, gently massaging my hair. The rosary beads that hung from the rear-view mirror swayed back and forth. We pulled into the parking lot of the pharmacy, narrowly avoiding a collision with a sunken-eyed, scrawny teenager who sprinted away as though freshly escaped from some mental asylum.

“Methadone clinic,” Jack reminded me.

Inside, the fluorescent lights hit my eyes and I could feel a tension headache beginning in my temples, so I pressed my fingertips into them, digging in. It hurt in a good way. The colours, the people, the bright lights, the choices, it was all too much. White flashes began creeping in.

Jack could always tell when a panic attack was coming. He grabbed my hand. “It’s fine, little one. This will just take a second.”

We made our way through the store, excusing ourselves as people stepped out of the way. Soap, shampoo, razors, toothbrushes, condoms, lubricants. We arrived in the family-planning aisle, both of us staring dumbly ahead. First Response, Clearblue, e.p.t.

“This one has two in it,” Jack said, pointing. “Let’s get it, in case one’s a dud.”

“Alright,” I said, grabbing the box and heading for the cash.

The curly-haired cashier was hardly tall enough to see over the counter. She struggled to scan the item as she open-mouth chewed a stick of gum. “$20.68, please.”

Jack pulled some bills from his wallet as she bagged the box, blowing a bubble with her pink gum. The bubble popped and shrunk. She sucked it back into her mouth, handing him change and a brown paper bag folded over on top. “Have a nice day.”

“You too.”

As we made our way to the car, another methadone-clinic teen, this one with a teardrop tattoo on his face, asked if we had any change. Jack gave me the paper bag so he could dig in his pocket. He located a couple of coins and passed them to the kid.