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  This outburst, unfortunately, served only to heighten Glory’s dire expectations. “Oh God,” she cried, returning her daughter’s embrace. “Oh my poor baby!”

  “He said . . .”

  “What, darling? What?”

  “He said . . .” Kate gulped, sniffled, but couldn’t go on.

  Finally, Dr. Rickert cleared his throat again. “I’m afraid Kate is pregnant, Glory.”

  “She’s what?” Glory drew back sharply from her daughter.

  Kate shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “I’m not, Mom! I swear!”

  “There’s no mistake,” said Dr. Rickert.

  “No!” wailed Kate, his words setting her off again. “Why won’t you listen to me?” she cried, nearly hysterical now. “I’m telling the truth!”

  Glory’s tanned face had turned a ghastly shade of pale. “Hush now, honey,” she said to her daughter, her voice all business now. “We’ll figure this out, I promise.” Then she turned back to Dr. Rickert. “Could you leave us alone for a moment, Doctor? Just us girls?”

  He was already getting to his feet, obviously relieved to go, even for just a little while. “Of course. I’ll be outside if you need me.”

  Glory stood as well. She laid a hand on Kate’s shoulder. “Honey, I’m going to have a quick word with Dr. Rickert. I’ll be right back, and then we’ll talk.”

  Kate didn’t answer or respond in any way. She sat curled up on the chair. The storm of tears had passed as suddenly as it had come on, and now she felt empty, drained. She was aware of the gentle weight of her mother’s hand on her shoulder, the sound of her voice, of receding footsteps, and then the low murmur of voices just outside the door. But none of it really impinged on her; it might have been a million miles away. Dr. Rickert’s office—his solid mahogany desk with its framed photographs of his wife and two sons, the diplomas so proudly displayed on the wall behind the desk, the bookshelves filled with thick reference volumes, the tastefully framed posters from the Gibbes Museum of Art—all of it seemed flat and sterile, like a stage set. The world outside the window was no improvement. Kate could see Charleston Harbor, the water like lead in the gray light of the overcast January day. It had been drizzling on and off all morning; now the clouds were thickening ominously, announcing a storm. Yet she felt cut off from it by more than just the window. It was as if there was a pane of glass inside her, separating her from her own emotions. She could look through it, see them quite clearly—the fear, the confusion, the anger—but she couldn’t touch them, couldn’t feel them.

  She looked up at the sound of a closing door to see her mother walking back to the chair. Glory didn’t say a word as she sat down, just looked at Kate as though seeing right to the core of her.

  Kate squirmed inside and smiled nervously. “I guess we won’t be having lunch at Anson, huh?”

  The attempted joke fell flat. Glory frowned and said, “Is there anything you want to tell me, Kate?”

  “I’m not pregnant, Mom. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “Dr. Rickert assures me there’s no mistake.”

  “He’s wrong. I swear, Mom. I haven’t been with any boy, ever!”

  “Maybe something happened that you’re afraid to tell me about. Maybe some boy wouldn’t take no for an answer. Is that what happened, Kate?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  She was near tears again. But she drew a deep breath and forced herself to speak calmly. “I don’t know. I think we should go to another doctor.”

  Her mother appeared to consider this.

  “Mom, I took a vow,” she said softly, holding Glory’s gaze. “I promised God I would stay pure. I haven’t broken it. I haven’t.”

  That seemed to decide her. “All right, honey,” Glory said with a nod. “We’ll get another opinion.”

  Relief rushed through her, and she was crying again before she knew it.

  “Shhh.” Her mother hugged her, stroking her hair. “Hush now.”

  After a moment, Kate pulled away. She smiled crookedly as she dabbed at her eyes with fresh Kleenex. “You believe me, don’t you, Mom?”

  “Of course I do,” said Glory. But she had already gotten to her feet and turned away, so Kate couldn’t see her expression as she said it.

  A quick phone call from Glory secured them a walk-in appointment with Dr. Jane Sibley, Glory’s gynecologist. Sometimes Kate was embarrassed by her family’s high standing in Charleston society, thanks to Papa Jim’s wealth and connections, but this was not one of those times. She was eager to put this nightmare behind her once and for all.

  Dr. Sibley, a plump woman with short brown hair who appeared to be in her midfifties, listened intently as Glory explained the situation. Her blue eyes were magnified behind thick lenses, giving her the look of a matronly owl. “Dr. Rickert faxed over his results,” she told them. “Urine tests are highly accurate, but there are occasional false positives.”

  “What could cause that, Jane?” asked Glory.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Dr. Sibley advised. “First, we’ll do a blood test and pelvic exam. That should settle the question.”

  “But what if it still shows I’m pregnant?” Kate asked, unable to keep a tremor from her voice.

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  Dr. Sibley led them to an examination room, where, behind a screen, Kate exchanged her clothes for a loose green hospital gown. Then, emerging, she lay on the examination table and placed her feet into the stirrups. Glory, who stood beside her at the head of the table, flashed a supportive smile.

  Dr. Sibley bent to her work. It didn’t take long. After no more than five minutes, she straightened up.

  “Well?” asked Glory.

  Blinking owlishly, Dr. Sibley peeled off her gloves and tossed them into the disposal bin. “You can get dressed, Kate. Then I’ll talk to you both in my office.”

  Kate nodded mutely.

  “But is she pregnant?” Glory demanded. “Or is it . . .”

  “In my office,” Dr. Sibley repeated firmly and left the room.

  “She would have said something, right?” asked Kate as she dressed behind the screen. She was so nervous, she could barely get her legs into her jeans.

  “Just hurry up,” said Glory.

  “Mom, I’m scared,” Kate said when she came around the screen. “Before we go in there, can I say a prayer?”

  Glory gave her a tight smile. “Of course, honey. I think I’ll say one too.”

  Kate bowed her head. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. But then the familiar words of the Lord’s Prayer rose unbidden to her mind, and she recited them under her breath. Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven. . . . As she prayed, she felt a sense of warmth kindle in her. Centered in her belly at first, it radiated throughout her body until she felt as if she were glowing. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. . . . Somehow, she wasn’t so afraid anymore. A deep sense that everything was going to be all right had settled over her. A conviction. She felt comforted, reassured, as she had never before felt in the course of reciting this or any other prayer. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory. For ever and ever. Amen.

  When she looked up, her mother was waiting by the door, staring at her with a strangely tender expression. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Glory shook her head, wiped at her eyes. “Nothing. It’s just . . . you looked so beautiful as you were praying. So pure. Like an angel.”

  “We better go,” Kate said.

  Dr. Sibley was waiting in her office, seated behind her desk. She motioned for Kate and Glory to sit on the sofa. Kate scrutinized the doctor’s face, hoping for some clue as to what she was about to say, but there was nothing. Dr. Sibley must be a mean poker player, she decided as she sat do
wn. Glory settled beside her. Kate took her mother’s hand. The feeling of serenity that had settled over her as she prayed was beginning to fray. Outside the office window, rain was pelting down.

  “I’ll come straight to the point,” said Dr. Sibley. “Dr. Rickert was right. You’re pregnant, Kate.”

  Kate gasped. It was as if she’d been punched in the stomach. She couldn’t breathe.

  She felt Glory stiffen beside her and pull her hand free.

  “You’re about seven weeks along, I’d say,” Dr. Sibley continued.

  “What about the blood test?” Glory asked.

  Dr. Sibley shrugged. “I should have the results back in a couple of hours. But they won’t change anything, Glory.”

  “But it’s not possible,” Kate said weakly.

  “Oh, it’s possible,” said Dr. Sibley with a grim smile. “It’s more than possible.”

  “No, it’s not. I’ve never had sex.”

  “You can get pregnant without intercourse,” Dr. Sibley said. “If you bring any ejaculate or pre-ejaculate into contact with the vulva, there’s always a chance of fertilization if the circumstances are right. What are they teaching you kids these days?”

  “You don’t understand,” said Kate, more insistently now. “I’ve never done anything like that! I’ve never done anything but kiss! You can’t get pregnant from kissing, can you?”

  “Of course not!” her mother snapped. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  “But—”

  Glory cut her off. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense.” She surged to her feet, glaring down at her daughter. “I trusted you, Kate. I had my doubts, but I believed you. And this is the thanks I get. Not another word,” she added, raising a forestalling hand before Kate could speak again. “The only thing I want to hear from you now is the name of the boy who did this.”

  “I already told you,” cried Kate. “Nobody did anything!”

  Dr. Sibley broke in, her voice firm and authoritative. “This isn’t the time for recriminations or accusations, Glory. Your daughter is only seventeen, for God’s sake! You should know better than anyone how she feels.” At this, Glory subsided, sinking back onto the sofa like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

  Dr. Sibley turned to Kate. “I’m sorry, Kate, but I have to ask: Were you raped? Abused?”

  “No, nothing like that!” Kate protested shrilly.

  “It’s that boyfriend of hers, Brady Maxwell,” Glory said.

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Kate said. “Not since . . .” She trailed off, realizing that she’d said too much.

  “Not since New York?” Glory’s eyes flashed in sudden surmise. “That’s when it happened, isn’t it? I knew I shouldn’t have let you go on that trip! Did he get you drunk? Drug you?”

  “It wasn’t Brady! It wasn’t anybody!”

  “It had to be somebody,” Glory insisted. “Why are you protecting him?”

  Dr. Sibley broke in again. “Calm down, both of you. It doesn’t do any good to fight. You have decisions to make. Hard decisions that will impact the rest of your lives in one way or another. You need to come together as a family.”

  At this, Kate sagged. “Oh my God. Daddy’s going to freak out. And Papa Jim!” The reality of it all was sinking in. “They won’t believe me either. Nobody’s going to believe me . . .” She’d never felt so alone. So abandoned.

  “It’s not uncommon for young girls in this situation to have some trouble at first accepting their condition,” Dr. Sibley told her. “But believe me, Kate, it’s not the end of the world, even if it seems that way now. You have choices.”

  “You mean abortion?” asked Glory. “You know we’re good Catholics, Jane. We’re not going to compound one sin with a worse one.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting anything specifically. But I do recommend family counseling. I can give you the names of some good therapists. Or perhaps you’d rather talk to your priest. And I can refer you to an excellent obstetrician.”

  “I want to go home now,” Kate said. “Please, Mom. I just want to go home.”

  They’d left quickly after that, with Glory promising to call Dr. Sibley the next day. The ride home was torturous. The storm that had been brooding over the city had broken, and now traffic across the Pearman Bridge was moving at a crawl through heavy rain lashed by strong winds. Glory sat tight-lipped behind the wheel of the BMW, seemingly fixated on the frantic back and forth of the windshield wipers. Beside her, Kate was facing out the passenger-side window. Neither of them had spoken since they’d left Dr. Sibley’s office, and not a word was exchanged until the car pulled into the driveway of their house in the Old Village section of Mount Pleasant. The two-story Charleston Single–style home, built in 1893, had been a wedding present from Papa Jim.

  “What are you going to tell Daddy?” asked Kate.

  “I don’t know,” Glory said.

  “Mom, I’m not lying, I swear.”

  “I don’t want to hear any more from you right now, Kate.”

  “Fine,” she said, pushing open the door and jumping out into the rain before the BMW had rolled to a stop.

  “Kate!” Glory shouted.

  But she didn’t answer, just hit the ground running and kept on running into the house and up the stairs to her bedroom on the second floor. There she slammed the door behind her, threw herself down onto her bed, clutched the nearest stuffed animal—a pink unicorn—to her chest and burst into tears.

  After a moment, Kate heard her mother enter the house and move around noisily downstairs, but luckily she didn’t come upstairs, for which Kate said a silent prayer of thanks. She was also thankful that her father, Bill Skylar, was on a business trip to Nevada for Papa Jim and wouldn’t be home for another two days.

  That pretty much exhausted the things she had to be thankful about.

  How could she be pregnant if she’d never done more than kiss a boy? Despite what Dr. Sibley had said, Kate knew that she had never been in a situation remotely likely to result in a pregnancy. It was flat-out impossible. The doctors and their tests were wrong. They had to be.

  But what if they weren’t?

  What if, by some miracle, she really was pregnant? What then?

  By some miracle . . .

  A shiver ran through her body.

  Despite her denials, she knew that something had happened to her. Something had changed. Deep down inside, she knew she was pregnant. She’d always known, from the minute Dr. Rickert had told her. She just hadn’t wanted to accept it. Hadn’t wanted to follow the terrible logic of it to its inevitable, impossible, insane conclusion.

  Dr. Sibley had said that she was about seven weeks along, which meant, as Glory had so quickly recognized, that whatever had caused the pregnancy had happened in New York. Still clutching tightly to the stuffed unicorn, Kate turned over in bed, lying face up, staring at the ceiling, where, years ago, her dad had pasted a fantastic night sky of glow-in-the-dark stars, with familiar constellations like Orion, the Big Dipper, and Leo the Lion alongside other constellations that they had made up themselves, laughing over such outlandish creations as Puff the Magic Dragon, the Old Shoe, and Papa Jim’s Cigar. She wondered if she would ever laugh with her father again.

  She remembered how, in New York, she’d been struck by the Renaissance-era paintings in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the apostles, saints, and martyrs, and how, regarding their faces, etched with profound joy and suffering, she’d understood in a way she never had before that the touch of God would be a hard thing to bear.

  How hard, she hadn’t dreamed.

  Until now.

  But did that mean she was like the Virgin Mary, carrying the child of God Almighty? It seemed not only foolish but blasphemous to even entertain the thought. It was crazy.

  And yet she couldn’t dismiss it.

  She remembered the sidewalk artist–cum–street preacher, Gabriel— Gabriel, like the angel!—and how he’d said to her, “You’re blessed. God’s grace is upon you.” He’d said
that to her and then thrust a drawing into her hands . . .

  Kate leaped up from the bed. The drawing! She’d forgotten all about it until now.

  Grabbing her purse, she rooted around in its clutter for a moment before losing patience and dumping the contents out on her bedspread. There it was, at the very bottom of the purse.

  She picked up the stained and ragged piece of folded-up notebook paper and unfolded it with trembling hands.

  It was a pencil sketch of a mother and infant child, done in the style of the paintings from the museum.

  The face was unmistakably hers.

  And written below it, the words “Full of Grace.”

  Kate dropped the paper. She couldn’t stop shaking.

  She got off the bed and sank to her knees at the side of the bed, clutching her hands before her.

  Please, God, she thought, or rather prayed with every fiber of her being, her soul vibrating like the strings of a plucked harp, I’m afraid of this. I’m not brave or strong or even very good. If it’s your will that I be pregnant, so be it. But please, if it’s not too late, don’t ask me to do this. Find someone else. It’s too much to ask of me. I can’t do it. I can’t!

  The sudden knocking at her door nearly sent her jumping out of her skin.

  “Kate?” came her mother’s voice. “Are you awake?”

  She stood up hurriedly and sat on the bed, moving a pillow to cover the drawing and the other items tumbled from her purse. She’d been so intent on her prayer that she hadn’t heard her mother mounting the stairs. “Go away,” she said, though she knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  Sure enough, Glory pushed the door open and peeked in. “We have to talk,” she said.

  Kate nodded mutely, knowing the truth of it. But what she would say to her mother now, how she could possibly make her understand, was utterly beyond her.

  Glory stepped into the room and shut the door softly behind her. Then she came to the bed and sat down beside Kate. She looked as though she’d aged ten years in the last few hours. “Honey, I know you don’t think I understand what you’re going through, but the truth is, I do. Better than you can imagine.” She was looking at her hands, which were clenched tightly in her lap. “You see, I was only seventeen myself when I got pregnant with you.”