there, and Lionel hated to explain it all to them.
“She's just coming down from some of the stuff she's been on. She'll be all right in a few days.”
“Can we take her home tonight?” Faye was anxious to get her home, to have her seen by the doctor who had taken care of her for years, and to get her to Dr. Smythe before it was too late for him to take care of that. She hadn't seen Anne from the front yet and didn't know how far along she was, but she assumed that it wasn't too late. There was no reason to think it was. But Lionel was shaking his head in answer to what she had said, and Faye frowned.
“I don't think she's up to traveling yet, Mom. Give her a day or two to adjust.”
'To what?” Faye looked shocked. “To us?”
Ward stepped forward for the first time, and avoided his son's eyes while speaking to him. “Has she seen a doctor yet?” Lionel shook his head. “I think she should.” He walked slowly around the bed, and looked down at his youngest child. She was still filthy, caked with dirt, her face stained with tears, and the eyes were huge in her face, as he gently sat down and stroked her hair, feeling tears sting his own eyes. What had brought this child to that? How could she have run away from them? “It's so good to see you again, Anne.” She didn't shrink from his hand, but she watched him like a frightened animal, and then he let his eyes rove slowly down her limbs, and they stopped midway and moved on. He tried not to register the shock he felt. It was much too late to do something about that. And he turned toward Faye with a look of despair and then stood up, and glanced at Lionel again. “Do you know a doctor in town?”
“The police gave us a name. He thought they should examine her anyway. And they want to talk to you and Mom.” Ward nodded, at least he was able to speak to the boy, but he couldn't bring himself to look at John. The room's only bed, a double that looked barely that wide, on which Anne lay now, spoke for itself and he tried not to think of it. One drama was enough, and he wanted to speak to the police now. He took out his pen and jotted the names down of the men who had cooperated in finding her, and particularly the two who had brought her in. Lionel said they would have all the details, and Ward shuddered at the prospect of hearing them. But he knew they would have to know eventually.
Faye went over and sat on the bed next to Anne, as Ward had, but this time the girl flinched. It was like having a desperately sick child and visiting her in the hospital. Faye's eyes were riveted to her face and Anne started to cry.
“Go away … I don't want to be here …”
“I know, sweetheart … but we'll all be going home soon … to your own house … and your own bed …”
“I want to go back to Moon and my friends.” She sobbed. She was a fourteen-year-old girl and she sounded like she was five. And Faye didn't ask who Moon was. She assumed that he was the father of the child. And as the thought came to mind, she glanced down at Anne's belly, assuming it would still be flat, and she gasped in shock as she saw it sticking out. Faye knew from experience she was four or five months gone. And she decided to ask right away, much to Ward's chagrin. He didn't want to push her yet. Lionel was right. She needed time to adjust to all of them again. She had gone far, far away, and she had been away from them for a long time.
“How pregnant are you, Anne?” She wanted her voice to sound gentle when she asked, but she instantly knew it did not. It sounded nervous and harsh and sharp and Lionel looked at them in despair.
“I don't know how pregnant I am,” Anne answered her with closed eyes. She refused to look at her anymore. She hated her. She always had. And she hated her even more now. It was her fault that they had taken her away, her fault they wouldn't let her go back. She had always