The Rabbit Died

 

By
Nicholas Lohr

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Harriet went downstairs and announced she was too sick to go to church. Her mother pressed a hand against her face. “You don’t feel warm,” she said.
“It’s my stomach,” said Harriet.
“Poor thing,” said her mother and made a face.
“Ready?” her father asked as he came back in from starting the car.
“This one says she’s sick,” said her mother as she stuffed her fingers into a pair of white church gloves.
“You want one of us to stay with you?” asked her father.
“No, I just want to go back to bed,” said Harriet.
“You’ll miss the egg hunt,” said her mother and motioned toward her little sister and baby brother. The two sat in the middle of the floor, her sister twisting and pulling the limbs of a doll while her brother sat bundled in his coat, transfixed by a toy car.
“She’s getting a little old for that anyway,” said her father.
“Yeah,” said Harriet.
“I don’t want you getting back in bed with your good dress on,” said her mother.
“I won’t,” she said.

Harriet returned to her room as her parents scooped up her brother and sister, put them in the back of the car, and drove off. She sat on the edge of her bed, feeling her shoes pinch the ends of her toes. She lifted the dress over her head. It was the same one she wore last Easter, already a half-size too small. She changed into a t-shirt and jeans, hung the dress back in her closet, and kicked the shoes under the bed. She heard the front door swing open and a pair of clumsy feet stomp up the stairs. A knock came.

“It’s open, Bobby,” said Harriet.
Bobby entered, clutching something in his jacket.
“Did you get it?” she asked.
“I got it, I got it,” he said.
“How much was it?”
“I didn’t actually pay for it,” he said, “Are you nuts?”
“You stole it?” she asked.
“What the hell else was I supposed to do? My dad knows the guy who runs that place,” he said.
“You didn’t have to steal it,” she said.
“Yeah, well, you didn’t want to go in there and get it yourself,” he said.
He unzipped the jacket, pulled out a small box, and gave it to her.
“How long does it take?” she asked.
“I don’t know, it’s got instructions,” he said.

She slid her finger under the box’s cardboard fold and emptied its contents onto the bed. A small plastic cup, an eye dropper, a plastic wand, and a piece of paper.
“Collect urine specimen in provided container,” she read from the paper. “Urine is most suitable in the morning because it typically contains the highest concentration of h… c… g.”
“Did you go before?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
“Well do it then,” he said.
“Hold on,” she said and kept reading. “Place the test device horizontally. Use dropper to add 3-5 drops of urine into the window at the bottom of the device.”
“That’s it?” he said.
“I guess so,” she said.

Harriet took the cup to the bathroom and locked the door behind her. She sat on the toilet and waited. Outside she could hear the growl of storm clouds, threatening to cancel the church’s outdoor festivities.
“So much for the egg hunt,” she said to herself.
When the urge came, she grabbed the cup and put it between her legs, trying to get as much inside as possible. She got up, washed her hands, and returned to her room. Bobby was sitting on the bed, looking at the framed photographs she kept on her nightstand.

“Don’t touch those,” she said.
“I wasn’t,” he said.
She put the cup on top of her dresser.
“Hand me that,” she said, pointing to the eye dropper and wand. Bobby brought them.
“Do you want me to do it?” he asked.
“I can,” she said.
Harriet put the dropper in the cup and hovered it above the plastic wand.
“Your hands are shaking,” said Bobby.
“I know,” she said. “Look at the instructions, tell me how long it takes.”
He went over to the bed. “Ten minutes,” he said.
“Ten minutes? You’re sure?” she asked.
“It says right here, ‘Results may take up to ten minutes’.”
“Ten minutes,” she said.
They began to wait.

They sat together on the bed. Harriet looked at the things she’d hung on her walls. Some of them were posters, big glossy ones of her favorite bands. Others were photographs and pages from magazines she taped up long before high school.

“What did you tell them?” he asked.
“About what?” she said.
“To get out of church,” he said.
“I told them I was sick. That I threw up,” she said and rubbed her stomach.
Bobby looked around and nodded.
“Are you?” he asked.
“What?” she said.
“Sick,” he said. “Like morning sickness.”
“No,” she said. “It’s not like that.”

She looked at him, noticed his feet swinging nervously over the edge of the bed. His right shoe was untied. His shoes were were always coming untied. She had never really thought about it before.
“You think you’ll go out to Aquinnah this year?” he asked.
The summer camp she went to last year on The Vineyard.
“No,” she said and shook her head. “I mean, obviously not—.”
“Sorry,” he said and shook his head. “Obviously.”
He held her hand. It was still shaking. She heard the patter of rain drops hitting the window. She wiped a tear from her cheek as she picked up the instructions and read from them.
“A plus sign indicates a positive result,” she said.
“Is it done?” he asked.
“I think so,” she said.
They stood and walked to the wand sitting on the dresser. Harriet picked it up and looked at the indicator. Bobby stayed back, looking over her shoulder.