Lorraine was at her weekly dominoes game, for the first time in a long while at Mary’s. Lorraine was concentrating like Houdini before making a move, and was the last to notice when Mary’s granddaughter walked through the door in a print dress cradling a bag of groceries. The girl’s belly ballooned from pregnancy.

“Hi Grams,” the girl said after unloading the groceries in the kitchen. Her hair was raven black, freshly dyed with a lacquered sheen.

“Hi Bethany,” Mary said. “These are my partners in crime…”  She gestured at Lorraine, and their friends, Patti and Sue Ellen, also at the table. Before further introduction the thickset girl gave a standoffish pose, twisting an open palm as a token wave. She bounded up the stairs and out of sight with surprising quickness.

 “She’s so sweet,” Mary said. “Takes the bus to the market whenever I need something, God bless her.”

Mary owned no car but, with her downy cheeks and impish eyes, it appeared Bethany wasn’t old enough to drive. Even Lorraine could see that, and with no kids (let alone grandkids) of her own she usually had difficulty deciphering ages. A few months earlier the dominoes group learned Mary’s granddaughter from Missouri was coming to live with her a while, up to a year maybe. Mary had lived alone for years since her husband’s passing and welcomed the company.

Religion was an important part of Mary’s life. In her living room a crucifix was perched beside the German wall clock that ticked loudly. Sashes and rosaries were among the items on top of an old bureau. And the nearby bookcase contained several versions of The Bible, New Testament and Old, alongside popular new books dedicated to the subject of Christianity. It was something Lorraine was noticing especially now, wondering how that fact might have played into Bethany’s move.

When they were done dropping tiles and moving pegs along the cribbage board, Mary invited her friends to sink themselves into a leather armchair or upon her lime-green wraparound couch. She had a bottle of wine she was going to open. Sue Ellen and Patti begged off, saying they needed to get home. But Lorraine agreed to stick around before catching her bus. Mary soon brought out a chilled bottle of Gewürztraminer and half a dozen snack-size rum cakes.

They gorged on the pastries, which proved a perfect complement to the wine. Mary began talking about some flower-arranging project involving paper swans that she was coordinating for a church fundraiser, but Lorraine’s thoughts drifted upstairs. She began to wonder about Bethany. What would become of her when she returned home to Missouri? She imagined the changing dynamics between the girl and her parents and friends. And what about the baby’s father? For a moment Lorraine pictured him like Spencer had been, a shy neighbor boy adorned with a fair share of pimples. He and Bethany were likely just another awkward young couple whose mutual attraction left them in over their heads. The thought brought Lorraine a little smile. However, just as quickly, she realized the man whose progeny it was could have been a slick-haired gym teacher…or a morally corrupt uncle…or a serial rapist! She grabbed her wine glass with a shaky hand and took a lengthy sip.

The rum cakes devoured, the wine bottle empty, Lorraine felt pleasantly intoxicated. She wasn’t much of a drinker—none of her friends were—and she began laughing without reserve at some snide jokes Mary made about a particularly odd neighbor across the street. She glanced at the clock. Already an hour had passed since their game ended. Lorraine stood, a bit abruptly, and said goodbye.

 At the bus stop bench Lorraine slumped against a nefarious Caribbean pirate ad decal on the backrest. An Asian woman and boy sat beside her. The boy was fidgety and the woman looked worn out, her face drawn and weary. The youngster tugged at the woman’s coat until she lent an ear and reached in her pocket for a wrapped piece of candy. Lorraine couldn’t tell if the woman was thirty-five or fifty-five, or if that was her son or grandson.

It had been quite an afternoon. And now, with the interaction beside her, Lorraine was stirred once more to reminisce about a more complicated period, now seemingly ages ago, when a young girl’s options weren’t what they are today. When a trip to Mexico over Easter break was needed for what Bethany could have chosen to do at many a reputable clinic nearby. It exhausted Lorraine to remember such details. She was actually beginning to nod off before the sound of airbrakes and the smell of diesel roused her.

Inside the bus Lorraine took one of the long bench seats against the sides that faced perpendicular. The seat across from her was empty. That is until someone slithered through the closing doors, paid the fare, and got seated just as the driver pulled from the curb. It was Bethany. Sweet young Bethany with her round mound like a beacon of neon, even under the fabric of her dress.

Instantly Lorraine turned her head, shut her eyes, feigned napping. And then, for the first time in many years, Lorraine allowed herself to do the math, to calculate how old her son or daughter would be. It amazed her to think nearly fifty now had she chosen to have the child.

The bus ran in rumbling, jerky motions, vibrating the floor below Lorraine’s feet and giving her seat a sort of current. Conversation in the bus turned mostly to white noise, but Lorraine noticed a repeated request in a high-pitched voice.

“Excuse me, excuse me,” Bethany was saying to her as she looked over. The girl’s face looked so pale against her stark black hair. “Didn’t I see you at my Grams today?”

Lorraine glanced to her sides as if it were possible the girl was asking someone else. Finally she said, “Oh yes, yes. I was there.”

“I thought so,” Bethany said.

Lorraine simply smiled. She considered keeping mum before muttering a polite “nice to meet you” whenever she or the girl got up to leave. But she was curious about Bethany. She leaned forward, nearly halfway across the aisle. “I’m Lorraine,” she said.

“Bethany” the girl said, which of course Lorraine already knew. Bethany slapped her hands on her tummy. She played it like a bongo drum. “You want to have a feel? It started kicking last week.”

“Oh no, I don’t think so,” Lorraine said as the bus pulled to a stop.

“You sure?” Bethany said. A tattoo-plastered fellow with a ball cap on backwards passed between them and scooted out the door. “I caught how you stared at it when I first got to Grams…”

“You did?” Lorraine said.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I just… You see, I never had any children of my own, and here you are, you know, you’re so young…”

Bethany blushed, appearing more little girl than expectant mother. “Well, God decided to bless me,” she said. “It’s not like I’ll be a real mother exactly, since I won’t be raising it.”

“You’ll have time for that one day,” Lorraine said.

“Probably someday,” Bethany said. “But I’ve got years of school ahead of me. And a career I hope. I want to be an artist.”

“An artist? That would be nice.”

“I’m pretty serious with paint and mixed media” the girl said. “I visit the museum of art for inspiration. In fact, I’m going there now.” She fiddled with the purse in her lap before holding out what looked like a ticket. “See? Here’s my museum pass.”

They hit another couple stops. Lorraine’s was next. She pulled the window cord then inched to the edge of her vinyl-cushioned seat.

“So, you want to touch it?” Bethany said, patting her belly.

“I’m about to get off. This is my stop,” Lorraine said.

“Then hurry up. I think I can feel it kicking!”

The high pitch of the bus’s brakes sounded. Lorraine stood and placed her hand at the spot where Bethany pointed.

“A little to the left now,” Bethany said.

The bus door rattled open. Lorraine withdrew her hand, waved with it and turned for the door.

“Did you feel anything?” the girl called out as Lorraine padded down the steps and on to the pavement.

But the doors had closed before Lorraine could answer. Lorraine tried to signal through the window but the bus pulled away too quickly, leaving only a big blast of diesel fumes.