–Your father, is he—

–He doesn’t like unscheduled Cures. Tell me why you’re worried.

–I’d some blood this morning. And my stomach hasn’t been right.

–All right, I’ll look inside.

She nodded and watched me, her face tight.

She reached out a hand and put it on mine. Her skin was as Samson’s would have been, had he not been those years in the field.

–Miss Ada, what happens when you have a baby with someone you’re not supposed to?

–Don’t fret Mrs Claudette. I’ve never seen adultery get into a baby.

The words fell out of me. She was twisting the front of her dress. She looked up me, her lashes velvety and thick.

–Is there anything that can get in?

–…You mean like shock?

–No, I mean like other things you’re not supposed to do.

Her shoulders were prickling in the cool shade of the bedroom, their little hairs awoken.

–From here everything seems fine, but let me look inside.

She lay back and closed her eyes, the thin lids crinkling. I put her to sleep and pulled up her dress. Her belly had grown a thick pink line from button to groin. I pulled down her panties and looked at the stain inside the frilled cotton cloth: quick, bright tendril of pink. She split open like a barrel, the skin hard and unfolding. I saw the outline of the child, saw him kick a little at the gust of air come to meet him.

I looked down and saw a little growth – most likely a remnant of her previous curing – that was causing her to leak, but doing no harm besides. It clung like a berry to the side of her womb. Placing my hand over it I hummed a tune and within a few moments it had gone away with a popping sound.

When I woke her I told her everything was fine, but that she shouldn’t spend so much time on her feet, she nodded and gazed up at me, sinking her pretty white teeth into her pretty pink lip.

She’s not listening to me at all, only watching.

–Is there anything else, Olivia?

The muscles ’round her mouth working into a soft pout.

Must be a trick of hers, to put the men in mind of kissing.

–Well, yes. I’m worried about my brother, Miss Ada.

She squirmed inside of her dress. I felt my voice jump in my throat, but when I spoke made sure I sounded easy and light.

–Why? Is he poorly?

–He’s sick. He’s not right.

She looked down at her hands, and folded them.

–Tell him to come for a curing.

–I don’t think it’s something that can be fixed, Miss Ada.

–Then why are you telling me about it?

She flinched, like I’d pinched her. I’d liked to have slapped her creamy cheek, to stop her from speaking with Father downstairs.

–I just need to know if my baby is a girl.

–…You’re not worried about jinxes?

–I need to know if the baby will be safe around Samson.

Like a warm bath, she slid into her lies.

–I don’t follow.

–When it’s growing up … if it’s a girl, and if we’re living with Samson … I won’t be leaving them alone.

And then she looked at me, through her lashes. Bud of a mouth a little bit open. Her dark hair fell into her eyes and she left it there.

That won’t work, I wanted to tell her. That won’t work on me.

Father made no noise downstairs.

–It’s a boy.

She didn’t gasp or sigh or make any of the relieved noises that Cures make. Her voice was flat and hard.

–You’re sure?

–Certain.

She kept looking at me and I kept looking at her and then, slowly, she pushed her lips together again.

–Well then, that makes things easier.

And she was sitting up without any assistance from me.

I helped her down the stairs and out to the car. I didn’t know where Father had gone, how much he had heard.

–Miss Ada, can I pay you next week?

–Don’t worry about paying me this time. There really was very little to do.

By now she was twisting the keys in their particular way that saw the truck spurred to life once more.

–Oh thank you, Ada. Thank you.

All the concern gone from her now. Looking at me like she might laugh or wink, her shoulders sliding down her back, readying herself to preen in the breeze, –Us girls must stick together.

I went back inside and called into the kitchen, told Father I was tired and going to bed. He made a ‘Hmph’ sound that I barely heard with thinking all the things I’d liked to have said.

I’d be not right too, with a sister like you.

The next day I’d planned on meeting Samson.

I didn’t know if I’d tell him what Olivia had said, if he’d know why she said it. I’d never known a Cure to speak of a sibling – of any blood relation – in such a way. Of course there was something different about him: he wasn’t afraid of me – of being taken inside me. Didn’t care about the ways I was unlike Cure women. But why would Olivia claim he’d hurt a child?

Like I said, I’d planned on seeing him, but that morning I opened my eyes to a weak, faltering sound – some small thing crying and the mewl of it waking me. Slow and dazed I followed the weepy noise into the kitchen, climbing onto the counters and looking into the bowl we kept atop the cupboard. Wide enamel bowl with its blue rim, and inside of it a baby. Or rather, the outline of a baby. Only a whisper of a thing, neatly swaddled in the blanket we kept there.