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Helen’s palm vibrated while Lila racked the balls.
Lila stood up straight, peering at the doctor’s neutral face.
“Well?”
“The sample wasn’t a match. He’s not the father.”
Lila snatched up her cue. She broke even harder this time.
The child of her attempted murderer crawled in her belly.
Spinning. Writhing.
She realized now why her head had been filled with Tristan for so long. She’d hoped the baby belonged to him. Even though it would have been messy and complicated, even though she didn’t want anything connecting them for the next eighteen years, some part of her wanted it to be him.
The alternative was so much worse.
“Call that number, Lila. Make an appointment. The woman owes me, so don’t worry about the cost.” Helen laid her hand on Lila’s cue, stopping her from breaking again. “Give it two weeks, okay? Don’t make this about the senator. This is about you. A child can be a lot of work, but it can also be a blessing.”
The women’s shouts and the dancer’s gestures seemed so much more vulgar and out of place than they had seconds ago.
“A child isn’t therapy,” Lila said.
“Sometimes it is. Childbirth changes your hormones. Motherhood changes your priorities and how you see the world. It changes what you care about.”
“I don’t want to be a mother. I don’t think that’s going to change.”
“A baby is not a curse, Lila. A baby can be a gift.”
Helen squeezed her shoulder and left to pay the tab.
Chapter 25
Lila yawned and stretched on Helen’s leather couch, her cheek damp and cold from where Scout had nosed it. Above them, the clock read four thirty, ticking more loudly than the dog’s rattling collar. He sat down and panted, his tongue lolling goofily to the side.
“I hate you,” she muttered, tossing the red blanket off her shoulders. Snatching her palm from the side table nearby, she checked her messages, but still her father had not responded.
Scout licked his lips and nosed at her hand.
“I’m guessing you need to go for a walk?”
At the word walk, Scout hopped and twirled toward a leather strap hanging from the coatrack, biting the clasp. Having nothing better to do, Lila connected the leash to his collar and took him downstairs, letting him lift his leg on a patch of brown grass between the buildings.
He took two steps and crouched.
His back rounded, and his tail flipped up.
“Please, don’t shit. Please, don’t shit,” she chanted under breath.
The dog shat.
Lila dropped the leash and ran. She hit the stairs at a thundering pace, her boots pounding against each step.
The dog trailed along happily after her.
Back in the apartment, she unclasped the dog’s leash and found a small scrap of paper. She scrawled a short note, thanking Helen for letting her stay the night, then folded the red blanket she’d slept under. Scout whimpered as she closed the door.
Lila crushed a wad of credits in her coat pocket while she jogged downstairs. Helen had lent her some money before shuffling off to bed, ignoring her protests.
