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“Please tell me those fuckers got w
hat they deserved.”
“Gavin, there’s one more thing.”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“After the police raid, the arrests…I found out I was pregnant. With the timing, it was most likely the night of the rape. I don’t know which one of them fathered my daughter.”
“You have a child.” He tightens his arms around me and sighs. “Where is she now?”
The tears are falling down my face. I open the locket around my neck and remove the tiny scrap of pink muslin, holding it up for him to see. “This was hers. It was from the hospital blanket—the one she was wrapped in when she died.”
Gavin shifts his body and turns me toward him. Looking into my eyes, he asks, “How? When?”
My breath stutters as he kisses the tears away. “My water broke just over the halfway mark...they said my cervix was incompetent. It was a freak thing that just happens sometimes, I guess. She was born too early and there was nothing they could do. I was forced to deliver her, knowing that when they put her in my arms, it was for the sole purpose of what they called, comfort care. At twenty-two weeks, there was no way she would survive without significant brain damage. She was so small…so red and wrinkly. She only took a few labored breaths before passing away in my arms.”
Gavin pulls me into his chest as I cry for Amelia—for the chances she never had. His breathing becomes choppy and I recognize that he is crying too. This man I’ve only known for a few months is grieving over what I lost—my innocence, my optimism, and most importantly, my beautiful, helpless child. He whispers sweet words into my ear as he holds me, never once loosening his grip. For the first time since everything happened, I don’t feel like I’m floating in a dark abyss. Being here in Gavin’s arms, I feel anchored to the present. I think about what anchors represent: strength and stability. I realize that Gavin is my anchor. He makes me feel like maybe there is hope for the future—like maybe I’m not so broken after all.
I GET TO SCHOOL EARLY and hang out by Dylan’s locker. I see him down the hall, waiting to gauge his expression as he notices me. I’m hoping he’s had some time to cool down—maybe he’s talked himself out of believing what he saw. What he thinks he saw, I remind myself. If I’m going to convince Dylan that nothing is going on between me and Gavin, then I need to keep my story straight. I know the moment he sees me because he slows his pace and frowns. Well, so much for my hope that this would all brush over.
“Hi,” I say as I step aside, allowing him access to his locker.
“What do you want, Kat?”
“Since when do I need an excuse to talk to you?”
Dylan leans forward and lowers his voice. “Since you decided to start fucking our Lit teacher.”
Okay, this is it. This is the moment where I need to convince him that he’s totally off base.
“Dylan, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I don’t know where you got such a ridiculous idea, but—”
“Don’t bullshit me, Kitty,” he snarls. “You can lie to everyone else, but don’t lie to me.”
“What makes you think I’m lying?”
He slams his locker shut, grabs my arm, and pulls me down the hall into an empty janitor’s closet.
“Dylan, what are you—”
“Shut up!” he shouts. “Just shut the fuck up for one minute and let me think!”
I stand there silently, surprised by his outburst. I watch as he seems to be working through something in his head. He runs his fingers through his hair as he paces the small space. He finally stills and takes a deep breath.
“Look, I followed you. Okay?”
“What do you mean you followed me? Followed me where?” I ask.
“To that asshole’s classroom! You were acting weird so I knew something was up. I decided to follow you out of the cafeteria and find out what was going on.”
Okay, this isn’t too bad. I can work through this. The door was closed which means he still doesn’t have any proof.
“So?” I challenge. “I never denied being in his classroom. That doesn’t mean there was any debauchery involved, which is what you’re implying. Am I wrong?”
“I’m not implying anything, Kat. I’m clearly stating that I know you’re fucking around with Mr. Cooper. What I don’t know, is if he’s the same guy you were talking about that night in your apartment. That’s a question you can answer for me.”
“Of course not,” I deny.
