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Phyllis was fiddling with the bottom of her sweater, pulling on a thread.
If she didn’t stop, she was going to pull the thread all the way through and ruin the sweater.
“You must be exhausted,” he said, trying to assimilate the things she’d told him—and whatever she hadn’t told him.
She nodded, seemingly engrossed with that thread. He suspected she was avoiding his gaze. And he had no idea why. Why had their relationship suddenly become awkward again?
He should probably just leave—let her get some rest. After the night she’d apparently had, she’d be risking the pregnancy for sure if she wasn’t really careful. Or maybe…
“Are you bleeding again?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m fine.”
He’d like to just believe that and go. Return to his television set. There was still a game and a half remaining, and his Internet friends would be wondering where he was. He hadn’t missed a Sunday-afternoon football bonanza in more than two years. They didn’t know his real name. Had no idea where he lived or anything personal about him, but they knew ms2456 could call a game like no other.
Something he’d learned from his dad during the times the old man had been around. The elder Sheffield didn’t only steal. He also ran a hell of a gambling racket.
“I told Tory about the baby.”
He stiffened. “I guess your friends finding out at some point is kind of unavoidable.”
She nodded again, the back of her neck looking fragile to him, exposed as it was below her bent head. “I told her to keep quiet about it for now, though. I still want to wait a little while and make sure I’m really going to have this baby before everyone starts making plans for me.”
“You’re still worried about losing the baby?”
Maybe the night she’d spent, fearing for Tory’s baby, had frightened her. Maybe that, coupled with exhaustion, was all that was wrong with her.
“Not really,” she said. “No more than I was. But to tell you the truth, I’m enjoying this time alone with the knowledge. It’s all settling on me slowly, peacefully, rather than coming at me with hundreds of questions that don’t yet have answers.”
Matt thought about that, impressed with Phyllis’s insight into something she’d never experienced before. “You want time to get some of those questions answered in your own mind before your friends start asking them.”
“Yeah,” she said. She raised her head, holding his gaze a bit longer before looking down again. “I guess I do.”
“I can understand how you feel.”
“You’re good at that.” She sent him a sideways smile.
“Good at what?”
“Understanding.”
Hmm. Maybe he was. He’d never thought about it before. He’d just learned at a very young age to put himself in other people’s shoes—the people around him—sometimes to predict behavior and get out of the way, sometimes to know when to head for protection somewhere, sometimes to find the love that was never apparent in his house.
Besides, who was he to cast judgment on anyone?
“So you going to tell me what has you so down this afternoon?” he asked. He’d been searching for a way to leave, but suddenly found himself needing to stay. To help her if he could.
“You know—” she looked across at him “—I’d really like to tell you. You’re probably the only person who’d understand, but I’m afraid you’ll take it wrong, assume I want something that I absolutely do not want.”
Matt held out both hands, palms up. “I promise, no assumptions.”
“This has nothing to do with you.”
“Okay.”
“You’re sure?” She was still watching him. That was good enough for Matt.
“I’m sure.”
