Page 123 of The Birthday List (Maysen Jar 1)

She didn’t answer as she stroked her baby bump.

Something was wrong. This entire situation screamed wrong. The hairs at the back of my neck were prickling, telling me that things were far worse for Belle than I could have ever imagined.

And I suspected Tommy was the cause.

I reached across the bench and put my hand on her shoulder. “Who is that Tommy guy?”

She stroked her belly without an answer.

“Um . . . do you have a boyfriend?”

She shook her head.

Damn it. That meant I couldn’t skip my next question. “Belle, whose baby is that?”

She kept her eyes down and I was sure she wouldn’t answer, but then she looked up and squared her shoulders. “Mine. This baby is mine.”

That baby was Tommy’s. She didn’t have to say his name for me to guess the truth. And given her obvious fear, I was also guessing that her child hadn’t been conceived with her consent.

“If something is happening with that guy, if he’s hurting you, then we need to go to the police.”

&nbs

p; She shook her head. “No. It will only make things worse.”

“Belle, you—”

“No!” She cut me off. “No.”

I sighed. “What about your parents?” Did they even know she was pregnant?

“I just live with my dad and he’s gone a lot. He’s kind of out of it.”

I ran a hand over my forehead. What was I going to do? I’d just met this girl, but I couldn’t live with myself if I did nothing to help. If she was being abused by one of her dad’s friends, she couldn’t continue to live in that trailer. She certainly couldn’t bring a baby into that trailer.

“Is there anyone else you could stay with?” Anyone with health insurance so she could see a damn doctor?

She shrugged. “My grandma lives in Oregon, and I could probably live with her but I don’t have any money. My dad, um . . . he usually needs it.”

If money was all she needed, I’d gladly pay her way to Oregon. She could go by plane. Or by bus.

By car.

A plan rushed through my mind as I put the truck back in drive and steered us the rest of the way to her house.

When I parked and shut off the ignition, her hand shot out again. “You don’t need to come inside!”

I took her hand in mine and squeezed. “It will go faster if we both pack your stuff.”

“What?”

“Come on.” I opened my door. “You’re going to Oregon.”

An hour after I’d left the restaurant with Belle, we were back.

Belle’s meager belongings were in Jamie’s truck. She’d called her grandmother to announce her pregnancy and confirm she was still welcome in Oregon—which she was. And she’d left a note for her dad, something she didn’t expect he’d see—or care about—until she was long gone.

So while Belle was inside the restaurant using the bathroom before her journey, I was sitting in the driver’s seat of Jamie’s truck, staring at the picture I’d pulled out of the visor.