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Chapter Nine
Riley
The week after Ethan left was long and stressful. I spent most of my time when I wasn’t working, alone and at home. I went by my parents in the morning and took care of Buttercup and Fellow, and then I’d head back home before either of my parents were up.
Mom had called me mid-week and asked if I was sleeping alright since I was there so early, but I told her I had a busy schedule this week and needed to adjust my hours a bit. She seemed to buy it and let it go.
I was having significant issues eating anything that contained meat. The moment I smelled it, I would get sick. My lunches revolved around tomato soup, cheese sandwiches, and bland salads. By dinnertime, I could eat a little bit of meat, but I couldn’t cook it. I got takeout a few times that week instead.
Several times I looked at my GYN’s phone number and considered calling them, but I wasn’t sure what I was going to do yet. I was only five weeks pregnant, so I had time to decide. I’d even looked up a clinic address in the next county over and read over their webpage.
When I was home, I researched adoption, abortion, and carrying a baby to term repeatedly. Maybe I was hoping that I’d receive a sign about what I should do.
I didn’t want an abortion. I didn’t personally have an issue with someone if that was their choice, but I didn’t want it to be mine. I knew that plenty of families out there would be thrilled to have a baby if I decided to give it up for adoption.
But if I put the child up for adoption, would I tell Ethan? Didn’t I have to tell him? I think that by law, I did, but if I went away for several months, took a leave of absence, no one would ever know—right?
I rubbed my hands over my face. I would know.
If I told Ethan, I was pretty sure that he would refuse to put the child up for adoption. Then he’d probably take the child for himself, and how the hell could I live around here and watch my child grow up with him and not be part of its life?
I had concluded that the only two choices I had were to abort the child, and no one would ever know, or have the baby and tell Ethan about it. I could assure him that he didn’t need to be part of the child’s life. Hell, if he said that he didn’t want anything to do with the baby, then I could put the baby up for adoption.
I wiped tears from my face. I hadn’t cried this much since I was a teenager and Billy Wolfe had broken my heart by ditching me at prom and leaving with my best friend.
I closed the browser on my computer and stared at the picture on my desktop. It was of Ethan and me, and I touched his face on the screen. I missed him—missed him so damn much that it physically hurt. Whenever I thought of him, my chest ached.
I curled up on the bed and stared at my phone, bringing up his contact information and then reading over our previous text message conversations. I laughed a few times at his wise-ass comments, let a few tears fall, and wished that I dared to call him.
I couldn’t, though, because this wasn’t a conversation that I could have with him over the phone. I would have to wait for Ethan to come back. Then I would sit down and tell him what was going on. I knew from Henley that he was probably going to be home for the Fourth of July weekend.
That meant that I had almost three weeks to make a decision and come up with the words to tell him if need be.
* * *
Ethan had been gonethree weeks now, and I knew that in another week, he would be home for a visit. At least that was the plan so far from Henley. I had yet to make my decision, but I wasn’t hiding at home anymore.
Even though I didn’t know what I was going to do, I had decided that I should at least see my doctor, get it confirmed, and speak to them a little bit about my options. Maybe they would tell me what I should do.
By my calculations, I was almost eight weeks pregnant, and while no one else could tell, I was starting to see the changes in my body. Just this morning, I’d noticed the swelling in my lower belly. I knew the baby was still this tiny thing and mostly a head, as the brain began to develop, but my body was preparing itself to go the long haul. Was I mentally ready to go with it?
I was sitting in front of the medical building, having arrived a few minutes early and not ready to face reality quite yet. A door opened off to the side, and two people stepped out. I started to smile when I saw it was Richard and Rebecca Winston, but then I noticed their faces.
They both looked stricken as if they had just received the worst news they ever could have heard. Richard had his arm around Rebecca and supported her as they walked slowly toward the parking lot. My eyes followed them to the car, and I could see the anguish in their features.
My jaw hung open as I watched him help her into the car, and then he closed the door and stepped toward the back of it, putting his hand on the roof to steady himself before he wiped a hand over his face. He rounded the car and put on a brave face before opening the driver’s door and getting in. I saw them speak for a moment, and then he lifted his face toward mine, looked away immediately, and left.
I turned to see where they had come from and read the words on the door. It was an oncologist. Tears sprang forward as my hand went to my mouth. One of them had cancer, and it was a horrible diagnosis. Remembering the look on Rebecca’s face, I had a feeling it was her.
My hand flitted to my belly, and I pressed lightly. Did any of the kids know? Did Ethan know? Suddenly I pictured the little being in my stomach, and I stood and walked into my doctor’s office. My decision was made.
* * *
On Tuesday,I found an excuse to stop over and see Rebecca. I brought her some of her favorite jam that I had intentionally picked up. We sat at the kitchen table, spooning some of the sweet jam onto crackers while we sipped tea. We talked for a while, and I asked her questions about growing up.
When I went to leave, I found Richard on the back porch. “Mighty nice of you to visit with Rebecca.”
I smiled at him. “It was my pleasure. I always love hearing her stories.”
