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I give him a pained look. You really can’t tell?
“I want my phone from Jackson,” I say. “I’ll turn over anything that comes up right away, of course. But it’s the only contact I’ve got for the clinic.”
“The job posting?” Dad asks, surprise pulling at his face. I nod. “Wow, so soon? That’s wonderful, honey. Really.”
Loving Marshal left some obvious wreckage. I didn’t think it’d turn me into a liar, but it has.
It’s not the blood job I’m interested in. I’m not sure I’ll be in the state of mind for a job interview in the next century. Rather, I need to follow up on these cramps, the constant nausea every morning. Tragic symptoms of the psychic trauma I just suffered, I’m sure.
I hope.
I’m not ready to contemplate the other possibility. It’s the reason I haven’t taken dad’s car to the drugstore and gotten tested to find out.
I can’t be pregnant with Marshal’s baby. Not after he left a canyon sized hole where my heart should be.
“We spoke maybe an hour ago,” dad says, stroking his chin. “I’ll give him a call back and see about your phone. There’s probably time to catch him before he goes to work.”
I’m barely listening, heading into the kitchen. I dump a small mountain of bland Cheerios into my bowl, even though it’s long past one in the afternoon.
“Hey, he got your car yesterday,” dad says, giving me a hopeful look.
I tense, my fingers digging into the counter. “Just like that? You mean he went to Marshal’s place?”
Our old place. The comfy little house in the woods and the shop tucked in the forest, where I thought I’d build a life.
Dad nods. “Yeah. No sign of him or the girl. Lots of police warrants out to bring him in. Nobody knows where they’ve gone. I feel bad for the kid.”
I choke on my first bite of cereal. It tastes like ash and I’m totally sobbing, remembering Mia’s sweet smile.
“Sorry, honey. I should have told you last night. Didn’t want to say anything and upset you.”
“I get it,” I tell him, pushing the bowl away.
He’s out of his chair before I’m halfway across the kitchen, stopping at the end of the stairs. “Going back up? No worries. I’ll clean up.”
I mumble a thanks and retreat to my bedroom to lick my latest wounds. My father isn’t wrong.
I hope like hell Mia is okay.
But for some sick reason, I hope Marshal is, too. I want him to be okay, dammit. I tell myself that’s for Mia’s sake, but my lying, damaged heart can’t hide the truth from itself.
I want him to be okay because I’m still praying, as irrational as it is, that this is all a hideous mistake.
I want to just settle into my pillow, close my eyes, and wake up with the world being right-side up again.
Four more days pass in a haze. I’m outside on the deck, freezing with the phone clutched to my ear.
“Ms. Kelley? Sarah?” It takes Dr. Cartwright saying my real name to break the trance.
“I’m here. Sorry, doctor.”
So sorry. It’s the first time in forever I let myself feel a shred of self-pity. I should’ve known going into the clinic to get checked would lead to this.
“You heard the results, correct?”
“Yes. Of course. I spaced and I’m sorry.”
“It’s no trouble, considering the circumstances.” Brutal. His voice is soft, but there’s judgment. “Listen, there’s a wonderful prenatal and maternity crew in Davenport. I’ll have June set up your referral to ensure you receive the finest care.”
It’s like he’s read me a death sentence. My hands go to my waist, trembling, and I pull my cardigan tighter. It doesn’t do much against this kind of cold. I’d better get back inside. Surely, fetuses won’t be harmed by a few minutes of twenty degree exposure?
I don’t have a clue. I have to start thinking about this stuff, whatever it takes to keep the baby I shouldn’t be having safe.
“Thanks, doctor. I’ll be waiting.” I wait before my screen starts flashing.
The call ends. No goodbye.
He’s an asshole, but what do I expect? Dr. Cartwright knows it’s just as unplanned as I do.
Oh, and not only am I staring down the black hole of having a child I’m not the least bit mentally equipped for, but I’ve just blown my best chance to snag a lab job in town.
I’m fucked.
Completely hopelessly devastated.
I’m holding in a silent scream as I fling open the door and step inside the house. Of course, there’s a surprise waiting that makes the wintry February snow seem downright balmy.
“Oh, there you are, sis. Finally.” Jackson beams. I don’t know how to associate my brother’s harsh smile with anything less than a new nightmare. He pushes something across the kitchen counter, taking a long slurp of coffee. “Look this over. Tell me what you think.”
