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“Sure.”
“It’s…kind of personal.”
He looks up at me. Those steel blues—they’re all Jason’s eyes. But these crinkle with concern. “Come aboard,” he tells me, so I do.
I don’t know how I muster up the courage, but I tell him.
It comes out in a burst. All the words that I’ve kept pent up inside of me.
I tell him that I had sex with his son—I leave the details and the Donovan out of it. I tell him about missing my period, and the pregnancy tests, and the results that came after.
Mr. King is silent. He listens to me the whole time, letting me get it out.
We’re sitting in the navigation room. It’s a small area with a circular table between us. I have a glass of water in front of me, but I haven’t touched it. I haven’t stopped talking since I sat down.
Surrounded by all this dark oak, I feel like I’m in a confessional. Maybe that’s why I find it so easy to spill my guts to him.
When I finally go quiet, he lets the silence hang between us for a minute. He doesn’t look angry or confused. He just looks contemplative, his fingers tented at his mouth. Finally, he lowers them and asks, “Does your mother know?”
I shake my head. “No, but I plan on telling her, I just…haven’t found the right moment.”
“That’s good,” he interrupts. “Keep it that way. She never has to know. And neither does Jason.”
I blink. I’m not sure what kind of advice I was expecting, but hide your pregnancy from your mother wasn’t at the top of the list. “Okay…”
“It will ruin her life. And his. Do you understand that?”
A knot forms in my throat. “I guess…”
“Do you have to?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you have to guess? Your mother has a unique method of survival by attaching herself to affluent men. I imagine that would get much harder were she to have a pregnant teenager.”
The knot in my throat is now the size of Jupiter, and growing.
“And then there’s my son,” he says, and his voice—already deep, already dark—drops about ten degrees. “Jason is on the track for an extraordinary medical career. He graduated with honors. He’s the top of the swim team. And he’s attending John Hopkins in the fall. Having a child right now would obliterate his future.”
I can’t speak. The knot is too tight.
But then he softens. He reaches across the table and grips my shoulder and squeezes gently. “You did a good thing telling me, Kenzi. I’ll set you up for an appointment at the medical center tomorrow. We’ll get this taken care of.”
“Taken…care of?” I echo the words like I’m learning the English language.
“It’s better this way.” He stands then. “Come here.”
I follow his lead. He takes me in his arms and hugs me like he’s my father. He smells smoky, like bergamot, with the hint of something sweet, like apple. His heavy cologne makes my stomach twist.
“It’s going to be okay,” he tells me, and he sounds so certain of it that, in that moment, I almost believe him.
Four lets me borrow his bike.
He’s thrilled, I think. Look at me, getting exercise. Fresh air. All-American fun.
Impossible to tell him that the reason I need the bike is because I don’t want anyone to know where I’m going.
Mr. King set me up with an appointment. 1:00 p.m. at the Lighthouse Medical. To get things “taken care of.” Don’t be late.
