Allie stands up and reaches a hand toward Margie. “I can take you home, if you want. We can talk to your parents together.”
“Thank you,” Margie tells her before smiling shyly at me. “And thank you too, Coach Riley. I appreciate your trying to help us. But until Jordan is ready to take some responsibility, I don’t think there’s any reason for us to meet again.”
“Let’s still get together in two weeks,” I say. “A lot can happen in that time, and you two are still in this together.”
“It sure doesn’t feel like it.” Margie turns and walks out of the restaurant without another word.
“I’ll call you later,” Allie tells me. Then she hurries to follow her new roommate.
When it’s just me and Jordan sitting there, I ask him, “How are you doing?”
“Not well, Coach. Not well at all. I know I shouldn’t have done what I did. I know I’m responsible. I just don’t want to pay the price for the rest of my life. That just doesn’t seem fair.”
I wish there was a bad guy in this situation who we could all blame and hate. But the truth is, there isn’t. There are just two kids who did what a lot of kids do, and as a result their time of innocence is over. I feel terrible for both of them.
“Two weeks, Jordan. Just keep moving forward and maybe by then things will seem clearer to you.”
And while I hope against hope that’s the case, the truth is that I don’t think two weeks will make much of a difference. If Allie is still pregnant, both of the kids and their families’ lives will be forever changed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ALLIE
I practically have to run to catch up with Margie. This was certainly not the day I thought it would be. I planned to have coffee with both Finley and Noah, and then I thought about treating myself to a pedicure, a pizza, and a Netflix binge. In no way did I think I’d be leaving the bakery with a new roommate—a pregnant teenage one, at that.
“Let’s go up to my apartment,” I tell Margie. “I’ll show it to you, and you can decide if you still want to stay with me for a while.”
“I’d want to stay with you if you lived in a cardboard box in the park,” she says dejectedly.
I point to the door that leads upstairs. “It’s just there.”
“You live above Rosemary’s?” she asks in surprise. “How cute is that?”
“Pretty cute,” I reply as a small smile comes to my face. Margie may feel like she’s got the weight of the world on her shoulders, but she’s still a kid with a kid’s enthusiasm over something as small as a cool apartment.
After unlocking the outside door, I lead the way up thestairs. When I open my apartment door, Margie gasps, “This is really great!” Once we’re in the kitchen, she stops and looks around slowly. “You have a lot of lamps,” she says before looking at me with some concern. “Why do you have so many lamps?”
“I’m not really sure,” I tell her honestly. “I guess I just like them.”
“Have you always had a lot of lamps?” She sounds like she might be reconsidering living with a crazy person.
“I used to be married,” I tell her. “And now that I’m on my own, I don’t like dark corners.” Before she can comment, I add, “I’m sure a therapist would have a field day with me, and possibly even suggest medication, but it’s just how I am right now.”
“I get it,” she says sympathetically. “It must be scary living alone. You want to make sure there’s nothing there that shouldn’t be.”
Leave it to a kid to accept my quirk without hesitation. I take her into the living room and show her the couch. “It pulls out,” I tell her. “We can fold it up during the day so we have a place to watch TV, but it can be your bedroom at night.”
In response, Margie sits down and bursts into tears all over again. I run into the kitchen and pour a glass of water for her. At the rate she’s going, she’s going to dehydrate herself. “Drink this,” I tell her. “You need to think of the baby.”
Margie takes the glass and drains it. “Thank you for caring about her. I assure you, nobody else does.”
I sit down next to her. “I don’t usually talk about this, so please don’t share it around.” She stares at me intently while nodding her head for me to continue. “I’ve had three miscarriages,” I tell her. “While I was married.”
“I’m so sorry.” Margie’s eyes well with tears all over again.
“Our situations were completely different,” I say, “but I do know what it’s like to feel the need to protect a life growing inside of you.”
“So, you get why I don’t want to have an abortion?” she asks hopefully.
