The situation is a ticking bomb. And my time is running out.
THE NEXT DAY, I DRAG myself out of bed for my shift at the library. The queasiness has worsened and my boobs are so tender the slightest touch makes me wince. Terrified that Mama T will spot the signs, I throw on a loose cotton dress and cover it with an oversize cardigan. I’ve gained two more pounds this week, but how much is pregnancy and how much is food, I can’t say.
At work, I keep busy and avoid Molly. Her wondering looks and questions make me anxious. It’s the same as I’m getting at home from my foster parents and Victor. Dark shadows circle my eyes from the sleepless nights I spend, gnawed by indecision and missing Mick more than I can stand.
I knew if I stayed in my room one more day that Mama T would take me to the doctor and my secret would be discovered. I roll the trolley over to the nonfiction section to restock the shelves. It’s mundane and allows my brain too much mental room to think about Mick and my dire situation.
I put away the reference books in alphabetical order. When I come to the P’s, I look around. Alone in the aisle, I slide the heavy textbook off the metal rack and flip to the pregnancy chapter. There’s a dry medical introduction, which I skim, followed by a week-by-week synopsis of each stage. Based on missed periods, I guess that I’m six to eight weeks along. I split the difference and turn to the section about the seven-week-old fetus.
In the picture, it doesn’t look like much yet, more alien or tadpole than anything, but at this stage the eyes, nose, mouth, and ears are beginning to take shape and the limbs are starting to form. After another glance over my shoulder to ensure the coast is still clear, I skip to the end. There, the simulated drawing shows a woman’s uterus. The baby is fully developed, with its legs tucked up to its chest and its knees against its nose. The caption below reads “Your baby is getting ready for birth.”
On a wave of nausea, I make it to the bathroom before I throw up. To my horror, Molly catches me retching. I tell her it’s remnants of the flu, but she watches my reflection in disbelief while I rinse out my mouth and pop in a stick of mint gum. I wish I could confide in her. Really, I do. I need to talk to someone, but I can’t chance it, so I carry on with my lies and yet another secret.
At nine thirty at night, I step outside the library into the threat of clouds. I search in my bag for keys and don’t look up until I’m a couple of feet away from the curb where my Beetle’s parked. Mick is leaning against the driver’s side. He’s wearing faded Levis and an open shirt over a light blue T-shirt that highlights his well-defined muscles. His wavy black hair is ruffled by the thick breeze, his arms are folded across his broad chest, and his face is as dark and foreboding as the sky.
The keys jingle in my hand and I bite my bottom lip. Mick pushes off the car and eats up the space between us. I long to throw myself in his arms, but I keep my distance.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I whisper, aware of the smattering of people on the street who might recognize him.
Cursing beneath his breath, he grabs my hand and pulls me into the shadows, and pushes me up against the far side of the building. He takes my mouth hard. I can feel all his worry and frustration bleeding through that kiss. The taste of him awakens my desire, but somehow I manage to resist. His tongue probes; growing more insistent and desperate. When it still doesn’t coax a response, he cups my breasts and strokes my nipples.
“Mick.” I flinch from his touch, which excites as much as it hurts. His head snaps up.
“Aw, sorry, baby. I thought it would be over by now,” he says, gentling his hands, assuming I have my period.
Without correcting him, I move out of his reach before he notices how much heavier they’ve gotten. But I have never rejected his advances before, and after three days apart, I’d normally be just as eager for him.
“Dee?” He examines my face. “What’s wrong?”
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“You’re different.”
He can tell.“Different how?” I ask and fidget with my key ring.
“You’re nervous and jumpy. You didn’t kiss me back the way you always do, and now you don’t want me to touch you.”
“They’re sensitive,” I hedge.
“They were sensitive a few days ago, and you said my touch made them feel better.”
Panicking, my defenses overreach. “What’s the big deal if for once I don’t want you to touch me?”
His eyes glint like black stone and his jaw clenches. “The big deal is that you’re lying. You haven’t been too sick to see me. You’ve been avoiding me and I want to know why.”
Mick’s the last person in the world I want to lie to, but I’m not ready for the truth. I doubt he is either. I take in a breath as he waits for my reply. I know what I have to do, but my heart won’t cooperate. “I…I n-need…” I lose my nerve and stop.
“Jesus, Dee, what’s going on with you?”
I’m just making things worse, so this time I take a deep breath and blurt it out, jumbling my words together. “Ineedsometimetofigurestuffout.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he demands at the same time that thunder roars. “Figure what stuff out?”
I don’t have an answer. Not one I can give him, at any rate, which leads him to his own conclusions.
“You need to figureusout?”
His hurt tears through my heart. That I can even let him think such a thing shows how desperate I am. “I-I just need time,” I say, begging him to understand what he can’t possibly.
