Uncle J keeps rubbing my back. “Does your aunt know?”
I shake my head. “Only you know.”
“How far along are you?”
“At least four months.” I miscarried once before and on my own. It was a terrible experience, but after I read about pregnancies and how they’re more likely to go to term if a woman carries into the fourth month, I felt more confident about reaching out to Alessio.
“We need to get you to see someone.”
“I already have. I’m taking prenatal vitamins and stuff.”
“You went by yourself?”
I nod.
“Lake, what do you think me and Al are here for if not for you and Prescott?” He tsks. “This…Alessio. He like the other one you were with?”
Landon died of an overdose, I heard. May he rest in peace. I shake my head. “Alessio was good to me.”
My uncle lifts the letter. “You sure you don’t want to call him?”
When they kidnapped me, they took my phone. “I don’t have his number.”
My uncle scratches his head. “How come? I mean, you’re carrying a man’s baby, but you don’t even have his number?”
“Yeah, we fell out of touch. Truth is, if I hear his voice, I’ll forget how to talk, and if he hangs up on me, I’ll lose what little courage I’ve gained. I’m more comfortable when I write, anyway. I told him I loved him, so he can do what he wants with that.” I blow my nose. “How long will it take for the letter to get to him?”
“I’ll send it the fastest way possible and ask for a signature, so we’ll know it arrived.”
“Good plan. I’ll give him a week or so after he gets it, and then I’ll write another one telling him about the baby. What do you think?”
“Whatever you decide, I’ll be here for you. Now give me a hug.”
We hug, and as Uncle J holds me, I’m reminded that I am loved.
FIFTY-TWO
ONE WAY
One week later
Lake
From the garage, Prescott bursts into the house and says, “They want your signature, Lake.”
I descend the steps and help him with his backpack. “Who does?”
My aunt points toward the front door. “Mail lady out front.”
I meet the mail carrier outside, and she smiles as she hands me an envelope. “Sign here.”
I sign, and as she departs, I recognize Alessio’s neat handwriting. I open the letter so fast, I cut my finger. I suck on the cut, then pull out two pieces of thick cream paper.
One has my name on it.
The other has Prescott’s.
“What are those?” My aunt walks up and reads over my shoulder.
