I walk over to the sofa and sit beside her. “Come on then,” I say softly, “out with it. You’ve not been right for days.”
She meets my eyes then. Hers are serious, and frown lines mar her forehead. She’s sitting on the edge of the sofa, and she rests her elbows on her knees and puts her face in her hands for a moment.
I frown, too, and say, “What is it? You can tell me. I’m a big boy.”
She lowers her hands and exhales, a long, sad sigh. Then she looks at me again and says, “I’m pregnant.”
I stare at her.
My brain grinds to a halt. Suddenly, I’m acutely aware of how quiet it is here. We’re too far away from the road so I can’t hear any traffic. The TV is off, and there’s no music playing. The only sounds are Queenie snuffling around in her bowl, and then even that stops. A few seconds later, I feel her nose touch my hand, and I look down to see her big brown eyes studying me, as if she’s aware something’s wrong.
Automatically, I stroke her head while I look back at Beth. I think she’s holding her breath, waiting for my reaction.
I can’t think what to say.
Rather unimaginatively, I come up with, “Oh.”
She swallows. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“It is,” she says. “I told you I was on the pill. And I was—I am. I guess I should stop taking it now. But that night—when I broke up with Jude—I was here in the morning, and I was so shocked when he came here, and I went home and got all my stuff… I normally take it at breakfast, you see, and my routine was all over the place, and I just forgot. I didn’t realize I’d missed one until Monday, and I waited a few days to see if my period would turn up, but it didn’t, and I know it’s only been two days, but I thought I’d do a test, so I got one this morning, and… it was positive.”
It’s a long speech, and I listen to it all without really taking it in. I do get the gist of it, though. She forgot the pill, so she’s blaming herself.
“It’s not your fault,” I say again. “I should have used a condom. It was irresponsible not to.”
“I’ve taken them late before,” she continues as if I haven’t spoken, “but nothing’s ever happened, and what with the endo, and Kim, I’ve always been convinced I’ll have the same trouble conceiving…”
I don’t say anything. Images flash through my mind. Telling my friends and family that I’ve knocked a girl up. Admitting my mistake to my colleagues at PAWS and the Ark. Everyone finding out that Beth and I aren’t together, not really, and that we’ve acted like a couple of immature teens, unable to keep our hands off each other.
I think about the way we had sex in the middle of the PAWS Center and wince.
Oh, Archer, you’ve really outdone yourself this time. Thank God your father isn’t here to witness this most outstanding of failures.
She swallows hard. “It’s very early. People lose pregnancies all the time at this stage. It might not even… stick.” Her eyes shine.
That brings me partially to my senses, and professional me switches into gear.
“Hey.” I take her hand in mine. “Don’t think like that. Every baby is a gift. It’s a good thing. And I’ll stand by you. Of course I will. You’re not going to have to go through it alone.”
She blinks rapidly and swallows again. Her eyes search mine, but she doesn’t say anything.
I force a smile on my face. “It’s going to be okay. I swear. We’ll work it out together.”
She nods and gives me a weak smile back. “Okay.” She looks pale, and she’s definitely lost a few pounds.
Suddenly, I understand why—it’s because she’s pregnant. Oh shit. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, I’m fine. I felt a tiny bit queasy the last few days but I’m not sure if that’s just in my head.” She gives a short laugh. “I’m mostly tired. I assumed it was because of everything that’s been going on inmy life, you know, the emotion and stress, but I guess this might have had something to do with it.”
“You should start taking folic acid. It helps prevent conditions like spina bifida.” My work voice sounds disembodied, as if I’m playing it from a recording, and I hate myself for it. Be a human, I think. She needs a hug, not a lecture. But I can’t seem to turn it off. “And book an appointment with a midwife. Pregnancy care’s free of course, but… I’ll be very happy to pay for a private obstetrician if you want one.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she says.
I try to think of what else to say, but my brain seems to have shut down. “And if you decide you… you know… don’t want it, I’ll support you, whatever your decision.”
She presses her fingers to her lips for a moment. Then she puts her hands on her knees and pushes up. “I think I’ll get going.”
