“Yeah, a girl.”
“Aw, girls are fun. You’ll love it,” Ella tells her. Karissa smiles but it doesn’t quite meet her eyes.
* * *
When we get in my truck to leave, I don’t start it right away. I just sit there for a second, staring out the windshield, hands in my lap.
“I think you should stick around for a while,” I finally say.
Karissa glances over, eyebrows pulling in. “I mean…I am. At least until Ella gets that appointment lined up.”
“No, I mean longer than that.” I glance over at her. “We’ve got a cabin we won’t use till fall. It’s not fancy. But it’s better than livin’ out of your car or hittin’ the road again with no clue where you’re going.”
She hesitates. “Cody, I can’t just take all that. I don’t even know how I’d pay you back.”
“You wouldn’t need to pay us back.”
She shakes her head. “But you don’t even know me.”
“You’re right, but I know enough.” I lean back in my seat. “I know you’re pregnant, on your own, scared outta your mind.”
She looks away like she doesn’t want me to see how close she is to crying.
“And whether you buy into it or not,” I go on, voice low, “I don’t think it’s some random thing that you ended up in this town. Or at that bar. I believe God put you here for a reason. I’ll believe that till the day I die. My family would say the same.”
She doesn’t say anything, so I keep going.
“You don’t owe us anything. You need a place, we got one. Simple as that.”
After a long pause, finally she speaks.
“You’re serious?”
“Dead serious. Just…stay and figure your crap out. We’ll help where we can. You don’t have to keep runnin’.”
She nods, small but understanding at least. That’s enough for me.
I start the engine and back around the driveway.
Chapter 4
Cody
My alarm goes off at four. Time to hopefully shoot some snow geese.
I told Karissa what this week would look like with my job, that I won’t be home much.
I also told her to help herself to whatever she wants to eat, but the way she nodded didn’t exactly scream confidence. So before I leave, I plan on leaving a note just to remind her again.
As I’m screwing the lid on my to-go cup, I hear footsteps. She’s in a baggy T-shirt, sweatpants, her hair up in a ponytail or knot of some kind, and she’s yawning as she makes her way over.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I tried to be quiet.”
“No, it’s fine. I have to pee anyway.” She laughs.
“Oh. You sleeping good out here?” I ask.
“Yeah. Still tired, but it’s early.”
