by Leah Atwood
She clutched a hand to her chest in an exaggerated movement. “It will be a hardship, but I’ll try my best.”
“I knew you’d see it my way.” Rysa grinned and angled her head toward the living room. “Want to move over there?”
“Dear goodness, yes.” Her cheeks warmed when her reply came out more emphatic than she’d meant. “I’m barely into this pregnancy and have already decided the recliner is my favorite spot other than the bed. I like my dining room set, but let’s face it, wooden chairs don’t scream comfort the way a recliner does.”
“I hear you. My table rarely gets used unless I have guests, and even that’s questionable.” Rysa stood and gathered their trash. “Do you want me to save any of yours?”
“All that’s left is a few bites of rice. Not enough to make a meal or side out of.” She pushed back from the table then went to the kitchen. “I’ll put the coffee on now. Do you mind decaf?”
“Fine with me.”
Several minutes later, they sat in the living room with their mugs of coffee. Sybil stretched out her legs on the opened footrest of the recliner, and Rysa sat on the worn, gingham sofa, leaning on the armrest.
Rysa sipped on her coffee, then set the mug on the end table. “How are you doing?”
“Fine.” The answer rolled off her tongue with little thought. Years of giving the expected reply had conditioned her to offer automated responses.
“Hey. This is me. You can tell the truth.”
She exhaled and adjusted her position in the seat. “The truth? I don’t know.”
“Let me guess. You’re scared, doubting your ability to care for a child, torn about your choices, and probably feeling guilty and ashamed. All of which combines to make you feel completely and utterly lost.”
“That about sums it up.” A derisive snort escaped, then she arched a brow. “How did you know?”
“I’ve been there.”
Sybil’s eyes widened before she brought her reaction under control. “What do you mean? When?”
“In college.” Rysa fidgeted, twirled her thumbs. “I’ll tell you my story, but I’d like it to remain between us.”
“My lips are sealed.” She made a zipping motion over her mouth.
“My freshman year of college, I got pregnant by a guy I thought loved me.” Sighing, Rysa wiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry. Whenever I think how dumb and naïve I was, I get worked up.”
She offered a sympathetic smile that didn’t reach its fullest capacity. “We’ve all been there.”
“When I told him about the baby, he gave me an ultimatum—him or the baby.”
“That’s terrible.”
“I know, but at the time, I wasn’t thinking straight. We argued for weeks until I finally bought into the lies he fed me.” Rysa jumped from the sofa. “Excuse me a minute.”
Rysa ran into the bathroom, leaving a trail of tears and reverberations of her sobs.
When she hadn’t returned in five minutes, Sybil followed her path to the bathroom and knocked on the door. A familiar scene from three weeks ago, but with reversed roles. “Are you okay?”
“I will be.” Rysa opened the door with a tissue in hand. “I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be helping you, not bringing you down.”
“You’re not. In fact, it’s refreshing to have someone be real for once.” She reached behind Rysa and grabbed the box of tissues. “Something tells me we’ll need more of these before the night’s over.”
Sniffles turned into giggles, and Rysa wiped her eyes again. “Smart thinking.”
Back in the living room, Rysa continued her story. “I’d decided to give my baby up for adoption, but that wasn’t good enough for Erich, my boyfriend. He insisted on an abortion.”
“He sounds like a jerk.”
“He was, but I didn’t realize it until too late.” Rysa paused. “I aborted my baby, Sybil. All to keep a man who I found out three months later was married.”
“I’m so sorry.” Her heart ached for Rysa, and no words seemed adequate.
“Me, too. It’s haunted me for years.” Biting down on her lip, Rysa remained quiet for several seconds. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get over it, but if I can help one person to make better choices than I did, or even be the support I never had, then I will.”
“I’m giving the baby up for adoption,” she blurted out. Saying it out loud knocked the breath from her lungs. Telling someone made it real.
Rysa folded her hands in her lap, her reaction unreadable. “Is that a final decision?”
“I think.” She rubbed her temples. “I want the best for him or her.”
“You don’t think you can be that?”
Sybil shook her head, sadness seeping into her. “I’m only now realizing how messed up and scarred I am. I’m in no condition to be a mom, let alone a good one.”
“I can understand that.” Rysa grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it. “What does the father think?”
“He doesn’t know.”
Rysa gasped. “When are you going to tell him?”
“I’m not.” Even as she said it, her conscience berated her.
“We’re friends, right?”
Sybil nodded.
“Then know I say this out of love, but you have to tell the dad.” Rysa’s eyes bore into hers, imploring her to come clean.
The intensity of Rysa’s stare made Sybil squirm. “If I’m giving up my baby, I don’t see the point of disrupting his life.”
“He has a right to know.” Rysa cleared her throat. “Can I ask who he is?”
Sybil hesitated. She hadn’t told anyone, hadn’t wanted to risk it getting back to him. But she could trust Rysa. Instinct told her so. “Jared Scott.”
“The Marine who lives down the street?”
“Yes.”
Rysa emitted a low whistle. “With both of your genes combined, that will be one gorgeous baby.”
A sad smile curled Sybil’s lips. “Especially if it takes after him, but I won’t be around to see.”
“Lots of moms raise babies on their own.” Leaning forward, Rysa tossed the pillow aside and laid a hand on Sybil’s arm. “You can do this, and I’ll help any way I can. And Jared might want to be involved. You won’t know unless you tell him.”
She shook her head. “My mind is made up, and it’s because I already love the baby that I’m making this choice.”
“Whatever you decide, know I’ll be there for you.”
“I appreciate that. More than you know.” Her gaze drifted to the edge of the room, and she stared blankly at the latte colored walls. “I told my mom last week.”
“How did that go?”
Sharp pains drilled a hole through her heart. “As well as can be expected for my mom. At first, she laughed because I followed in her footsteps but commended me for—unlike when she had me—at least knowing who the father is without a paternity test. She said don’t be expecting her to be called granny or anything of the sort and don’t ask for financial help because Tommy Joe just left her and wiped out her bank account.” She laughed harshly. “Knowing Mom, she probably didn’t have more than twenty dollars in there for him to take. I can’t feel bad even if there was more because she’s done her fair share of that to men over the years.”
“I’m sorry.” Rysa sat upright and reached for the pillow again. “My parents weren’t supportive either. Dad was a deacon in the church and mom held several positions. When they found out I was pregnant, they made me promise not to breathe a word, but people found out anyway. Then when I had my abortion, they disowned me for ‘murdering my child’ as they put it.”
Chills pricked Sybil. Maybe her mom had been right about church people. “That’s terrible.”
Rysa shrugged, but her eyes betrayed the indifference of her gesture. “No pain they inflicted on me could be worse than living with what I’d done. I’m glad you’re not considering abortion. No one warned me about the emotional aftermath.”
“If you ever need to talk about it, I’
m here.” Despite the serious nature of their conversation, Sybil smiled. For the first time she could remember, she had a friendship that went beyond the surface. Opening herself to that vulnerability scared her, yet she found solace in the possibility.
“I know.”
“You really think I should tell Jared?” Though she knew the answer, she wanted confirmation. Rather, she needed someone to prod her to the difficult task.
“If you were in his place, wouldn’t you want to know?”
The rapid beating of her heart gave her the answer.
Chapter Five
Forty-three days of sobriety and almost a month with his family worked wonders for Jared. Refreshed and renewed, he was ready to face life again. He still wrestled with guilt and feelings of worthlessness, but he’d lost the desire to drink them away. Mom and Cara had urged him to return to church, or at least pick up a Bible, but he wasn’t ready for that. He still had more reckoning with himself to do before he confronted God.
He’d hated leaving Weatherton, but he had to come home to Jacksonville to complete paperwork for his new job. The position didn’t open until mid-October, but he had to complete a physical, background check, and the contract form by September eighth to secure his spot.
He walked through his house, finding everything as he’d left it. Two stacks of mail were piled neatly on his counter. Thank goodness for caring neighbors who took care of the house while he was gone. After he lowered the thermostat—the first week of September in coastal Carolina differed little from the heat of August—he gathered his bags from where he’d dropped them at the front door.
His mom had insisted on doing all his laundry before he’d left, claiming she missed taking care of him. He hadn’t fully appreciated her outpouring of love until now—when he only had one small bag of dirty clothes from the two nights on his way home. He’d always hated spending his first day home doing laundry, but now he wouldn’t have to.
Once he’d added the few clothes to the laundry hamper and unpacked his suitcase, he returned to the kitchen and sat on a barstool. Piece by piece he went through his mail, sorting it into piles of junk, bills, and others.
The doorbell chimed.
Probably Mr. Gunn returning my key after he saw the truck in the driveway. He grabbed a bakery box off the counter that contained one of his sister’s pecan pies. That and a gift card to the steakhouse was his thank-you gift to the Gunns for watching his house.
Smiling wide, he opened the door. His smile dropped when he saw Sybil Hollis, a woman who lived in his neighborhood—who had also been one of his bad drunken decisions.
Was this some kind of joke? He’d been home less than an hour and was already confronted with a blast from the past.
“Hi.” She rocked on her feet and had her hands behind her back.
She wore a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, an improvement from the racy outfit she’d worn the night they’d gone home together. Another advantage of sobriety—a healthy respect for women and their bodies.
“Hi.” He eyed her warily, curious why she’d stopped by. They’d been friendly before that night, greeting each other as sort of neighbors, but hadn’t acknowledged each other since then.
“I saw your truck and assumed you came home. Mr. Gunn told me you’d gone to Wyoming for a spell, and I’ve been stalking your driveway.” Her cheeks transformed to a bubble gum pink. “Not stalking stalking—just looking to see if you were home yet.”
“Did you need something?”
“I have to talk to you.” Her chest rose and fell at a fast pace.
“You have my number, right?” He crinkled his eyes, confused by her presence. “You could have called.”
She cringed, and he had a moment of remorse for sounding like a jerk—he hadn’t meant to. “It’s not really an over-the-phone kind of conversation.”
“Oh.” He drew out the two-letter word into a three-second breath. “What’s going on?”
“Can I come in?” She’d moved her hands in front of her, and she dug her nails into her skin.
He nodded and motioned her in, then closed the door behind her. “What’s going on?”
“You might want to sit down.”
“I’m fine here.” The thought to make her leave crossed his mind. Her behavior made him uncomfortable, and he wondered what he’d gotten into. They’d had a one-night stand during one of his drunken nights. Had he gotten involved with a psycho who wouldn’t let it go? No, he knew enough about her to know she had a level head.
She clamped her hands together. “I don’t know how to say this, and I want you to know upfront, I don’t expect anything of you. I just thought you had the right to know.”
He furrowed his brows. “Know what?”
“I. I’m uh…” She trailed off and took a deep breath then exhaled slowly. “I’m pregnant.”
“You’re what?” He had to have heard wrong.
“I’m pregnant. You’re the father.”
He ran a hand through his hair, processing the information. “Are you sure?”
She scowled. “That I’m pregnant or that you’re the father?”
“Both?”
Fire flashed in her eyes. “Contrary to what my actions with you might imply, I don’t give myself to every man I meet. Far from it. And if I weren't sure, I wouldn’t be here having this incredibly awkward conversation.”
His legs turned to noodles. She’d been right—he should have sat down. Somehow, he walked five steps to the sofa and sank into it dropping the pie box beside him, covered his mouth with his hand as he took in all the implications.
“Here’s the first sonogram as proof.” She reached into her purse and handed him a thin sheet of filmy paper.
Emotions overwhelmed him. He gripped the photo with both hands and stared at the little blob. He knew enough about Sybil to know she told the truth. “This is our baby?”
She nodded and reached for the sonogram. “Like I said, I don’t expect anything from you, but thought you should know.”
He clung to the picture, unable to let it go. “This is my child, too. Of course, I’m going to be involved in its life.”
“I’m giving the baby up for adoption.”
For the second time in minutes, the air got knocked from him. “No.”
“What do you mean ‘no’?” She frowned and yanked away the picture.
“You can’t give away our baby.” He hadn’t completed the entire thought process, but he was a Scott, and Scott men owned up to their responsibilities.
“I didn’t make this decision lightly.” She moved away, crossed her arms and adopted a defensive stance. “This baby deserves more than I give.”
“How so?”
“Raising a child is a lifetime commitment. I’ve never even owned a pet because I didn’t want the responsibility.”
“So you’re just taking the easy way out?” His words kept coming out harsher than he meant, but he’d received a major blow that kept his mind from properly functioning.
Her jaw twitched. “That’s the furthest thing from the truth. I love this child already, and because I love this baby, I’m doing what’s best.”
“I’m sorry I snapped. I’m still trying to figure this all out.” He drew a calming breath. “Can you sit down, let us have an open conversation about this? Please?”
She hesitated, but inched slowly toward the sofa and took a seat on the opposite end. “I’m sorry for dropping this all on you. Maybe it would have been better if I’d never told you.”
“No, I’m glad you told me.” He took a minute to think about what she’d said, and realized it was only fair to hear her out. “I apologize for my complete rudeness—I, well, I’m sorry. Why do you think adoption is the best option?”
“I didn’t have the best childhood. I don’t even know who my dad is.” She stared out the window as she continued. “The only thing I know about parenting is how not to. I’m not even sure I know that. I’m messed up—and I didn’t even know it—not until f
aced with having a child of my own.”
“Lots of people with traumatic or imperfect childhoods have children and are great parents.
And to be honest, from everything I’ve heard from friends, no parent knows what they’re doing in the beginning. It’s all a learning experience.”
“Maybe, but I can’t risk that for my child.” Her eyes begged him to understand.
He did, to an extent. But he couldn’t ignore that this child was his flesh and blood. “I’ll raise him then.”
She laughed—a joyless, bitter, disbelieving sound. “You have your whole life ahead of you. You’d give that up for an unplanned pregnancy?”
“Men younger than me already have children. I’d have to adjust my lifestyle, but I’ll do it.” He narrowed his gaze. “I want this child. I won’t turn my back on my responsibilities.”
“I..I..” She stammered, not finishing the thought.
“You what?”
“I didn’t expect you to want to be involved.” Tears sprung from the corners of her eyes. “It throws a wrench in my plans. I don’t know what to do now. I can’t give this baby up for adoption without your consent.”
As if he didn’t already feel like a heel, now he’d made her cry. There had to be a solution. “Does a final decision have to be made now?”
“No, but I’d like to start looking at families.”
“Can we make a deal?” Dear Lord, please let her hear me and know my sincerity for wanting this child. Only after he’d silently uttered the words did he realize he’d prayed for the first time in months.
“Depends.” She offered a weak smile. “What do you have?”
“Don’t make any decisions yet. Let me be a part of this pregnancy, and let’s get to know each other.” He bit his tongue before adding the final stipulation. It was a risk, and he’d never been a gambler, but he knew he had to offer an out. “By eight months, if you don’t think we can raise this child and be co-parents, then I’ll sign the papers.”
“You’d do that?”
“I want what’s best for our child, as well, but we have different opinions on what that entails. Regardless, it’s a decision we need to make together, and to do that, we have to know and trust each other.”
