Because I Love You

by Tori Rigby

  chapter nine

  For the next fifteen minutes, I waited for some angry or sarcastic comment, but every time I looked at Neil, the muscles in his jaw remained rigid. He never once looked in my direction. Like he forgot I existed. But when we reached River Springs, he missed the turn that would’ve taken me home.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  He didn’t respond. Instead, he drove through town until we reached the outskirts. The part of River Springs no one ventured into unless they wanted to get lost in the forest. I pursed my lips. Why would he take me out here? Then he pulled into a hidden driveway, and there, in front of me, was a house that took my breath away.

  In its time, the place had to have been beautiful. A Victorian home with wood siding that looked like it had, at one time, been painted jade green. Now, the paint was chipping off, shutters were missing, and one of the upstairs windows was boarded over with plywood.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  “Get out.” Neil shut off the engine, jumped out of the truck, and then slammed his door closed.

  I followed, my insides twisting in knots. The front porch steps creaked under my weight. When Neil pushed open the front door, the hinges screeched like a dying cat. I cringed. Inside, the rooms were in much better shape, for the most part. Smells of fresh paint and cleaner filled my nose, and the furniture appeared to be in good condition. The place still held the ambiance of a well-to-do Victorian family, the kind of place you once went for tea and finger sandwiches while discussing business affairs.

  “You live here, don’t you?” I asked.

  Neil dropped his keys on an antique chest in the foyer. “Try to keep it down. You don’t want to meet my mother.” His gaze flicked everywhere but toward me. “Hungry?”

  “Sure.”

  I followed Neil through an outdated dining room and into the kitchen. From off-white, yellowing cabinets, he pulled a loaf of bread, some peanut butter, and a bag of potato chips. A rickety stove sat beneath a cracked window, and a rusting refrigerator was tucked in the far corner. Sympathy warmed my chest.

  “My parents bought this house before I was born,” Neil said. “It was their intent to fix this place up and flip it, like those families you see on TV. They started with the inside and worked their way from top to bottom. Completed the upstairs then finished the living room, family room, and foyer.”

  His hand movements were jerky as he slathered his bread with peanut butter. I knew what was coming next; his dad had died when we were in elementary school. My fingers twitched, aching to touch Neil’s arm, to tell him he didn’t need to share this with me. But he continued before I had the chance.

  “Then on my eighth birthday, my dad came to pick me up from a sleepover at Owen’s, and on our way home, our car was struck by a semi.” Neil’s gaze caught mine for the first time since I lashed out at him on the side of the road. There weren’t tears in his eyes, but the spark that had filled them the last two days was gone.

  Someone stuck a hot, jagged piece of iron in my chest and twisted as my own memories flooded my mind. I’d been sitting on the couch in our living room when the police officer walked through the front door and gathered my mom and me together. As Mom screamed and collapsed to the floor, I stared at the dark television, dazed, like it was a dream, like I’d wake up the next morning and hear my dad call me “sweet pea.”

  But Dad never read his newspaper at the kitchen table again, or brought me a present from one of his speaking tours, or chauffeured me to another dance class. The ache I felt in my bones every time I saw Mom sitting alone in the stands at football games . . . there was no comparison.

  “Neil . . . .” I placed my hand over his.

  Dropping the knife he’d been using for the peanut butter, he stepped back. “I’m not done. In case you can’t tell, this place was never touched again. Mom started drinking and never stopped. I became a parent to a younger sister who still blames me for her dad’s death. And the only thing that keeps us from complete poverty is my asshole uncle who, because of some promise he made my dad, pays for our tuition and bills while holding it over our heads. The rest of it—the clothes, the groceries—it’s all from the monthly check we get from my Dad’s life insurance or the money I make on the weekends, working for my uncle.

  “So, next time you want to accuse me of being a low-life asshole with nothing better to do than use women like toilet paper, remember this: I built that reputation so people don’t get close enough to see this.”

  My heart pounded in my ears as Neil’s nostrils flared and he seemed to forget how to breathe. I understood why he’d want to hide this from people, why he’d pretend to be something he wasn’t. I hated the pity stares and comments from people who knew about my dad’s death, and I didn’t have poverty looming over my head. If I were in Neil’s shoes, I wouldn’t want people to know the truth either.

  I swallowed a lump in my throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Precisely.”

  “Look, about what I said—”

  He sighed. “Forget it.”

  “No, let me finish.” I held up a hand, fighting the burn in my throat. “I lost my dad, too, two years ago.”

  Neil’s shoulders drooped. “I know.”

  “And you’ve been nothing but kind to me these last couple days. Why, I don’t know, but I still shouldn’t have lashed out at you, even without knowing about your family. I’m sorry.”

  We stared at each other for a few seconds, like two cowboys in a standoff. It was so quiet; I could almost hear the wind rustling the trees outside. My curiosity got the best of me. “I have to ask: Why are you sharing all this with me?”

  Neil squinted. “I never told you why I asked you out all those years ago, did I?”

  I shrugged. “I figured you just thought I was pretty.”

  A corner of his lip twitched in a smile. “You are, but that wasn’t it.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I was in third grade. It was right after my dad died. Some of the older kids called me ‘orphan boy.’ Lame, I know. But I hid behind the climber thing and cried. You brought me a flower and said, ‘Those boys are jerks. They just wish they were you.’ I’ve never forgotten the way that made me feel.”

  The room silenced. My heart flopped like a fish out of water. I couldn’t remember what I had for lunch two days ago, let alone something from third grade. I rubbed my chest, unsure if I should be honored by the reason he’d liked me—not the fact that I was a cheerleader—or bothered that such a small act of kindness had such a profound effect.

  The words left my mouth before I could stop them. “Then, why Abby Young? Why did you kiss her?”

  He looked away and ran a hand down his face. “Because—ah, hell. Because I liked you, okay?”

  My eyebrows scrunched. “That was your reason?”

  He sighed and met my gaze again. “Look, Andie, I’m sorry. I really am. I just . . . You were the first girl I actually cared about, and I was afraid that if you knew that my life was seriously fucked up, you’d—I don’t know—look at me differently. It was easier knowing you hated me because I was an ass than because I was some poor kid from a broken home.”

  Oh, wow. The ache that ran to my toes left me breathless. My throat burned. This was the real Neil. Right here. Not knowing what else to do, I crossed through the kitchen and into his arms.

  He gave me a gentle squeeze. “Okay. Not quite sure what that was for.”

  “You hugged me earlier when I needed it. You looked like you could use one.”

  “Nah, I’m not much of the teddy bear type. Though, I don’t mind the boobs pressing against me part. Maybe I’ll reconsider the hugging thing.”

  And we were back. I stepped away and smacked his arm as he laughed. But, for the first time in two days, I didn’t mind the snark so much. In fact, I even remembered what it was like, falling for him the first time. The way he’d purposely trip over his own feet to keep me from being embarrassed about tripping over mine.
r />   I shuddered and shook the thought from my mind.

  “What do you say to grabbing McDonald’s for lunch?” I asked. “I’m really craving a cheeseburger. My treat. I figure I should, you know, make up for how I acted today.”

  He tapped his chin. “Free food, huh? A guy can’t say no to that.”

  With a smile, I helped him put away the bread and peanut butter before following him out the door and back to his truck.

  When we pulled into the driveway a few hours later, the door to the garage was wide open, and Mom’s car sat inside. I glanced at the clock. 3:00 p.m. She should still be teaching a class.

  “What’s wrong?” Neil asked when I didn’t climb out of his truck.

  “My mom’s car is here.”

  “So?”

  “So, she shouldn’t be home yet.”

  “Maybe she got off work early.”

  I tapped my fingers on my knees. “Maybe.” Though Mom never would’ve canceled her afternoon class if it weren’t an emergency. Something was wrong.

  “Do you want me to come in with you?” Neil asked.

  “No!” I shouted. Then when I realized how my quick response might be interpreted, I said, “I mean, I’ll be fine. It’s probably just some misunderstanding.” Or the school had phoned Mom to tell her I’d skipped. Again.

  “Okay, well, call me if you need anything. Otherwise, I guess I’ll see you Monday.”

  Nodding, I pushed open the truck door. I caught his eye before jumping out. “Thanks again, for everything.”

  He nodded, his lips turning up in a soft smile. I climbed out of the truck and raced for the garage before Mom peeked her head outside.

  The house was quiet. No Mom sitting at the kitchen table.

  “Mom?” I called out. Someone shuffled upstairs. A door opened.

  “I’ll be right down. Have a seat in the living room.” Her voice was shaky.

  Oh, crap. Something was definitely wrong. Something had happened, and I was in big trouble.

  I set my purse on the table and wiped my clammy palms on my pants before finding a spot on the couch. I picked at my fingernails. My right leg bounced. What’s taking her so long?

  Finally, I heard the door open again, and footsteps echo as she made her way downstairs, through the hall, and into the kitchen. I turned in my seat. Mom’s eyes were swollen and red. I swallowed.

  She sat on the love seat across from me and wiped her nose with a wadded tissue. “Did you skip school again today?”

  Earlier, when I thought I was going to abort the baby, I hadn’t cared about being grounded for missing another day and keeping it a secret. But, now, I regretted my decision. I could’ve at least called her and told her I wasn’t feeling well. Then she wouldn’t have known I was going behind her back again. As if that was better than lying.

  I nodded, unable to talk.

  Her gaze didn’t falter. “Can you tell me why you skipped school?”

  I cleared my throat. “I was with a friend.”

  “Who?”

  Oh, crap. Who do I say? Mom knew everyone in this town. “Carter.”

  She stared at me; she knew I was lying. “Did yesterday and today have anything to do with the rumor spreading around your school?”

  My lungs constricted. I clenched the fabric of my yoga pants into a ball. “Who told you?”

  “Your guidance counselor called me today.” Her voice shook again. “She was concerned about your prolonged absences. The days you missed when you told me you were sick and the two days you skipped. She wanted to know if there was anything the school could do to help with your situation.”

  My bottom lip quivered. This was it. I should just come out and say it.

  But I couldn’t open my mouth; I couldn’t move.

  She knew. She knew. I could see it on her face—the pain, the disappointment, the fear. I did this to her. Her life was going to crumble, and it was all my fault.

  “Is it true?” she asked. “Tell me right now—are you pregnant?”

  I looked away. My resolve broke, and I dropped my face into my hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Mom let out a tearful moan. “For crying out loud, Andrea! How did this happen?”

  “I don’t know,” I squeaked out between cries.

  “You don’t know? Were you raped?”

  “No! It wasn’t like that. But I didn’t mean to. I swear, I didn’t mean to.”

  “How could you not mean to? You knew very well what you were doing when you took your clothes off! I thought you were better than this!”

  I wrapped my arms around my waist. This was the first time she’d ever yelled at me. Sure, she’d raised her voice or scolded me. But never like this. I shrank away, each of her words like a lash from a whip.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her pinch the bridge of her nose, tears rolling down her reddened face. She wiped her nose with her tissue and leaned forward in her seat. This time, when she spoke, her voice was gentle, “Andie, I need you to tell me what happened. How long have you known about the baby?”

  “A week,” I replied with a sniffle. “Mom, I’m sorry. I really am.”

  She sighed. “I know. And I appreciate your apology, but this is going to take me a while to get used to. I never wanted this for my little girl.”

  A whimper escaped my lips. Why did telling the truth have to hurt so much?

  Mom continued, “But you can’t go back and change it, so all we can do is pray for forgiveness and figure out what to do from here.”

  For the first time since the yelling began, I turned my body toward her. Tears rolled down Mom’s cheeks, but her gaze was filled with nothing but love. Since when had she become so understanding?

  I climbed off the couch and dropped to the floor next to her legs, resting my head in her lap. Mom stroked my hair. How there were any tears left to fall was beyond me, but, for minutes, we sat like that until my crying subsided.

  “Andrea, you know I have to ask. Who’s the baby’s father? Is it someone I know?”

  Though I didn’t want to tell her, I knew I had to. I sat up so I could see her. “Carter. We’d had too much to drink. It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  Mom flinched at the mention of alcohol but didn’t pry. “Have you told Carter the baby’s his?”

  I nodded. “He flat-out refused to have anything to do with it. He abandoned me, and so did Heather.” Another wave of tears stung my throat. I wanted to scream. Not because I was angry at my ex-best friends, but because I couldn’t figure out how to turn off the darn faucet in my brain.

  Mom patted my hand. “Well, we’ll have to have a talk with the Lamberts because Carter has to own up to this as much as you do.”

  A chill ran down my spine. She knew very well how much his parents controlled his life. “No, Mom, you can’t. His parents—”

  “It’s the price he has to pay for impregnating my daughter. He’s as much a part of this as you are.”

  I pursed my lips. Carter might not hate me yet, but after my mom called his, he would for sure. There was no stopping her. No matter how much I pleaded for Carter’s sake, Mom wouldn’t back down. And part of me was glad. Though I hated to admit it, I didn’t want to do this alone.

  “How far along are you?” Mom asked.

  “About nine weeks, I think.”

  She nodded, and for what felt like hours she simply sat there, her face paling. Acid roasted my throat, and heat began to climb the back of my neck. She wasn’t going to tell me to get an abortion too, was she?

  Mom sighed, and a moment of panic flashed across her face. Then she looked at me, her gaze full of the tender love that felt like a dagger to my chest. “I’ll call an OB on Monday and get you her first available appointment. In the meantime, I want you to relax this weekend. I’ll get you some prenatal vitamins, and maybe tomorrow we can go shopping for clothes that’ll fit you a little more comfortably and hide the weight gain as you start to show.”

  She touched my cheek, and a l
ump formed in my chest like when I swallowed soda too fast. I’d expected her to be mad, sure. Heartbroken, even. But gentle and understanding? Not so much.

  “Why aren’t you punishing me?” I asked.

  “Well, you’re obviously grounded until further notice. But I think being pregnant at sixteen is punishment enough without me screaming at you.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind my year. “And right now, I think you need your mommy more than ever. Am I right?”

  She was. And, just like that, I fell into another sobbing mess.

  chapter ten

  On Saturday, true to her word, Mom took me shopping for more forgiving pants and tops with empire waists. She would continue to let out my school uniform until buying a new one was our only choice—that is, if I even wanted to return. The idea of homeschool sounded amazing, but I didn’t want to give up yet. If there was a chance I could still go to River Springs Prep, I had to take it. Monday would be the deciding factor.

  The delicious scent of scrambled eggs hit me when I entered the kitchen Sunday morning, but the moment I caught Mom dressed in her church clothes, my stomach rolled. Half the congregation had to know about my pregnancy by now. I could already picture people’s stares and hear their comments. Maybe I could convince Mom to let me stay home.

  “Do I have to go to church?” I asked.

  “Yes, Andrea.” She brushed eggs from the skillet onto plates.

  I sat at the table with a grimace and fidgeted with the sleeve of my pajama top.

  “Besides,” she continued, “I need to speak with Evelyn, and I want you to be there.”

  “You’re going to confront Carter’s mom at church?” I shouted.

  “Well, I don’t think this is a conversation that should take place over the phone, do you? She’s too busy at her law office during the week for me to drop by unannounced. Church is the easiest place to catch her.”

  I’m gonna puke.

  “We’ll pull them into a classroom after the service,” she said, setting a plate in front of me. All I could do was move the eggs around with my fork.