Five days. She was five days late.
“I’ll go with you to the Student Health Center,” Ellen offered at a whisper. “You can get a test…”
Blythe shook her head. This couldn’t be happening.
“I h-have to go to class.” She picked up the backpack she’d flung to the floor in her mad dash to the toilet. “I can’t miss another day of class. I don’t do that!”
Ellen regarded her for a moment in silence before moving toward the door.
“Ok. Go to class. I’m here if you need me.”
Blythe pushed the hair out of her face and nodded. She couldn’t talk anymore. All she could do was tell herself to move. She could walk across campus, find the lecture room in Tilton, claim a desk, and be a college student.
She forced her chin to stop trembling as she stalked down Law Road. She refused to let herself think of Nate. She shoved down the ache in her heart. She tried, anyway.
Blythe slipped into her classroom just ahead of her economics professor, and even though she attempted to listen as he proposed the concept that nothing is free, she found herself clutching her middle where she knew — she knew — a life grew.
But knowing wasn’t confirmation, and she needed confirmation before she could deal with anything. Time ticked by, and Blythe could focus on nothing. Not the lecture. Not her fear. Not Nate. When her professor dismissed class, she left the hall at a near sprint. Actually talking to someone at the Student Health Center seemed impossible, so she chose the LBC bookstore.
Is this some kind of cosmic joke? She wondered, staring at the e.p.t box that hung right beside the pack of Trojans. Perhaps it was just a cautionary tale.
The student-aid cashier gave her a look as she rang up the purchase. Blythe wished she could become invisible. She stuffed the test in her backpack and made her way back to the dorm.
Ten minutes later, alone in a stall, Blythe stared at a blue plus sign on a plastic stick.
“Oh, God…”
Confirmation, she realized, didn’t make anything better.
Call Nate, a small voice inside her urged.
The moment this thought occurred, Blythe’s phone chimed in her pocket, the sound echoing in the empty community bathroom.
Tuesday, Aug. 26 10:44 a.m.
Don’t come back.
Reading the words nearly shattered her. This was how he’d answered her plea? Please tell me that you love me. This was his response?!
Blythe closed her eyes. In one hand, she held proof of the greatest love she’d ever known. In the other, she held evidence of why love didn’t matter at all.
Call Nate, the voice argued again.
But he had made his choice. If she wasn’t worth keeping — worth fighting for — how would a pregnancy make that any better? Nate already had one person who completely depended on him; he couldn’t handle this. She pictured the haunted look in his eyes from the morning before, the look that seemed to say that his life had been stolen. If he couldn’t love her through that, she couldn’t ask him to love a child.
She stared at the blue plus and thought of everything it meant. The mathematical symbol was supposed to mean more, and it did. More uncertainty. More fear. More regrets.
“What the hell am I going to do?”
She heard the bathroom door squeak open and laughing voices crowded in. Blythe flushed the toilet, stuffed the ominous stick into her bag, and fled the stall.
Instead of going to her first studio art class, she retreated to her room and called Rae.
“Hey Bestie! Perfect timing! I’m just walking out of class!”
Even in her dismal state, Blythe couldn’t help but smile at Rae’s endless energy.
“Hey…”
“Whoa—” Rae switched gears but didn’t slow down. “What’s wrong? Are you still in town? How’s Nate?”
Blythe sighed and flopped onto her bed.
“It’s… complicated.”
“Oh, shit… That doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s not good. My life sucks.”
Blythe caught her up on Nate’s situation and his insistence that they had to break up. She prided herself on the fact that she only started crying twice during the retelling.
“Oh, Blythe…” Rae’s voice was all softness and sympathy. The tenderness threatened to undo her completely, and she grabbed her pillow and clutched it to her.
It smelled like Nate.
“That’s not all,” Blythe tried to continue, but her own voice sounded strangled. “Rae, I’m pregnant.”
She heard the gasp over the phone.
“Fuck…”
“Yeah…”
“But… but how?!”
Blythe frowned.
“Well, how do you think?”
“Yeah, but you said you guys used condoms.”
She sighed again.
“Well, I guess one failed.” She rolled her eyes, feeling bitterness for the first time. “Those sex ed books don’t lie. Nothing’s a 100 percent.”
“Right. Sorry… So… what are you going to do?”
Blythe rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.
“I have no fucking idea. My big plan was to call you… So… what should I do?”
Silence.
“I take it you haven’t told him yet?” Rae asked.
Blythe shut her eyes.
“No, and I’m not going to. He’s done with me.”
She heard Rae tsk over the phone.
“Is that fair, Blythe? It’s not like he didn’t have a hand in it.”
“Trust me. If he doesn’t even want a relationship with me, he doesn’t want to instantly become a father.”
Rae was silent for another moment.
“Well, it sounds like you’ve made up your mind.”
Blythe’s heart tripped into a rapid beat.
“Wh-what do you mean?”
She heard Rae take a deep breath and blow it out slowly. When she spoke again, her words were softer.
“I mean you aren’t planning to keep it, are you?”
Blythe let her mind fast-forward to the end of the spring semester. She pictured herself swollen with child, waddling across campus.
And then what?
It isn’t like they’ll let you live in the dorm with a baby…
She couldn’t afford a place on her own. And childcare? Blythe had spent enough time factoring every line item in her college budget to know the reality. She had to finish school in four years to be able to keep her debt reasonable.
She could say goodbye to Tulane. Give up that dream in exchange for another life. Blythe knew that her parents would help her. She could move back home and transfer to UL. The idea felt like a slow form of suffocation, but she could do it.
But being someone’s mother? Being a single mother?
“I’m not ready for that,” she said, paling at the prospect.
“Well, no shit. You’re eighteen,” Rae said flatly. She was quiet for another moment. “What about adoption?”
The question knocked the wind out of her. Her voice went hollow.
“I don’t think I’m strong enough.” There was more to say, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it. Losing Nate now felt like the end of the world. It would be like losing him again after nine months. How would she survive?
“Blythe?”
“Yeah?”
“There are clinics in New Orleans… If you want, I could come with you.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. A sadness that saturated her entire being overtook her. She broke down and wept.
“I’m a h-horrible person,” she sobbed.
“You’re not,” Rae whispered. “You’re just a kid.”
“I’m eighteen. I’m supposed to be smart!” she cried. “I’m fucking valedictorian! How did I let this happen?!”
She heard Rae sigh.
“It happens…”
Blythe cried and cried, and Rae, the rock-solid best friend she was, whispered words of comfort and love. Wh
en Blythe could speak again, she knew she would be asking for a lot.
“I c-can’t do this by myself,” she stammered. “Will you help me?”
“I’ll take care of everything,” Rae swore.
****
AND SHE DID. FRIDAY afternoon, Rae met her on the steps of the Woldenberg Art Center after Blythe’s Early Renaissance class. Her best friend hugged her tight without a word.
Blythe tried to push the thought from her mind that she’d planned — only days ago — to head back to Nate’s at this very moment.
That couldn’t happen now. Everything had changed.
Blythe couldn’t afford to think about him. She told herself that she didn’t deserve to think about him. Not if she was planning to kill their baby.
She released Rae, feeling unworthy of the comfort she offered.
“Are you ready?” Rae asked, eyeing her with concern.
“As I’ll ever be…”
“C’mon. I’m parked on Broadway. Your appointment is in an hour.”
The medical center on Prytania looked like any other complex, and Blythe breathed a small sigh of relief that she didn’t have to walk past a line of protesters to get inside. She had envisioned all kinds of obstacles, but in reality, Rae simply found a parking spot in the adjacent tower, and they took an elevator to the fourth floor.
The Midtown Medical Women’s Health Clinic looked like any doctor’s office. When they approached the reception window, Rae gave Blythe’s name and handed over all of the consent forms she had downloaded online.
When they took a seat in the waiting room — with its neutral tones and soft lighting — Blythe looked down in her lap to find her hands shaking.
“I’ll be with you.” Rae grabbed her right hand and squeezed it.
Blythe drew in a deep breath through her nose.
“Am I doing the wrong thing, Rae?” she asked, completely lost.
Rae’s eyes were full of sadness when she looked at her.
“I don’t think so, sweetie,” she said softly. “But I don’t think anything I say will make this easier.”
A door to the inner office opened, and a nurse with a ponytail and blue scrubs poked her head out.
“Blythe…?”
Rae stood up, and Blythe found the strength to get to her feet. She knew that once she walked through that door, she wouldn’t be the same person anymore. She couldn’t be the same person anymore.
Oh, Nate, what have we done?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Now
NATE HITCHED ONE OF THE TRAILERS to his truck just as Father Gabe pulled into the driveway. He checked his watch. It wasn’t even 6:45 a.m.
“This is early even for you, Padre.”
The aging priest climbed out of his ancient Neon and gave Nate a grin.
“I could say the same to you. I’m going to have tea with my friend and listen to some jazz before the work day begins,” Father Gabe grumbled, gesturing to Lila’s apartment. “Why the early start on this Monday morning?”
Nate pointed up to the sky. The pre-dawn horizon was already tinged pink, and the winds blew at about 10 mph.
“I have a yard to mow before this front comes through, and I’m guessing I’ve got less than an hour to do it.”
The priest raised his palm.
“Well, Godspeed,” he teased.
Nate rolled his eyes as he always did when Father Gabe chose to embarrass him with a blessing or a prayer.
“Yeah, yeah. Go have tea with your friend.”
Nate climbed into his truck as the priest slowly navigated the apartment stairs.
Five minutes later, he pulled up in front of his client’s yellow Victorian on Myrtle Street. The sprawling corner lot would take a while, and Nate was glad he’d asked Pete to help him the night before.
He’d already unloaded the mower and started on the lawn when Pete arrived, waved to him, and took up one of the weeders. Thirty minutes into the job, the wind picked up, making the branches of the enormous oaks on the property dip and sway. Nate would have liked to hit more houses that morning, but the weather wasn’t going to cooperate. The radar on his phone showed a band that stretched into Texas, and once it arrived, his workday would be shot.
Just as they were wrapping up, thunder sounded in the distance.
“So how was your weekend, boss?” Pete asked, tucking the weeder back on the rig and flashing a sly smile.
Nate rolled his eyes. He’d had plenty of time on Saturday and Sunday to kick himself for fleeing the bar like a coward. He knew he deserved any ribbing Pete chose to give him.
“It was fine,” he muttered. “And you? Did you go out with your bartender friend?”
Pete’s eyes lit up.
“You know I did,” he boasted. “And I’ll see her tonight… But meeting Megan wasn’t the only highlight of my weekend. I met someone else, too.”
Nate froze. The look of mischief Pete wore could only mean one thing.
“Oh?” He tried to mask the reaction that had already started under his skin. His heart raced. Lungs shrunk. Stomach clenched.
“Your lady showed up, boss,” Pete announced with amusement. “About five minutes after you left.”
Your lady.
“She’s not my lady,” Nate said as much to himself as to Pete. “Besides, how do you know it was her?”
Pete’s grin pulled even wider.
“Because I asked her. Not too many girls named Blythe,” he said, looking self-satisfied. “I think she thought I was crazy, but—”
“You talked to her?” Nate cut in, unable to believe what he heard. Blythe showed up? And she’d actually talked to Pete? Why had he run? He could have seen her. He could have been the one who talked to her. He could have eased a little of the longing he’d felt for six long years.
I’m a fool.
“Yeah, I talked to her a little,” Pete said, arching a brow. “She’s a spitfire. Gave me the evil eye and told me to stay the hell away from her.”
Nate frowned. That didn’t sound like Blythe.
“What the hell did you do?” he asked, feeling protectiveness flare. The emotion must have sparked in his eyes because Pete took a step back and held up his hands.
“Whoa. I didn’t put the moves on her or nothing, boss. I swear. I was just checking out the lay of the land,” he defended.
“What do you mean?” Nate folded his arms across his chest and felt himself scowl.
“I mean… I didn’t see a ring on her finger, and she wasn’t there with anyone but her friends.”
Nate swallowed and considered the news. What was she doing here? If she had been working for a magazine in New Orleans only six months ago — a job that was everything she’d wanted back when they were together — why was she now in Lafayette? When Lila had seen her at Albertson’s two weeks before, he’d doubted the possibility that she’d moved back. Now, it seemed like there was no other explanation.
But why?
What could have brought her back? Nate couldn’t imagine that it was something good. He knew in his gut that such a move wouldn’t have made her happy. And that thought bothered him.
Nate had comforted himself for years with the certainty that Blythe would be happy. That letting her go would free her to live the life she wanted. When he pictured her — as he did almost daily — he imagined her life full and busy. She’d work with people just like her — artistic, creative, smart. She’d live somewhere trendy and bohemian — off Magazine where she could hunt for vinyl albums on the weekend and ride her bike to Royal Street to meet her friends for drinks. She’d shop at Whole Foods and go to concerts at the House of Blues.
Imagining her happy had kept Nate from hating himself every damn day.
But if she wasn’t happy now? And she was back in town? Would she ever want to see him again?
“I can see why you’re hung up on her, though,” Pete said, breaking into his thoughts. “She’s hot! Those are some killer blue eyes.”
The thunderclap
that rattled across the sky seemed to echo Nate’s response.
“Enough, Pete.”
Pete’s eyes widened.
“R-right, boss. Sorry! Shit, me and my big mouth,” he stammered, lifting the trailer’s ramp and securing it. “You… uh… you need anything else?”
The wind picked up again — this time with the bite of cold — and rain started to fall.
“Nope. We’re done here.”
Nate tried to rein in the heat in his voice, but his nerves were too raw.
“I’ll text you tonight about where we pick up tomorrow.”
A look of relief crossed Pete’s face, and he nodded to his boss and took off for his truck, trying to dodge the assault of raindrops.
Nate climbed into his own truck and dried his face on his sleeve. He started the ignition, and Alex Turner sang about wishing away entire lifetimes. Killing the music, Nate pulled away from the curb and headed down Myrtle.
He should have hung a left when he got to Congress, but he went straight instead.
“You’re an idiot,” he said aloud. Why was he driving to the Barnes’s house? In the rain? At 7:30 in the morning?
He turned right on Agnes and slowed as he approached Adrienne Street. Even through the pouring rain, the dingy, white two-story house looked just the same as it had the last time he’d been there — the night he’d snuck in to sleep in Blythe’s bed.
No cars crowded the driveway. If they still lived there, little had changed. Alexandra would already be at school, and Arthur would have left for his route.
A horn blared behind him, and Nate pulled his gaze away. He kept driving straight, passing Adrienne Street. It was for the best. It wasn’t like Blythe would be living there anyway, right?
He came to a stop at the light at University and sighed. The windshield wipers were almost useless now against the deluge. He watched cars speed down the highway, sending arcs of water onto the sidewalks as they hit the filling potholes.
Movement to his left caught his eye. Some poor soul was huddled under the bus stop awning at the corner, shielding herself with a mini umbrella. She’d be soaked in under a minute. The wind plastered her skirt against her legs as though it was cling wrap. Her hair whipped around her face.
Hair the color of caramel.
Nate blinked. The woman didn’t disappear. Instead, she raked a hand through her locks to pull the hair away from her eyes. Eyes Nate would have known anywhere in the world.
Butterfly Ginger Page 14
