Читать книгу No Matter What - Janice Johnson Kay - Страница 11

CHAPTER FOUR

MOLLY KNEW THAT she would never, so long as she lived, forget the expression on Caitlyn’s face when she finally arrived home at nine-thirty, dashed straight to her bedroom and found her mother sitting in her chair, the two sticks from the pregnancy test kit lying on the desktop in front of her. Her gaze flew to her mother, then the damning evidence and back to Molly.

“You searched the garbage?” she whispered.

“I knocked it over by accident.” Molly had become very nearly numb by now. “You should have disposed of them in the can.”

“I was going to, but there wasn’t anything in it. I thought you’d notice…” Cait swallowed. She still stood a foot or two inside the room, frozen in place.

“You didn’t think I’d notice your belly swelling?” How polite I sound.

“I…I…” Tears spurted and Cait’s face contorted. With a sob she threw herself across the room and facedown onto her bed. Her whole body shook with the force of her tears.

Molly’s eyes stung. On a rush of pity, she moved to sit on the bed and gently rub her daughter’s back. “Oh, sweetie. I know you were scared. I do know.”

She kept murmuring; Cait kept crying. It was a storm of misery and grief and fear. Molly would have given a lot to have joined her. But maybe strangely, she felt steadier now than she had at any time in the past six weeks.

“I love you,” she said, bending down to kiss Cait’s head. “I love you so much. We’ll figure out what we have to do. We will.”

“How can you love me?” her child wailed.

Through her own tears, Molly laughed. “I will always love you. Haven’t I told you that a million times? That no matter what happens, no matter what you do, I will love you because I’m your mother?”

Cait managed to roll over and look up through swollen eyes. Her skin was blotchy; tears dripped from her chin and snot from her upper lip. Molly reached for a dirty T-shirt on the top of the hamper and handed it over. “Wipe and blow.”

She did, and almost looked worse afterward. Molly sat back down and embraced Cait, who laid her head on Molly’s shoulder and clutched her, too. They sat like that for a long time—a couple of minutes, at least. Silent, breathing in and out. Molly soaked in the closeness and tried to shut her mind for this brief, peaceful interval to all the decisions to be made. To the fact that everything had changed for Cait, irrevocably.

At last a long breath shuddered out of her and she straightened. “Would you like a cup of tea? Or cocoa?”

“Cocoa, please.”

They went downstairs. Molly put water on to boil and Cait sat in the dining nook waiting. They had instant, thank goodness; Molly hadn’t been sure, since they didn’t drink it often. She set a spoon in each mug, poured in the boiling water and carried them to the table, where she sat across from Cait.

“Have you told Trevor yet?”

Head bowed, concentrating on stirring, Cait shook her head. “That’s where I went tonight. I tried.”

Molly had guessed as much. “Did you find him?”

“Finally. At a party. But he was with some girl.” She clenched her jaw. “He wouldn’t go off where I could talk to him. And I didn’t want to yell out to the whole room, ‘Hey, guess what, I’m pregnant.’”

“No, I don’t blame you.”

“What can he do anyway?” she asked fiercely.

It was hard, so hard, to hide how angry Molly was. “Depending on what you decide to do, there are ways he can take responsibility, too. He is responsible. At least as much as you are. He’s two years older, Cait.”

“We didn’t use a condom the first time,” Cait said dully. “He did after that, but I could tell he didn’t like how it felt.”

That son of a bitch, was all Molly could think. “At seventeen, he surely understood the consequences,” she said after a moment, trying to hide her rage.

“I’ve been so scared.” The swollen eyes were pathetic. Her nose was starting to run again and Molly handed her a napkin. “I kept thinking my period would start any day, that this couldn’t be happening.”

“How pregnant are you?”

That made Cait drop her eyes. A new tide of red rose from her neck to swallow the blotches on her face. “The first time was, um, six weeks ago,” she mumbled. “So I guess…”

That meant if they were going to seriously consider abortion—and how could they not, given Cait’s age?—it had to be soon. “Oh, sweetie,” Molly murmured. She waited, but Cait didn’t say anything. “Didn’t you know you could talk to me?”

The wet eyes met hers again. “I was so scared,” she repeated. She buried her face in the napkin, finally wiped and blew again. “And I’ve been such a butt.”

“Yes, you have. But remember—”

“No matter what I do, you will always love me because you’re my mother,” she recited, sounding watery.

“Right.”

“Mommy. What do I do?”

“That’s something we’ll have to talk about and think about carefully. But I suspect you know the options. Really, there are only three.”

“I could get an abortion,” Cait said tentatively.

Molly nodded. “That’s one. Two, you can have this baby and give it up for adoption.” It was hard to go on, seeing the stricken look on her daughter’s face. “Or three, you have it and keep it.”

“But…how can I?”

“With great difficulty. There was a time both Trevor’s parents and I would have said the two of you had to get married. He could finish the school year and then get a job.”

“But…he broke up with me.”

“There were consequences to his choosing not to use a condom,” Molly reminded her. “Seniors in high school are planning for the future. They’re thinking about grades, how to pay for college, how to get training for a trade that interests them. A few are even planning to get married once they graduate. Trevor made a choice about the future when he was either in too big a hurry to bother with a condom, or decided he didn’t like how sex feels without one.” She paused, feeling cruel, but knowing this had to be said. “So did you, agreeing to have sex without setting limits.”

A sob hitched in Cait’s throat, but she didn’t leap up and race from the room as Molly had half expected.

“So you think we should get married?” she asked after a minute.

“No. I said there was a time that would have been expected. Nowadays… Well, I suspect most girls in your situation have an abortion. No matter what, you’re too young to marry anyone, and whether you want to admit it or not, Trevor is not a good candidate. He’s an angry young man who has been lashing out at everyone around him. I don’t believe he’s capable right now of being any kind of husband or father.”

“He was…he was really sweet to me.”

“Until he ditched you?”

“It wasn’t like that.” Cait looked wretched. “I think…I think it was my fault.” Molly snorted, and Cait shook her head. “He said I was acting like a little girl, and he’d made a mistake hooking up with someone my age. And…I guess I was, I don’t know, kind of not sure how to act and…” She stumbled to a stop, seeming to run out of words.

“Over your head.”

Another sniffle. “I guess. He’s older and he knew what he was doing and I didn’t and… But I liked him so much, and when he liked me, too…” The last came out as a wail.

Molly felt a burn beneath her breastbone. She understood. How could she not? She’d been a teenager, hopelessly aware of a boy who would never in a million years notice her. And then a freshman in college when a boy like that did notice her—and she, too, had ended up pregnant long before she’d planned for any such eventuality. Yes, she’d been older than Cait, but any wiser? Not so much.

“Right now,” she said, “I think we both need to go to bed.”

“I can’t go to school tomorrow!”

“Yes, you can, and you have to.” She held up a hand when Cait would have interrupted. “You’re not going to be any less scared or upset on Tuesday or Wednesday. Or even next Monday. And if you should decide to carry this baby to term…” Her throat wanted to close up as she envisioned her increasingly pregnant daughter walking the halls of the high school. Or transferring to the alternative school? “Chances are good you won’t make it all the way through the school year. So you’ll miss days then. You can’t afford to miss any now.”

Cait gulped.

“Do you want me to confront Trevor with you? I could call you both to my office....”

“No!” Her daughter leaped to her feet, her face a study in alarm. “You wouldn’t!”

“You have to tell him.”

“I know I do.” She swiped at her eyes. “I will. But I need to do it my own way, okay?”

“Fair enough,” Molly said, although she didn’t agree. “Just…pick your time carefully, okay? Maybe after school?”

Cait nodded. She was crying again. Molly’s heart was wrung by pity, but also some anger, and it wasn’t all aimed at Trevor. She would have sworn Cait was so mature for her age. Molly had nearly treated her as an adult. They’d talked openly about everything, including sex and birth control. And then brooding Trevor Ward had walked into West Fork High School and Cait’s brains had scrambled.

Hormones do that.

I thought I’d Kevlar-vest-armored her against making the same mistakes I did. So what happened?

Trevor happened.

And the truth was—she felt hollow, thinking this for the ten thousandth time and finally understanding it was true—you can’t protect your children. Not 24/7, without fail. Not the way you want to.

I didn’t believe it, Molly admitted, and now she felt grief.

* * *

“CAITLYN CALLAHAN CALLED,” Richard told his son. They didn’t get that many calls on the home phone. The ring had startled him.

Trevor grunted, one foot on the bottom step.

“The third time this week.”

“Yeah, like she can’t talk to me at school.” After that momentary pause, Trevor took the stairs two at a time.

Richard stared after him. What was going on? He’d only caught a glimpse or two of her, but enough to see that Caitlyn was an exceptionally pretty girl. Really pretty. There was a reason Trev had cut her from the herd within days of starting school here. Richard still didn’t know who’d dumped whom, but unless this girl was completely lacking in pride, he had trouble seeing why she’d make a nuisance of herself pursuing his son once he’d lost interest. There had to be plenty of other boys who’d be glad to fill the vacuum.

Frowning after Trevor, Richard gave some serious thought to calling Molly and asking what she knew. But hell, he knew that was overstepping. He had no real grounds for this uneasy feeling. Maybe girls had gotten pushier than they were in his day. Even then, there’d been a few who didn’t hesitate to call a boy, and call again. Let Caitlyn back Trevor into a corner at school if she was determined enough.

He tried to shrug it off, tried not to regret the lack of any good excuse to call Molly, maybe even see her. In the week since the high school dance, he’d come to his senses about asking her out. It was a bad idea all around. She would have said no and he’d have been humiliated. As long as Trevor stood between them, that wasn’t happening, even assuming she’d have been otherwise interested. Maybe next year, once Trev had graduated—if he did. Maybe then, if Richard could determine whether she was really single.

He went to the kitchen to find something to throw together for dinner. He wasn’t much of a cook, which embarrassed him some. But why would he be? Lexa had done the cooking when they were married, and later there wasn’t much motivation, not when the only person he was feeding was himself. Summers when he had the kids, he’d tried harder; made sure he served a vegetable with dinner, grilled steaks, made salads. Even followed a few recipes. The last summer they were here, Trev and Bree had taken turns putting dinner on the table most days, and both of them were pretty decent cooks. Lexa’s influence, Richard guessed. Went without saying that Trev hadn’t so much as turned on the coffeemaker for his father this year.

Trev slouched downstairs for the hamburgers, baked beans and corn Richard served for dinner. For the first weeks, Richard had tried talking during dinner about his day, maybe mentioning some things he’d read in the morning paper, offered an anecdote from when Trev was little. Talking, he’d discovered, was worse than the silence, so sometime in the ten weeks Trevor had now been with him, Richard had given up. They ate in complete silence tonight, although he wanted to ask, Why are you dodging that girl? Why can’t you make it clear you’re not interested? Or is she intent on saying something you don’t want to hear?

He felt a little chill at that last thought. What could she possibly want to say that would have his big bad son ducking and weaving? Was there any chance Trevor actually still had a conscience, and was avoiding the admission that he’d treated her poorly?

But—how had he treated her poorly?

“Please clean the kitchen,” he said, and pushed away from the table. “The Steelers are on, playing Kansas City.”

“Yeah, I don’t care about either team.”

Neither did Richard, but he still enjoyed watching an occasional game. He wasn’t a fanatic; he didn’t give up every Sunday to stay glued to the television. But tonight he thought it would be a good way to unwind.

His phone rang, and he had to go looking. He’d set it down on the kitchen counter when he started work on dinner. He didn’t recognize the caller’s number, which surprised him, but it was a local one.

“Hello?”

“May I speak to Mr. Ward?”

He knew who this was. “Ms. Callahan?” he said in surprise. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Trevor turn slowly from the dishwasher, a dirty plate in his hand.

“That’s right.” She sounded all buttoned-down, not pissed but not friendly, either. “Are you aware that Caitlyn has been trying to reach Trevor?”

“Yes, actually I am. I passed on a message this afternoon.”

“Since he’s refusing to speak to her, I have to ask if we can meet.” There was a pause. “At my home. And I’d appreciate it if you could bring Trevor.”

Oh, shit. This couldn’t be good. His eyes were locked with his son’s. Trevor couldn’t possibly hear what she was saying, but he was braced for something, and it wasn’t good.

“Yes, Ms. Callahan. When?”

“Is Trevor home now?”

“Yes.”

“This evening would work for us.” So Caitlyn was to be included in this showdown. Oh, shit, he thought again. “If tonight’s not good…”

“Tonight’s good,” Richard said. “Where do you live?”

She gave him her address and he told her he didn’t need directions. He’d lived here his entire life, and had worked on what seemed like half the houses in town. Given the address, he knew exactly where she lived—a neighborhood of upscale town houses built…oh, five or six years ago. Ward Electrical had done the wiring, so he even knew the layout options. Each had a pocket front yard and a not much bigger backyard. They were nice places, though—two story, with clean styling he liked, the garages off alleys that were as wide as some city streets.

“We’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” he said, still not looking away from Trevor, who was shaking his head frantically. Richard pocketed the phone. “You got the gist of that.”

“Us?” He let loose some obscenities, followed by, “What’s this about? Is Mommy the vice principal going to chew me out because I broke her little girl’s heart?”

“I really doubt that’s what Mommy the vice principal has to say,” Richard said grimly. “Trevor, did you have sex with this girl?”

He had his answer in the panic on his son’s face.

“How old is she?”

“She’s… She wanted it, too!”

“How old?” he ground out.

Trevor swallowed. “Uh…fifteen. I think.”

Richard closed his eyes. “Goddamn it, Trevor.” As if all this would be any better if the girl had passed her sixteenth birthday. Was this a nightmare? Had Trevor just ruined his life, the same way his dad had ruined his?

“Forget the dishes,” he said. “We’re going over there right now to find out what this is about.”

Trevor tried to say no. Vehemently, profanely, even physically. Richard all but dragged him out to the pickup, thrust him in the passenger side. “You will come with me. For the first time since you got off that airplane, you will behave like a decent human being. Do you hear me?”

Breathing hard, eyes black with fear, Trevor finally nodded. Richard went around and got in. Neither said another word, not while the garage door rose, not during the short drive. Not even when he parked at the curb in front of one of the town houses, painted a warm gold with darker gold-and-brown trim.

Molly opened the door, and studied Trevor with slightly narrowed eyes. “Thank you for coming,” she said, and stood back to let them in.

For a moment, despite his tension, she was all Richard saw. Her hair was loose, a cloud of wavy, wayward fire. It was the first time he’d seen it that way. Brown cords emphasized those long legs and hips he fantasized getting his hands on—when he’d had enough of touching her hair. A cowl-necked sweater in something soft bared enough throat and collarbone to jolt him. No freckles. Why didn’t she have freckles?

He gave his libido a good yank and deliberately looked around. Away from Molly.

She led them into a living room that surprised him. Cream walls were hung with textile art, everything from an antique crib-size quilt to a weaving that he guessed was South American. The rugs scattered on the hardwood floor were all interesting, too, some likely vintage if not antique. Bookcases were mostly full of books, but held some art that he thought might be African or South or Central American, too. Different. The coffee table looked Shaker, the sofa was a dark red plush fabric and the two easy chairs were covered in a dark blue and sage green, respectively. Somehow the colors of furniture, rugs and wall hangings all worked together. He saw it all quickly; it was only an impression, but he was impressed.