The Pregnancy Test

by Susan Gable

  An afghan-covered lump on the sofa stirred. “Over here.”

  He knelt alongside the couch, gently pushing the dog aside. Princess gave up on trying to get his attention and stalked to the far end of the sofa, jumping up onto what he suspected were Jenna’s feet.

  Only her hand showed from beneath the purple blanket. It waved in the direction of the coffee table. “As you can see, I have all my stuff close. Tea, soda, crackers, tissues. Margo stopped by to check on me before she left for Morgantown for the next week. I’m fine. Thanks for stopping by.”

  “Don’t let the door hit me on the way out?”

  The lump nodded.

  “Sorry. Why don’t you let me judge for myself if you need help or not?” He grabbed the edge of the afghan. She made a strangled, choking sound, and struggled to keep it over her head. But he eventually won, succeeded in pulling it away from her face. One hand flew to cover her tousled hair, the other her eyes. “I told you I look like hell.”

  “Sweetheart, you could never look like hell, not even if you were standing in the middle of it.” He eased her hands away, stroked back her hair.

  When she finally looked at him, he did his damnedest not to let his shock show. “Have you been crying?”

  “No, no, not at all. Must have a cold, too.” She pushed away his fingers as he brushed them over her forehead. “Sloan, please. Go. Leave me to suffer in peace.”

  “I guess you don’t know me very well yet if you think I’d even consider walking out on a sick woman I care about.” He rose to his feet. “I’m helping you, and that’s final.”

  He headed for the kitchen. “How about a cup of chicken broth? Do you have any bullion?” Rummaging through the cabinets, he found the green-labeled jar. After prying loose one of two cubes stuck to the bottom of the container, he heated some water. When the broth was ready, he carried it over to her, setting it on the coffee table with all the other clutter. “Why don’t you sit up? That will make it easier, and probably better for your stomach.”

  She pushed herself upright, tucking the blanket around her curled-up legs. He tried not to stare at her head but didn’t quite manage it.

  “What?” She reached upward. “Oh, no.” She groaned. “I have Medusa hair, don’t I?”

  He grinned. “Is that what you call it?”

  “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

  “Hey. I’ve seen you a lot of ways, from stark naked and flushed with passion, to sound asleep and drooling on your pillow.”

  Her eyes widened. “What? You have not.”

  He laughed. “Okay, so maybe not drooling. But Jenna,” he said as he picked up the mug of bullion and sat down beside her, offering the hot drink, “no matter what, I think you’re beautiful.”

  “Liar.” She took the cup. “But you’re sweet to say so.”

  “How about I go get your hairbrush and brush your hair?”

  “Get it, yes, but I think I can brush my own hair, thanks. I’m not that far gone.”

  He scrambled off the sofa, crossing the living room toward the bathroom.

  Jenna watched him go, warmed by his response to her illness. Surely a man who was this considerate to a woman with stomach flu would be even better about a woman carrying his child, right?

  But she couldn’t tell him. Not now. She hadn’t decided what she was going to do yet. Besides, Brook needed his support and understanding far more than she did, so the teen had to tell the poor man first that he was going to be a grandfather.

  She rubbed her eyes, damning them for giving away her tears. Margo had found her bawling, had held her while she’d blubbered her secret. They’d had a long discussion about the options, much like the one she’d had earlier with Brook.

  The sheer terror she felt at the thought of being responsible for another human being when she was only now making progress with being the parent of a dog made her think maybe an abortion would be the right thing to do. Being a mother…wow. It was a huge step for someone like her. Someone who didn’t do kids. Kids had to come first, no questions asked.

  But, on the other hand, this was her baby.

  What would Gram have advised her to do?

  Keep the baby. She had no doubt Gram would tell her she’d make a great mother, and the baby would be lucky to have her. That they’d be lucky to have each other.

  And Sloan already had two kids and had proved himself to be a good father.

  One thing was sure—she wasn’t going to make this decision impulsively, like many others she’d made in her life. No, she would consider this one for as long as she needed to. It was too important for impulse.

  A crash in the bathroom startled her. “Sloan? Are you okay?”

  When he didn’t answer, she set the mug on the table, prepared to haul herself off the couch to see what had happened. But he emerged from the bathroom carrying something. Brows drawn down in a serious scowl that didn’t mesh with the wildness in his eyes, he stalked across the room and held the object out to her. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

  She stared at the two pink lines on the stick in his hand. Oh, crap.

  “Well?”

  “Where did you get that?”

  “In the bathroom, next to your hairbrush.”

  “That’s not mine.”

  “Oh, of course it’s not yours. It’s just in your bathroom, with your things—”

  “I’m not lying to you, Sloan. That’s not mine.” Thankfully she’d tossed her positive tests into the kitchen garbage can. Had she covered them up with more trash? Shoot. She wasn’t thinking straight, that was for sure.

  “So, whose is it, then? I suppose it belongs to a friend of yours?”

  “Actually, yes.” Your daughter. Jenna swallowed hard, looking him right in the eye. “Sloan, I swear to you, that test is not mine.” Great. She’d mastered the art of Clintonism. The truth—of a sort. Gram would kick her butt. On the other hand, her lawyer parents would probably be proud she’d learned to split threads of reason like that.

  “Really?” His shoulders sagged with obvious relief. He dropped onto the sofa, tossing the stick to the table. “Oh, thank God. Phew. For a minute there, you had me worried.”

  “Worried?” Unease tingled across the back of her neck.

  “Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, Jenna, you know I love my girls. Even Brook when she’s making me nuts. But I’m just as glad that my baby days are over. Hell, I’m having a hard enough time facing the idea of all the stuff I have yet to go through with Ashley, and I’m pretty sure she’s going to be easier than Brook. But to start all over again?” He shook his head. “No thanks.”

  He cleared his throat. “Besides, look at Brook. I’m not so sure I’m doing a good job at this fatherhood thing.”

  “She’s a good kid, Sloan. She’s just different from you, that’s all. And so she’s done a few kid things. That doesn’t mean you’re a bad father.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not fixin’ to try it again just the same.”

  Moisture began to build in Jenna’s eyes, and she blinked hard. No way would she cry over his words, no matter how much they twisted her. He didn’t want any more children.

  That certainly needed to be factored into her decision-making. But if she wasn’t sure she wanted this baby, why did it hurt so damn much that he didn’t?

  “Jenna? You okay?”

  She nodded. “Fine as someone with this damn virus can be.”

  He reached out, lifted her chin until she looked at him. “Oh, don’t tell me. Your biological clock is ticking and you were thinking—”

  “Hell, no.” She jerked her face from his hand. “Hey, I understand about our relationship, Sloan. Nothing serious, right? Dessert only, no steak and potatoes?” Yeah, and she’d been the one to break the most important rule by developing feelings for him. And by starting to think there might be more with him.

  That he might be The One, a man who wouldn’t bore her after a while, wouldn’t make her itch for a change of pace. A man she
could compromise with.

  “We’ve already broken the nothing-serious rule. I care about you. In fact, I care about you enough to say, sweetheart, if you do want a child of your own, you need to stop wasting time with me.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “I don’t want to stand in your way.”

  “Th-that’s very considerate. I’ll be sure to let you know when I feel the urge to trade you in on a newer model.” She inched away from him, pulling the blanket tight around her body again. “Thanks for stopping by. I think I can take it from here.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to stay?”

  “Yes. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.” And she could take of their baby without his help, too, if that was the way he felt about it.

  If that was what she decided.

  CHAPTER TEN

  BY SUNDAY AFTERNOON, Jenna felt well enough to go down to the store and work on some jewelry. Thank goodness, it really had been a virus making her ill, and not the pregnancy. Nine months of feeling like that definitely didn’t appeal.

  Tomorrow she’d call her gynecologist’s office. She needed input from the medical field. Margo had been feeding her multiple vitamins for years now, so that wasn’t a worry. But she’d stopped taking the Saint-John’s-wort this morning. She’d have to ask the doctor if that could have hurt the baby.

  The portable phone she’d brought from upstairs chirped, and Jenna stopped the diamond-tipped drill, pushing her safety goggles up. “Hello?”

  “Jenna?” A few soft sniffles followed. “It’s me, Brook.”

  “Hey, honey. How are you today?”

  “Still pregnant.” Brook’s dejection reached across the line. “I talked to Dylan last night.”

  Jenna held her breath and waited for the teen continue. When she didn’t, Jenna prodded. “And? What did he say?”

  “He—he said he wasn’t ready to have a baby, and that I should get rid of it.” Soft sobs now came from the distraught girl. “He said it would ruin his plans for college next year if I have this baby.”

  “Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry.” But not surprised. Men. “Where are you now?”

  “I’m at Kelly’s house. But I have to go home, and I— I was wondering…”

  “What?”

  “W-would you come with me when I tell Dad? I don’t know what to say, but he probably won’t freak out as much if you’re there.”

  Jenna could relate to the fear in Brook’s voice. “Sure, I’ll be there with you.”

  “Thank you! I’m so scared.”

  “I know.” After making arrangements for Brook’s friend to drop her off at Jenna’s building in about twenty minutes, Jenna finished drilling the piece of beach glass she’d started before the phone call, then cleaned up the worktable. Task complete, she headed upstairs to make sure Princess had a dry pee-pee pad, because heaven only knows how long this meeting would take.

  She dreaded it as much as Brook did. How was Sloan going to react after his little “no more kids for me” speech last night? Well, this was his grandchild, and he’d just have to deal with it. Still, his acceptance of the situation would give Jenna some reassurance that he might just come around about her news, too.

  If and when she decided to clue him in.

  Bundled into her long woolen coat, Jenna stepped out onto the sidewalk. The crisp, cold air invigorated her and made her nose tingle. She tilted her head, closing her eyes, enjoying the feel of the sunlight—a rare commodity in an Erie January—on her cheeks. The sound of a car in the slush at the curb made her open her eyes and turn. Brook stepped out the car, then waved off her friend. Jenna walked over to her. “Hey, kiddo. You ready for this?”

  Brook shook her head. “But it has to be done.”

  “All right, then.” Jenna held out her gloved hand. “Let’s go do it.”

  Without another word they walked united toward the house next door. At the porch door, Jenna squeezed Brook’s hand, then followed her inside. They shed their coats. The quiet house seemed to hold its breath, as though it knew what was about to take place. Brook squared her shoulders, then hollered up the stairs, “Dad? I’m home. You up there?”

  “Yeah,” came his muted reply.

  “Can you come down here? I— I need to talk to you.”

  Less than a minute later, Sloan barreled down the stairs, legs a blur of faded denim. “Did you say we have to talk? That doesn’t sound good.” He came to an abrupt stop on the bottom step and stared at Jenna. “And why are you here? Not that I’m unhappy to see you up and about today. Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

  He turned to look at his daughter. “Brook? What’s this all about? Are you in some kind of trouble again?”

  The kid burst into tears.

  Puzzlement in his eyes, Sloan stepped down, then reached for Brook, awkwardly enfolding her in his arms. “Hey now, Snickerdoodle, what could possibly be so bad it makes you cry like this?”

  “Oh, D-Daddy. I’m so s-sorry!”

  Jenna scanned the living room. A box of tissues sat beside the lamp on the oak end table. She pulled out a few, held them ready while Sloan soothed Brook. So far, so good.

  “Why don’t we sit down?” He turned Brook around and pointed her in the direction of the sofa. “I get the feeling that might be a good idea.”

  Brook took the tissues from Jenna with a quivering nod of thanks. While father and daughter settled next to each other on the couch, Jenna perched on the edge of the oversize chair.

  “Okay, now. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Brook wasn’t sure how she’d get the words out. Her stomach filled her throat and for sure, any second now, she’d hurl all over the living room floor. The pregnancy didn’t make her sick, but telling her father about it was going to.

  “Brook?” Her dad’s eyes were soft, understanding. As soon as she told him, that would change, and he’d probably never look at her like that again.

  She opened her mouth but closed it again quickly.

  “Jenna? What in the hell is going on? What’s so horrible that my daughter can’t even bring herself to tell me? I mean, I’ve been called to a store to pick her up for shoplifting. We’ve had it out over my catching her with pot. Somebody tell me—and I mean now.”

  “I— I’m pregnant,” Brook whispered.

  “What? I don’t think I heard—holy shit. Did you just say you’re pregnant?”

  Staring at her hands twisted in her lap, Brook nodded.

  “Pregnant?”

  “Yes.”

  With a string of curses she’d rarely heard him utter, her father shot off the couch and began pacing the room like the leopard at the Fort Worth Zoo. Brook kept her head down, terrified to see what filled his eyes now.

  “I’m going to kill that boy,” her father growled.

  Brook snapped her attention up as he yanked open the front hall closet and dragged his leather coat on. He strode to the door. “D-Dad?”

  Jenna stood up. “Sloan? Where are you going?”

  “For a walk,” he replied through clenched teeth. “I want you both right here when I get back.” The slam of the door rocked the whole house.

  Brook jumped. The tears began to flow down her face again. Jenna sank to the sofa next to her and pulled her close. “Don’t cry, kiddo. It’s going to be okay. The hardest part is over. Give him some time to get used to the idea. See, he didn’t even yell.”

  “D-do you think he’s going to Dylan’s house?”

  “No. He just had to say that. I think it’s part of the father code of ethics and machismo.”

  The door burst open again, and her dad came back in, tracking snow across the rug. Hand in his hair—was he pulling it?—he stalked back and forth, emanating enough bottled-up energy to run every light in the city for several weeks. “I cannot believe this. First, I’ve told you a million and one times to wait because you’re not old enough, not ready for sex. Do the right thing, I said. Second, what’s wrong with you? Didn’t the two of you know anything about pr
otection? I know the schools hand out condoms, give me a freakin’ break. You get a decent allowance and you work. You could have bought some. Hell, in a pinch, you could have lifted some! Third, I’m going to kill that boy!”

  Jenna tightened her arm around Brook’s shoulder.

  “How could you be so irresponsible?”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

  “That doesn’t make much difference right now, does it?”

  She shook her head.

  “I don’t know why I’m surprised. This is so like you. I should have expected it.”

  “Now, Sloan—” Jenna said.

  “You. Don’t even talk to me right now.”

  Brook had had enough. She jumped from the sofa. “Don’t you talk to her like that! She’s my friend. And what do you mean ‘this is so like me’?”

  Her dad shook his head. “Never mind.”

  “No, I want to know. You mean ’cause I’m more like Mom, don’t you?”

  “Do not mention your mother to me. Not right now.”

  “Don’t give me that righteous, controlled bit, Dad. I know how you are! I know that Mom was pregnant when she died and that you didn’t want the baby! I heard you yelling at her that night! Hell, the whole damn neighborhood should have heard, except we didn’t have any neighbors.”

  Her dad stalked over and stood toe-to-toe with her. He leaned down and spoke in a very soft voice that worried her more than his yelling had. “Go to your room. Now. We’ll discuss all this later, after I’ve had a chance to get a better grip on myself.” He paused. “Now, Brook!”

  Sloan waited while she scampered up the stairs, then he went into the kitchen. Fingers closed around the handle of the fridge, he leaned his forehead against the freezer. He scrunched his eyes shut to keep the hot tears from leaking out.

  His little girl was pregnant.

  He swallowed hard and lightly banged his head on the cool white door.

  Pregnant.

  No matter what choice she made now, her life would never be the same again.