Page 37 of Crazy Imperfect Hearts

I grasp her hand. “Maddie, it’s not going to happen. There’s something about him. Maybe it’s that I know this can’t go anywhere and that makes me able to just be myself around him.”

She laughs. “Since when have you ever been anyone but yourself?” Then her eyes turn serious. “Oh, sweetie, I totally forgot about David.”

“That asshole,” Ava adds.

“Mom says we can’t say asshole,” Gigi says, having snuck up behind us. “Right, Mom?”

Maddie’s amused eyes flash to us and then back to her daughter, who had been eating ice cream with friends. “Right.”

“My friends wanted to see Teddy. Can I bring him over?”

Maddie glances at her sleeping son in the stroller. “Push him carefully. Try not to wake him. And nobody picks him up, okay?”

“Okay.”

Gigi pushes the stroller like it’s carrying a bomb, and when she gets to her friends, she stands in front of it, lecturing them on the rules.

I laugh. “That kid is going to make one heck of a babysitter.”

Maddie looks on, beaming with pride.

“How are you feeling?” Ava asks Maddie. “Is it nice to get out again?”

“Great.” Maddie grabs her larger-than-normal breasts. “But these things are leaking all over the place. Teddy doesn’t even have to cry to start the flow. I have to wear pads so I don’t look like a freak…”

They continue the conversation, but my mind is stuck onpads. Oh, Jesus. With everything going on, the Lucas thing, helping to cover Maddie’s flower orders, and Teddy’s arrival, I totally forgot—my period should have come on Friday.

It’s Tuesday.

I’ve never been late.

I stand, conjuring up a lie so as to not alert my friends to my predicament. “I totally forgot what day it is. I should have filed my quarterly sales tax. I’ll see you guys later.”

As I hurry in the other direction, Maddie calls out, “But it’s not even due yet.”

It was a stupid excuse. One I shouldn’t have used with other small business owners. Obviously they’d both know the current quarterly sales tax period ended May 31stand with today being June 4th, isn’t even due for another sixteen days. But it was the first excuse I could think of.

I don’t turn and try to explain. My mind is on a one-track reel at the moment.

I pass by Truman’s and the pharmacy. I don’t dare go to either of those. People talk. I rip open the front door of my shop and march right through to the back door, grabbing my car keys from behind the counter along the way.

My old VW Beetle sits there, rarely used. If it weren’t for the donations at Goodwill all the way across town and the occasional trip to Target, I’d never have to drive anywhere at all.

Dropping down behind the wheel, I turn the key, but nothing happens. I try again and again, getting the same nothing. I bang my forehead on the steering wheel, wondering why the world seems to be so against me right now.

I look down the back alley. Could I sneak into the grocery store and make Mr. or Mrs. Truman swear on their life they won’t blab?

I could say it’s for a friend. I laugh out loud, because that’s the stupidest thought I’ve ever had.

I could steal it.

No. Even in this critical situation, as a small business owner myself, I refuse to go to such lengths.

I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the headrest. Then it hits me. The train. It’s perfect. I’ll take the train into the city where nobody knows me and cashiers won’t even bat an eyelash at someone buying a pregnancy test.

Slamming the door of my car, I race off in the direction of the train station at the far corner of McQuaid Circle, on the other side of Truman’s. I can be there and back in ninety minutes. Then I’ll know. Then I’ll know for sure.

I spend the entire train ride feeling sick to my stomach.

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