Page 12 of This Means War

A second wave of fear washes over me. My job. What will the school say? Christian parents won’t want their impressionable middle school girls coached by an unwed mother. Could I lose my job? Then what will I be left with? No husband, no job, possibly no familial support. As for Cole? I have no idea if I can count on him. I’d like to think he’d at least provide me with some financial support, but would he try to keep me and the baby under wraps until the election? When did I become a sordid secret?

I haven’t prayed much since that night with Cole. Every time I try, shame washes over me like I’m Eve hoping to hide from God in the garden of Eden. I’ve still been going to church with Jamie, but that’s only so she won’t suspect anything is wrong.

Now, lying here in my bed with so much fear and uncertainty suffocating me, I long to cry out to God for help, but I’ve pushed Him away so much these last few weeks that I can’t bring myself to evenspeak His name. Instead, I let a little voice whisper in my ear that God is punishing me for my sin, and I deserve it.

Round and round my thoughts go until I fall into a fitful sleep.

***

I’m awakened early the next morning by the need to once again vomit. I remember Sophie’s words about being sick for ten weeks and discouragement takes root in me. I’m not sure I can face ten more weeks of waking up like this. I rummage in my purse for the supplements the cashier at CVS recommended. She even wrote down how much of each to take, but I still google it to make sure. It recommends taking it at night, but I ignore that because I’m sick now. I grab the recommended amounts and head to my parents’ kitchen, hoping they have some orange juice. They do not, so I have to settle for washing the pills down with some weird green juice they have stocked instead.

I’m sitting down with a plate of toast and one of my old Georgette Heyer regency romances when I get hit with a wave of drowsiness. I put my head down for just a second and…

“Lydia!” My mom’s shocked voice wakes me, and I sit up abruptly, rubbing my eyes. I fell asleep at the kitchen island and now I have an audience. My parents along with Josh, Delia, and— oh perfect—there’s Cole, grinning cockily at me.

Cole

Lydia disappeared prettyearly last night, so I never got a chance to talk to her further about her pregnancy. Instead, I laid awake yet again, this time with my mind spinning as I tried to figure out what to do. Talking to her is paramount, which is why I show up bright and early to Josh and Delia’s present opening brunch at the Hamlin’s house. I’m the first to show up beside the newlyweds, but that suits me just fine. The less people around to potentially overhear us the better. Of course, finding her asleep at the kitchen island, her face lying in her toast, a well-worn regency romance novel at her side, is just a bonus. A mental image I’ll carry with me always.

Still, I feel bad that once again she’s about to get hit by the wrath of her mother, especially since it’s my baby that’s exhausting her, so I cut in.

“You look like you could use a glass of orange juice,” I tell Lydia, holding up the carton I brought. I may be a jerk, but at least I’m an observant jerk. I saw the way she sucked down that orange juice in the limo yesterday. “Mrs. Hamlin, is there anything we can help with to get set up for brunch?”

Mrs. Hamlin, who’d still been eyeing Lydia with slight disapproval during this exchange, turns her attention to me. “Oh, Cole, you’re such a gentleman, but honestly the caterer should be here any minute, and they’ll get everything set up. Why don’t we alljust go visit in the living room while we wait.” She looks back at Lydia. “Honey, perhaps you can use the time to put on something more appropriate.”

Lydia flushes. If there were no one else here, and if we had the kind of relationship where we said nice things to each other, I’d tell her I think she looks cute in her penguin-themed pajamas. Instead, I just shoot her a smirk, laughing inwardly when she scowls at me in response. She picks up her plate, then stands up and walks over to the sink with her head held high. Too bad the queen of England couldn’t look dignified with otter slippers on her feet. Yup,otterslippers.

Everyone else heads out of the room, but I hang back, telling them I’m going to grab myself some orange juice first. I pour two glasses as Lydia loads her plate into the dishwasher. When I turn to hand her one, I spot her yawning and rubbing at her eyes.

“Sleep well?” I ask.

She grimaces. “I think I did something stupid,” she says.

“Yes, we both did.”

“No.” she waves me off. “Not that.” She steps closer to me, her shampoo’s vanilla fragrance wafting over to me. “I took those supplements the cashier at CVS recommended to me.”

“What?” I’m instantly on high alert. “How could you do that without consulting a doctor first?” For some reason I’m scared for the baby, which is weird because if anyone had asked me about having kids before yesterday, I would’ve said that I wanted towait a few years. Maybe even more.

Lydia’s eyes flare. “Of course I consulted a doctor,” she snaps, “or at least I googled it, and a bunch ofmedicalwebsites said it was safe.” She emphasizes the word medical like she’s worried I’ll assume she means she checked Facebook or something. “I’m not worried about the safety,” she goes on, “it’s just,” she yawns again, and it hits me. The Unisom. A sleep aid designed to make you drowsy.

“You took it this morning, didn’t you?” I will not laugh. She nods. “So that’s why you fell asleep in your toast.” Again, she nods.

“And I know it said to take it at night, but I was just feeling so miserable and so,” vulnerability shadows her features, slaying me, “alone.”

She won’t look me in the eyes after she says this, so I cross the kitchen and tilt her chin up to me. With her being so sleepy, now is not the time for a serious conversation about our plans for the future, so I just put as much sincerity as I can into my next few words.

“Lydia, you are not alone. No matter what, I will be by your side.” Tears shine in her eyes, and she nods as she swipes at them. Sensing she’s uncomfortable with the amount of insight into her emotions that she’s just given me, I step back and rub my hands together. “Which means, of course, that it’s my job to help you get through this morning without falling asleep on top of the pile of gifts in your parents’ living room.” She gives me a glimmer of a smile. I reach over and tickle her in the ribs, sheshrieks and slaps me on the arm. I’m flirting and I shouldn’t be. The last time I flirted with this woman I got her pregnant.

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” she laughs. “I’m going to go get dressed.” I watch her go, my eyes lingering too long on her retreating form.

I know what I have to do and it terrifies me. I have to marry Lydia.

When I was a kid, I once walked in on Josh snickering over a book. I’d been surprised when he spotted me and lifted the cover to reveal a brown leather Bible.

“Cole,” he guffawed, “listen to this.” He puffed up his chest and began reading dramatically, “‘Your hair is like a flock of goats descending from the hills of Gilead.’”

“What’re you reading?” I asked, going over to join him on the couch.

---