Page 64 of A Moment for Us
Mrs. Garner rests her hand on my arm. “Nonsense. Delia is right, we should get you back into the thick of things, right, Marivett?”
“Oh, definitely. You’ve been away for a long time.”
“I’m sure nothing has changed,” I try to deflect.
“So much has!” Mrs. Garner says.
Delia creeps back toward the front door, and I give her a look that says we will be talking about her fictitious appointment at great length when she returns. Hopefully, by then, I haven’t thrown myself off the cliff.
I clear my throat. “Delia, I think your appointment was cancelled.”
She shakes her head. “Nope, it wasn’t. I just got the reminder text. I have to get going or I’ll be late.”
Mrs. Villafane waves her hand. “You go on, darling, we’ll handle this.”
The smile on Delia’s lips is all mischief. “Deals . . .”
She clutches her hands to her chest. “I’m so,sosorry I can’t stick around, but I appreciate you ladies helping our protector out here. He was extremely worried when he heard about the uptick in crime. So much so that he wanted to live here to make sure all of us were safe. He’s the best friend anyone can ask for.” I purse my lips and glare at her, but she doesn’t seem phased. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Bye!”
They wave to her as she exits—still wearing her freaking pajamas. When I finally drag my eyes from the closed door, both women’s smiles tell me this is going to be a very, very long day.
Chapter 19
Delia
“Idon’t know whether to laugh or slap you upside your head,” Ronyelle says as we’re walking out to my car.
It seems that Mrs. Garner and Villafane have spread the gossip far and wide that the eldest Parkerson is living with me.
“I vote for laughing.”
“You would.”
I sigh deeply. “It honestly wasn’t a choice. Things are really complicated, and . . . not that this uncomplicates anything, but it will at least give us a few months to get things right.”
“What the hell do you need a few months . . .” Her brown eyes go wide. “No! No! Delia!”
I hush her, pulling her to the back of the parking lot. “Will you keep it down!”
“You’re pregnant,” she whispers, but she might as well have yelled.
“Yes.”
“I have no words, and I always have words. Lots of words. Words that come out in run-on sentences that no one wants to hear, butyou—” She points her finger toward me. “Youhave rendered me speechless.”
I would like to point out that her little tirade was filled with words, but I know better than to launch her into another tangent.
“I’m not full of words myself.”
“Did you never hear of a condom? Or birth control? I swear, this town and the girls who find themselves pregnant . . . it’s like no one paid attention in sex ed.”
I let out a soft giggle. “It failed.”
“The class? Yeah. I see that.”
I huff. “No, the birth controlandthe condom. Trust me, we used both, and I’m here, a full-on statistic.”
She blows out a breath and shakes her head. “So, what are you going to do? Other than let your baby daddy live with you.”
