Page 63 of 40 and (So Over) Fixing It
Erin: Yeah, I kinda do.
How could his texts make her feel happy and sad at the same time. Still moping later in the afternoon, she took out her phone and reread their last few messages. Four weeks. Just four weeks since he’d been gone, but each day had felt like forever. Carter was right; they’d had two days of sex, been in each other’s physical presence for a total of only seven days. How could being alone already feel this empty?
She was convinced now more than ever that what they had was worth pursuing. Hell, she could even admit to herself that she was in love with him. She just had no idea how to overcome the obstacles that blocked the path to their being together.
Glancing around the shed, she felt a sudden swamping fatigue overcome her. Maybe she was depressed. Or just tired. Friday afternoon on a jobsite meant everybody cleared out as early as they could, and today, she decided, that was going to include her. A nap was just the thing to make up for her short night. Without stopping to talk herself out of it, she gathered her things and headed for her truck.
The clock had just hit four when she pulled into her driveway, and by five after she was piled on the couch with a blanket and a pillow in her comfy pj’s. The pleasure of being off her feet was instant. She was asleep the second her eyes closed.
Her dreams were of Carter.
When she stirred two hours later, a quick glance at her phone said there was a text waiting, but this one was from Ruth. Dinner was ready—or had been thirty minutes ago. Groggily she sent a quick response, splashed some cold water on her face, then made the trek across the yard to Ruth and Scott’s house.
“Sorry I’m late!” she called as she pushed through the door. Thank goodness Ruth had cooked or Erin would probably have ended up with a bowl of cereal for dinner. But the minute she walked inside, the overwhelming scent of collard greens cooked with ham hock slapped her in the face.
Oh no.
Erin skidded to a halt.
Ruth came through the dining room doorway. “I left you a plate in the microwave, Bug.”
She swallowed hard. “Collards?”
Ruth nodded enthusiastically. “And cornbread, black-eyed peas, ham steaks. You ready to eat?”
With every item listed, Erin felt more and more nauseous. She swallowed once more, struggling to contain it, but when Ruth opened the microwave door and the scent of collards got even stronger, she knew the effort was fruitless. “’Scuse me!”
She made it to the bathroom just in time.
A while later—Erin wasn’t certain how long she’d sat there with her head hung over the toilet bowl—she heard Ruth outside the door. A quick knock sounded. “You all right in there?”
She didn’t know about all right—she was beginning to think something was seriously wrong with her stomach. Could she face the smell in the kitchen, that was the real question.
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
Avoiding the kitchen altogether, Erin took the long way around to the dining room. When she sneaked a glance through the doorway, she saw that the table was clear of any dishes. Thank God. She walked through.
Ruth watched her, concern etched into her expression. “Scott had to go out and close the door on Willard. He finally decided he was ready to go in to roost.”
Erin nodded. Taking her usual seat, she plunked her elbows onto the table and rested her face in her hands.
“How long have you been sick, Bug?”
“I don’t know,” she mumbled into her palms. “It comes and goes. I thought it would be better this afternoon since I took a nap, but I guess not.”
Ruth was quiet for so long that Erin dropped her hands to look at her mother-in-law. “What?”
Ruth tilted her head. “When was your last period?”
Erin gasped. “What?” Why would Ruth ask her that? Yes, she’d been having problems with her periods before, but not now. Now things ran like clockwork…
She thought back a few weeks.
Oh. Oh no.
Five little words. All it took was five little words and her world went reeling.
“Erin,” Ruth asked, obviously feeling her way through her words, “is there a chance you might be pregnant?”
