Page 52 of Sugarloaf Ridge Lies

Daynah.

Oh, shit.My eyes widen.

Shit, shit, shit.

The last thing I want is the editor of the local newspaper,The Song, knowing I could be pregnant.If it were to get back to Jerry...

“Hi.” I force a smile and divert my attention to the shelf below the tests and snatch up a tube of personal lubricant.

I wave the tube in my hand. “Was running short.”

She nods awkwardly as if she doesn’t know how to respond.

Dear floor. Please open and swallow me whole.

I clear my throat. “Good to see you, Daynah. Sorry, I’ve gotta go.” My feet are in motion before she responds.

“S-sure. Take care,” she calls out.

I dump the lube in the next aisle and leave empty-handed.

Fuck my life.

***

After work, I try again. Chemist, here I come. The only thing that’s kept the queasiness away is stuffing my face with salty crackers. Thank God Nat has a supply. Which I’ll have to contribute to.

Is it the snacking in the teacher’s lounge that’s contributed to my recent weight gain, or is it something else? As I make my way down the main street, with the chemist in sight, it won’t be long before I find out the truth.

“Liv,” a familiar deep voice booms. Boots pound the pavement behind me.

Ah, shoot.

As the echoes of his breathing snatch my attention, on instinct my nipples pebble and a shiver runs up my spine.Of all people to run into, why now?

I turn as Jerry’s jog morphs into a slow walk. His dark eyes scan me over.

“Hi.” My voice is small.

The corner of his mouth tugs. He places his hand on my shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. “How you feelin’, sugar?”

The warmth of his touch is a comfort, but it doesn’t take away the itch beneath my skin. The itch to leave, to be alone. To get to the bottom of whatever’s going on with my body, so I know where I stand in life, in love.

“A little better, thanks.”

“Good to hear.” He grips my hips and draws my body to his. The heat of his mouth warms my skin as he presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. It causes my insides to turn to mush.Oh, Jerry.

I lean into his embrace, seeking the calm that my head fails to provide.

His rough hands smooth over my hips and tease at the sliver of skin exposed at my side between my blouse and skirt. “Your curves do wicked things to me, sugar.”

I flinch at the word“curves”. Am I pregnant?

“You wanna have dinner?” he asks.

I lean back and put distance between us. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” As much as I want to, until I know the truth, I’m going to be a scatterbrain. I’ve always worn my emotions for everyone to see. I won’t be able to pretend everything is fine when it’s not. “I need to grab a few things and get stuff done for tomorrow before I crash. I have the last of parent interviews.”

His face falls. “Oh, okay.”

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