THERE WAS nothing dignified about peeing on a stick.
Not exactly what Carey Langford had imagined thinking at
this particular milestone in her life. But there it was,
the depressing truth.
The foolish, idealistic part of her had always imagined
this moment of truth to be a little more...romantic, for
starters. Not so lonely. Maybe filled with jittery
excitement and a strong, loving man pacing outside the
bathroom, anxiously waiting to learn if "Daddy" would
become his new handle.
Instead, she was alone, her gut as well as her body
twisted like a pretzel, dreading the appearance of a
double line.
One hundred and twenty seconds had never lasted so long.
She sat on the edge of the drab green bathtub, elbows on
her knees, and covered her eyes with her hands as if
hiding behind her hair would make the whole matter
disappear.
Carey checked her watch and stood. Her heart pounded as
she crossed to the counter. Still not looking at the
results, she picked the test stick up with shaking hands,
said a short prayer and looked.
There were two lines.
She swore out loud, a single word that hardly seemed
adequate to describe her circumstances.
Apparently no higher powers were listening to her prayers
tonight.
Now what?
There were two other tests — she'd bought a three-pack.
She'd use them as soon as she could to be sure the first
one was right. But she knew the odds of getting a false
positive — almost nil. Opening a drawer, she tossed the
extras inside.
She shoved the stick with the two lines back into the
wrapper and carried it to the kitchen trash, stuffing it
in. In an effort to have the last say, she pulled the
trash bag out, tied it shut and marched out to the banged-
up metal garbage can in the garage. Ceremoniously, she
dropped the bag in and slammed the lid down.
As if that would get rid of her problem.
The cool dampness characteristic of Iowa in late April
made her shiver, and she hurried back to the house. The
dramatic blues and violets of twilight, her favorite time
of day, barely filtered through her consciousness. She let
the door bang shut behind her.
Carey fell into the kitchen chair closest to the door.
Somehow she'd managed to go from relatively carefree
independence to the sobering prospect of parenthood in
mere weeks.
She'd never run into something she hadn't felt she could
handle, but right now a human-sized vise seemed to close
in on her.
The phone rang, but she didn't move to answer it. She
wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone. The machine on the
kitchen counter picked up and she listened to her own
cheerful voice state that she wasn't home.
"Carey, where are you? I just got back in town. Thought
I'd stop by tonight if you were there. Guess not. I'll
talk to you later."
Devin Colyer, one of her two best friends. Splendid timing
for him to want to catch up. She hadn't had a chance to
spend much more than an hour at a bar or five minutes on
the phone with him for ages. His life had been hectic
lately because of the computer security business he was
launching.
She wasn't up for a visit from him tonight. Her ex-
boyfriend was Devin's cousin and not his favorite person.
Devin wouldn't take the news that she was pregnant with
Jerod's baby well at all. When they'd first started
dating, Devin had tried to tell her Jerod wasn't right for
her. She didn't like to take the chance of him reminding
her he'd told her so.
She'd just started to get over the anger and pain since
she and Jerod had broken up a month ago. Granted, they'd
only actually been together four months. But she'd known
him for years, had practically idolized him since high
school. That was a long time to build someone up.
That she'd been so stupid still smarted. How could she,
cautious and jaded thanks to her mom's history with men,
have been so blind as to think Jerod was the long-term
type, the family type? He'd been seeing other women the
entire time they'd been together. The truth hit her right
in the face. Where men were concerned, Carey's judgment
was completely unreliable.
Over the years, her mom had been used, dumped, snowed
over, you name it. But at least she'd been happily married
and very much in love when she'd wound up pregnant. So
much for striving to be wiser.
Without thinking, Carey stood and grabbed the faded
mustard-colored wall phone and dialed Monica Garrett, her
friend since the first day of kindergarten.
But just before the phone could ring, she disconnected the
call.
Damn.
Monica was the last person she could turn to with this.
She and her husband had been trying to get pregnant for
almost the entire year they'd been married. Carey's news
would be like acid on the wound.
She slammed the receiver down, upset on Monica's behalf as
well as her own. Still holding on to the outdated phone,
she took a deep breath, closing her eyes.
All right. She was on her own with her numbing news. Might
as well get used to it.
She shuffled to the living room, hitting the kitchen light
on the way, plunging the house into darkness. Blessed
darkness.
Grabbing an old fuzzy blanket from the couch, she settled
into an ancient recliner on the far side of the room to
ponder the irony of her life.
There wasn't a whole lot she could do, other than run out
and tell Jerod the oh-so-happy news. She shook her head.
He'd made it clear he had no interest in settling down.
She rubbed her belly, trying to imagine how it would feel
to have a huge bump there, filled with a tiny being who
would depend on her for everything. Everything. It was
almost too much to grasp.
There were options, of course. Ending the pregnancy.
Finding someone to adopt her child — but that was just it.
It was her child already.
Carey adored babies. She'd always wanted kids even-tually —
lots of them. The thing was, though, she'd always wanted
a husband to go with the kids. She knew from experience
that growing up without a dad was difficult.
Her head throbbed as the truth set in — she'd be raising
this child by herself. Huddling down deeper into the thick
blanket, she let the tears fall.
She had no idea how much time had passed when the sobs
finally subsided. Gradually, her thoughts calmed to one at
a time instead of the painful barrage.
One thing she was certain about. She absolutely would not
let her child grow up in a home without love or security.
A steady, heavy rain had started to fall at some point.
After a long while, she heard sturdy footsteps on the
walkway outside her front door.
The knock fifteen feet away from her recliner startled
her. She didn't move, barely breathed, willing the visitor
to go away. At the second knock she glared at the door.
She heard keys jangle, and before she could process what
was happening, the door opened.
"Carey?"
Devin stepped into the dark living room. She wished she
hadn't given him the spare key. Her heart thudded so
loudly she expected him to hear it, and she pulled the
blanket up a little higher. He apparently didn't spot her
sitting across the room, but she could see him in the glow
from the streetlight through the doorway.
He was drenched. His dirty-blond hair hung limply to his
collar. She watched a drop of water make its way down the
slight bump in his nose. He blinked a few times, as if to
adjust to the darkness.
"Carey?" he hollered. "You home?"
Taking a few steps into the hallway, he glanced toward her
bedroom, his back to her. He flipped the light on, and
Carey squinted against the brightness. He still didn't see
her.
"What do you want, Dev?" He whipped around, finally
spotting her. Mopping his face with his upper arm, he
stopped in the middle of the room. "What the hell are you
doing?" he asked, hands on his hips, hair dripping onto
his shoulders.
"What does it look like I'm doing?"
"Why didn't you answer me?"
"Why did you let yourself in?"
"Your car's in the driveway. I figured you were here."
"I'm here."
If she'd been in a better mood, she would've laughed at
the contrast they made. Devin was dripping wet, yet
instead of looking like a drowned dog, he looked good —
from his soaked Swim Naked T-shirt to his ratty tennis
shoes. Carey, who was warm and mostly dry, could probably
scare a small child with her tangled hair and puffy red
eyes.
"So?" he said.
"I really want to be alone, Devin."
"I've been out of town for two weeks and that's all you
can say?" His voice was teasing.
She grasped the arms of the recliner, willing herself not
to snap. "Please, just go."
Turning, he headed toward the hall bathroom. "Be right
back. I need to dry off. If you'll hear me out, I'll leave
soon."
He acted as though he found her huddling in the dark every
day.
When he returned, rubbing the back of his neck with a
towel, he lowered himself to the couch. "When was the last
time you talked to your friend in the IT department of
that local textbook publisher?"
Carey wanted to scream — or maybe cry again. She was
suffering and he wanted to talk about a possible client
for his start-up company. Sometimes she admired his insane
drive to make it a success, but not right now.
"It's been awhile," she told him. "A few weeks."
"I'm ready to get rolling, and I need some business. The
publishing company would be a big boost if I could land
it. Can you talk to him again, warn him I'll be calling
and get me his contact info?"
"Devin, did it not occur to you that I'm having a crisis?"
He stopped drying himself and looked at her as if he
hadn't seen her before. "What's wrong?" His eyebrows
lowered. "This isn't...tell me this isn't Jerod related."
"It isn't Jerod related."
"Liar."
Carey shrugged.
"Thought you got rid of him."
"I did." So to speak.