Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
“This is really yummy,” I said around mouthfuls.
She shrugged. “It’s nothing special.”
“How did you get home in time to cook?” I asked.
“You were late,” she pointed out.
I nodded, accepting that explanation.
“So, did you tell your parents?”
“Yeah.” I finished up and took my plate to the sink. “Thanks for encouraging me to do that. The only thing I’m worried about is my mom telling her church friends.”
“Oh.” Tammy gave me a worried glance. “She wouldn’t do that, would she?”
I shrugged. “I thought she wasn’t going to tell you, but she did. I think I didn’t have a choice. I had no right to keep the story from her, and now I just have to trust that she’ll do the right thing.”
Tammy bussed her own plate and came to stand beside me, wrapping her arms around me. “You did the right thing. Both today and in the past.”
I kissed the top of her head, letting one arm linger on her shoulders. “Have you reconsidered telling me what’s going on?”
She pulled back instantly, as if stung. “Nothing’s ‘going on.’”
I sighed. If I could tell her about the worst time in my life, surely, she could tell me whatever was eating at her? It was obviously bad enough to make her sick, or she wouldn’t be so sensitive about what she ate. I considered myself a pretty understanding guy. Whatever she was holding on to would only get worse if she let it come between us. But it wasn’t my call to make. I didn’t want to argue, so I just let it go.
24
TAMMY
“You know, I was thinking,” I said over breakfast. “Those houses on the TV shows have nothing on this one.”
“Really?” Mike humored me.
“Yeah,” I argued. “They have open concepts, but we have the forest. They have two bathrooms, but we have a dry bar in the basement.”
“Should we invite the camera crews here to take footage?” he teased, popping a bite of egg in his mouth.
“No,” I said, “but I think we should invite Macy and Lindsey and their families over for a cookout. It’ll be fun. We can show off our new digs.”
“Sure, I’m game,” Mike said.
“Great!” I leaned forward to kiss him on the nose. “I’ll text Lindsey and Macy.”
“I’ll pick up some groceries,” he offered. “If you make a list, dogs and buns and plates and everything.”
I nodded. “I’ll ask the girls to bring salads.”
“BYOB?” Mike asked.
“Yeah, we can do BYOB,” I agreed, “but let’s have maybe a bottle of wine or a six-pack just in case someone forgets.”
We made our plans, and I texted our friends, and by the end of the day, we had a proper cookout organized in the backyard. There was one picnic table and a fire pit. Mike bought a tiny grill at the hardware store, so we had to cook the meat in shifts. Macy brought her potato salad, and Lindsey brought pasta salad again. I had picked up chips, fruit and juice for the kids, and everyone had brought their own beverage. I took Macy and Lindsey on a tour of the house to show them what we had done with the place.
“It’s so cute,” Lindsay approved.
I took them downstairs to look at what Mike and I were calling the “club room.”
“Ooh,” Macy said, shifting the toddler on her hip, “computers.”
I grinned. “Not the best use of the space, I’ll agree. But when we get our sound system and a pool table, we’ll move the computers upstairs.”
“You could put the computers in your old bedroom,” Lindsey suggested.
I sidestepped that conversation by offering one of my own. “Mike told me the whole story.”
“What was it?” Macy asked, interested.
“It’s not my story to tell,” I started cautiously, wanting to share enough to put my mind at ease, but not so much that it would endanger Mike or his friend. “But he is innocent. He was trying to save his friend’s life.”
“Did he?” Lindsey asked.
“He did,” I confirmed. “But he also got six months in prison for it.”
“Wow.” Lindsey looked at Macy.
Macy tilted her head. “Sounds like quite a guy.”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“So, how did he react when you told him your secret?” Lindsey wanted to know.
I flinched. “I haven’t told him yet.”
Both women were up in arms, fighting with each other to get in the first word.
“Why not?” Macy wailed.
“You’re not doing yourself any favors,” Lindsey pronounced.
“I’m scared!” I defended myself.
“That’s not going to help,” Macy argued.
“I know,” I snapped.
“No, what I meant was keeping a secret is not going to help you face your fear,” she clarified.
I started back across the room. I knew what they were saying was right; I just couldn’t seem to find it in me to share the news. All the reasonable arguments ran through my head. Mike was the father—he deserved to know. Telling him wouldn’t get any easier the longer I waited. Mike had told me his secret; now I should tell him mine. But no amount of logic could trump the cold dread I felt at revealing my pregnancy. I was convinced Mike wouldn’t want me afterward, no matter how caring he seemed.