As much as Holden had tried to convince her that everything could be worked out to accommodate everyone, the drive back to Charles Town was quiet and a little somber. Their month together had been cut in half, and Clinton’s news, while happy in one breath, was unsettling in another. So much needed to be hashed out. So many hurdles needed to be overcome.

Griselda, whose faith in Holden and her as a couple was still fragile, felt herself pulling away from him. She had given him her heart, her body, and her soul, and part of her wished she hadn’t. Part of her wanted to protect herself now, and the only way she knew how to do that was run . . . except he wasn’t telling her to go this time. He was counting on her to stay.

As far as Gemma knew, she and “Seth” were still together—he hadn’t broken up with her. Holden insisted that his first point of business with the mother of his child would be to break up with her, but as much as Griselda didn’t like her rival, she didn’t like this plan either. She hated the idea of upsetting a pregnant woman, and as much as Holden insisted that his relationship with Gemma had been casual, Griselda couldn’t imagine her taking the news of a breakup with equanimity.

But Holden was dead set on the idea that honesty was best at this point, and he was determined that they could rationally figure things out. He wasn’t giving up his child, and he wasn’t giving up Griselda. The problem? From Griselda’s limited knowledge of pregnant women, they weren’t rational, and a rejected girlfriend/pregnant woman? The least rational woman of all. Holden had no idea what he was walking into.

Griselda did. And her heart ached for the future they’d imagined. A future that felt further away and less likely with every mile closer to Charles Town.

“Holden,” she said, “I want you for myself. You know that, right?”

“Yeah.”

“But I just think . . . I think breaking up with Gemma first thing is going to, well, upset her. I think it’s going to be hard for her to . . . you know, be reasonable.”

“I’m not going to act like you and me aren’t together, Gris. She deserves the truth. And I promised you I’d break it off as soon as we returned to Charles Town.”

“Yeah, she does, and yeah, you did. But maybe you could, you know, give it to her in stages.”

“Stages.”

“Yeah. Like, first, make sure she’s feeling okay. Ask about her health. About the baby. Give it a day or two. Then maybe talk about growing apart or something. I don’t know. I just think this is going to go south fast. Why don’t you talk to her one-on-one to start? I can wait in the truck.”

Holden shook his head. “No. You’re coming in with me. We’re doing this right from the get-go.”

She took in his stony expression, her heart feeling heavy. She wanted to believe that if she’d known about Gemma’s condition, she wouldn’t have let things get as far with Holden as they had. But it wasn’t true. She was helpless around him, pulled to him with a force that felt otherworldly.

Pulling her bottom lip into her mouth, she worried it between her teeth as they zoomed past a sign that read “Welcome to Charles Town.” Holden slowed down a little as they rode down Main Street, and Griselda realized this was a pretty little all-American town. Idyllic, even, and perfect for raising a family.

I could have been happy here, she thought wistfully. But now . . .

“Check my phone, Gris, would you? Clinton said she might be over at his place this afternoon. Let’s find her and get this over with.”

Griselda picked Holden’s phone up off the seat and swiped the screen to check for new texts. There was only one, from Clinton. She’s here. When you coming?

She typed back: On the way. Then she placed the phone facedown on the seat next to Holden, her hands shaking. “She’s over at Clinton’s.”

“Good,” said Holden, his fingers rapping on the steering wheel with nervous energy as they stopped at a red light. “Let’s get this over with. Don’t worry, okay, Gris? We’ll work it out, then we’ll go back to my place and talk. You still have two weeks left before you have to go back to work. We can still make the most of them.”

She nodded, looking out the window again. It felt like he was completely avoiding the idea of Gemma as the mother of his child—her feelings, her needs, her wants. He was so blinded by Griselda and his longing for her permanence in her life, she worried he was making a big mistake about handling this situation. It made her stomach flip over with foreboding.

He knows her better than you do, part of her reasoned. Maybe he does know what he’s doing. Try to have faith in him.

“I feel you pulling back from me, Griselda.”

“Let’s just see what happens,” she whispered.

“We’re going to figure it out,” he said again, like it was his mantra, his blind hope.

She crossed her legs toward the window, watching as they headed out of town into a neighborhood of small one-story houses with neat patches of grass out front.

Holden pulled into a driveway and cut the engine. He turned to her and pried one of her folded hands out of her lap, his eyes tender. “It’s going to be okay. She needs to understand that even though I can’t be with her, I’ll still do my part.”

Griselda nodded her head, squeezing his hand before pulling hers away. “I could wait here . . . just until—”

“No,” he insisted, his voice taut and low. “You’re part of my life. That’s how it’s going to be. Best she understands that now.”

He opened his door, stepped out of the truck, and walked around to her side to help her down. Taking her hand, he laced their fingers together.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered.

He didn’t bother to knock on the front door. She followed him around the one-car garage to a small backyard surrounded by a chain-link fence. She raised her eyes to a slightly elevated deck, finding Quint, Clinton, Gemma, and an older lady, whom she assumed to be Quint’s wife, sitting at a redwood picnic table playing cards. Holden pulled Griselda up the stairs, tugging on her hand, and the card players stopped their game to look at them.

“Well, now,” said the older lady, smiling at Holden, “look what the cat drug in!”

She stood up, maneuvering over the bench and opening her fleshy arms to Holden, who dropped Griselda’s hand to hug her back. “Maudie, this is Griselda.”

Maudie leaned back, fixed shrewd eyes on Griselda, and offered her a small smile that landed somewhere between troubled and sympathetic. “Quint told me ’bout ya. Sorry for yer ordeal back-when, honey.”

The plump woman wore a cheerful aqua and white striped T-shirt over a pair of too-tight aqua polyester shorts, but she spoke with an accent like Caleb Foster’s, and for just a moment Griselda’s blood went cold and she shivered.

“Thanks,” Griselda said, sliding her gaze to the table.

Gemma stared daggers at Griselda, her dark eyes narrowed, her palm resting on her mostly flat belly. Next to Gemma sat Clinton, his eyes downcast. And across from him sat Quint, who cocked his head to the side, giving Griselda a can’t-win-’em-all shrug and a small, sad smile.

“I ’spect that Seth and Gemma here have some things to discuss,” said Maudie, wringing her hands. “Maybe Clinton and, uh, Griselda could come inside for a refreshment.”

Griselda’s cheeks flared with color as Gemma continued to stare at her with a look of such unbridled hatred she considered fleeing back to the relative safety of Caleb Foster’s old truck.

“Griselda stays with me,” said Holden firmly, and Clinton, who’d been in the process of standing up, sat back down beside Gemma.

Holden, no doubt sensing Griselda’s discomfort, put his arm around her shoulders, and she watched Gemma’s eyes burn.

“You feeling okay, Gem?” Holden asked.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Gemma shifted her gaze from Griselda to Holden, fixing her murderous eyes on him instead.

“Yer back.”

“I am.”

“Well, I ain’t talkin’ to you with yer whore here,” she said.

Holden shook his head, his arm tightening across Griselda’s shoulders. “You won’t talk to her like that.”

“No? ’Cause I think the word whore is fittin’. Plain as day you two fucked.”

Maudie gasped, covering her mouth and whispering “Lord Jesus” as Quint jumped up and ushered her into the house, leaving the four young people alone.

“Yer a piece of shit who’s fuckin’ her while yer kid’s in my belly, Seth.”

“I had no idea you were pregnant.”

“Well, I am.”

“And I’ll do my part.”

“Which is?”

Holden shrugged. “Pay for what needs be. Be a father.”

Gemma gasped, like something had hurt or shocked her, and Griselda realized, with some measure of genuine sympathy, that Gemma had been prepared to forgive Holden until that moment. As angry and hurt as she was, if he’d apologized for being with Griselda, Gemma would have allowed him back into her life. In fact, if Griselda was reading her rival’s face correctly, it’s what Gemma was hoping for. And his words had just sent that hope to hell.

“The fuck you will,” Gemma snarled, gathering herself together. “Not with her around.”

“What does th-that mean?” Holden spat, his body rigid beside Griselda.

“You skip town with this cheap piece of foster care tail, you fuck her for two weeks while I’m pukin’ all over the place, and then you come here holdin’ her hand? Tellin’ me you’ll do yer part but also tellin’ me we’re history?” Gemma’s laserlike eyes were narrow, hurt, and mean.

“I don’t love you, Gem. I love Griselda. I want to be with her.”

Gemma’s eyes watered, and she blinked twice before clenching her jaw, her face setting in stony fury. “Is that right?”

Holden nodded.

“Fuck you,” growled Gemma.

Holden’s voice was gentle, but Griselda could tell it was forced. He was running out of patience with Gemma’s anger. “Gem, we can w-work this out. I want to be with Gris, but I’ll take care of the hospital expenses. I’ll help however you w-want, however you need. I’ll be a good father. And Gris’ll be a great stepmother.”

“Shut. Yer. Mouth!” screamed Gemma, pounding her hands on the table. “Yer whore ain’t gonna be raisin’ no kid of mine!”

“Gemma, let’s just talk,” he said, trying to be reasonable. “Let’s hash it out. W-we’re going to be parents. W-we should—”

“No! You got one decision to make, Seth. One. It’s me and the baby, or her. You decide. You can have yer fuckin’ foster sister whore or yer child. But you don’t get to have both, you greedy shit.”

“I love her,” he said, turning to look at Griselda with desperate eyes.

“Fine,” spat Gemma. “Then we got nothin’ else to talk about. Get out.”

“But I can still be a daddy to my kid. That’s my k-kid,” said Holden, raising his voice and lifting his arm from Griselda’s shoulders to point at Gemma’s belly.

“Fuck it is. It’s mine. To do with what I want.” Her narrow eyes darted back and forth between Griselda and Holden for a moment before she shifted her gaze to Clinton. “You ready?”

“Gem . . .”

“My appointment’s in half an hour,” she said standing up.

“Gem, let’s talk a little more,” pleaded Clinton.

“Fuck talkin’. You heard him. He chooses his whore over his kid. I don’t want his bastard. You ready to drive me to that clinic or what?”

***

Holden stared at Gemma in horror, his brain refusing to believe what she was saying. She wouldn’t do that. My God, she wouldn’t.

His heart pounded, and his breathing went fast and shallow as he held her eyes and saw no mercy there.

“Gem,” he gasped. “W-what’re you d-doing?”

“What am I d-d-doin’?” she asked, taunting him. “I don’t fuckin’ want your kid inside me, Seth. I’ma have it cut out.” She turned back to Clinton. “You drivin’ me or not?”

“Don’t you get out of that f-fucking seat, Clinton,” growled Holden, stepping forward and trying to catch his breath. Bile rose to his throat, threatening to choke him. “That’s my baby. You’re not killing my k-kid.”

“Yer baby! Fuck you, Seth,” said Gemma, putting her hands on her hips. “It’s my decision what I do with my body. You ain’t got no say.”

It didn’t feel right that he should have no say, and yet he knew it was true: he didn’t. She could go to any clinic and walk out fifteen minutes later with his baby left behind in a garbage can. His heart clenched, and he threw up into his mouth at the terrible mental image.

“Gemma,” he said, unable to keep the fear out of his voice. “I’m b-begging you not to do this.”

“You can beg me all you want,” she said. “But I ain’t lettin’ no whore raise my kid. I’d rather—”

“I’ll go!”

Griselda’s voice made him start. She stood beside him, her hands clasped in front of her, her chest heaving and her eyes glistening.

“I’ll go,” she said again, softly, her voice broken. “I’ll leave.”

“N-no,” he said, reaching for her. She stepped away, holding her hands up to fend him off.

“Holden,” she said, her eyes so bereft he felt his heart dying just looking at her. “Me leaving is the right choice.”

“I won’t lose you. I c-can’t.”

“But you’d lose your baby?” She shook her head as tears ran down her cheeks. “No. I can’t let that happen.” She shifted her eyes to Gemma, stiffening her spine. “I’ll go tomorrow. As soon as I can arrange to be picked up.”

“Tonight,” said Gemma.

“Tomorrow!” roared Holden, the frustration and fury distorting his voice almost unrecognizably. “You s-selfish c-cunt!”

“Don’t you throw insults at me, Seth West. I still have that appointment . . .”

Holden clenched his jaw, rage making his body so taut he wished he had someone to punch, someone to hurt, someone to hurt him so bad that he’d pass out and wake up to find out that all of this was just a terrible nightmare.

“Enough, Gem,” said Clinton. He stood and stepped away from the picnic table to head inside. He looked at her over his shoulder before letting the screen door slam behind him. “I’m not drivin’ you anywhere.”

“Fine,” she said, crossing her arms over her full chest and turning to face Holden. “Tomorrow. Works better for me anyways, since I got to pack up my stuff. I’m movin’ in with you, Seth. I’m sick of stayin’ at my mama’s house, and I’m quittin’ my job at the DQ. You gotta take care of me now.”

“Don’t push me, Gem.”

She shrugged, giving Griselda one last victorious once-over before following Clinton into the house.

Holden grabbed Griselda’s hand, pulling her back down the porch steps and around the garage to his truck. Once seated, he turned to her, his heart thudding in misery, his life suddenly a new version of hell, where the woman he loved was walking away from him.

“You’re not going anywhere, Gris. W-we need to talk.”