Chapter Three
Two and a half weeks later
Was it the fifteenth? Selena’s eyes popped open at this, her first coherent thought of the day.
She sat up straight in her bed on the second level of her family’s beach house, cold fear in the pit of her stomach.
October fifteenth.
Two days after her period was due. She was never late, could set a military clock by it. It should’ve been here when she woke up the morning of the thirteenth — she remembered calculating that last month and rolling her eyes at the unlucky date. Two days ago.
She’d been sidetracked by her job. She’d started it on Monday, thought she was going to puke for most of the day from nerves, but maybe it wasn’t nerves after all.
Nauseated now, and light-headed, Selena lay back down, curling on her side, and pulled the blankets over her face. She closed her eyes.
Sleep didn’t come. Neither did oblivion, denial, or a happier reality. She had to get out of bed and find out for sure.
Her mind strayed to images of babies. Her holding a baby. Her baby. Abruptly, she shook her head, unable to handle the idea of parenthood. It was too much to think about.
She moved on autopilot through a shower, dressed in skinny jeans and a boho-style green and blue shirt. Definitely not clothes that were appropriate for her job painting murals for the city of San Amaro’s upcoming twenty-fifth birthday celebration. Lucky for her, she set her own hours. As long as she finished each mural on schedule, she’d continue to get paid.
No way she could work today, unless her suspicions happened to be wrong. She headed off to the corner drugstore to find out.
oOo
Twenty-four minutes was all it took for a girl’s entire life to change.
Four minutes each way to the store in her Hyundai Santa Fe, six minutes trying to figure out which brand of pregnancy test to buy, five minutes waiting in line. Reading the directions, unwrapping the package, doing the test.
Waiting.
Turned out that two minutes was an e-freaking-ternity when you weren’t breathing, waiting to see if a second line appeared.
It did.
Selena stared at it. Checked the picture on the directions again and, yep, direct match for “congratulations.”
She picked up the stick and tried to break it in half. When that didn’t work, she hit it on the edge of the counter. Stupid thing was hardy, and for $13.99, she supposed it should be.
She glanced around the master bathroom for a weapon, but there wasn’t much, only her cosmetics and toiletries. The wooden-heeled shoes she wore, though...
Determined, she flung the stick to the ceramic floor and stomped on it with her heel, as if it were a venomous spider — never mind that she would run from a spider, not hang around and kill it. The plastic casing finally cracked in several places, but the satisfaction was minimal.
She was still pregnant.
Options flipped through her mind. Ways out. Like a preachy afterschool teen special. All the possibilities sucked.
Leaving the test crushed on the floor, she made a beeline for the stairway. She ascended both flights until she was in the turret room, where she’d set up her art supplies. All four walls were windowed, showing the gulf, the shore, the weather like a nonstop movie reel. There was a door on the water side that opened to a widow’s walk. Selena went there now.
Wind whipped her hair, tangling it in seconds. It was colder up here than at ground level. There was a wildness most days as the wind gusted in off the water. She raised her chin and faced it, eyes closed. Out here, constant buffeting by the elements made coherent thought nearly impossible.
Right now, that was exactly what Selena needed.
She held on to the rickety railing, one knee on the weather-beaten wooden bench that wound all the way around, gazing out at where the gulf gave birth to the waves. They seemingly formed from nothing, gathered momentum and size until they were awe inspiring, intimidating … and then they rolled into nothing once again when they hit the sand.
Selena didn’t know how long she stood there watching each wave like a YouTube video. Suddenly, exhaustion hit her at the same time reality did. Every muscle in her body felt as if she’d been swimming against a strong current. She backed away from the edge, felt for the door handle behind her, and let herself inside. She crossed the floor the few steps to her dad’s worn leather chair and collapsed into it sideways.
She would have the baby.
The certainty hit her the second she opened her mind to the possibility. There was only one option that would ever work for her.
When she was a little girl, all of her favorite pastimes had had a domestic, happy-family flavor to them — taking care of baby dolls, playing “house,” having tea parties, serving family “dinners” on miniature plastic dishes. Back then, she’d wanted to be like her mother — a society lady, a socialite, a woman head over heels for her husband. Back then, that’s what she’d known.
Everything had changed when her dad died. Her mother especially. As a teenager, Selena had vowed that she would never be the woman her mom had become — detached and distant from her family.
As an adult, Selena harbored hopes of one day fostering the kind of warm family the Cambridge-Jarboes had been so long ago with her father. She hadn’t planned on having the opportunity so soon — now — but she wouldn’t squander it.
The biggest question, then, was whether it would be a traditional family of three or a single mother and child. Selena didn’t know the first thing about Evan — including his last name — to have an inkling which way it would go, but she knew she had to tell him the situation.
She methodically, absently ran her fingers through the tangles in her hair as she wondered about the man she’d made this baby with. What would he do? How would he react?
She wasn’t ready to face him yet but would have to do it soon. She’d left her family and come down here to take charge of her life, forge ahead on her own. Now, ironically, a large chunk of her future depended on one man.
oOo
Hours later, after she awoke in her dad’s worn chair, Selena left the beach house to walk along the sand. A light drizzle had started, clouds hanging low over the gulf, the sky and water a study in gray-greens and arctic blues. The silence and emptiness of the beach house had driven her out in search of living, breathing beings, but the shore, too, was deserted. She carried on, without a destination in mind.
After a while, she stood in front of the little grass-roofed bar where her current trouble had started. The Shell Shack.
Heavy-duty plastic again protected the inside from the wind and drizzle. A warm light glowed from within, beckoning Selena to the inner sanctum. As she stepped into its shelter, she breathed in the odor of beer, food, and humidity.
The shack seemed larger than it had before, when so many people had been crammed into it. Mostly empty stools lined the semicircular main bar and another curved counter wound around the outer perimeter, facing the shore.
A cute, petite brunette about her age, late twenties or so, smiled at her from behind the bar. Selena walked to the stool on the far left side at the main bar.
“Hi,” the bartender said. “What can I get for you?” Her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her green eyes radiated friendliness and warmth.
“Just … ice water, please.” A stack of Sandblaster cups towered on the back counter, a vivid reminder of her last visit here. “I’d like to order some food too.”
“You got it.” The bartender handed her a tall, skinny sngle-panel menu, then set a plastic cup of water in front of her. “My name’s Macey. Just holler when you’re ready.”
“Thank you.” Selena glanced over the short list and quickly settled on ceviche and nachos. She caught Macey’s eye and placed her order, then sat back to watch the people around her. She’d hoped to escape the solitude of the beach house, but watching others in couples and small groups just made her loneliness more pronounced.
“You look kind of down,” Macey said as she cleaned the counter in front of Selena. “Everything okay? Sure you don’t need something stronger?” Surprisingly, her questions didn’t come across as too invasive. Maybe Selena was just that happy to be out of the empty house.
She studied this woman for several seconds and leaned closer, the need to unburden herself suddenly overwhelming. “I just found out I’m … pregnant.”
There. She’d said it out loud for the first time. Her pulse sped up, her face grew warm, and she couldn’t seem to get enough air.
Thankfully Macey didn’t overreact and draw attention to them. “Wow. That’s a whopper,” she said. “Ironic that we can’t deal with such a big, scary thing with a nice shot or two of tequila, isn’t it?”
“A cruel joke,” Selena said.
A young, lanky guy came out of the back room with Selena’s food and set it in front of her.
“Thanks, Ramon,” Macey said. He smiled a goofy grin and retreated.
“You’re the first person I’ve told,” Selena said quietly. “Guess I needed to confess to someone.” She tried to laugh it off.
“What about the father?” Macey asked.
Selena shook her head. “We’re not … together.” Her cheeks warmed.
“Ooh, you must be overwhelmed.”
She let out a shaky breath. “Terrified.”
The sympathy on Macey’s face just about did Selena in. It’d been almost four weeks since she’d left behind the people who had made up her support system — even if they’d given as much grief as support. She hadn’t realized how much being by herself, trying to handle everything on her own for the first time, getting a paying job had been wearing her down. And then the pregnancy news…
Tears popped into Selena’s eyes and her throat swelled. She was not going to embarrass herself by crying here, in public, just because this girl was so kind. She sucked in a lungful of air and wiped her eyes quickly. “Sorry,” she told Macey. “I didn’t realize I was so on edge.”
“I’ve heard pregnancy hormones can be a real bear.”
“Grizzly, apparently.” Selena shoved a tortilla chip into her mouth, hoping to distract herself.
“Do you plan to tell him?” Macey asked.
“Soon. I’m still trying to absorb the truth myself.”
“Yeah. That might take a while. Excuse me for a minute.” Macey went to the other side of the bar to wait on two thirtysomething women and returned after serving them Sandblasters and placing their orders for burgers. “So what’s your next move?” she asked when she returned.
“Does sticking my head in the sand count?”
Macey grinned. “There’s enough sand around here, but that’s probably not the best choice. You’d get it in your eyes.”
Selena choked out a laugh, then sobered almost instantly. “Next I need to find a long-term job. The one I have will only last for a few months.”
“Are you new to the island?”
“I’ve been here almost a month. Just long enough to really shake up my life.”
“Hey.” Macey made eye contact with her. “You’ll get through this and be okay. Even though it doesn’t seem like it right now.”
“I don’t have much choice, do I?” Selena forced a smile.
“What kind of job are you looking for?”
“Well…” Selena wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m open. Something with a regular paycheck. No matter what the father says or does when I tell him, I need to be able to support the baby.”
“What kind of experience do you have?”
“I’m embarrassed to admit I never had a paying job before I got here.”
Macey’s eyes widened. “Never?”
“Since finishing college, I’ve done volunteer work for an organization back in Boston called Art to Heart. It incorporates art and creativity into the lives of at-risk kids.”
“Sounds like an amazing place,” Macey said enthusiastically. “I started my own nonprofit organization a few months ago. I wish I could hire you, but I don’t have a budget for a salary or even a wage yet. Which is part of the reason I’m here. That and my fiancé and I own the place.” She swung her arm to indicate the bar.
“Fiancé? Congratulations.”
“Thanks!”
“What kind of organization do you have?”
“I help women start their own small businesses. Do you have any talents you could turn into a business?”
“Not really. I’m an artist. It’s tough to make a living painting.”
Macey eyed her thoughtfully. “Don’t be so sure. Let me give it some thought.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” She didn’t hold out a lot of hope, but at least she had time to figure it out. She took a drink and set her glass down, distracted. “I seem to be revealing all my secrets in the first few minutes I’ve known you.” She lowered her voice, watching her straw as she swirled it in her glass. “My mom’s family has always been financially comfortable, and I’ve been content to accept whatever she wanted to give me. I loved the kids’ organization and felt I was making a difference by working there. Living at home allowed me to do that, so why not?”
“Can’t say I blame you.”
“I loved it. Loved the kids. Most of them had some serious problems, but after interacting for a few weeks or sometimes even just days, a lot of them would come out of their shells and express themselves through art.” Selena managed a smile as she remembered. Rollie, the eleven-year-old who created the best manga she’d ever seen. Malinda, the tiny ten-year-old girl who made beautiful paintings. Jerome — her absolute favorite, though she’d never admit that out loud — the six-year-old boy whose fine-motor-skill development was so far behind he hadn’t known how to hold crayons and scribble until she’d worked with him for several sessions. He didn’t show particular artistic talent, but that wasn’t what Art to Heart was about.
“Anyway,” Selena continued, “my mom and I haven’t been close for a long time, and we had a major disagreement. I came down here to start over, and I just found out she closed my access to the bank account. I’m not surprised. Just forced to face reality now.”
“What kind of artist are you?” Macey asked. It looked as if her mind was spinning, which encouraged Selena.
“Mostly painting and drawing. I can illustrate on the computer, but that’s never been my strong point. I like to feel the pencil, the paintbrush in my hands.”
“If you could make a living painting and drawing, would you want to?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’d like to see your work,” Macey said, signaling to another customer she’d be right there. “I’ve got some ideas. We might be able to figure something out.”
Selena didn’t dare get her hopes up. But as Macey tended to other customers and Selena finished her food, she dug a pen out of her purse and wrote the address of the beach house and her phone number on a napkin. Traffic at the bar had increased, and she didn’t want to keep Macey from her job any longer. Besides, what if the guy she’d slept with returned here? She tucked the napkin under a twenty and went back out into the damp afternoon, not quite as desolate or hopeless as when she’d walked in.