Page 29

Coralie

Coralie sits in Marcy’s Diner, waiting for someone who probably won’t show. The woman she’s expecting had sounded really cagey on the phone.

Coming here was probably foolish. Mr. Wincott is away at a meeting, and she’s supposed to stick close to her desk and answer the phone. If he finds out she’s gone, he’ll be awful. But this is the only time and place that Ms. Elizabeth Jones would halfheartedly agree to meet her.

She scans the menu as her stomach growls. Breakfast all day , it boasts, and the scent of bacon hangs in the air.

Lately, her appetite is an insatiable beast. It’s a good thing the two-egg breakfast is only $3.99, and it comes with bacon and coffee.

She glances around the restaurant again, just in case she missed Elizabeth Jones during her first survey of the place. But none of the customers look like Mr. Wincott’s type.

A harried waitress skids to a stop in front of her. “Do you know what you want?”

She places her order. “But could you, um, make the coffee decaf?”

“Sure, honey.”

A girl has to eat, even if she’s been stood up. Her food arrives almost immediately, which is a special trick of diners.

She picks up her fork and digs in. The first bite makes her even hungrier than she was before. She scoops some of the eggs onto a butter-drenched triangle of toast. It won’t help her clothes fit any better, but she can’t seem to care right now.

The plate is nearly empty by the time the waitress stops by again. “You need more decaf?”

“No, thank you.”

“You’re Coralie, then?” She slides into the opposite side of the booth. “I’m Elizabeth.”

Coralie is caught off guard. This waitress isn’t as pretty as she expected, and her polyester uniform doesn’t do her any favors. At first glance, she’s not Mr. Wincott’s type, but there are hints of a curvy body behind her apron.

“Thank you for meeting me,” Coralie says quietly.

“You said you found my name in a personnel file?” She has frown lines on her forehead.

“Right. But first I found it in his checkbook. The secret one. He left the drawer open.”

Her eyes widen. Elizabeth wears contact lenses that are several shades too bright. They make her eyes look otherworldly. “Can’t believe he’s getting sloppy in his old age. And I’m not supposed to talk about”—she clears her throat—“any of it.”

I’ll bet.

“How many special month-end checks does he write these days?” Elizabeth asks.

“Three,” Coralie whispers.

She sniffs. “I’m surprised it isn’t more. Are you going to make it four?”

“That’s kind of why I asked you to meet me. I seem to be in a bit of trouble.” Coralie glances down toward her expanding waistline. “I need advice.”

“And you thought I’d help you?” Her eyes narrow.

“No. But I had to ask.” Coralie gives this stranger what she hopes is a plaintive smile. “I’m afraid of him. He’s so scary when he’s mad.” She shivers for effect. “And I haven’t told him yet. I’m afraid of what he’ll say.”

The other woman leans back and frowns. “Let me guess—you were already down on your luck when you got this job. You don’t have any family to speak of. You’re on your own.”

“Well, yeah.” It’s a little eerie how accurate that is. “How did you know?”

Elizabeth makes a clicking sound with her tongue. “That’s who he goes for. Can’t say I’m too surprised that he’s still up to his old tricks.”

Her heart quails. “What should I do? The last girl tried to warn me about him, but I didn’t listen. And now look at me. Maybe I should just stop showing up and get an easier job. But then, in a few months, when it’s time...” She slips a hand in front of her stomach. “I don’t know what I’ll do. How did you get him to step up for you?”

Elizabeth looks over both her shoulders before leaning closer. “First of all, do not quit your job.”

Coralie’s heart begins to thump with expectation. This is why she wanted to meet Elizabeth. She needs to know exactly how to play this.

“He’ll try to tell you it isn’t his, and that you can’t prove it. But none of that matters. All you need to say is that you’ll go straight to his brother if he doesn’t provide.”

Coralie swallows hard, and it’s not an act. “But his brother is a bigger dick than he is.”

“Yes and no. He’s tired of his little brother’s bullshit. Why do you think they fight whenever he calls? Little brother is a liability. And big brother controls the cash flow.”

“Okay. I think I understand.”

“It’s just a bluff, anyway. You and your boss will come to an agreement.” She nods sagely. “Brace yourself, though—he’ll make you work for him until the day you pop. You’ll get another little present—a gold ring, like a wedding band—and he’ll make you wear it so the staff will think you convinced your boyfriend to marry you.”

“ Oh . What a sneaky fucker.”

The woman laughs. “That he is. And the ring isn’t even the strangest part. He has the hots for pregnant girls.”

“Wait, really?” she squeaks. That can’t be normal. Coralie already feels puffy and unattractive, and it’s still early.

“Oh yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “You watch—he’ll get even handsier. Your boobs. Your belly. He’ll want you all the time. I don’t miss that at all .”

Coralie shivers again, and it’s 100 percent genuine. God, rich men are weird . All the other dudes she knows would run screaming from a pregnant girl.

“And look, the most important rule of all is—don’t tell a soul who the father is. Not your best friend. Not your mom. If you already told someone, go back and tell them you made a mistake. I’m not kidding.” Her strangely blue eyes look suddenly tired.

“Nobody knows. Except you.”

“Good. Because that family loves their secrets. And if they think you’re telling tales out of school...” Her mouth goes tight. “It won’t go well.” She looks at her watch. “I said too much already. I have to go pick up my kid from school.”

“Oh, sweet,” she says just to be polite. “How old is your little guy?”

“Not so little anymore. He’s almost ten.” She smirks. “Yeah, I was eighteen when he got me pregnant. He likes ’em young.” She slides out of the booth. “We never had this conversation, you hear? I’ll deny every word.”

“Right. I know. Thank you.”

“Hang in there, girlie. You got this.” She removes her apron, hangs it on a hook near the door, and leaves the restaurant.

Coralie watches her through the window until she moves out of range on Free Street. Then she tries to put herself in Elizabeth’s shoes—working here and picking up a child after school. It’s like a foreign country she never thought of visiting.

She closes her eyes and tries to form a mental picture of her child. A little girl, maybe.

But she only sees darkness.