Page 19 of Pregnant in Pennsylvania

I hear a sprinkler going, and look up to see Mrs. Himmler, self-appointed head of the Clayton Busybody Society, watering her roses and watching me very, very intently.

Hooo, boy. Looks like all of Clayton will soon know about my little walk of shame. Yay.

I ignore the voicemails and texts from Cora, opting to call her instead once I’m safely out of earshot of Mrs. Himmler and Jamie’s house. It only rings half a ring before she picks up.

“ELYSE GABRIELLE THOMAS! WHERE THEHELLHAVE YOU BEEN?” she shrieks, so loudly that I have to pull the handset away from my ear.

“I’m doing the walk of shame, Cora,” I say, keeping my voice low.

“What? You’re—you…youwhat?” She stutters to a stop, quieter now.

“I slept with him,” I hiss.

“The guy from the bar?” She’s incredulous. “You went home with the guy from the bar? The one with starched chinos and the blue polo?”

“Yes, Cora.”

“Holy crap holy crap holycrap!” She’s breathless with excitement. “Tell me everything!”

“I’m on Washington Street and I need a ride home. I’ll tell you everything after I’ve had a shower and coffee.” I hesitate, thinking back to how wasted she’d been last night. “How are you awake right now? You were even more drunk than I was!”

“Yeah, but I do it more often, so I recover better. Plus, I’ve been so worried about you not returning my calls or texts that I couldn’t sleep, even being super drunky-fish.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, genuinely contrite. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Must’ve been good,” she speculates, still angling for immediate info.

I laugh. “You havenoidea. Now come get me.”

She sighs. “I’m already on the way. I’ll be there in less than five minutes.”

“Make it two, because Mrs. Himmler saw me leave.”

“Ohhh boy. The Busybody Society is going to have a field day with this one, Elyse.”

We’ve called Mrs. Himmler and her circle of elderly retiree friends the Clayton Busybody Society since we were in junior high when they would watch our every move and report back to our parents and grandparents.

“No kidding.”

“I’m turning onto Washington now. Get ready for a quick getaway.”

I hear her engine and a soft squeal of tires, and then she’s braking to hard a stop beside me, the black top up and her windows open, “Where the Streets Have No Name” is blaring from the speakers. I slide in, buckle up, and kick off my heels, toss my purse in the footwell, and thud my head back against the headrest.

“Holy cow, Cora.”

She snorts. “Who even says holy cow anymore, Elyse? For real?”

“Shut up. I’m in no mood for your crap.”

“Says the woman who called me at six-oh-four in the morning for an emergency walk of awesome pickup.”

“Walk of awesome?”

She nods. “I don’t believe in the concept of a walk of shame. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You’re an adult and you had an enjoyable evening. That’s nobody’s business but your own.”

“Yeah, well, all of Clayton is going to make it their business.”

“Ignore them! This stupid town can and will gossip about literally anything and everything, and you know it. So just ignore it.”