Page 88 of Shame the Devil

“Well, good,” Jennifer said.

“Seems to me you’ve been hurt enough, is all. Time to find a man who wants to put youfirst, I’d say.”

“Hey. I thought you weren’t saying anything. Besides, you loved Mark.”

“I was making the best of it. Seeing as how you were determined not to find somebody who’d treat you better.”

“Well, I’m safe from all those legions of caring, attentive men knocking down my door now,” Jennifer said. “Since I’mpregnant.Look, I’ll see you tomorrow, OK? And put Dyma on, would you?”

“That’s going to go well,” Oscar said. “Hang on.”

She tasted the sauce and added more basil, carefullynotsplashing herself, pulled out the loaf of sort-of-Italian bread she’d bought (North Dakota was even more deficient on the artisan-bread front than Idaho, which was hard to achieve), and started mincing garlic. There wasn’t much you couldn’t improve with garlic butter.

Dyma’s voice, then, over the phone’s speaker. “Mom? What’s going on? Whereareyou?”

She explained, and Dyma said, “Wow. That’s … wow, that’s about the worst. How are they doing? How’s Annabelle?”

Jennifer said, “First—I love that you said that.”

“What kind of person would I be if I didn’t? Give me marginal points for basic humanity. Seriously, though. How is she?”

“Doing all right, I think, or as well as you could expect. Harlan’s out with her now, helping her with batting practice. Giving her something normal to do. He’s taking her back to Portland to live with him. He’s been very protective. Very sweet.”

“Oh, no,” Dyma said. “Verysweet?You’re kidding.Mom.Wait. Why were you with him yesterday in the first place? When you said you were going to Portland, I figured it had to do with a job. Something with Blake. You went to visit Harlan, though. Why? After you keep tellingmenot to get too excited. Owen’sbeenhere, at least. He took me toprom.I thought you were all about your future now.”

“I wasn’t …” She was still mincing garlic. “It was different.”

“Uh-huh. Here’s the thing about casual sex. It’s supposed to be casual.”

Jennifer tried to say something, but she was drawing a blank. Finally, she came up with, “I like him.”

Dyma sighed. “And you thinkI’mimpulsive. I guess I underestimated Harlan’s wow factor. Why didn’t you just tell me what you were doing, then? That you were going to see him? If it wasn’t that you were, you know, in love?”

“I just didn’t want you to think …” Jennifer had to stop. “Well, obviously, I didn’t want to share the truth.”

“Why not?” Dyma asked. “What would have been so bad about it? So you were going to Portland, and you figured you’d hook up with a really hot guy, because he was great the first time. So what? Nobody died. Whoops. I guess they did. But seriously, so what? You were both responsible and all that, right?”

Wait until I tell you I’m pregnant,Jenniferdidn’tsay as she mixed garlic into softened butter. She knew exactly why she hadn’t done that yet. Probably the main reason. How did you tell your daughter that you didn’t know who the father was? She was waiting until shedidknow, and then she’d tell Dyma. Call her a coward, but she was waiting.

Eighteen years of being boring and invisible, down the tubes. One reckless night, and here she was again.

The front door opened, and she said, “Whoops. Got to go. See you tomorrow. Love you.”

* * *

Harlan and Annabellecame in arguing. Or rather, Annabelle came in mad and near tears, and Harlan came in looking frustrated, beleaguered, and at a loss.

She was familiar with the feeling.

Annabelle said, as she stripped off her jacket, “Ican’tjustleave forever, Harlan! What about my team? The playoffs are in May. You’d never leaveyourteam in the middle of the season.”

Harlan glanced at Jennifer, and she saw the words like they were written on his forehead.Help me.She said, “Wash your hands, would you, Annabelle, and then come sit up here at the bar and slice this bread for me. You can spread garlic butter on the slices, too. Here.” She grabbed a cutting board and plunked the bread down along with the bowl of garlic butter and a bread knife. “Want a beer, Harlan?”

“Well, yeah,” he said. “I do.” He looked weary, which she’d bet happened just about never, but he washed his hands, too, then got himself up on a stool next to Annabelle.

She’d found out a long time ago that there wasn’t much teenage angst you couldn’t make better in a kitchen. Time to see if it worked here. She got him a beer and the opener, turned on the oven, put the teakettle on to boil, wished for a beer herself, and said, “So tell me.”

Annabelle said, “I get that Harlan wants to help. I do. But I’ve got letters of interest from all these schools, and it’s my junior year. It’s mychance.”