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POLLY

My conversation with Tegan did not go the way I hoped it would. She’s so young, I thought it would be easy to bully her into staying with us. But she’s more stubborn than I thought.

Of course, the truly smart thing would be for her to give her baby to somebody who could take care of it. Somebody like me. And in exchange, I would help her out with her medical bills. We don’t have a lot of money, but I would scrimp and save to give her whatever she needed if she was willing to give me what I have been craving for years.

Perhaps she could stay here. She could stay in our basement permanently, and we could raise her baby together—mostly me. She doesn’t even need drugs or surgery for her injuries. Yes, her ankle is almost certainly fractured, but I could splint it for her, and she’s young enough that eventually it would probably heal on its own—more or less. I could even buy some material to make casts. And we’ve got that wheelchair—I would let her have it. Even if she couldn’t ever walk again without crutches, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Someone who isn’t even mature enough to allow me to take off that boot and administer first aid couldn’t possibly care that much about her health and certainly does not have the maturity to be a single parent.

I’ll also need to buy some supplies for the birth. It’s been quite a long time since I assisted in a delivery, but I’m sure it’ll all come back to me.

Before I go down to talk to Tegan again, I make a sandwich and wrap it in foil. I also grab a few more Oreos and put them in a Ziploc bag. Just like yesterday, I walk over to the Hambly residence across the way. Mitch’s truck is gone again, but there’s a light on inside. That means Sadie is home.

This time when I ring the doorbell, I walk away without waiting for a response. I don’t want to get her in trouble, but the girl needs to eat.

After I’ve taken care of feeding Sadie, I make my way down to the basement. When I reach the bottom of the stairs, Tegan has practically cleaned her plate. Usually she eats only about half of what I give her. Now that I know she isn’t keen on staying here, I wish I had spiked her food with a little bit of Benadryl. Next time.

“Somebody’s got a healthy appetite!” I say.

She offers me a watery smile. “I have to eat—for the baby.”

“Of course you do. Everything you do is for her from now on.”

Tegan nods tentatively. “Yes, I know. And that’s why I’ve decided. I have to go to the hospital—now. You’re not going to talk me out of it.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You really think this is what’s best for your baby?”

“Yes.” Her voice is unwavering. “It is.”

“You know, the first thing they’re going to do when you roll in the door is stick an IV in you and give you a bunch of drugs.”

Her eyes grow shiny with tears. “Please, Polly.”

Just as I suspected. She doesn’t care about her baby at all.

“Okay then,” I say. “Hank isn’t back yet, but I’ll find a working phone and call for an ambulance.”

Her shoulders sag. “Thank you.”

Of course, I have no intention of calling for an ambulance. She’s not leaving her basement anytime soon. But the longer I can keep Tegan happy, the easier this will be.