Chapter 31
31
POLLY
Hank is already in the shower when I wake up the next morning. Yesterday, he woke me up by kissing me on the neck, his beard hairs tickling me awake. But he’s not feeling quite as amorous this morning, which I suppose is no surprise.
While he is showering, I put on my slippers and housecoat and go down to check on Tegan. Today is going to be difficult. She looked frantic when I told her she’d need to stay another day, and if I don’t report the arrival of the plow very soon, she’s going to get agitated. She may even start to suspect that I’m not being entirely honest with her.
Like with Hank, I’ve got to play this exactly right. Because Tegan can’t leave here until she has that baby.
When I get down to the basement, the lights are out, but Tegan’s eyes are cracked open. For one terrifying second, I’m scared she’s dead. That she passed away during the night and now I’m going to have to cut her open to get the baby out and then dispose of her dead body. But then she moves, and I let out a sigh of relief.
“Good morning!” I say in my most chipper voice. “How are you doing?”
Tegan opens her mouth, and for a moment, no sound comes out. She looks terrible—even worse than the first night she came. There are dark circles under both her eyes, and her hair is matted. She looks simultaneously ancient and painfully young. “Bedpan,” she croaks.
I fetch it for her and help her empty her bladder. Her urine looks a little dark, which isn’t a surprise since she hasn’t been drinking as much as she should. She’s going to be prone to urinary tract infections, given that she’s lying on dirty sheets and she’s pregnant, so I’ll have to make sure she drinks enough today. She certainly won’t do it for the sake of the baby. It’s unclear to me how much she cares about or even wants this child.
When I come out of the bathroom after emptying the bedpan, I bring her a glass of water. I place it on the tray in front of her. “Drink up.”
She stares at it for a moment, not moving. “Is the plow here yet?”
“Yes, it is.”
That listless look vanishes from her eyes, and there’s a spark of the girl she used to be. “Really?”
“Yes, really. They need a little time to get all the snow cleared away, but we should be able to get you going by the end of the morning.”
“Oh, thank God.” Her eyes fill with tears. “I’m sorry. You’ve been very kind to me, but…”
“I understand.” I clear my throat. “What would you like for breakfast?”
A tiny smile touches her lips. “I’m sort of in the mood for eggs and bacon. Is that okay?”
“Of course.” That’s Hank’s favorite breakfast. It won’t be any trouble to make extra for Tegan. And I would do anything to keep her happy right now. “I’ll have it ready for you in a jiffy.”
“Thank you, Polly.” Her smile is lopsided but genuine. “I just want you to know that I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me the last couple of days. I’ve been having a really tough time… I don’t want to get into it, but my life has really gone down the toilet lately. Anyway, it helps to know there are good people like you out there.”
I’m sure she considers getting pregnant out of wedlock to be an example of her life going down the toilet. She probably wishes every night that this hadn’t happened to her. She’s the kind of mother who will let her baby cry all night rather than comforting her.
I climb back up the stairs to make some breakfast. I have to buy two dozen eggs a week just to have enough to make my husband eggs in the morning. I should try to get him to eat healthier, but he keeps in good physical condition, and he’s only thirty-nine. At some point in the next five years, I’ll attempt to transition him to oatmeal and fruit in the morning, but right now, I can’t deprive him of his favorite breakfast.
I leave a plate heaped with eggs and bacon on the kitchen table, and I bring Tegan a plate of breakfast as well. I’ve never been able to eat a big breakfast—usually, all I can manage is a little toast. The truth is just the smell of the eggs in the morning sometimes gets me queasy. I never told Hank that, because he would tell me not to make them if he knew. And he deserves to have a breakfast of eggs and bacon.
I’m sitting at the kitchen table, nibbling on my toast, when Hank’s loud footsteps on the stairs echo through the house. A moment later, he appears in the doorway to the kitchen.
“Good morning,” I say.
He grunts something inaudible and drops into the seat in front of the heaping plate of food.
“Did you sleep well?” I ask him.
He shoots me a look, which I suppose is deserved, because I know very well that he was tossing and turning all night long. We both were.
I’m trying to think of something to say that will get him to stop glaring at me when I am saved by the sound of the doorbell ringing. “I’ll get that,” I say.
I’m so glad for the interruption that it doesn’t even occur to me how strange it is for somebody to be knocking on my door at this hour of the morning. And it doesn’t occur to me to wonder who it is until I look through the peephole and my stomach sinks.
It’s the police.