Chapter 51
Chapter
Fifty-One
Alana
Lucy gives me a sideways glance, and I grab her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. She’s been fidgeting and chewing her lip since we sat down in Kristen’s office.
Wearing her trademark wide smile—the kind that makes you warm to her instantly— Kristen sits and hands us each a cup of tea. “You had something you wanted to chat about?”
I squeeze Lucy’s hand one more time to remind her I’m here, but this is her story to tell. “Go on.”
She clears her throat and tells Kristen the truth about her age and the fact that she’s also four months pregnant.
Kristen listens without interrupting or showing judgment, and Lucy is crying by the time she’s finished. I pass her a tissue, and she blows her nose.
“Well, that’s quite the pickle,” Kristen says, leaning back in her chair. “But nothing we can’t handle, right, Alana?”
“That’s exactly what I said. Alejandro’s lawyer is meeting us this afternoon, and then he’s going to contact the appropriate authorities, and we’ll take it from there.”
Kristen nods. “That sounds like a good course of action all around. I wish you could stay here with us, Lucy. You fit in so well and everybody loves you, but you’re just too young, honey.”
“I know,” Lucy sniffs. “And I’m sorry I lied to you all. I was … I was just so scared. And I can’t go back to Chicago. I can’t.” Her tear-filled eyes go wide with fear, and it’s obvious there’s more to her story, but I won’t push her on it yet.
“It will be okay, Lucy,” I promise. “We’ll make sure you get to stay close.”
Kristen hums her agreement. “Have you had any thoughts on what you’d like to do about the baby? You know you have options.”
Lucy’s hands fly to her abdomen. “I want to keep it. They will let me, won’t they?”
Kristen and I respond together. “Of course.”
“Good,” she says with a sigh.
“But you might want to finish school or get your GED. Did you go to school in Chicago?” I ask.
Her face turns pink. “Yeah. Until my parents died.”
My own eyes threaten to fill at the idea of how much this girl has been through in her short life. “When did they die, sweetheart?”
“A little over two years ago,” she answers quietly.
For two years, she’s had no one to turn to. No one except Blake, a grown man who obviously took advantage of her and her situation.
She starts to sob, and I put my arm around her shoulders.
Her tears soak my blouse when she buries her face against my shoulder.
Rubbing small circles on her back and murmuring words of comfort, I exchange a look with Kristen that conveys our commitment to do everything we can to help this sweet girl.
Between the two of us and my husband’s endless resources, we will make sure that Lucy gets to live the life she deserves.