Chapter 4
4
M orning dawned gray and heavy with snow, muffling the world beyond the windows. Lila pulled herself from the warmth of her bed, her body heavy with fatigue after a sleepless night of tossing and turning. Her thoughts had spun relentlessly, tangling themselves in the ramifications of Camille’s situation and the night before.
Lila’s daughter’s words had hit like a thunderclap, leaving Lila momentarily stunned. Her hand fell away from Camille’s knee as her mind scrambled to catch up. Pregnant. Her daughter—her Camille—was pregnant. She searched Camille’s face for some hint that this was a mistake or a misunderstanding, but all she saw was raw vulnerability.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The space had felt too small, the silence deafening. Lila finally found her voice, though it was barely above a whisper.
“How far along are you?” she’d asked, her throat tight.
“Almost three months,” Camille said, her voice breaking.
Camille’s dating life had always been a carousel of flashing smiles and fleeting connections, each boy just another painted horse vying for his turn. The ride spun on, but none stayed long—which was exactly how Camille wanted it.
Lila had looked to the star-filled sky and let out a painful breath while trying to process. “Who’s the father? Does he know?”
Camille shook her head quickly. “No. And he’s not going to. He…he’s not someone I want in my life, or the baby’s.”
“Oh, honey. I’m not sure that’s your choice. The father has a right to?—”
“Mom, back off.”
The harsh reply stung a little. Still, Lila’s chest ached as she looked at her daughter, who suddenly seemed so much younger, so fragile. She reached out, taking Camille’s hands in her own. “We’ll figure this out,” she’d said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside her. “We’ll figure everything out.”
Camille’s tears spilled over, and she nodded, her grip tightening on Lila’s hands. “I’m sorry, Mom,” she whispered. “About all of it.”
Lila shook her head, swallowing her disappointment. “Don’t apologize. We’ll get through this. Together.”
But as she’d held her daughter close, her mind raced with questions and fears she wasn’t ready to voice. Together or not, their lives had just changed forever.
Lila then spent the night staring at the bedroom ceiling, her arms aching with the memory of holding Camille, while her mind spiraled through an endless maze of what-ifs. The enormity of what lay ahead pressed down on her chest, demanding answers she didn’t have. She couldn’t yet see the shape of their future, only the jagged edges of the unknown—and the sharp reality that some pieces might never fit together the way she hoped.
Financial worries gnawed at her—the assistance she’d lined up for her daughter’s schooling could evaporate now. She could manage without it, of course, but at what cost? Would her focus falter under the weight of it all? And how would she navigate the potential awkwardness of running into the young man responsible for this upheaval?
She now padded to the kitchen, careful not to make noise. Camille’s door remained firmly shut, and Lila didn’t want to disturb her. She needed answers, but not at the expense of their relationship. Camille had always trusted her, but Lila knew instinctively that pressing too hard now could push her away. Camille would open up when she was ready.
Still, how could she let her return to school? The thought of her daughter being hours away during this pregnancy—it was unbearable. Lila’s chest tightened as she thought of her own lonely pregnancy, relying on letters and sporadic calls from Fallujah to feel connected to her husband. Camille would need her now more than ever.
Lila moved with practiced quiet, setting the kettle to boil and spooning grounds into the French press. The snow outside reflected pale light into the kitchen as she retrieved her favorite mug, the one with a crack along the handle that had somehow held firm for years. Her hands shook as she poured the steaming water over the coffee grounds, and the tears came silently, slipping down her cheeks as she stared out into the storm.
She whispered into the stillness, her voice trembling as she spoke to her long-dead husband. “Oh, Aaron...what do I do? Our daughter needs me, but I don’t even know how to help her yet. I wish you were here. You’d know what to say.”
The sound of the kettle clicking off punctuated her grief, and she wiped her face with the back of her hand as if erasing the evidence. Just then, the phone rang, startling her. She grabbed it quickly, glancing at Camille’s closed door.
“Hello?”
“Morning, Lila,” came Reva’s familiar, cheerful tone. “Just checking—are we still on for delivering meals today? Roads are messy, but we’ve got a snowstorm crew ready to go.”
Lila cleared her throat, forcing a casual tone. “I may have had a change of plans.”
“Oh?” came Reva’s reply, not so easily fooled. “What’s up?”
Lila had a quick change of heart, not ready to invite questions…or provide answers she didn’t have. “Never mind. I’ll be ready in an hour.”
In the background, she heard Camille stirring upstairs. When she poked her head out moments later and descended the staircase, Lila covered the mouthpiece of the phone. “Camille, I committed to help deliver meals.”
Camille hesitated, the faintest flush creeping up her neck. “It’s no problem, Mom. Go—I have some studying to do.”
Lila caught the flicker of something behind her daughter’s eyes but let it pass. “We’ll talk more when I get home, okay?” She watched as her daughter grabbed her backpack, retreated back to her room, and shut the door.
“Who are you talking to?” Reva asked when Lila returned to the conversation.
“Uh, no one,” Lila replied, perhaps a touch too quickly. “Just the dog. I’ll see you soon.”
She hung up before more questions could come and stood there for a moment, gripping the counter. Then she heard it—the crunch of tires in the snow. She glanced out the window and saw a familiar truck pulling up. Whit Calloway.
A minute later, Whit was on the porch, chains slung over one shoulder and an easy smile on his face. He stamped snow off his boots before stepping inside, the smell of cold clinging to him.
“Thought you might need these,” he said, holding up the chains. “Roads are slick.”
Lila shook her head, smiling despite herself. “This is spring snow, Whit. It never sticks. Gone by noon.”
Her friend shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”
Lila studied him for a moment, his presence somehow grounding her. She didn’t feel quite as overwhelmed with him standing there. She offered him coffee, and he accepted with a grin. “Just let me get these on first.”
Whit strode across the driveway and to her car, chains slung over his shoulder, his breath visible in the crisp mountain air. Lila stood on the porch, her arms wrapped around herself against the chill, watching him work. For a fleeting moment, the weight on her chest felt just a little lighter.
“There, all done,” he said when he’d finished. He smiled with that quiet, familiar grin he seemed to reserve just for her. He climbed the steps, brushing the snow off his hands. “That should do it.”
“Thanks,” Lila said, brushing her fingers against his. The touch lingered, just long enough to send a flicker of heat through her. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to,” he replied, leaning in slightly. “Plus, I like having excuses to see you.”
Lila smiled, but her gaze drifted toward the window upstairs, where she could just barely make out the corner of Camille’s curtain. The tension in her chest tightened, and Whit noticed.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone low.
“Camille’s home,” Lila said quietly. “She’s upstairs.”
Whit straightened, the easy smile fading into something more careful. “Didn’t realize she’d be here.”
“She came back last night. Surprise visit.” Lila tried to sound light, but it came out strained. “She doesn’t know you’re here.”
Whit tilted his head, studying her. “You want me to leave?”
“No,” she said quickly, her hand reaching for his arm. “I just…wasn’t expecting her, that’s all.”
He nodded, his expression softening. “Everything alright?” he gently probed.
“Not really,” Lila murmured.
He followed her inside, his movements deliberate, like he was giving her space. Her chest ached at how understanding he always was.
Whit leaned against the counter, arms crossed, as Lila moved around the kitchen. The low hum of the kettle on the stove filled the silence between them. He’d shown up to bring the chains for her car, but somehow they’d ended up here, in the warmth of the kitchen, with something much heavier hanging in the air.
Lila stood by the sink, staring out the window at the frost formed on the grass. She gripped the edge of the counter, as if steadying herself for what she was about to say.
“Camille’s pregnant,” she said softly, her voice barely audible over the hum of the refrigerator.
Whit straightened, his eyes searching hers. “What?”
“She told me last night,” Lila continued, turning to face him. Her arms crossed protectively over her chest. “She’s scared. I’m scared. I don’t even know what to say to her, let alone what to do.”
Whit stayed quiet for a moment, letting the weight of her words settle. Then, he stepped closer, his boots scuffing softly against the tiled floor. “How’s she handling it?”
Lila let out a shaky breath. “Not great. She’s overwhelmed. She hasn’t told anyone else yet—just me. And I...I don’t think I’ve been handling it very well either.” She looked down, her voice breaking. “She’s so young, Whit. This isn’t what I wanted for her. Not like this.”
Whit reached out, his hand warm as it covered hers on the counter. “Lila, it’s okay to feel that way. It’s a lot to take in.”
She looked up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “What if I fail her? What if I don’t know how to help her through this?”
“You won’t fail,” Whit said firmly, his gaze steady. “You’re her mom. You’ve been there for her through everything, and you’ll be there for her now. She’s lucky to have you.”
Lila gave a hollow laugh, brushing at her cheek. “I don’t feel like enough right now. Goodness, I don’t even have all the information, let alone answers. I didn’t want to push.”
“You don’t have to have all the answers,” he said gently. “Just be there. That’s what she needs most.”
She searched his face, the warmth and understanding in his eyes easing some of the tension in her chest. “I guess we’ll get through this. We don’t have a choice.”
“I know you can,” Whit said. “And if you need me—if Camille needs me—I’m here. For both of you.”
The tears spilled over then, and she let out a soft, broken laugh. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It’s not simple,” he admitted, his voice softening. “But you’re not alone, Lila. You’ve got me. And together, we’ll figure it out.”
For a long moment, she just stood there, letting his words settle into the parts of her heart that had been clenched with fear and doubt. She nodded, swallowing hard. “Thank you,” she whispered.
For years after losing Aaron, she’d had to carry every heavy weight on her shoulders…alone. It felt odd to have a man to share the burdens. It felt good.
He pulled her into his arms, and she let herself sink into the solid comfort of him, the smell of leather and cedar grounding her. For the first time since Camille had dropped the news, she felt like she could breathe again.
As they stood there in the quiet kitchen, the kettle’s whistle fading into the background, a sound from upstairs broke the moment—Camille’s footsteps on the stairs.
Lila pulled back, wiping at her face. “That’s her,” she said, her voice low.
Whit nodded. “Do you want me to go?” he offered.
Lila looked at him, her heart swelling with gratitude and something deeper, something steady and certain. She reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly as Camille’s hesitant figure appeared in the doorway.
“Hey,” Camille said softly, her eyes darting between them.
“Hey,” Lila replied, her voice steady now. “We were just talking about you.”
Camille froze, her expression uncertain, but Whit’s warm smile and gentle nod seemed to ease some of her tension. “We’re here for you, Camille,” he said simply.
Lila glanced at him, the weight of his words settling over all three of them. As Camille stepped further into the kitchen, Lila realized they weren’t just navigating a new chapter—they were building something stronger, together.
As the coffee steamed in her hands, Lila’s thoughts caught up with the moment.
I’m going to be a grandmother.
The words echoed in her mind, strange and surreal, like trying on a coat two sizes too big. Her grip tightened on the mug as a mix of awe and panic swirled inside her. She bit back the urge to say anything, to fill the space with her usual wit. Instead, she let the realization settle in.
And for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or do both at once.