4. Eden
EDEN
“They’re … religious. Very religious. When I started seeing Michael, he was not, and they didn’t approve.
I met him at the mechanic shop when I went with my brother to get the tires replaced on my mom’s fifteen-passenger van.
I guess, in the end, they were right because he …
” My voice trails off, and I wrap my hands around my neck.
Flashbacks flood through my mind.
Sterling is a good listener. I’m not normally as quiet as I’ve been since meeting him. Now that I’ve started opening up about how I ended up in this situation, I can’t stop spilling my guts.
“Anyway, when I found out I was pregnant, I ran away. Michael said I could move in with him. Even though I knew it was wrong to live together before marriage, I did it because I had nowhere else to go. But then he started getting angry about things, like little things. One day, he asked me if I’d thought about getting an abortion.
I started crying, which he thought was annoying, and …
I really tried to make him happy. Once there was a baby coming, I think I was too sick to … he just …”
I don’t really know how to continue because I’m not sure what happened. Maybe that’s who he was all along. I only lived with him for five weeks before he started getting violent when I didn’t feel like having sex with him because I was so nauseous that I couldn’t even keep crackers down.
After a few minutes of silence, Sterling clears his throat. “Where does Michael live now?”
“He lives near Green City, Texas. I got to Shreveport with a truck driver.”
“Someone you knew?”
I shake my head. Sterling exhales, gripping the steering wheel tighter. His tricep muscles are bulging. My mouth waters, and I resist the urge to lean closer to him.
Get it together. This is how you ended up pregnant the first time! Stop lusting.
Sexual desires and intimacy are strictly forbidden in my family. Sex should only be for procreation once you’re married, not before.
I’ve heard the lecture a thousand times—from the pulpit and from both my parents.
I wasn’t really even exactly sure how pregnancy happened biologically until Michael taught me.
I honestly don’t really get what the big deal is with sex now that I’ve done it a few times.
It felt okay. It was mostly uncomfortable.
Michael seemed to enjoy it, and I liked making him happy.
“So, your parents wouldn’t have helped you because you’re pregnant and not married?”
I nod.
“No. They would have forced me to marry someone in the church.”
I shiver when I think about the available bachelors in the church.
My father had one in particular he always wanted me to marry.
He was an elder, twenty years older than me, balding, and his wife had died a few years back.
He already had four kids, and he’d made it known he wanted a new wife to help take care of them.
“I’m assuming you lived with your parents and your siblings?”
“Yeah, they’re farmers. I worked on the farm near the house and the garden mostly.”
“What high school did you go to?”
“Public schools teach a lot of really bad things to kids, so we were all homeschooled. But they didn’t think us girls needed much math or history or anything. We focused more on homemaking, baking, cooking, sewing, music, those kinds of things.”
He rubs a hand over his face, shaking his head. “Damn.”
I try not to outwardly react to the use of a curse word, but it’s the first one I’ve heard from him. I hope it doesn’t mean he has other sinful habits, like getting drunk.
His phone starts ringing, interrupting our conversation. The name flashing on the display of his truck says Dolly Redford. My stomach sinks.
What if he’s married and I slept in the same bed as some woman’s husband?
“This is my sister.” He presses the green Answer button. “Hey.”
“Sterling! Hi. How’s the drive?”
“Can’t complain.” He looks over at me.
“Are you almost there?”
“No, got another ten hours or so.”
“That’s weird. You usually make better time. Okay, so I have to tell you what’s happening with Dallas Hayes because I need advice.”
“Why do you need my advice?”
“Because you went on a date with her, and I was hoping you got some insight into what’s up with her dick of a husband.”
He glances over at me again. “When I went on a date with her, which was months ago, they had been separated and were in the process of divorce. She told me he was abusive.”
“Well, she got back together with him.”
“Okay.”
“Okay? You don’t have any lingering feelings that would make you upset about that?”
“I mean, I’m not happy to hear that a woman is back with an abusive man, no. What do you want me to do about it?”
“I want you to put a bullet in his head, for starters.”
I gasp, clasping my hand over my mouth.
Sterling winces. “Well, I’m a little too far for that now, aren’t I? Talk to Duke. He’s the one who’s in love with her. There wasn’t a spark between us.”
Again, he looks at me with an expression I can’t interpret. Heat starts creeping up my neck until he looks back at the road. I exhale.
“I would talk to Duke about it, but I’m afraid he would actually put a bullet in Clint’s head.”
“I thought that’s what you wanted.”
Dolly sighs through the phone. “Never mind. Sam’s calling me, so I gotta go. Love you. Text me when you get there.”
“Bye, Dolls. Love you too.”
The line ends.
Sterling offers me a half smile. “My family’s a lot different from yours, Sunshine.”
My belly erupts in a cloud of butterflies, and if it wasn’t so early, I’d think it was baby kicks.
When we finally pull up to Sterling’s house in Virginia Beach, it’s dark outside.
He grabs the new backpack he bought me and his duffel bag before walking me up to the front door. He inserts the key and twists the knob open, allowing me to enter first. I remove my shoes right inside, shivering in the cold.
“Much colder than Texas, huh?”
I nod, teeth chattering. He shuts the door behind him, flipping on the light.
The house is modest. It’s not modern by any means. The decor looks like it was frozen in the early 2000s, except for the scuffed wood flooring, which looks older. The kitchen has lemon wallpaper and square white tile countertops.
But it’s clean, and the neighborhood seems quiet. I instantly relax in his space, which makes me think I can’t trust myself. His home is no different than the way he made me feel safe at the truck stop and on the trip here.
“I have a spare bedroom, but it doesn’t have a bed in it. The other room is my gym. First bathroom is down this hall. Shower’s in my room. I’ll go tomorrow to get an air mattress to sleep on. You can sleep in my bed.” He takes his cowboy hat off and hangs it on a hook by the door.
I look around the living room, taking it all in. It smells a little bit like an old lady, but it’s not a bad smell.
“I don’t want to kick you out of your bed again.”
“I fall asleep on this couch most nights anyway. Now, this is a comfortable couch.”
The tan sectional is shoved up against one white wall, leaving about three feet on the other side to walk around it.
I stare at it, my stomach starting to feel queasy. We haven’t eaten since we stopped for lunch.
“Do you want to eat something? I probably have a frozen pizza.”
How does he always know?
“I wanna know why you’re helping me. What do you want in return?” I blurt out.
My words halt his steps toward the kitchen.
He slowly turns to face me. “It’s the right thing to do. And, no, I don’t want anything in return.”
I’m chewing on my thumbnail—a bad habit I can’t seem to kick. “How long are you okay with me … crashing here? Don’t you have a girlfriend?”
He has to have someone. He’s way too good-looking to be single.
He shakes his head, continuing toward the kitchen. There’s a small island in it with two barstools. “No girlfriend. Come sit. Let me make you dinner.”
He punches the buttons on the ancient oven to preheat it.
“I can cook for you. I’m a really good cook.”
“It’s a frozen pizza.” He winks at me as he pulls a pizza box out of the freezer.
My eyes widen, and I can feel my cheeks flame. I take a seat.
“You’re exhausted. I’ll throw the pizza in the oven, and we can talk about this.”
After the oven beeps, he puts the pie in and takes the barstool beside mine. I lick my lips, trying to convince myself not to throw up. I wish I could lie down. His dark eyes settle on my face.
So good-looking. Almost too handsome to be real.
There has to be something wrong with him.
“I know we just met two days ago, and you’re in a bad situation.
I can’t really explain why I want to help you, except that I can’t, in good conscience, let a pregnant woman with no other options go out on her own when I’m in a position to help.
I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I don’t need anything in return.
I want you to stay here while you get back on your feet and figure out what you want to do. ”
I tap my fingers on the tile countertop, studying the grout. “If I’m going to accept any more help from you, I can’t just sit here and do nothing in return.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Cooking, cleaning, I can mow the lawn—”
He holds a hand up, chuckling softly. “Listen, I appreciate that. My mother would roll over in her grave if she knew I was letting a pregnant woman mow my grass. Why don’t we start with cooking dinner? I’d be stoked not to eat takeout or frozen meals every night.”
“And cleaning and laundry,” I add on.
He narrows his eyes. I think he’s about to nod in agreement when the smell of half-cooked pizza wafts through the air.
Something must be stuck to the bottom of the oven because the burning stench with it makes me lose the battle I’ve been fighting with the underlying nausea.
I jump off the barstool, running toward the only thing I see that I can vomit in—the trash can.
I jerk the plastic lid off of it and hurl the contents of my stomach up. I instantly feel Sterling behind me, pulling my hair back from my face.
After I empty everything out, the mortification sets in. He hands me a kitchen towel, which I use to wipe my mouth. When I finally turn to face him, his brows are lowered with clear concern.
“You need to go lie down. No cooking and no housework until you feel better.” He moves to the fridge to fill a glass with water.
No. I have to do something.
He gently takes my hand, guiding me over to his sectional. He sets the water down on the coffee table and hands me the remote.
I lean back against the sofa, feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt.