His Surprise Son. Wendy Warren

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СКАЧАТЬ her way out the door—yes, she had been going to meet Nate—Izzy had turned to give the woman who’d only sort of raised her a withering glare. “I would never do that. I’m not like you.”

      Genuine laughter had erupted around the cigarette Felicia had put between her lips. “Oh, sweetie, you are exactly like me. The only difference is you think it’s classier to give it away for free.” As Izzy slammed the screen door, Felicia’s words tagged after her. “You’re going to wind up like me, too. Count on it.”

      It took Izzy a while to realize that Nate was beside her, one hand smoothing her light brown curls from her face, the other supporting her shoulders as she bent over the ground.

      “I don’t want your help.” With her forearm, she knocked his hand away. Nate reared back in surprise.

      Of course he was surprised. Up to now, she’d never been anything but sweet and agreeable. She’d been so happy, so grateful to be with him.

      “Hey!” He grabbed her arm when she attempted to rise on her own. “Stop. You’re going to make yourself sick again. Just relax a minute.”

      “Relax?” Was he serious? “Good idea. Maybe I’ll sign up for prenatal yoga. I’m pretty sure Ridge High offers that senior year.”

      Nate rubbed both hands down his face. “Okay, look, I was being an ass when I asked if it was mine. I’m sorry. I don’t... I don’t know how to do this, Izzy. No one has ever told me she was pregnant before.”

      “Well, that makes two of us, because I’ve never said it before.”

      He nodded. Then, ignoring her protest, he put his arm firmly around her waist and led her back to the bench. Finding a napkin in the picnic basket she’d packed for them, he wiped her brow. His touch and the fact that he insisted on helping her was sweet torture. She’d spent her whole life relying on herself, no longer daring to hope for one person she could lean into until she’d met Nate. When he collapsed against the bench, not making physical contact with her, she had to fight the urge to scoot closer.

      He stretched his neck up, as if searching for an answer in the dark sky. “I’m supposed to leave for college in two weeks,” he said.

      “I know.” He had told her from the beginning, and lately she’d hoped... Never mind what she’d hoped.

      Don’t panic. Panicking won’t help.

      “I’ve got to tell my parents.” He sounded as if he was about to tell them he’d found out he was dying.

      “Maybe they’ll be supportive.”

      Nate’s laugh told her otherwise. “Izzy, my father works twelve-hour days on a dairy farm and moonlights as a handyman so I can have a college fund. My mom taught piano and cleaned hotel rooms to pay for my after-school sports fees, because she thought it would help me get a scholarship. You think they’re going to enjoy hearing this?”

      “Don’t yell at me, I didn’t get pregnant alone!”

      “I know that!” His energy felt explosive as he rose from the bench. “I’m just saying this changes everything. Not only for us. For other people.”

      “I can get a full-time job,” she said, hearing the desperation in her voice. “I can work while you go to school, so—”

      “You can’t support three people.”

      “You said you were going to work while you’re in college.”

      He nodded. “I’ve got to help with tuition and books.” He shoved his fingers through his hair. “If I’m lucky, I’ll have enough left over for living expenses.”

      “I can pay my own way. I have for years. I don’t expect you to—”

      “Izzy! Who’s going to take care of the baby while you and I are in school and at work and studying? I’m going to college in Chicago. We’d be two thousand miles away from anyone we know. No,” he said when she opened her mouth to protest. On a giant exhalation, he plowed both hands through his hair, then moved as if he were slogging through thigh-deep sand to sit beside her.

      An anchor of fear pulled at Izzy’s heart. Looking at the Portland skyline, she blinked as the city lights blurred. No tears. Absolutely no tears.

      They didn’t live in this sprawling city. Both she and Nate were from a Ridge community three and a half hours away. They’d come to Portland to soak up a view that was a taste of the bigger life awaiting them.

      He was going to build skyscrapers.

      She had planned to be the first person in her family to earn a high school diploma and go on to college.

      Suddenly, Izzy felt as if nothing was holding her upright, as if she might slide off the bench. Stiffening her spine, she sat side by side with him—silently and with space between their bodies, which had not been their way this summer. The August evening felt hot and oppressive.

      At the point where the silence was about to become unbearable, Nate spoke again. This time he sounded like someone who’d been running in the desert. “We’ll figure it out. I’ll talk to my parents. There’s got to be something... We’ll figure it out together.” Nate’s large palm and beautiful long fingers curved around the hands she clutched on her lap. Chancing a look at him, Izzy saw that he was staring at the ground.

      The warmth that usually flooded her body when he touched her did not come.

      Not once in four months had Nate actually said the words I love you. Izzy had counseled herself to be patient. Told herself she didn’t have to hear the words to believe he felt them.

      She shook her head. Stupid...stupid! How could a girl like her possibly know what love looked like?

      With the rose-colored glasses off, the truth became painfully clear. Now, even though she was right next to Nate, even though he’d said they would find a solution together, she felt the heart that had warmed and softened this summer turn as cold and hard as stone.

      * * *

      “So the waitress says to the man at the counter, ‘We have two soups today, sir, chicken with noodles and split pea—both delicious. Which would you like?’ And the customer says, ‘I’ll take the chicken.’ But, after the waitress calls in the order, the man changes his mind. ‘Miss,’ he asks, ‘is it too late to switch? I think I’d prefer the split pea.’ ‘Not at all,’ the waitress replies, and she turns around and hollers to the cook, ‘Hold the chicken, make it pee!’”

      Henry Bernstein leaned back in the guest chair in The Pickle Jar’s tiny office and smiled the sweet, mischievous smile that usually warmed Izzy down to her toes. Henry had told her at least one new joke every week for the past seventeen years. At seventy-six years young, he liked to claim he knew more jokes than a professional comic.

      “Where’d you hear that one?” Izzy tried to smile, but she wasn’t up to her usual hearty laughter.

      “I spent a week with two hundred senior citizens.” Henry shrugged. “It’s a laugh a minute in those retirement homes. Lots of company, three meals a day and all the Bengay you want. Not a bad life.”

      Henry and his younger brother, Sam, had СКАЧАТЬ