No easy reunion.
No childhood restored because we were finally in the same room.
Then Chloe put the water glass on the floor.
“There’s something else.”
Her hand moved to her stomach.
At first I thought she felt sick.
Then I understood.
“How far?”
“Seventeen weeks.”
I sat down on the stair above her.
“Do they know?”
She nodded.
“Does the father?”
“He said it couldn’t be his.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
We listened to the refrigerator humming in the kitchen.
“I lost my job at the salon,” she said.
“I’ve been sick a lot.
Mom said if I wanted help, I had to help the family.”
“The statement.”
She nodded again.
I closed my eyes.
It explained the pressure.
It didn’t erase the signature.
“Why didn’t you tell Marianne?”
“Because Mom said they’d tell her I wasn’t fit to keep the baby.”
My eyes opened.
