“Is that even legal?”
Hannah nodded. “The older I got, the more Mom relied on me. She would come home and I had fed the kids and put them to bed. And they would ask me stuff before even thinking to ask her. Could they go to a friend’s house, have a snack before dinner, watch TV?”
“Damn…”
“Yeah. By the time I went to college, Jay and Chrissy could fend for themselves, and Mom got some of her issues figured out. She got on medication and started working and stuff. But from ten to nineteen”—Hannah looked at me earnestly—“I sort of had to be a mother, and I didn’t like it. I don’t know if it would be different if the child was mine, or if it would be the same … crushing responsibility, total loss of freedom…”
“Mm.” I reached for her hands, which were knotted on her lap. Hannah’s reasoning made sense. And now, her fiercely protective feeling for Chrissy made more sense.
“And pregnancy freaks me out,” she persisted. “The idea of something alive inside me? That’s scary and weird for me … Say something.”
“What is there to say?” I released her hands. “I get it.”
“Do you? But you’re upset. Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I stared ahead.
“There’s plenty to talk about. I mean … are you … pro-life?” she blurted.
“What? God, no. Why?”
“I don’t know. The way you reacted to the idea of Chrissy getting an abortion. And, I mean, I know you’re … some sort of Christian.”
“Oh, yes, let the generalities fly.” I scowled.
“Why are you so touchy about your faith?”
“Because I don’t have much faith left,” I snapped, “and what little I’ve got shouldn’t be used to make me out as some Bible-thumping hypocrite, all right? It’s personal.”
She wiggled her hand out of mine.
“I am not doing that. Stop ruining our nice night.”
I frowned and looked down at Hannah. She was right, as usual. Any time she mentioned my faith, I bit her head off.
“It’s … her choice,” I said. It was Chrissy’s choice. If Hannah were pregnant, though, I wouldn’t be so indifferent, and I knew it. We’d called one another Auntie Hannah and Uncle Matthew, playfully. That kind of play is dangerous. In that moment, I had imagined Hannah with our niece or nephew, and the idea was sweet. If that idea became an impossibility, it would be a loss for me, no two ways about it.
“You look unhappy.” She touched my cheek. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing,” I said, which might turn out to be true.
Chapter 21
HANNAH
I wheeled my chair into Pam’s office. Matt sat across from Pam’s desk. Pam sat behind it like the presiding judge.
Matt held the Last Light manuscript, which looked a little worse for wear since I’d chucked it at him on our balcony.
I bit my lip, fighting inappropriate laughter
“I’ll start by stating the obvious,” Matt said. “Hannah is uneasy about Last Light’s publication—how it could affect our image, my career, et cetera.”
“Valid concerns,” said Pam. “There will be a lot of speculation with the book. Your detractors will love it—gives them ammo to call you a liar. Your loyal readers will love it, too. It’s a bold story. Whatever the case, the response will be loud, which is good for sales.”
“I’m not particularly worried about sales.” Matt slouched, his long legs extending under Pam’s desk. It was fascinating to watch them interact. Matt appeared unconcerned with Pam’s opinion, when I knew he cared deeply, and Pam threw her weight around, when I knew how much she valued Matt.
Also, sweet Lord, my future husband in serious mode is hot.
I flushed, dismissing the thought.
When would I get used to being around him? Maybe never.
Matt and Pam bickered lazily and I felt useless. Ignore me; I’m just here for decoration. I sighed too deeply. They both went silent and glared at me. I smiled. Oops …
Their banter resumed.
“All I’m suggesting…” Matt was on his feet.
Pam was gesturing. “Could have told me…”
“And risk having you tell the authorities?”
“Have I ever told anyone anything?”
“That’s hardly what this is about!”
I cleared my throat.
Again, two pairs of irate eyes landed on me.
“I … have an idea,” I said.
“By all means,” Pam said.
Matt’s expression softened. He retook his seat and reached for my hand. I smiled and squeezed his fingers.
“I’ve been thinking about the book,” I said, “which, well, I don’t exactly want published.” I glanced at Pam. She was watching us with a flat “get a room” sort of look. “But I know how important it is to Matt. I also know everyone who reads it is going to think it’s true, and I don’t think we can risk looking like we lied to the media. Not in such a bold-faced way, without addressing the issue. So, let’s publish it with a proviso. An open-ended disclaimer. I mean, something more than the usual ‘this is a work of fiction’ stuff.”
“You don’t think that’ll highlight the issue?” Matt said. “You know, put it in people’s minds that we’re worried about the public reception?”
“That’s already going to be in their minds,” Pam said. “What sort of disclaimer were you thinking, Hannah?”
“Something frank. Really to the point. Um … you know, ‘the author and publisher of this book are aware that it contradicts the factual account of events.’ And we could reiterate that it’s a fictitious reimagining of events, for entertainment only.”
Pam and Matt regarded me with thoughtful expressions.
“That’s … not such a bad idea,” he said.
Pam tapped her desk. “It would head things off at the pass, for sure.”
“And we wouldn’t need to say anything more.” I shrugged. “Our line would be right there, on every copy of the book, and people could take it or leave it.”
After the meeting, Matt stalked around my office, looking gorgeous and trapped. I kissed him and detained his attention for all of five minutes, during which he managed to finger me and lift me off the desk and leave me panting.
The doors were locked, but I broke our kiss and pressed him back.
“No more office sex,” I whispered. “That was a onetime thing.”
“Mm, I see.” He licked his finger clean.
“You!” I tugged his hair. “You’re bad.”
“The worst.”
He held me for a while—I couldn’t get enough of being in his arms—and I stroked his back and sides, though I knew I couldn’t soothe the restlessness out of him. It was in his nature.
“You impressed Pam in there,” he said. “And me.”
“Yeah?” I beamed.
“Mm. You’re constantly impressing me.”
I looked Matt up and down. “So are you.” We laughed and I finally nudged him toward the door. “Go write. I know you want to.”
“Is it obvious?”
“To me, yeah. Plus, I want to read the next chapter.” I scuffed my heel along the floor. “Um, no obligation, though. I know you probably wanna write other stuff, too.”
“Do I?” He chuckled and stepped out.
* * *
I swung by the condo after work to pick up the food Matt had bought for Chrissy. We ate a quick dinner together—leftover pizza—and Matt reluctantly produced the check.
“Five grand?” I gawked at it.
“That’s really not much.”
“I don’t think she has many”—I faltered at the words “baby-related”—“uh, expenses yet.” Matt had gotten weird and moody the other night when we’d almost talked about kids. Then he’d clammed up. I didn’t want to upset him again.
I had said my part, though, and he’d heard me loud and clear. I might never be ready for kids. Childbearing, childrearing, the whole business freaked me out.
“She should be eating healthy, at least. Organic food isn’t cheap. And eventually she’ll need those”—he waved a hand—“horrible-looking pants with the stretchy…” He trailed off, glaring at the pizza box.
Mmph, adorable. I kissed his cheek. “Do you want to come?”
“In a manner of speaking.” He grinned. “Nah, you know I don’t. Go on, before I change my mind about helping her.”
“You won’t change your mind.” I nuzzled him. “You’re too sweet.”
“Only for you.”
He helped me carry the grocery bags to the car and then watched me drive off. He always looked so forlorn—when I left for work, an errand, whatever. It was simultaneously heart-melting and heart-crushing.
I watched him grow smaller in the rearview mirror.
Then I turned the corner and started to miss him.
“Be cooler than this,” I muttered. From the dashboard, a plush patchwork squirrel observed me with beady eyes. A gift from Matt. Ugh, Matt, you’re turning me into a sap.
I rode to my parents’ house with the squirrel on my lap.
I’d arranged to meet Chrissy out back, avoiding Mom and Dad as much as possible, but no one answered when I tapped on the patio door. I tugged at the handle. Locked.