Sins of September (17 page)

“We’ll know when the time is right,” he says with a sigh. “I’m counting on it. Is that okay if we just play it by ear?”

I nod, barely able to suppress my happiness. “It’s fine with me,” I reply.

I crawl up into his lap now, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck, burying my face into his neck. I love the way he smells; I love the way he feels. I’m choked up at the moment just happy to have him hold me the way that he is.

“Then you’re mine?” he asks, and I can’t think of any better way that he could’ve put that question.

“I am,” I reply, kissing his neck wildly and wetly because of the happy tears that have escaped. “And you’re mine?” I ask, pulling back to look at him.

“You know it,” he replies, his hands now frame my face as his lips close in on mine.

The Christmas holidays have come and gone for us, and my grandparents know that I’m staying put... I simply tell them that I’ve decided to stay here to graduate and that Jesse has pledged to help with my college expenses, which is the truth.

I signed-up for a couple of night classes this new semester, to help with the minimum credit entrance requirements, at the local college. I’m thinking about nursing school and I need more science credits.

It leaves little time for socializing, but it’s worth it because I’m getting closer to where I want to be.

Shayla notices my new zeal for my studies and pulls me aside at school one day in late January as I’m getting books from my locker.

“What the hell is the deal with you lately?” she asks.

“It’s kind of a surprise,” I reply, having anticipated this question from her long before now. “Guess who’s going to college after graduation right here?”

“You are?” she asks, excitedly. “Why?”

“Because I’m not leaving Fort Smith and my very best friend,” I reply, which is sort’ve the truth. “I’ve decided this feels like home now.”

“You’re so full of shit,” she remarks, “But I won’t press you.”

“Hey, what about you? What are your plans for college?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow. “I’m thinking about a business degree.”

She doesn’t answer right away.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Well, uh, my plans are kind of up in the air these days,” she replies, a sick look is plastered on her normally very pretty face. “I’m pregnant.”

“What?” I nearly shriek.

“Shhh,” she hisses, “Nothing like setting off the fire alarm. I can’t talk now. You got ten minutes after school?”

I nod, feeling sick to my stomach for some reason. I mean it’s not like I’m knocked up or anything, but how in the hell did she let that happen?

I get the answer to that question after school. Shayla comes out to my car in the parking lot and gets in the passenger side.

“Thanks for waiting,” she says, “I know you need to get home to Scout, so I’ll make this quick because I need your support.”

“Go ahead, hun,” I tell her. “I’m here for you.”

“Well things with me and Pierce—they kinda felt like they were getting lukewarm right before Thanksgiving. I felt like maybe we were drifting apart—and that he wanted it that way.”

She pauses.

“So did you ask him about it?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No. I decided to take a different approach,” she murmurs.

“What did you do?” I ask point-blank. I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, knowing her current condition.

“I’m so ashamed,” she cries, “It was so fucking immature and irresponsible!”

“Oh God.”

“I took a needle and poked holes in all of the condoms I keep for when we’re . . . together,” she blurts out. “I mean I never considered that would even . . . be
effective
,” she sobs, “But I guess it is.”

“Oh shit,” I whisper loudly. “Oh Shayla.”

“I know,” she sobs, “You don’t have to tell
me
how fucked-up that was—how totally desperate and despicable!”

I silently thank my mature voice for her intervention that day.

“Okay, okay. Stay calm. How far along are you, and does he know?”

“I’m five weeks and yes.”

“And?”

“And what? He’s furious and he’s ending it if I don’t get an abortion.”

Now my stomach feels even queasier thinking of the predicament she’s in. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

“What do
you
want?” I ask firmly.

“I want to get the abortion and I want to end it with him,” she says plainly. I can tell she’s made up her mind. There’s no room for debate, not that I would try because at the end of the day, the choice is hers to make.

“I mean what a naïve fool I’ve been! I’m not ready for a child, nor do I need a constant reminder of my lapse in judgment.”

“Shayla—have you considered maybe having the baby and then giving it up for adoption?”

“Yeah,” she says with a sigh, “For about ten minutes.”

“It’s just a big step,” I continue.

“You think I don’t know that?” she snaps.

I keep my mouth shut, waiting for her to say what she needs from me.

“Listen,” she starts, “Here’s the issue. In this state, at my age, I need parental permission to . . .
terminate
the pregnancy. My parents will not only kill me, but they’re gonna want to know who I’ve been messing with. What am I supposed to do? I mean that’s kind of the same reason I felt I couldn’t do the adoption thing—same problem.”

I now totally understand her dilemma. “But you’re turning eighteen in March,” I remind her.

“Yeah, but not until March 18th, I’ll be at twelve weeks then which is beyond the legal limit in this state.”

“Listen Shayla,” I reply checking the time. “I’ve got to get home for Scout. Can you please try not to worry about this? Give me some time to think about your . . . problem and maybe I can come up with
something
,” I reply, though I don’t know that is going to happen.

“Okay,” she says, blinking back more tears. She gives me a quick hug. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow then.”

Later at home, after dinner I’m still overwhelmed with Shayla’s problem. I’m laying across my bed, pecking away on the laptop that Jesse bought me for Christmas, ‘googling’ the abortion laws of Arkansas and neighboring states to see if there’s any relief for Shayla. It doesn’t sit well with me, but I
did
commit to trying to find a solution for her, whether I personally agree with it or not. While I personally know that I could never take that route myself, I truly believe that it’s a woman’s choice, not the government’s to make.

I’m in the middle of checking Oklahoma’s law when Scout hollers out to me from the bathroom, asking for a towel. I’d forgotten to take the load of towels out of the dryer earlier.

“Hang tight,” I yell out to her as I head down the hallway towards the living room and kitchen. The laundry room is off of the kitchen.

As I pull the load of towels out of the dryer and set them on top, Jesse surprises me from behind, his lips grazing the back of my neck.

“Oh Jesus,” I screech, caught totally off-guard. I’m still deep in thought about Shayla’s dilemma, and I’ve been distracted all evening. I guess he’s noticed.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says with a laugh. “You been kinda quiet this evening. Everything okay?”

“Yeah—just have a problem I’m trying to work out . . . uh, for a friend.”

“Wanna talk about it?” he offers sweetly.

“Uh . . . maybe later? Would you mind taking a towel to Scout before she has a hissy? I wanna fold the rest of these while I’m out here or none of us will have towels for our showers.”

“Sure thing,” he says, giving me a soft kiss on my lips.

I finish folding the towels and washcloths, and move the second load from the washer to the dryer, making a mental note that Scout’s gonna be learning about how to do laundry real soon.

I put the kitchen towels away, and then head to the linen closet in the hall to put away the ones that go there, placing the ones for Jesse’s bathroom on his bed.

Scout’s out of the bathroom by the time I’m finished, and she hands me my bottle of spray detangler, asking me if I’ll comb out her hair.

“I always do, don’t I? You know, I think you might be needing a trim soon,” I remark.

“No,” she says pointedly, “I want my hair to grow as long as yours!”

“Well that’s fine,” I say, “But you’re still going to need to keep your ends trimmed and to learn how to do your own detangling then, sweet girl.”

“Deal,” she says, tossing me a smile.

God she’s cute.

“You look just like your dad,” I comment. “Get your butt to bed now.”

“Night,” she says, skipping down the hallway to find Jesse in order to give him his goodnight kiss.”

I return to my room, closing the door and taking my place back on the bed. My computer has powered off, so I fire it back up, commencing once again at the dismal and depressing task at hand.

Twenty minutes later, Jesse knocks at my door. “Need you out here, September,” he says his voice strangely serious. “Now.”

I get up and follow him out to the living room. “You know, you could’ve come on in to my room if you needed to talk,” I say, crossing my arms.

Has he changed his mind about me?

“Sit down, please,” he says, indicating the empty sofa. I sit down, drawing my legs up underneath me. He takes his place next to me, placing his hands on each of his muscular thighs as he picks his words.

“Is there something that you need to tell me?” he asks, his eyes not blinking or moving from my face.

“No,” I reply, swallowing nervously. “I can’t think of anything.”

“Are you sure?” his voice becomes terse with that one.

“Am I . . . in
trouble
or something?”

“I don’t know, September—are
you?”

His tone is now clearly at pissed—verging on full-blown anger. I’m clueless and my expression must be conveying that.

“Scout asked me to fetch your hair conditioner for her. I saw what you had up on your computer screen. Now, I’m going to ask you this one more time: Are. You. In. Trouble?”

I can feel the blood drain from my face at the realization that he thinks that I’m the one . . . knocked up!

“I’m not pregnant, Jesse,” I lash out. “How in the hell could you even think that? Better yet—how could you think that if I were, I wouldn’t clue
you
in on that fact?”

Now
he’s
the one that is at a loss for words and there must be something in my expression that clues him in that I’m royally pissed at the moment and in need of an answer from him.

I cross my arms in front of me and glare at him.

“Oh hell,” he says, “I . . . um . . . I’m fucking
sorry
, honey,” and his eyes regain their usual warmth. “I mean, I just saw
that
and I . . . well . . . I freaked out, I guess. I know that we’ve been taking the proper precautions, but I also know that nothing is a hundred percent—and I—fuck—what can I say? I’m an idiot that jumped to conclusions. Forgive me?”

I’m still not happy with him. He’s not getting off the hook that easily.

“What really blows the most is that you think I have it in me to hide something like that from you—and then . . . then make plans to get
rid
of it? Do you know me at all?”

He moves over closer to me on the sofa, pulling me into his arms and I attempt to resist him, but shit if I can.

“I said I’m sorry, baby, and I am. I admit it, I’m a jerk sometimes and it’s best you know that now. I’m not perfect like you think . . .”

I glance over at him quickly and see a smile teasing his lips. He’s forgiven.

“I guess that it is best I find that out now, Jesse,” I tease back. “That’s something for me to consider going forward.”

And he pulls me onto his lap now, smothering me with wet, sloppy kisses. “You’re being a shit now,” he replies, brushing my hair back off from my face.

“You love it,” I reply, my finger tracing his strong jawline that’s rocking some five o’clock shadow.

“Maybe I do,” he replies, softly, his blue eyes getting darker—and I know that look and what it means. My belly tingles.

“Can I talk to you about my friend’s problem?” I ask before we let things go any further, as I know we will. Because the truth is, I can use Jesse’s perspective on this being that he’s a male and older and wiser.