He’s sweet to try and comfort me, but I realize now that I went the whole summer without saying more than a handful of sentences to him. He kept his distance. I kept mine. We’re practically strangers, but I know he thinks the world of Thayer and if Thayer did entrust him with our secret, then maybe I can trust him with mine …
“Can I tell you something?” I ask.
“Of course. What’s up?”
I slide my hand into the pocket of my hoodie, my fingers wrapped around the positive pregnancy test I took an hour ago.
A few days ago I realized I was late.
Two weeks.
My whole life my period has come every four weeks like clockwork, no matter what. My grandma happened to be sending me to the mainland for supplies the next day, so I grabbed a test from a local pharmacy while I was there.
I didn’t have the courage to take it until today.
I kept thinking that maybe if I waited just another day and another day … my period would come.
But it never did.
And now I’m pregnant with the baby of a man I was explicitly told to stay away from.
My grandparents are going to kill me.
Mr. Bertram is going to kill Thayer.
Pulling the test from my pocket, I hold it in my palm.
“What’s tha—” he begins to ask. “Oh. Shit. Um …”
“Yeah.” I shove it back into my pocket.
“Oh, shit,” he says again. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“What am I going to do?” I ask.
I have no money aside from what I’ve saved over the summer, which is hardly enough to get me on my feet. I was hoping to have at least another year of earnings in the bank before figuring out the whole school-work-independent woman chapter of my life. If I can’t support myself now, how am I going to support a baby too?
“If Granddad finds out about this … ” Westley’s words taper into nothing.
“What do you think he’s going to do?” I ask. “Worst-case scenario. I want to be prepared.”
He blows a hard breath between his lips. “Honestly?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, first he’ll probably fire you,” he says. “And then he’ll probably stop paying Thayer’s tuition.”
Shit.
“But this is his great-grandchild. Why would he do that?” I ask.
“You have to know my grandfather to understand him,” he says. “And half the time we don’t even understand him. He makes the rules, we’re expected to follow them. If we don’t, there are consequences. Trust me. I was the first to learn that the hard way. I didn’t take his threats seriously.”
“You really think he’ll cut Thayer off?”
“In a heartbeat. Without question.”
“What do I do? Obviously I spent the entire summer on the island. When my belly starts to grow, they’re going to know it was him.”
“No, they won’t,” Westley says before turning to me. “They might think it’s me.”
I bury my face in my palms.
Unplanned pregnancies happen every day, but I never knew something so small could have such a ripple effect and complicate so many lives.
“I have an idea,” he says. “What if we tell them it’s mine? I’ve already been cut off. I’ve got nothing to lose. He’ll be pissed at me and probably say a bunch of shit that’s going to hurt and he’ll still probably fire you, but at least Thayer will be in the clear. We don’t have to tell Granddad the truth until Thayer’s done with school … you know, if Granddad’s still around then.”
“You would do that?” I ask. “You would take the fall for him?”
“He’d do it for me,” he says. And he’s probably right. “It makes sense. I’ve got nothing to lose. He’s got everything to lose.”
“And what will you tell your parents? They’ll think they’ve got a grandchild on the way.”
He sucks in a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. I guess we’ll have to figure that out too.”
We linger in silence for a few moments. I imagine he’s mulling over the ramifications of what he’s about to do.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask again.
He’s quiet, contemplative, and he peers across the rolling waves just beyond the cove.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m sure.”
“When do we tell them?” I ask. “Do we wait until I’m showing or do we just do it now and get it over with?”
I’m on the taller side … maybe I’ll be able to hide this a little longer so I can put a few more paychecks away?
“We’re going to have to do it now, Lila,” he says. “I leave this weekend and I won’t be back until next summer.”
He’s right.
“We’ll do it tonight,” Westley says. “After dinner, after everyone leaves, we’ll pull him aside and do it then.”
My body fills with little earthquakes and my stomach churns, though it could be morning sickness for all I know.
“Don’t stress,” he says, taking my hand. “Think of me as your surrogate Thayer.”