“Is he depressed?” my mom asks, whispering. “You know when people get antisocial or withdrawn, sometimes that can be a sign …”
Aunt Lorelai sighs, watching her son from afar. “Yeah, maybe? I’m not sure. I tried to get Whitley to talk to him, but he wouldn’t even open up to her. I’m hoping to have a moment alone with him when all the holiday craziness is over.”
I think of Westley and the phone call earlier. Maybe he was upbeat because it was regarding a job or internship or someone he was trying to impress? Then again, he referred to the person on the other line as “man,” and that’s not exactly the kind of verbiage you use when trying to sound professional.
Something’s going on with him.
Just wish I knew what.
Chapter 46
Lila
“Do you want to know what you’re having?” the ultrasound tech asks as she runs the transducer across my lower stomach. This is only the second ultrasound I’ve had—the first one being back in October. They said everything looked normal and gave me a due date.
May 8th.
A year to the day I arrived at Rose Crossing Island.
“You can tell already?” I ask. I’m only seventeen weeks along and I’m hardly showing.
“I can,” the woman says with a sweetness in her voice that makes her perfect for a job like this.
“Yeah. I want to know,” I say. I’ve had enough surprises this year. I don’t know if I can handle another one.
“All right,” she says as she highlights a fuzzy black and white image on the screen. “You’re having a girl!”
“A girl? Are you sure?” I ask.
The woman nods. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure. Our technology is pretty incredible, but every once in a while we get a little one that likes to trick us.”
She hands me a warm, wet wash cloth, and I wipe the gel from my stomach before climbing down from the bed.
“I’ll send the doctor in shortly,” she says, printing off a few pictures and placing them in my chart before she leaves.
I take a seat in one of the guest chairs and wait in the dimly lit room, letting my eyes adjust.
I hate that Thayer is still in the dark.
I’d give anything to be able to tell him he’s going to be a dad, that he’s going to have a little girl. I bet he’d be so good with her, and I bet she’d have him wrapped around her finger in no time.
My OB, Dr. Caraway, makes a quick stop by the room to let me know that everything looks great and to answer any questions, of which I have none. And then she tells me to come back in four weeks for my next appointment.
I check out at the front and head out to the car I share with my grandparents. It isn’t the most convenient arrangement, but so far it works out. The two of them were recently hired part-time at a retirement home in town, Grandma cooking in the kitchen and Grandpa doing general maintenance around the grounds. The pay isn’t the greatest, but it keeps them busy and supplements the money Bertram sends every month.
So far we’ve saving almost everything we get.
Grandpa hates that Bertram owns the house we live in, he hates that it gives him that much more power over us. He hopes in a few years we’ll have enough money to buy a house of our own with cash. Until then, we save, save, save.
Last week I signed up for classes at the local community college, which I’ll pay for with cash, and when I was finished, they told me to head to the student library to get my laptop. Apparently as long as you’re enrolled here, you get to use one of their laptops.
My appointment ended early, and I still have another hour before I have to pick up my grandparents from work, so I stop at a local café to grab a coffee and use their WiFi on my new-to-me laptop.
The internet on my prepaid phone is infuriatingly slow and the screen is temperamental. Every time I wanted to check up on Thayer, I ended up throwing in the towel because I could never get anything to load half the time, and when it did load, it was so tiny I was afraid of accidentally clicking on a “like” or a “follow” or something.
Five minutes later, I’m seated in a two-person booth in the front of The Mocha Bean on Summerton’s downtown square, sipping a peppermint latte and connecting to their lightning-fast Wi-Fi.
As soon as I’m on, I log into my fake Facebook account and do a search for Thayer Ainsworth.
He shows up as the top—and only—result, and my stomach flips when I click on his profile picture. I zoom in, making it fill my screen like I’m some kind of creepy stalker girl, but I don’t care. It feels so good to see him again. The picture says it was uploaded two weeks ago, so I know it’s current. The only thing different about him is his lack of a suntan, but he still looks as gorgeous as before.