(Find the chapters and a description of the project here.)

There are several ways I could have retold this story. I could have stayed true to the original narrative, and written about two people continuing their lives after facing condemnation and shame. I could have written both Jesse and Rebecca as unapologetic and shameless. I could have written about a scandalous affair that tears apart a family and the community around it. I could have written about a predatory spiritual leader. In the end, I chose to write about two people who get swept up in their emotions, who then must navigate the consequences of their choices.  

               I expected this story to produce strong emotions in readers. Whether or not we belong to a faith community, the experience of guilt is nearly universal. I would argue that being shamed is also, especially in communities of faith, particularly for women. I personally have been shamed by religious leaders and mentors. This is, unfortunately, an all-too-common experience. Readers may have found this story triggering and difficult to confront. I do not minimize these feelings. Many of us carry religious and spiritual trauma, handed to us by the people who were meant to guide us on our walk of faith. If this has happened to you, know that I see you. I wrote this story, in part, for you.

There will always be ruler followers—like Martha—and those who break rules—like Rebecca. Hawthorne imagined a community that felt the need to punish and marginalize the rule breaker. I wanted to imagine a community that was more kind.  My hope is that in imagining such a community, it shows the reader a path to replicate it in their own life.  

(Find previous chapters and a description of the project here.)

It is Friday. She sits at her computer, staring at the screen. There is an email from Laura Miller in her inbox. Laura teaches children’s Sunday school. Brett and Finn haven’t attended regularly in two years, but Laura has kept up with them regardless. The subject line of the email reads Heard some news. She can read the first line of the email in the preview. Hi Rebecca! I heard you got married!

               Her phone dings. She looks down at the screen. It is from Jenny. Martha said you got married?!

               Rebecca shoves herself away from the desk, scaring Zeus. She stumbles over him as he tries to stand. She walks out the house, leaving her phone behind. She doesn’t bother to lock the door. She walks down the street in a daze. She comes to the corner. She hesitates, wanting to keep walking, but knowing she can’t hide from any of this anymore. She waits, thinking, stewing, chewing her nails. She turns around and goes home.

               There are 3 more messages that she has missed. One is from Jenny. She said you and pastor Jesse got married. One is from Lucy Davis. Hey! There is a crazy rumor going around about you right now. Somebody told me you were pregnant. Can you believe that? The last one is from Cindy. Are you okay, Bec? Call me when you get a minute.

               She takes Cindy’s advice. Ignoring Jenny, Lucy and Laura, she calls her sister. Cindy picks up right away.

               “So, I guess everyone knows now,” Cindy says.

               “Seems like it,” she says. She feels like she is standing on a cliff surrounded by fog. If she misjudges any step, it could mean death. She can’t see her way. “What am I going to do Cindy?” she asks softly.

               “You’re going to tell everyone to go to hell,” Cindy says.

               “Cindy!” she scoffs.

               “Well, I don’t know, Bec. It’s like you’re stuck no matter what you do. Even if he resigns, what would the two of you do? Go to a new church?”

               “I probably wouldn’t, honestly,” Rebecca confesses.

               “Oh, Rebecca…don’t say that,” Cindy says.

               She waits. The question she wants to ask bubbles up from inside her until she can’t contain it. “Is this my fault, Cindy?” she breathes.

               Her sister is very quiet. She can imagine her screwing up her nose as she thinks about how to answer. She waits. She glances at the clock. It is only 9:47. This is going to be a long day.

               “I think you did the best you could,” Cindy finally answers. “I can’t say that I would never have done something like this. I mean—God, Bec! It was hard enough when David and I got divorced. I can’t imagine what I would do if he died.”

               “Okay, this isn’t making me feel better,” she admits.

               “Sorry. I just mean that people shouldn’t judge you. Not unless they actually know what you went through. And maybe even then…Well, nobody should judge you.”

               Rebecca is nodding at Cindy’s affirmation. “Mom still won’t talk to me,” she says.

               “Well, she’s pretty mad, but I think she’s just mad about having to explain you to her friends.” Cindy laughs, but Rebecca doesn’t think it’s funny. “She’s embarrassed.”

               “How does she think I feel?” she scoffs. She sits at her desk. Zeus lays down again. She puts her feet on his back like he’s a foot stool. He hears him yawn.

               “Do you think it’ll blow over?” Cindy asks.

               “Maybe,” she says. “Jesse is probably going to resign,” she continues. She can’t hold in her tears. “That’s what I feel the worst about. I can take anything they want to throw at me, but I’m not the only one who is going to get dragged through the mud.”

               “When is he meeting with Harry?” Cindy asks.

               “This afternoon,” she answers. “You should have seen me at that meeting last night,” she says, feeling momentary pride. “I was so smooth. I didn’t answer anything. It felt so good.”

               “You didn’t answer anything?!” Cindy exclaims.

               “Not really. I used the phrase, ‘I decline to answer’ a lot.”

               Her sister laughs and she laughs and this feels like a triumph but she also doubts that it will save her from the inevitable fall. She doubts it will save Jesse. But she is still pleased that she did not cave, that she did not grovel and that she did not apologize for how her grief overcame her.

               “I can just see Harry’s face,” Cindy laughs. “I bet he was mad.”

               “Definitely mad,” she says. The guilt is sliding back into its normal place in her thoughts. The phone has been dinging the entire time she has been talking to Cindy. “I’m getting blown up. I should go. See how many fires I want to put out today.”

               “Just call me if you need another firefighter. I’ll bring you an extra bucket.”

               She smiles. She can almost see Cindy winking at her. “Thanks, Cindy. Love you,” she says.

               “Love you too, Bec.”

               She opens her messages. There are five new ones to read. Another from Jenny. Even if that was true, why would Martha tell people? There is one from Jane Peters, and one from Emily Simmons and one from Kristen. People are being so AWFUL about this. There is one from Anna too. Did you have your sonogram? How does the little peanut look?

               She replies to Anna first. Baby looks perfect. Then she replies to Kristen. This might actually be the worst thing I’ve lived through, and that’s saying a lot. She ignores the rest.

               She tries to focus on work. She sends emails to clients. She takes a phone call from her boss. She spends about a year petting Zeus instead of working on a proposal. She thinks about quitting and moving to Maine. She looks at real estate listings on Peaks Island. She almost books herself a trip to Scotland. She wonders if she could start a new career as a zookeeper. Or a lighthouse keeper. Or a hermit. She looks up how many acres she would need to grow enough food for her and the family to survive the winter. She drinks her decaf macchiato and chews her nails as she reads.

It is 12:58. She goes to the kitchen and opens the fridge. There is leftover chicken, but she just eats baby carrots, straight out of the bag. Then she eats potato chips straight out of the bag. She sends Jesse a text. I love you. He does not reply. There are now 17 messages she has ignored. She throws away the empty chip bag. She fills a glass with water and sips slowly as she gazes out the window.

               She somehow passes another hour. And another. She finishes the proposal. She checks the mail. The boys come home. She still has not heard from Jesse.

               It is 5:14. She is sitting on the couch. Zeus has not left her side all day. She strokes him slowly. He raises his head, barking at the sound of a car. Jesse opens the front door. Her eyes are locked on him. He notices her on the couch. He sets his bag down in the foyer and moves towards her. He looks like he’s been through hell. His hair is out of place. He has sweat through his shirt. His eyes are glazed over. He sits next to her. His thigh touches hers. She offers her hand to him, and he takes it.   

“You didn’t reply to me,” she says. Her voice is soft.

“I didn’t see it until after I met with Harry,” he says. “And then I got a call, and I had to schedule a hospital visit…” He stops, sighs heavily. He runs his hand over her hair. “I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” she asks, squeezing his hand.

“I tried to resign, but he wouldn’t accept it,” Jesse answers. “Said he wanted to clear things up before I made any decision.” He leans back, sinking into the couch. “He wasn’t satisfied with anything I said. It’s like every answer I gave was the wrong answer.”

“What did he ask?” Rebecca inquires, though she already has an idea.

“He asked about you. Our relationship. Why we were hiding. Why we got married. If the baby is mine. Why you wouldn’t answer his questions.”

She expected as much. She imagines Harry grilling Jesse like panini, crushing him between his regret and his hopes. “Did you answer him?”

He smiles slowly. “I did. And then I tried to resign again, and he said he wouldn’t accept it until he spoke to his committee.”

“What?” she asks, confused.

Jesse frowns in thought. His eyes are focused on nothing. He leans his head towards her, and he is magnetic. She sinks lower on the couch, cuddling up to him, laying her head against him. He drapes an arm around her shoulders. “He wants me to apologize.”

“Apologize for what?” she questions.

“Lying. Overstepping boundaries. Taking advantage of you.”

“You didn’t do any of that,” she argues. “He may see it that way, but that’s not what happened.”

“Isn’t it, though?” he asks. “Are you sure that’s not what happened?” He sounds angry, but she can’t determine why. She doesn’t think he’s angry with her.

She raises her head and looks him in the eyes. “That’s not what happened, Jesse,” she assures him.

He is rubbing his beard. “I don’t know what’s worse. Resigning in shame or being forgiven.”

She is silent. She knows that feeling. She has 34 unanswered messages from friends and family. Almost everyone has said they heard the news, that they were not aware she was involved with Jesse, that they are happy for her. She can’t allow herself to feel relief. She is still waiting for punishment.

Her phone dings. She reaches for it, picks it up from the arm of the couch. It is Martha. Rebecca please call me when you get the chance.

“Martha wants me to call her,” she murmurs.

Jesse hums. He pulls her closer to him. She leans against him, again molding herself to his frame. The dog licks her hand as she places the phone back where it was. “She probably wants to apologize,” she says.

“Why do you think that?” he asks.

“Because she’s always been like this. She always said she would never even kiss a boy unless he was going to marry her.” She frowns, remembering. “She always tried to make me feel bad for flirting, or going on a date, or having a boyfriend.”

She looks at Jesse. His brow is creased. “Do you think she’s jealous?” he asks.

“No. I think it’s more likely that she’s just…asexual? Aromantic? A bit of both maybe. She’s never been in a relationship and has never seemed to care.”

“So why do you think she did what she did?” Jesse asks. “Why not let you be happy? Do you think she wanted…” He struggles to find a word. “Justice?”

“I don’t think she knew what she wanted. I think she saw something that made her uncomfortable and she wanted to kill it. She reacts without thinking how it might impact people.” Rebecca stops herself from continuing down this line of thinking. There is no need to tell Jesse how much pain Martha has caused. He is also living it. “I should probably call her, but I really don’t want to.”

Jesse kisses her. It is long and lingering and she really wishes she had actually booked that trip to Scotland. When he pulls away from her, he says, “You don’t have to right now. Give yourself some space.” He kisses her again, and Rebecca feels a small hope that they might survive this crisis.

(Find previous chapters and a description of the project here.)

It is 5:59. She is standing outside the door of the conference room at the church, leaning against the wall. Inside, she can hear low talking. She counts four distinct voices among the chatter. She wonders how many of them there are. Her internal monologue is filled with phrases like get it together, just go, you can do this, but she still struggles to peel her back from the wall. She takes a short shallow breath, and blows it away, long and slow. She closes her eyes for a moment and takes a step forward.

               “Rebecca! Come in!” Harry calls as she comes through the doorway. There are three men and a woman in the room. She recognizes all of them. In addition to Harry, Cecelia Murphey, William Gould and Stewart Sheffield sit in a row on the other side of the conference table. She takes a seat across from them, feeling awkward and exposed as she slides the chair out further to account for her belly. She sits slowly. Their eyes watch her. She tries to smile, but she is sure it looks more like a grimace.

“First of all, thank you for agreeing to come talk with all of us. It’s a lot easier to hash these things out in person all together, as I’m sure you can imagine,” Harry begins. He pauses and clears his throat. “Rebecca, I think you know that this committee acts as a go between for the church and the staff. We handle issues of personnel. From time to time, that includes investigating complaints or allegations.”

She can feel her blood pressure climbing as he talks. She rubs her finger over her thumbnail, ragged from chewing. She would rather just get on with the interview.

“We received a somewhat serious allegation against the pastor over the weekend,” Harry pauses. “I told you what it was when we spoke on the phone earlier this week. That’s why we’ve asked you to come tonight. Hopefully you can clear this up for us.” Harry smiles at her, but he looks like a shark. “Now, first of all, can you describe the nature of your relationship with pastor Jesse?”

Something inside her comes to life at this question. It is a burning defiance. She is filled to the brim with fury at Harry and his questions. “I’ve known Jesse Pearson since we were in undergrad,” she says stiffly.

The panel before her waits for more. When it becomes clear that this one sentence is all she is going to say, they look at each other, confusion passes among them. “Would you care to elaborate?” Harry finally asks.

“No, thank you,” Rebecca replies.

Harry does not like this answer. His smile morphs into a sneer. “Are you taking this seriously, Ms. Laudner?”

She smiles. “It’s Ms. Pearson, actually.”

Harry’s eyes go wide. Stewart whispers something to Cecelia and William crosses his arms. “So, you and Jesse did get married, then?”

“Yes, that’s right,” she says. That is all she says.

“Are you aware that this church has a rule against staff dating members?” Stewart asks.

“We’re not dating. We’re married,” Rebecca answers smoothly.

“I presume that you were dating for a time before you got married, though,” Stewart assesses.

“I decline to answer that,” Rebecca answers.

“Ms. Laud—er, Pearson,” Harry presses. “I’m going to ask you again. Are you prepared to take this conversation seriously?”

“I’m taking it very seriously, I assure you,” she says. It is like she has transformed. The anxiety she felt just a few minutes ago is gone now, replaced with a fierce resolve to protect Jesse from this ridiculous prying into his life.

“Okay,” Harry drawls. “I think we’ve determined the validity of some of the allegations already.” She gets the feeling that he wants his hard stare to be intimidating, but she does not feel intimidated. She feels powerful. She feels completely calm.

“Rebecca,” Cecelia says. Her tone is smooth, but it reminds her of glass. “Just to be clear, you are saying that you and Jesse Pearson were in a romantic relationship prior to your marriage?”

“I decline to answer that,” Rebecca replies.

“How long were you in a relationship with Jesse Pearson prior to your marriage?” Cecelia asks.

“I decline to answer that,” Rebecca replies.

“When did your marriage to Jesse occur?” she asks.

“I decline to answer that,” Rebecca replies.

Cecelia scoffs in frustration. “Rebecca, you must know that we will ask Jesse all these same questions. Why are you refusing to cooperate?”

Rebecca smiles warmly at Cecelia. “I am cooperating. You asked for me to come talk to you. Here I am,” she says, smiling sweetly, the way she would at her grandmother.

Harry clears his throat. “Rebecca, I know you are not trying to waste our time here, but we really must try to understand the extent of what has happened so we can make an informed decision about what to do with these complaints.”

“With all due respect, Harry,” Rebecca begins, “I am not accountable to you.”

The room is still. Again, she does not explain, and Harry has to prompt her. “Can you please elaborate for us?”

“No, I’ll decline. Thank you.”

William sighs, and Stewart begins rubbing his eyes.

Cecelia leans forward, places her elbows on the table and intertwines her fingers. “I couldn’t help notice that you are pregnant?” she says slowly.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Rebecca asks.

“I’m just curious about the parentage,” Cecelia explains.

She raises an eyebrow. Cecelia casts her eyes downward. “What are you accusing me of, Cecelia?”

The other woman backtracks. “I just mean, if there was another father, other than Jesse…did Jesse agree to marry you so you would not be a single mother?”

“I have been a single mother for two years, Cecelia. You know that,” Rebecca states flatly.

“Were you in a sexual relationship with Jesse Pearson before your marriage?” Harry asks, refusing to dance around the question anymore.

“I decline to answer that,” Rebecca says.

“Ms. Lau—Pearson,” he stumbles again. “This committee is going to assume that the information we received from Martha Grenlow is the truth unless you can illuminate this situation for us.”

“Would you please tell me what Martha told you, Harry?” she challenges.

He looks shocked. He looks from side to side at the other members of his committee. “Okay,” he agrees slowly. “She says you invited her to a barbecue, but when she arrived, your mother informed the guests that they were there for a wedding, and that you and Jesse were expecting a baby.”

“I have no comment,” Rebecca says.

“Do you deny that Jesse is the father of the baby you’re carrying?” Harry asks again.

“I have no comment,” Rebecca says.

“How many weeks along are you, Rebecca?” Cecelia asks.

“I decline to answer that,” Rebecca says.

William’s face is now a deep red. Stewart eyes have rolled towards the ceiling. Harry is scribbling something on his legal pad. Cecelia simply stares at her, aghast.

“This is a waste of time, Harry,” Stewart mutters.

Rebecca sits tall, waiting. They stare at her. They squirm under her determined silence.

Harry frowns at her, then sighs loudly. “Okay, Rebecca. If you’re not going to give us any useful information, then I guess we can adjourn this meeting.”

“If you have no further questions of me, then I’d like to agree,” Rebecca says.

“I think you should know that we will be discussing this matter with your husband tomorrow at 1 pm,” Harry adds. She does not reply. Harry scowls at her but she is not afraid of him. The committee members shift in their seats. She has made all of them uncomfortable. “That will be all, Ms. Pearson,” Harry says.

She rises from the chair. She leaves the conference room without a goodbye.

(Find previous chapters and a description of the project here.)

It is Thursday. She stares at the sonogram the ultrasound tech printed for her. The baby looks like a bean. She smiles at it, then takes a magnet from the fridge, uses it to stick the sonogram to the surface. It is 4:12. The boys will be home from day camp in about ten minutes. She will sit them on the couch and show them the picture, and answer any questions they might have about what has happened over the last two weeks, the last two years. She feels ready for this conversation. She knows her sons. They will support her. They will stick by her. She can’t imagine either of them will be angry.

               She has taken a half day off. She waits at the dining room table, staring out the window at the trees in the yard. She rises and moves to the window, listening to the birds chattering. She strolls to the living room, sits down hard on the couch. She leans back, emptying her head of worry about the meeting at 6. Jesse isn’t going. They asked to meet with him at a separate time.

               The door opens and the boys tumble through the door. They don’t say anything as they drop their backpacks in the foyer and run down the hallway towards their rooms. She gets up and looks down the hallway. There are 4 shoes laying askance. “Brett? Finn?” she calls.

               “What?” she hears Finn call back.

               “Can you both come talk to me for a minute?”

               The come up the hallway. They are sweaty and red. She wonders if they had enough water to drink at camp. They stop in front of her. Finn leans against the wall. “What is it?” he asks.

               “Go to the couch,” she says.

               They eye her, but do as she says. She goes to the kitchen, takes the sonogram off the fridge. She holds it against her chest, whispers a prayer over it. She moves through the house towards the boys.

She hands the sonogram to Brett. “Do you know what that is?” she asks him.

He shakes his head. “Looks like a bad picture of a potato,” he responds. Finn glances over his shoulder, nodding.

She can’t help but laugh because he’s not wrong. “That’s a baby,” she explains. She takes a seat on the couch next to Brett. “A little tiny baby, growing inside me.”

“Wait,” Finn says. “You’re having a baby?” She nods. “What?!” he asks, in disbelief.

Brett is quiet. He stares at the picture. “Is, um, is Jesse the dad?” he asks.

“He is,” she answers.

“Okay,” he says, thinking through things that he doesn’t voice. “So, is this why everyone is mad at you?”

She knew Brett would pick up on the tension from the barbecue. “Yeah, Brett. This is why everyone is mad at me. Because you aren’t supposed to have a baby before you get married.”

“But, how can anybody be mad at a baby?” Finn asks. “I mean, it’s a baby! How can you not love it?”

She feels her chin quivering, but refrains from crying. “Well, sometimes people want everyone to follow certain rules, do things the right way. So, when that doesn’t happen, they get upset.”

“Well, my friend Lana doesn’t even have a dad or a step-dad and her mom is having a baby, but I don’t think anybody is mad at Lana’s mom. Or the baby,” Finn argues.

“Yeah, sometimes that happens too. Sometimes no one really cares, but sometimes, it matters a lot.”

“Why?” Brett asks.

She doesn’t have an answer for this question. She wants to tell him that it’s because some people don’t know how to mind their own business. That some people are prudish. That some people are self-righteous and uptight and think looking down on other people makes them holy. But none of these answers are the right ones. “I don’t think I really have the words to explain right now,” she says instead.

This sparks some memory in him. He looks up from the sonogram, into her face. “When you said you did something you shouldn’t have done, were you talking about this?” She nods. Brett looks back at the picture. “Is it a boy or girl?” he asks.

“We don’t know yet,” she says. “We’ll find out in a couple of months.”

“I bet it’s a boy,” Finn says. “Mom, you’d be way outnumbered.” He laughs. “4 boys in the house. Just one girl.”

“5 boys if you count Zeus,” she laughs.

At the sound of his name, Zeus raises his head. He stands and stretches, first his front legs, then his back. He trots over to the couch, placing his big black head on her leg. She rubs his ears.

Brett hands the sonogram back to her. “But, um, people aren’t just mad about the baby, right?”

She lowers her eyes. “No, Brett. They’re angry because Jesse and I were doing something in secret.”

Finn stares hard at her. “You were lying?”

She nods. “We were lying, in a way.” She looks at each of them in turn. She doesn’t see anything in their faces that resembles judgment or shame or scorn. She smiles. “Do you understand why Jesse and I got married?”

“’Cause you love each other. Obviously,” Brett said. “Anybody can see that, Mom.”

“Yeah,” Finn agrees. “When he’s around, you seem more like you. You know, like you were when Dad was alive,” he adds.

Tears sting her eyes. “I wish,” she begins, before she pauses to check her emotions. “I wish more adults were like the two of you.”

Brett leans his head against her, and Finn comes around to the other side. The boys cling to her, and she hugs them tightly. This is how it should have been with her mom, with Cindy. With her cousins. With Martha. This easy acceptance the boys have is such a blessing, a needed reprieve, a precious gift. There is no inquiry into her character. There is no scrutiny. There is only love.

“Sorry people are being so mean to you,” Brett says.

She hugs him tighter. “Thanks, Brett.”

He pulls away from her embrace. “Are we going to keep this?” he asks, gazing at the sonogram again.

“I’ll put it back on the fridge where it was,” she answers.

She sends them away to play outside. Zeus follows them out the door. Soon they are jumping on the trampoline as Zeus races along the fence. It is 4:57. She opens the fridge to see what she can make for dinner.

Jesse comes home. He brings more of his belongings from his own house each time he comes. He spends about fifteen minutes in the bedroom putting things away in drawers and the closet. He places several books on the bookshelves in the living room.  He comes into the kitchen as she’s plating the chicken and green beans. He looks exhausted.

“What’s wrong?” she asks as she hands him a plate.

“I have my talk with Harry tomorrow,” he says. He leans against the counter, talks to the chicken. “I’ve just been worrying about it all day.”

“Did you sleep last night?” she asks as she turns off the stove. She knows the answer. His tossing kept her awake.

“I tried,” he said. He looks up and their eyes meet. “I updated my resume today,” he adds.

She chews on her lip. She lets herself release the sigh inside her. “Let’s just see what happens.”

“What do you think is going to happen?” he asks. There is sourness and sarcasm in his tone that catches her off guard. “Maybe it would be better if I simply resigned.”

“I don’t know what this committee is going to ask me,” she says. “I don’t know how deep they are going to try to go, how many details they want.” He has no answer for her. They stare at one another. She feels the weight of humiliation already pressing down on her. It is suffocating. “Maybe I should just embroider all my tops with a big red ‘A’,” she jokes.

At first his wan expression stays the same, but then he smiles. “If you will, I will,” he replies.

“Neither one of us should have to though,” she says, growing serious.

“No, but that doesn’t really matter,” he says. “I should work on a letter of resignation, just in case.”

He is still holding the plate of chicken and beans. She swallows down all her guilt. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, Jesse.”

He nods, then offers her an anemic smile. “I knew what I was doing. Don’t blame yourself.”

He picks up a second plate from the counter, then heads to the table. She follows him with two plates of her own. She places the plates on the table and as Jesse returns to the kitchen for utensils, she opens the back door and calls for the boys. They come racing across the yard, Zeus bounding behind them. Boys and dog crash through the doorway. She shoos them down the hall to wash their hands. She gets glasses of water for everyone. The boys return to the dining room, and she sends them back to the bathroom to dry their hands. The dog parks himself under the table. Jesse says a prayer.

They eat dinner as if the world is not going to cave in around them.

(Find previous chapters and a description of the project here.)

It is Monday. She is at her grief support group. She stopped coming to these group sessions three months ago. Today though, she needs to be here. It is preparatory.

               She sits with her back straight, both feet flat on the floor, hands on her thighs. There is hot coffee on the table near the wall, and pastries. She doesn’t partake. She waits quietly, watching as people file in the door. Some of them she recognizes, and she smiles and nods as they acknowledge her. Others are new. Their grief is fresh. They put it on display. It doesn’t have the frayed edges of hers. It is still raw.

               The group leader, Margaret, comes in and takes a seat. She wastes no time getting started. “Okay, everybody. Let’s get started. It’s 10:00.” She glances at her watch. “It’s 10:02 actually.” She looks around the room, smiling. “Did everybody get a chance to grab a cup? We have some lovely pastries today, thanks to Janice.”

               Janice smiles, dipping her head as if in a little bow. She shrinks in on herself a bit, embarrassed by the attention. Janice lost her son about six months ago. He had a heart condition. He was only fourteen.  

“Some of you might be happy to see Rebecca back today,” Margaret says. “And some of you have never met Rebecca before,” she adds.

Rebecca lowers her eyes to avoid being seen. No one says anything and this feels like a rejection.

“We have a new member joining today,” Margaret continues. “Sam?” she inquires.

Sam is an older man. He raises his hand when Margaret calls his name. He clears his throat, before saying in a gravelly voice, “Thanks. Happy…happy to be here.”

“Okay,” Margaret says, crossing one leg over the other. “Let’s start by opening up the floor to anyone who wants to share something about this last week.”

Rebecca needs to share more than a little about the last week, but she doesn’t want to talk first.

Maggie raises her hand, and Margaret nods to her. Maggie is a widow too, though she’s about 20 years older than Rebecca. Her husband had cancer. He’s been gone for about a year. He died the same day of May that Alan did, albeit in a different year. “I’ve been going through Roger’s things,” she starts, but she cracks apart before she can finish. Lanie—she lost a baby to SIDS—puts her hand on Maggie’s shoulder. Rebecca watches as Maggie reaches up to touch Lanie’s hand. “I didn’t have the help I needed to do it before. But, Lanie came to help, so that made it easier. My daughter flew in from Boston too.” She talks through the tears streaking from her eyes. “It was a good step, but it was hard.”

Head nodding all around the room. They all know how hard this is. Rebecca feels her chin quivering.

“Thank you, Maggie,” Margaret says, almost a whisper. She waits, looking around the room from face to face. “Who else has something from this week?”

One of the men she doesn’t know raises a hand, but doesn’t wait for Margaret to invite him to talk. “I was taking a walk on Friday and I went past the place were Alice and I used to sit in the park. We used to walk to that bench, sit and talk for a bit, then walk back home. I haven’t walked by that bench since she passed, but on Friday, I went there and sat down. I thought about her a lot while I was there.”

He trails off. His thoughts about Alice are still too painful. Rebecca recognizes the way he shuts down after sharing. She has done this herself plenty of times.

Margaret nods approvingly. “Thank you, Bert,” she says, again, so softly that it barely carries through the room. She waits. She waits a long time, but no one is saying anything.

“Well…” Margaret says, ready to move on with the next portion of the group session, but Rebecca raises her hand and then Margaret gives over her full attention. “Yes, Rebecca. Go ahead.”

“I got married this week,” she says. It feels like a confession, and in some ways, she supposes it is. She lowers he eyes again. “And, I’m having a baby.”

When she looks up at the room, she expects to see confusion and judgment, but she just sees smiles. Shy, uncertain smiles.

“Those are big changes. Big steps forward. Is that why you came back today?” Margaret asks.

Rebecca nods. “It feels like a betrayal,” she says. “He hung his clothes in Alan’s part of the closet after the wedding on Saturday, and…” She crumbles. “And I just keep thinking, what is Alan thinking of me? Which doesn’t make any sense at all, because Alan isn’t thinking of me. Alan is dead and he’s not concerned about any of this anymore. But Jesse…” She pauses to wipe away a tear. “Jesse is here and he’s real, and I really do love him. It’s different, of course, but I love him.”

Margaret nods. She looks around the room and she sees that other people are crying too. People always cry here. It’s the safest place to do it. Nobody needs be strong here. They are all allowed to be broken.

“I got remarried after my first husband died,” Janice says. Rebecca is surprised by this. Janice has never talked about a first husband before. “I don’t like to talk about it much, but he was in a car accident, just like your Alan.” Rebecca’s eyes are glued to Janice’s. She searches the other woman for some sort of wisdom, permission, affirmation. “But then I met Mike, and we got married. And we had a baby.” Janice is smiling now, an understanding smile. “I felt a little bit of what you’re feeling too, but I knew, if Gary could see me, that he would want me to be happy.”

“What if I don’t deserve that?” Rebecca asks, wiping her eyes again.

“Why don’t you deserve to be happy?” Margaret asks.

“Because Jesse is my friend from when I was in college. He officiated our wedding. He’s my pastor! It’s not supposed to be like this between us. Other people don’t like it.”

“Why does it matter what people think?” Margaret probes. This is how she helps them unpack their grief. She subtly attacks the lies they tell themselves.

“I’m going to cost him his job,” she explains. “He’s not supposed to…be with me. There’s a rule about it.”

She watches everyone drop their eyes. It’s not out of judgement; they just don’t know what to say. She looks to Margaret for help, but Margaret is only staring at her, waiting for her to continue. She hesitates. There is more to say but she feels like she will come apart if she says it. “I want forgiveness, but I don’t think they’re going to give it to me. I think we’re going to get chased out of the church. I don’t know what to do. It’s the only church I’ve ever known.”

Margaret is nodding again. “What does your husband think?”

She thinks carefully before she answers. “He says we can make this work, but I don’t think he really believes it. For all his belief in grace and forgiveness, I think he rarely gets to experience it. People hold him to a higher standard, like he’s better than the rest of humanity because of his calling. But that’s just not true. He’s a person just like the rest of us. He has feelings and desires and hopes just like me. He wouldn’t even be in this situation if it weren’t for me, and I can’t undo what I did. This child is going to ruin him.”

Margaret waits for more. She glances around the room. “How can Rebecca work through these feelings? What’s worked for someone else?”

Lanie raises a hand. “It sounds like you’re trying to take too much of the blame,” she says. “When I lost Julia, I used to blame myself all the time. All the time,” she repeats. “I shouldn’t have put her in that fleece sleeper. I should have fed her right before putting her down. I shouldn’t have kept her up later than normal. I should have checked on her when she cried, instead of letting her self-soothe.” Lanie pauses. Rebecca is glad to have the attention off herself. “But none of those things were why Julia died. Nobody knows why SIDS happens, but it’s not my fault.”

“Thank you, Lanie,” Margaret says. She puts her focus back on Rebecca. “What do you think? Are you blaming yourself too much for what’s happened?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” she says, holding back tears. “All I know is, if it weren’t for me, this wouldn’t be happening.”

“But doesn’t it take two people to make a baby? Don’t two people have to agree to marry? Why is all the blame on you?”

She wants this to be true, but she just can’t get there. “Because I used him, Margaret. I used him when I was shattered, to help ease the loneliness.” The woman next to her hands her a tissue. She nods in thanks and dabs at her eyes.

“Well, if he kept coming back to you, then he was getting something he needed from the relationship,” Margaret reasons. She sits back in her chair. “I’m hearing two threads.” She pauses. “Your love for Jesse brings up feelings of guilt for two reasons: because you still love Alan, and because you’ve been told this is wrong. Am I right?”

Rebecca nods, dabs her eyes again. “I feel like I’m stuck in an endless loop. Alan would want me to be happy, but moving on would make Alan sad. Jesse makes me happy, but this relationship is going to hurt him when everyone finds out.”

The woman next to her hands her another tissue. She accepts this one and uses it to blow her nose.

“Oh, I see,” Margaret says. “So this new marriage is not really public knowledge yet.” Rebecca nods. “This adds a new dimension to what you’re feeling, and could be contributing to the guilt you feel. You imagine that you won’t receive any acceptance, but you don’t know for sure.” Rebecca cries, but Margaret moves on. “Has anyone else been stuck in an endless loop?” Margaret asks the group.

Janice raises her hand. “I still get stuck in a loop like that, too. I’m glad that I got to be a mom to Charlie, even though he was only here with me for short time, but it’s not fair that I had to be his mom either. Why did it happen to me? But then again, Charlie was such a great kid. I would have been happy to have him for any amount of time.”

The session goes on. Rebecca listens, but doesn’t say any more about her struggles. The session ends. She heads to the bathroom to check her makeup. She has a meeting with a client over lunch and she doesn’t want to look like a raccoon. She locks the door, moves to the sink, splashes water on her face, dries her eyes again. She takes her mascara from her purse, applies it to her lashes. She slides the wand of her lip gloss over her lips. She tucks these items back into her purse.

There is a full-length mirror on the wall beside her. She takes in her reflection. She is wearing maternity pants today, newly purchased yesterday afternoon. She is shocked by how pregnant she already looks. She rubs her hand over her protruding abdomen. She won’t be hiding this much longer, no matter how loose her shirts are. She turns, staring at herself. From the front, she can still hide. Her belly doesn’t seem so big.

Her phone is ringing. She recognizes the number, but she’s not sure who it is. She slides her finger across the screen to answer. “Hello?”

“Is this Rebecca?” a man asks.

She is afraid to answer, feeling dread pooling in her gut. “Yes,” she answers hesitantly.

“This is Harry Abbot. I was hoping I could have a few minutes of your time.”

She disconnects the call before she can fully recognize what she’s doing. She nearly drops her bag to the ground. She reaches out a hand, steadying herself against the wall.

Her phone is ringing again. She almost lets it go to voicemail. “Harry!” she answers cheerily. “Sorry about that. I lost you.”

“Oh, that’s not a problem, Rebecca,” he says, chuckling. “Technology, right?”

“Right,” she laughs as if this is funny.

“Rebecca, I’m calling because I’ve been given some information about pastor Jesse and his relationship with you. I’d like for us to sit down and have a talk about some things. Are you free later this week?”

“Oh!” she exclaims. “Well, it depends on when you’d want to meet. I’m rather booked up, I’m afraid.” This is a bald lie. She had nothing scheduled except fretting and pacing and staring at the ceiling when she’s supposed to be asleep.

“Well, actually, if you could come to our next committee meeting, this Thursday at 6 pm, I think it would be very beneficial.” He pauses. “Are you aware of what people have accused you of?”

“No,” she says, gulping down her fear. “Wha…what did you hear?”

“Well, to put it very frankly, Ms. Laudner, the accusation was that you and pastor Jesse eloped because he…well, because you’re pregnant.”

She is Ms. Laudner now, not Rebecca. It makes the inquiry stiff and formal. His voice now lacks the charm it had a moment before. She almost hangs up the phone again.

“Ms. Laudner, are you there?” Harry asks.

“Yes,” she answers, too forcefully. “Yes, I’m here. Yes, I can come to your meeting this Thursday.”

“Thank you for taking this matter seriously, Rebecca. I look forward to clearing up this misunderstanding.” He pauses, allowing her space for a reply, but she doesn’t say anything. “Well, I won’t keep you. I’ll talk to you on Thursday.”

“Bye, Harry,” she says numbly.

“Bye, now.” He disconnects the call.

She stands in the bathroom for a long time before she opens her messages. She texts Jesse. Harry wants me to come to his next committee meeting.

He is slow to reply. Yeah. He called me too.

(Find previous chapters and a description of the project here.)

It is Sunday morning. She is still in bed. It is past dawn, but she has been awake since Jesse rose, dressed in the dark, and went for a run. He’s in the shower now. She listens to the sound of the water running. She pulls the sheet up to her chin. She looks at the clock. It is 7:04.

               The water shuts off and she hears the shower door slide open. She imagines him stepping onto the bathmat, droplets streaming down his legs, falling from his hair. She knows his body, but not in this domestic, ordinary way. She has watched him dress himself countless times, but never after a shower, after a run, in the morning. He is running the faucet at the sink now. She hears him brushing his teeth, and then a few minutes later, the whirring of his beard trimmer. She rolls to her side. She can see him standing at the sink, towel wrapped around his waist. His back still looks wet.

               He is finished. He exits the bathroom and their eyes meet. He smiles at her. She raises a hand to him, beckoning. He comes over to the bedside, unwraps the towel, dries his body again, drops the towel on the floor, then slides under the sheets beside her. She scoots to make room for him.

               They both stay quiet, but Rebecca can’t turn off her worries. “What do your parents really think?” she asks quietly. She thinks of the look in his eyes yesterday when they talked about his dad.

               “What do you mean?” he replies. He drapes an arm across her body. “I told you Dad was happy.”

               “Did you talk to your mom?” she asks.

               Jesse hesitates. “I did. She was…less happy.”

               “I don’t think she likes me,” she says.

               “Why would you say that?” But he sounds like he knows the answer already.

               “She doesn’t like me because I…She had an idea that we’d end up together, right? But then I married Alan instead.”

               Jesse nods slightly, as much as he can with his head on the pillow. “And now Alan’s dead, and you’re running to me for comfort. I’m your second choice.” He sounds flippant, dismissive.

               She doesn’t like this assessment. It feels unfair, but it also feels too truthful. Would she rather have Alan than Jesse? Now, she isn’t sure.

               “What time are you leaving?” she asks.

“I like to be there by 8,” he answers. He glides his hand over her thigh.

She looks at the clock again. It is 7:12. “Should we say anything about this?”

Jesse’s smile looks forced. “I’m sure they already know,” he replies. His voice is thick with worry.

“Martha,” Rebecca whispers, giving voice to the thing that concerns them both. “She’s probably told the whole world by now.”

“Our little piece of it at least,” he says.

She rolls to her back. “I don’t have anything that fits.”

His hand runs along her stomach. There is a noticeable bump now. She needs to buy maternity pants. Jesse kisses her forehead without saying anything. She extends her neck and he places a kiss there too. His hands move up her body, underneath the nightgown. She adjusts her legs, makes room for him in the middle. He kisses her. She lets him move as he wants to. She tucks one leg towards her chest and clutches him around his waist.

The daylight is streaming in the window now. He rolls off her, picks up the wet towel, and wipes himself clean. She watches him open the closet, where he has placed a few of his clothes. That side of it was empty. She never filled it with anything after she gave away Alan’s things.

She throws back the sheet, practically runs to the bathroom, and spends about 3 minutes in the shower. She returns to the bedroom, her wet hair tied up in a towel, and selects a dress that she thinks she can tug over her breasts and her stomach. She looks in the mirror. It is stretching in all the wrong places. She takes it off. She tries another one. This one is better in the stomach, but the bodice is so tight she feels like she can barely breathe. She takes this one off too. “Do you think I can get away with leggings?” she asks.

He is buttoning his shirt. He doesn’t look at her. “What are you wearing on top?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t even go,” she says.

He comes to her side, takes the dress from her hand and hangs it back in the closet. “Put on whatever fits, babe. It’s…the least of your worries, honestly.”

She does not like these words. The truth in them is crushing her. “Leggings it is, then,” she says, moving away from the closet to the dresser. She tugs them on, bringing them over her hips, but not up over her belly. They hug her pelvis in a way she does not like, but unless she is going to wear pants and keep them buttoned by using a rubber band looped around the button hole, this will have to do. Finding a top that fits around her middle and also covers her belly is a challenge. She finally chooses something just because she’s running out of time.

In the kitchen, she brews coffee, before she remembers she shouldn’t drink it, then remembers that Jesse will. The boys and Jesse are sitting at the table eating cereal. Brett and Finn are still their pajamas. They are looking at Jesse almost warily. There is a question Finn wants to ask him, she can see it in his posture. The coffee finishes brewing, and she pours a cup. She moves through the kitchen to the dining room. She deposits the cup in front of Jesse.

“So, are you like…our dad now?” Finn finally asks.

Jesse puts down his spoon and looks at both the boys. Their eyes move from him to her, looking for affirmation, for direction, for an answer. “I don’t know,” Jesse answers. “What do you think?”

“Well, Lila has a step-dad and he basically acts like her dad. But Drew has a step-dad too and he lets Drew do whatever he wants,” Finn answers.

Jesse doesn’t respond to this. He glances up at her instead.

She doesn’t know what to say, but she gets the feeling he’ll defer to what she wants. She doesn’t know what she wants. She can’t even get used to the idea that she’s married again. The boys have known Jesse their whole lives. He’s always been like a fun uncle to them. How is she supposed to expect any of them to act like he’s their father now? “Let’s just figure out as we go, okay bud?” she asks Finn.

He shrugs. “Okay,” he says, spooning cereal into his mouth.

Jesse leaves the house at 7:40. She doesn’t normally leave until 9:20. That gives her enough time to get a second cup of coffee at the church, chat with her friends and get to her usual pew before the service starts. This week, she would rather leave at 9:40, sneak in the back and then leave before the benediction. She watches Jesse back his car down the driveway, and it’s like watching him go to his own execution. She has no idea what will await them at the church today, but she can’t imagine it will be welcome and congratulations.

She splits the difference and leaves at 9:30. She’s not getting coffee, so she doesn’t need those extra ten minutes. She arrives, parks the car, sits in the car longer than she should, chews her nails, stops chewing her nails, finally gets out of the car. She walks into the building a step behind the boys.

“Good morning, Rebecca!” says Linda Abernathy as she comes through the doors. “Good to see you!” Linda is in her sixties and has the most grandmotherly smile you ever saw. That’s why they ask her to stand at the door.

“Hi, Linda. Doing okay?” she asks.

Linda suddenly seems to notice what Rebecca is wearing. “Oh, yes,” she stumbles. She smiles widely. “Doing just fine. Is it laundry day?” she asks.

She laughs. “Nothing seems to fit right this morning,” she answers. She can feel Brett watching her. “You know how it is sometimes,” she says, as she scurries away.

Brett and Finn dutifully follow her towards the sanctuary. In the narthex, she pauses, looking for Cindy or her mom. She doesn’t see them mingling. She scans the crowd. Near the door to the sanctuary, she sees Martha talking to Harry Abbot, Myrtle Abbot’s son. He is the chairperson of the church’s personnel committee. Rebecca flushes with anger but averts her eyes. She does not want Martha to see her.           

               “Hey!” she hears from behind. She turns. Jenny Layborne is reaching her arms forward for a hug. Rebecca accepts the embrace from her friend. “I heard a rumor about you,” Jenny says.

               Her heart stops. “You did?”

               “Yeah! Your sister said you got that client you were trying to land.”

               Rebecca’s heart starts again. “Oh! I did! Yes, I did!” she says happily. She has not had time or energy to be happy about it. “We chased that one for a while. Gonna be a good quarter, hopefully.”

               “Well, congratulations. I think it’s great.” She pats her on the arm. “What else is new?” Jenny leans forward. “I wish I was brave enough to wear yoga pants here,” she jokes.

               She is regretting wearing the leggings. She should have done the rubber band trick with a pair of pants instead. She laughs but it sounds fake. “Yeah. Well, I’m gonna grab my…”

               “Rebecca, can I speak with you?” Martha is standing about 2 feet from her with a look of pure disgust. Her tone is abnormally formal.

Jenny goes stiff, glancing between the two of them. “I’ll, uh…talk to you later!” she says. She moves away from them.

“Brett, can you and Finn go sit down in our normal spot?” she asks, not looking at the boys. They leave too, though she can tell they are reluctant. Her anger is rising, but she tries to keep it under control. “I was sorry that you didn’t stay yesterday,” she starts.

Martha is not in the mood for small talk. “I told Harry about you,” she states flatly.

“Oh, you did?” she asks innocently, holding her chin up higher. “What did you say?”

“Cut it out, Rebecca!” she snaps. A few heads turn their way. “You know what you did.”

Rebecca is fighting for control of her anger. Her cheek twitches with rage. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because it isn’t right, and you know it.”

“Martha, please. This is hurtful,” she explains. “I didn’t do this on purpose.”

“Maybe not, but you still have to deal with the consequences. You broke the rules, Rebecca,” she says. She is calm now. “You shouldn’t break the rules.”

“The rules!” Rebecca exclaims. She is too loud. She lowers her voice. “The rules aren’t fair. I’m a person with real feelings, Martha. And so is he.” Martha scowls. She continues. “It’s not like that other situation,” she says. “I’ve known him for half of my life.”

She thinks she’s found some sympathy, though it won’t matter. The damage is already done. “How long did you wait after Alan died?” she asks.

It is a cruel question. It contains unspoken accusations. Rebecca stews with guilt, but it pales to the fury she feels. “You have no idea what it was like,” she hisses. She resists pointing a finger in Martha’s face. Instead, she leans closer, speaks lower. “You don’t know what you would do because you haven’t been through it.”

“I know one thing though. I have integrity,” Martha says, haughty, self-righteous.

Rebecca is too furious to reply. She simply walks away, moving through the sanctuary doors. She storms down the aisle. The boys are sitting with Cindy and her mom. She slides into the pew, fanning herself with the bulletin. Jesse is on the chancel. He is looking at her. She can see the tension in his body. She wonders what he saw. She wonders when Harry is going to approach them. She wonders if she will ever feel safe here again.

(Find previous chapters and a description of the project here.)

It is Saturday. She stands in the living room, staring out the window at the trellis sitting in the yard. Jesse and Mark—another minister, one of Jesse’s friends from seminary—are standing next to it talking. They both have their arms crossed. They are both wearing suits. Now they are both laughing. The dog, Zeus, zooms around the trellis, then races along the fence. Rebecca pulls her gaze away.

               Her eyes go to the clock. It is 3:27. She told her mom and Cindy to be here at 3:30. Amazingly, David is flying in from Vermont, and Jesse asked him to arrive at 3:30 too. She told Kristen, Jessica, Aunt Rachel and Martha to come at 4. Jesse’s parents are not coming. It was too short of a notice. In the kitchen, Anna and her sister Liz are busy prepping food. Liz’s boyfriend has made 10 pounds of pulled pork for the occasion. Anna is arranging pickles, onions and various sauces on a serving board. Liz is slicing home made buns. There are bowls of potato salad, baked beans, macaroni and slaw. On the buffet sits the cake. It is a small two-tiered chocolate cake. It is iced with chocolate frosting and decorated with sharply piped white lines.

               The door opens and in walks Cindy. Her mom is right behind her. “Woah, Bec, why the fancy outfit?” Cindy asks. “I thought we were just coming over for a barbecue.”

               Rebecca is wearing a blue floral print sundress. It is too tight across the bodice and it clings to her middle. “Oh, um…” she falters before finding her determination. “This is actually not just a barbecue. It’s my wedding.”

               Cindy mouth drops and her mother frowns as if she’s misheard. “What did you say, dear?” she asks.

               “You’re getting married?!” Cindy shrieks. “TO WHO?”

               Before she can answer, Jesse and Mark come in the backdoor. They are still laughing. “To Jesse,” she says calmly.

               Cindy is nodding her head knowingly, wearing a smug grin. “I knew it,” she says. “The way you two were on Sunday. I just knew there was something going on.”

               Her mother comes forward. “Rebecca, honey, are you sure? It’s not like you to be this impulsive.”

               “Mom, we’ve been dating for over a year,” she explains. “And…we’re going to have a baby.”

               Her mother’s face falls. “Oh.” That one word holds a multitude of disappointment. “Oh, Rebecca.”

               “What the hell Rebecca?!” Cindy exclaims.

               Jesse has moved to her side. His hand is on her back. “Cindy, please,” she starts. “This is…this is just how it is, okay?”

               “Okay,” Cindy concedes, throwing up her hands. “Okay, Bec. Alright. So…wedding, and then barbecue. Okay.”

               Her mother is frowning at her, and she moves her disapproving stare to Jesse. She doesn’t say anything. She walks past them and takes a seat on the couch. Cindy and Rebecca stare at one another. Cindy shrugs. Rebecca jerks her head in the direction of their mom. They do not speak, but Rebecca can tell that Cindy knows she wants her to smooth things over, and she knows that Cindy does not want to. Finally, her sister huffs, and, almost stomping, moves towards the couch.

               She turns to Jesse. “Okay, now we just have to do that a few more times,” she jokes. It’s not funny though.

               She hears someone shutting a car door. She moves to the door, peering through the glass. A man is coming up the driveway. “Jesse,” she calls. He moves forward. “I think David is here.”

               Jesse opens the door and walks down the steps of the porch to meet his friend. Rebecca watches them embrace. In the living room, she hears Mark making small talk with her mom and Cindy. Jesse and David are standing next to the porch, chatting. They turn to her, and Jesse extends his arm invitationally to his friend. She is about to open the storm door when she hears Brett calling her.

               She turns. He is standing in the foyer wearing a pair of khakis. The jacket he has found is too small for him. The arms barely reach his wrists. He has one of Alan’s ties in his hand. “Do you know how to tie one of these?”

               The door opens. Jesse and David come up behind her. “Jesse,” she says, touching his arm. “Can you help Brett?”

               He smiles at her son. “Let me show you how it’s done,” he offers. “Let’s do it in front of a mirror. It’ll be easier to see what’s happening.” They move towards the hallway. Rebecca is smiling. Jesse has always been good to her boys. She hopes they will be good to him.

               “Hi,” the man next to her says. “I’m David.” He is offering his hand to her.

               “Rebecca,” she says, shaking his hand. “Thanks for coming at such a short notice. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”

               “Oh! It was no trouble. Although, I was very surprised when Jesse told me the occasion.”

               She feels her face coloring. “Yes, we were…very private about everything.” She averts her eyes, but she can still feel his gaze on her. She wonders what Jesse has told him.

               There is a knock at the door, and again she is turning around. This time she sees Aunt Rachel standing on the step. She beckons, and Aunt Rachel opens the door. She watches as Jessica and Kristen come up the sidewalk, ascend the 3 stairs to the porch. Behind them are the kids—Jessica’s Michael and Raegan, Kristen’s Luke. James and Billy, their husbands, bring up the rear of the group.

               She retreats. She can’t face them all at once alone. She needs Jesse. She moves into the living room as the group chatters in the foyer. Cindy and her mom are sitting in silence on the couch. Her mother looks like she is ill. Cindy has her hands tightly clasped. Her lips are even more tightly pressed together. Rebecca feels a flutter in her stomach at the sight of them. She is not sure what Cindy’s expression means, but there can be no mistaking her mother’s anger.

               The rest of her family piles into the living room. Finn, Brett and Jesse bring up the rear of the group. Jesse must have helped Finn with his tie too. He is not wearing a jacket, but it doesn’t matter. Her whole family is dressed for a barbecue. They’ve come in shorts and tank tops and sandals. She steps into the dining room and glances into the kitchen. Anna and Liz look like they are wrapping up their preparations. Once Martha arrives, she’ll move everyone outside and they can begin.

               Jesse comes to her side. “How are you doing with all this?”

               “I’m terrified,” she admits. “Mom looks so mad, and Cindy…”

               Jesse rubs her arm. “I know,” he says.

               “I wish your family was here too,” she says as she peers back into the living room.

               “Dad was sorry to miss this,” he answers softly.

               “Did you tell him?” Jesse nods. “What did he say?”

               “He thought it was great,” Jesse says, smiling. But there is something else behind that smile, something that shouldn’t be there. She can’t determine what it is.

               The storm door creaks open again and she goes still. “Martha’s here,” she whispers. Martha is the least likely of the bunch to be understanding, merciful, forgiving. She is much more likely to take this information straight to the church’s leadership. She is tense with panic. “I shouldn’t have invited her.”

               Jesse’s arms come around her. “They’re going to find out anyway, babe,” he reminds her. She is not comforted by his words.

               He pulls away from her, then looks into her eyes. “I love you, Rebecca,” he says. “I’ve loved you for a long time.” She frowns at this, confused. This is new information. “I let myself get entangled with you, even though I knew I shouldn’t have. That’s what I meant in the office. This whole thing is my fault, because I was weak. I gave you what I thought you wanted after Alan died, but really, I was just giving myself what I always wanted. And maybe for a while, there might have been a way to stop this, if I hadn’t agreed to keep coming to your house on Tuesdays, but now…” he glances down. “I can’t undo any of this. I’ve let my sin overcome me.”

               She is stunned to speechlessness. She wants to cry, but the tears won’t come. She feels hollow at his words. “I was using you,” she admits. His expression is pained. “In the beginning, I mean. I’m sorry.” He nods, as if he has expected this. “But now, I don’t want to be without you,” she adds. Her eyes slide to the living room. “I can’t face any of this without you.”

               He hugs her again, pressing his face into her hair. “You won’t have to do this without me.”

               She leans into him, allows herself to forget that she has a living room full of people who have no idea why they are here. Just for a moment. She closes her eyes, savoring these last moments without questions and prying and shaming. Her arms snake around his back, and she squeeze him around the waist. When she pulls away from him, his eyes are wet. She touches his face. “Okay, let’s do this,” she says to him. He nods, and clasping his hand, she leads him back into the living room.

               Just as they enter, her mother, wearing a sour expression, questions the room. “Did anyone know Rebecca and Jesse were getting married today?”

               Her question cuts off all the noise, sucks out all the air. Suddenly the room is still and silent. She feels like she has entered a tomb. All the eyes turn to her. There is a mix of shock, denial and confusion on each face. Rebecca squeezes Jesse’s hand hard. He grips her just as tightly in response.

               “What do you mean they’re getting married?” Martha asks. She stands closest to the foyer. The disdain she wears makes the blood drain from Rebecca’s head.

               “That’s what she said!” her mother exclaims. “Didn’t she tell you when you first got here?”

               “Mom please,” she starts, but Cindy is talking over her, saying the same thing. Aunt Rachel looks at Jessica and Kristen, but they just shrug. In the back, Billy, James and David look stoic and unflustered. Martha crosses her arms over her chest. Mark stands there, holding his Bible and smiling stupidly as if nothing is wrong.

               “They’re probably only getting married because she’s got a baby on the way,” her mother says grumpily.

               “Mom!” Cindy and Rebecca exclaim simultaneously.

               Now the room is in full chaos. Everyone is talking at once but no one is listening to anything. Rebecca looks around the room for help, but everyone is averting their eyes, except David, but he is looking at Jesse. Her eyes land on Martha. She is furious. She is scandalized. She is going to be a problem for them. She is texting someone as Rebecca watches her. Her eyes flash upwards, meeting hers. She is ice.

               Rebecca looks at Jesse, then to Mark. Mark is moving towards them. He lowers his head and speaks softly. “So, this is a bit of a surprise,” he says.

               “Yeah, sorry I didn’t prepare you,” Jesse apologizes.

               Mark clears his throat and announces to the room. “Hold on! Hold on! Everyone just calm down.”

               Anna has come from the kitchen. She is touching Rebecca’s shoulders, holding her in solidarity. She tilts her head, until it is leaning against Anna’s. Anna pats her shoulder and gives her a squeeze.

               Mark has command of the room now. “Jesse asked me to perform a wedding today, and that’s what I intend to do. We have a lovely spot set up in the yard for it, so if anyone would like to join us now, we can begin.”

               She only met Mark yesterday and hardly knows anything about him, but she will love him for the rest of her life because of his intervention.

               Mark exits the house through the back door. Anna follows him quickly. David moves around the people standing against the living room wall, following Anna out the back door. She glances around the room, waiting to see who else will come. Kristen is next, followed by Cindy. Then Aunt Rachel and Jessica. The kids are nowhere to be seen, but she can hear them talking from another part of the house. Billy ducks his head into the hallway and calls, “Come on! They’re doing the wedding now.”

               There is a rumble like a heard on the move as the kids come running up the hall. “What wedding?” Reagan asks as she rounds the corner.

               “Just go outside,” Billy says.

               She watches each of the kids pass. Michael, Luke and Finn come first. Reagan hangs back, before following her dad and James. Brett brings up the rear of the group. He smiles at her. “You look really nice, Mom,” he says to her before he goes out the door after his cousins and uncles.

               Brett is more like Alan everyday and her heart aches over this thought.

               She looks to the couch, where her mom is still sitting tight-jawed. “Are you coming, Mom?” she asks.

               Her mom sighs heavily, then rises from the couch. “I suppose I shouldn’t say no. Seems silly not to go. I’m already here.” She moved forward. “I just wish you’d told me,” she says as she nears.

               “I… couldn’t,” she breathes.

               Her mom shrugs, then goes outside.

               And now the only person left in the living room besides her and Jesse is Martha. She is leaning against the door frame, with her arms crossed, scowling. Rebecca raises an eyebrow.

               “Martha?” Jesse asks. His tone is inviting, but it has no effect.

               “This is disgraceful,” she answers.

               Rebecca nods. “Okay,” she says. “That’s fair.”

               They stare at one another. Martha doesn’t reply. She turns around and walks into the foyer. The storm door opens a moment later. She imagines Martha being angry that she can’t slam it closed.

(Find previous chapters and a description of the project here.)

It is Tuesday again. She is waiting by the door. He is late. She pulls her phone from her purse. It is 12:07. I’m ready. She sends the message. Just as she puts the phone back into her purse, he pulls into the driveway. She rushes out the door, locking it behind her.

               “I’m so sorry,” he says, as she opens the door of the Taurus. He moves papers from the passenger seat to the floorboard behind the driver seat. “I had a phone call and…”

               “It’s okay. Just drive,” she says, as she buckles herself.

               “Where am I going?” he asks.

               “224 N Hampton. The medical building next to the hospital.” She feels the weight of these words as they spill from her.

               He nods, then backs down the driveway. “Good thing it’s not too far,” he murmurs. He is quiet for a time as he drives through the neighborhood. “I’m really sorry, Rebecca. I hope I haven’t made you too late.”

               “It’s okay,” she says. She does not even want to go to this appointment. She’ll hear the heartbeat, and then she will have to start making real plans. Or maybe she won’t hear the heartbeat. This somehow seems worse. She reaches for Jesse’s hand. He takes it and raises it to his lips.

               They are sitting at a light. She taps her foot with impatience. The car in front of them is creeping forward. There is no cross traffic. She fights the urge to scream.

               The light changes, and Jesse is racing towards the on ramp. “Do they do an ultrasound at this appointment?” he asks as he merges.

               “No, just a doppler. I’ll have to go back for an ultrasound, to confirm gestational age.” It sounds too clinical, too sterilized. None of the words contain of the emotions she feels.

               “Do you want me to go to that?” he asks.

               She is surprised he has to ask. “I assumed you would,” she answers. “I can schedule it on a Tuesday if you need me to.”

               “Schedule whatever day you need to,” he replies, taking the exit.

               It occurs to her that after this weekend, there will be no more Tuesdays. Not in the same way, at least. She has not considered this before. He will be hers every day. He will live in her house. She will cook him dinner. She will fold his underwear. He will sleep in her bed. She has been so focused on the baby that she has forgotten to anticipate this reality. She looks at herself in the mirror. She looks like death warmed over.

               “Rebecca?” he asks, glancing at her as he pulls into the parking lot. He drives slowly, looking for an open parking space. “Are you alright?”

               “I…” she starts, but can’t finish. What is there to say? “I’m, um…It’s all hitting me,” she explains.

               He parks the car, but doesn’t turn off the engine. Alan used to do that too, if they were talking when they arrived at a destination. She always fussed at him to turn off the car. It’s a waste of gas, and bad for the planet. Her life with Alan is like a dream now, distant and hazy. It feels like another life entirely. Has it really only been two years since his death? She grabs Jesse’s hand and they sit in silence for as long as they can spare. It is 12:24. Her appointment is at 12:30.

               They almost race down the hallways of the medical building. The elevator takes an hour to arrive. She watches the lights over the top of the doors as it descends, annoyed that is stops on every floor. When the doors open, she waits for it to empty before she enters, even though she wants to push through the people exiting instead. She punches the button for floor 4. The doors close. Jesse leans against the back wall as they ascend.

               The office is 3 doors to the right of the elevator. Rebecca very consciously walks slowly. Her heart rate is too high. She feels Jesse’s hand brush against hers, and she takes it. She opens the door to the office. The waiting room is mostly empty—just one other couple waiting. The woman is so young, but the man looks much older. Before she can stop herself, she wonders if they are in a forbidden relationship too. Or perhaps this woman brought her father to the appointment. She pushes away the thoughts and moves to the window.

               “Hey, hun, what’s the name?” the receptionist says.

               “Rebecca Laudner,” she answers.

               The receptionist makes a few clicks on her computer. “Okay, Rebecca. Still on Houston Rd?” She nods. “And best phone number ends in 6755?” She nods again. “Still have Blue Cross?”

               “Yes, nothing has changed,” she says impatiently. She winces at her own tone. “Sorry, I’m just running a little late.”

               “Oh, it’s no problem,” the receptionist says happily. She is unphased. Rebecca wonders how many grumpy, pregnant women she encounters on a given day. She passes a sheet of paper across the counter. “Just check your info up top and then sign at the bottom.”

               Rebecca scrawls out her name. Next time she comes she will have a different one.

               “They’ll call you when they’re ready.”

               She turns and bumps into Jesse. “I didn’t know you were there,” she apologizes.

               He presses his hand against her back, subtly moving her towards the chairs. They sit. Rebecca looks at the clock. It is 12:34. She is late. She wonders if she will sit here for long.

               The door to the back rooms opens. “Amanda?” the nurse says.

               The young woman across from her stands up. She is huge. She waddles forward, then follows the nurse down the hallway, the man bringing up the rear. He walks as if he’s uninterested in anything around him.

               Rebecca audibly sighs.

               “What’s the matter?” Jesse asks softly. He has placed an arm around her shoulders.

               “I’m going to be huge like that,” she says. This is not the whole it. She thinks about him showering in her shower in the morning, about him shaving his beard at her sink. She thinks about seeing his socks on the bedroom floor. She wonders if he is tidy, or if he is messy like Alan was. She wonders what he will think of seeing her bras hang-drying in the laundry room. She wonders if he snores.

               The door opens again. “Rebecca?” a different nurse asks.

               They stand. She moves forward and Jesse falls behind her. They move in a line down the hallway. “I’m Gina. I don’t think we’ve met before,” the nurse says.

               “Hi,” Rebecca says as politely as she can.

               “We’re gonna go right in here,” Gina says. She points to a room with a scale and a chair next to a computer on a rolling stand. “You took a home test?” she asks, as Rebecca sits.

               “Last week,” she replies.

               The nurse types something into the computer. “When was your last period?”

               She counts backwards. “April 17^th,” she answers.

               The sound of more typing fills the room. “This is your third pregnancy?”

               “That’s right,” she says.

               Gina comes out from behind the computer. “Go ahead and step up on the scale for me.” She complies. Gina writes down the number on her clipboard. “Sit back down and we’ll get your blood pressure.” Rebecca obeys and offers her arm to Gina. The nurse takes her measurements, and scribbles on the clipboard again. She turns towards the cabinet, and takes out a urine sample cup.

               “Okay, Rebecca. Bathroom is on the right just outside this door. I’ll take your husband to room 4. Just meet us there when you’re done.”

               She does not correct Gina and neither does Jesse. He winks at her as he follows the nurse, hands in his pockets as if he’s on a stroll. She almost laughs to herself. He is trying to make this better for her, but not even he can do that. She gives her sample as quickly as she can, placing the cup behind the little metal door in the bathroom. She washes her hands and hurries from the room.

               Jesse is alone in room 4 when she arrives. “Gina said the midwife will be in soon,” he says. He takes the chair. She sits on the exam table. Her feet dangle in front of her, making her feel small. She swings them back and forth. “You look upset,” he says.

               She stops swinging her feet. “I was thinking about being married to you,” she says.

               “Were you?” he says. He crosses one leg over the other, and places his hands on his knee, fingers laced together. “Were you wondering if I snore too much?”

               A smile slowly spreads across her face. “That is one thing I was wondering actually,” she replies. Love for him fills her chest. He knows her almost perfectly.

               “I probably do snore,” he offers. “But I can also make really good omelets, so it’s a trade-off.”

               She laughs, and he is laughing too, and she feels lighter. The worrying begins to fade.

               There is a soft knock at the door before it opens. “Hi Rebecca!” Joanie, the midwife says, as she comes into the room. “I was so surprised to see you on my schedule!” She looks at Jesse briefly. “I didn’t know you got remarried.”

               She fights the urge to flee. “The wedding is this weekend,” she says, trying not to sound short.

               Joanie nods approvingly. “It’ll be a perfect weekend for a wedding. Where are you having it?” She steps forward, moving towards the cabinets. She opens a door and takes a doppler and a bottle of gel from inside.

               “Just at the house. Very small,” she explains. She glances at Jesse. He is smiling at her warmly. “Mostly just family.”

               “It sounds lovely,” Joanie says as she moves towards her. “So, you think you’re about 7 weeks?”

               “Seems like that’s about right,” she says. “Almost 8, I guess.”

               Joanie nods. “Well, I can try to take a listen, or we can wait. I might not be able to hear anything this early. I don’t want you to worry if we can’t get anything.”

               She hasn’t thought of this. “If we don’t listen now, then I won’t be able to until next month?” she asks.

               “We’ll get you to come back for an ultrasound in about a week, so you can listen then,” Joanie explains.

               She looks to Jesse. “What do you want to do?”

               “Let’s take a listen, if we can,” he says.

               She nods. “Okay. Let’s just see,” she agrees.

               “Lift up that shirt for me,” she instructs, “and then lay back.” Rebecca does as she’s told. “Might have to unbutton the pants too, Rebecca. Just slide them down. Good.” Joanie’s tone is inviting and affirming. “Sorry, this will be cold.” She squirts the gel onto her belly.

The doppler runs across her skin, moving down towards her pubic bone. With her thumb, Joanie turns up the volume on the machine. Joanie stops the wand, then turns the screen so Rebecca can see. She watches the numbers fluctuate. 156. 154. 148. 149. 151. 153. There is static and a sound like wind blowing across a microphone, but underneath she hears it. The beating of a heart.

               “Listen to that,” Joanie says sweetly. “Sounds like a healthy little baby.”

               Suddenly, it is too much. A sob escapes her and she covers her face. She cries as the sound of the heartbeat continues to echo through the room. Someone—Jesse—has grabbed her hand. She wipes her eyes, turning her head towards him. He is leaning over her, searching her. “You’re okay, babe. We can do this.”

               Joanie turns off the doppler. “I’ll give you all a minute,” she offers. She sets the gel and the equipment on the counter, then exits the patient room, softly shutting the door behind her.

               “Sorry,” she says, wiping her eyes. “Can you get me that sheet?” she asks, pointing to the disposable, paper sheet Joanie has left on the counter. He hands it to her and she wipes the excess gel from her belly. She buttons her pants, pulls down her shirt, then sit ups. There are still tears leaking from her. “I don’t know what I expected, but I wasn’t ready for that. For this.”

               Jesse rubs her back. “This is my fault,” he says.

               She frowns at him. “Your fault?” she asks. “How is any of this your fault?”

               “If you hadn’t needed someone…I shouldn’t have…I could have been more careful,” he decides.

               She knows the exact day this happened. There were no condoms left in the box, so she told him to withdraw instead. “It’s not your fault,” she argues.

               “I’m sorry, Rebecca,” he says. His voice breaks as he says her name. “I want to make this right.” He touches her face. “I love you.”

               She closes her eyes. “I love you too,” she whispers. “I don’t want anything to happen to you because of me.”

               He doesn’t have time to answer before there is a soft knock at the door again. Joanie peeks inside. “Is it ok to come in?” she asks.

               “Yes, it’s fine. Sorry about that,” she Rebecca.

               “Oh no, no apologizing,” Joanie says. She moves around Jesse and comes to sit on the stool in front of her. “Is there anything you’re worried about? Maybe I can help relieve some fears for you?”

               Rebecca shakes her head. “No, it’s nothing like that. I know there are some increased risks at my age, but…” she stops herself. “It’s not that. All of that is fine.”

               Joanie nods slowly. “Okay, it’s still most likely that this will be a normal pregnancy, even with your age, but we can screen for anything you’d like if you feel you need it.”

               “Okay,” Rebecca says shakily.

               Joanie rolls over to the counter. She writes a few notes on the paper there. “Take this to check out. Have them get you on the ultrasound schedule soon.” She hands her the paper. “I’ll see you in a month, but call me if you need me.” She stands and pats her arm. Her eyes are filled with compassion.

Rebecca is grateful for the gesture. “Thanks Joanie. I’m okay.”

She nods, then moves towards the door. “Nice to meet you,” she says to Jesse as she waves. She shuts the door behind her.

Jesse checks his watch, then stuffs his hands into his pockets. “You ready?”

She doesn’t feel ready for anything.     

(Find previous chapters and a description of the project here.)

It is 5:12. She has been home for exactly 13 minutes. She stares at the message she has typed. It is waiting, ready to send. I’m home. Come over whenever. She has stared at the words for what seems like an hour. Logically, she knows that he must be feeling a swirl of emotions too. Why wouldn’t he? His life is about to change. But this departure from their regular routine makes her sweat. Her boys will ask questions, and she won’t lie to them. Brett will figure it out. He watches her closely.

               She hits send, and waits for the three dots before his reply to appear. She watches them fade in and out, anticipating his words. Give me about 20 mins. She sets the phone down and stares into nothing, clears her mind of all the worries running through it. Her vision becomes unfocused. She listens to the sound of her own heart in her ears, wondering if that’s what the baby inside her hears. She closes her eyes, taking short shallow breaths and blowing them away from her, long and slow. Her body relaxes, the tension flowing out of her shoulders and her face. She is tired. If she’s already this tired, how tired will she be with an infant in the house? She lets the thought pass without reacting to it. She focuses on her breathing. Short and shallow, long and slow.   

               “Mom?” Brett asks.

               She is startled back to her surroundings by his interruption. “What?” she asks, trying to keep the irritation from her tone.

               Brett eyes her warily, then sits down at the table across from her. “Something isn’t right,” he says. He looks as if he’s daring her to tell him a lie. That look he wears is all Alan.

               “What do you mean?” she asks, though she has a suspicion that he will see through her games.

               “You aren’t acting normal,” he explains. “You’re like…it’s like when dad first died,” her son says softly. “You’re here, but you’re not here.”

               He is observant for a ten year old. “I’m fine, Brett. I’m just a little worried at the moment.”

               “Why?” he asks.

               She thought this would be enough to satisfy him, but she can see he needs something more concrete. “Have you ever done something that you know you probably shouldn’t?” He nods imperceptibly. “Well, sometimes, adults do that too.”

               “What did you do?” he asks. His determination has worn away and now he looks concerned.

               She shakes her head, not having the words or the emotional energy to tell him. She’s already told one person today. She can’t do it again. “I’ll tell you when I have the right words.”

               This satisfies him. After Alan died, they spent a lot of time talking about their feelings, and lots of times that involved admitting they didn’t have the right words to express their anger and grief. Brett nods slightly. “When you have the right words, you can tell me.”

               She closes her eyes for a moment, feeling tears forming. She sometimes wishes that Brett did not act this grown. He only does because of what he’s endured. “Thanks, buddy,” she says. She opens her arms, and he is rising from the table, and coming around to where she sits, hugging her. She squeezes him tight against her body. He lays his head on her shoulder for a moment, then pulls away and looks into her eyes. “Can we get Dairy Queen for dinner?”

               She laughs at the impulsiveness of the request. “Sure, bud. Why don’t you go play outside for a bit?”

               “Can’t I play my game instead?” he asks.

               “No! No more screen time today. You had it for 2 hours this afternoon,” she fusses. “Plus, it’s nice outside. Go enjoy it.”

               He moves off without comment. She glances at the clock again. It is 5:27. She wonders if Give me 20 mins meant he’d be here in 20 minutes, or if he would leave his house in 20 minutes. She lets that thought roll right through her, before it can agitate her. She is not patient. She hates waiting.

               She moves to the sink and begins to place the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. There is a pan on the stove from yesterday’s dinner that she hasn’t washed. She moves it to the sink, turns on the water and add soap to the pan. She glances out the window. Brett and Finn bounce on the trampoline. She can hear their indistinct exclamations. She wonders, again, if she’ll have another boy. Alan would have wanted a girl, if they’d had a third.

               She wipes away the tears that are suddenly running down her face. The water has filled the pan and is spilling over the sides. She turns off the faucet. She scrubs the pan, letting the tears fall as they will. She rinses the pan and dries her hands, trying not to think about Alan.

               She moves through the kitchen to the living room, then into the foyer. She opens the front door, letting the afternoon sun stream into the house. She presses her face against the glass of the storm door, soaking in the rays of the sun. Her breath fogs the glass. She traces a finger through it, drawing an infinity symbol. She’s not sure what made her do that. She considers it. It’s like two rings joined together, like the rings on the banners the church uses for weddings. She bites her lip, then turns from the door. She moves to the couch.

               She hears the storm door open. “Hello?” Jesse calls as he enters.

               “Hey,” she says, standing and moving towards him. He is walking towards her determinedly and before she can say anything else, he has her in his arms and he is kissing her. She resists for a moment, somewhat shocked, before she melts against him. She wraps her arms around his neck and he pulls her closer to him, his hands on her hips. His mouth leaves hers and he touches her hair, plants a kiss on her neck before he whispers into her skin, “I love you, Rebecca.”

               It feels like the first time she has heard this from him, even though it’s not. She soars, the words carrying her spirits upwards. “Jesse,” she says softly, longingly. “I love you.” She clutches him tighter, the warmth of his breath on her neck making her sweat. “How do we make this work?”

               He has no reply. He kisses her again, almost desperately. She tries to still him, to disentangle herself from his hungry grasping. “Jesse,” she says, breaking from him with effort, “Jesse, the boys…” she attempts to explain.

               He pulls away from her, but cups her face with his palm. “Sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t seem sorry at all. She presses her forehead against his, closing her eyes. “I didn’t want to wait until Tuesday. It’s been long enough.”

               She sinks into him. As his arms come around her tighter, she sighs with contentment, with relief, with fear. She can endure whatever fallout will come her way. She is much more afraid of what will happen to him. “I hate hiding,” she admits. This is not the first time she has said this.

               “We’re not going to hide anymore,” he says. “I don’t care what anyone thinks.”

               She presses her lips together. “You’re not afraid of the consequences?”

               She hears his soft chuckle. “There are already consequences no matter what we do.”

               She lifts her head, staring into his eyes. They are a soft brown, and one of them has a slash of green. “Are you sure about this?” she asks, dancing around the question she really wants to ask him.

               He nods, then leans forward, kissing her again.

               “Mom?” Finn asks.

Suddenly, his hands and his lips are gone, and she is whirling towards her son, who stands in the threshold of the dining room with his brother. The boys both look confused. She acts as if they’ve seen nothing out of the ordinary. “Are you hungry? Should we go to Dairy Queen now?” she asks.

               “Were you kissing?!” Finn asks, sounding almost offended.

               She stares at Finn, her mouth unable to form the word ‘yes.’ The answer is lodged in her throat, choking her.

               Unsurprisingly, Brett comes to her rescue. “I’d like to go to Dairy Queen now,” he says.

               She spins around, looking at Jesse with what she hopes is an inviting smile. “Come with us,” she says.

               Jesse nods. She can see he is flustered. “I’d love to,” he says. He looks past her to the boys. “I’ll buy the ice cream.”

               They pile into the car. They drive in near silence, Jesse riding in the passenger seat and the boys staring out their separate windows. They pull into the restaurant parking lot and she picks a spot near the door. She orders a chicken strip basket and eats the French fries first. The boys scarf down hotdogs, and afterwards Jesse takes them to the counter to buy their dessert. When they return, he slides a Reese’s Pieces blizzard across the table towards her. She is running her last bite of chicken around the sides of the tub of gravy, but pauses to smile to at him. He sits next to her, and she feels his hand on her knee.

               The boys chatter on the way home, but she is silent. She looks at the clock as they pull into the driveway. It is 6:43. There is still at least two hours of daylight left. The boys run into the house, leaving her and Jesse standing in the driveway. She reaches for his hand. “We can sit outside for a bit, if you want,” she suggests.

               They walk around the back of the house, and settle themselves on the patio furniture. She leans her head on his shoulder. They are quiet. She watches a bird dive from a tree to the grass, then watches it hop around the yard, pecking at the dirt. Jesse clears his throat but doesn’t speak.

               “I told Anna about you,” she says. She expects him to protest, but he says nothing. “I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.”

               “I understand,” he says warmly. “I’ve wanted to tell people too.”

               “She says we should just get married,” she says, almost laughing. Jesse doesn’t laugh. She lifts her head from his shoulder, considers him. “What are you thinking about?”

               “I’d have to get you a ring,” he says.

               “I have a ring,” she answers. “I don’t need another one.”

               “You’d want to wear your old wedding bands?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

               She considers it. How would she feel seeing Alan’s ring on Jesse’s hand? “It doesn’t bother me,” she decides aloud. “Would it bother you?”

               He shrugs. “We’d have to do it quickly,” he says, his eyes sliding downwards towards her belly.

               She already feels enormous, but she thinks it must be the French fries. “Anna said her sister could help.”

               “What else did you talk to Anna about?” he asks, smiling at her.

               “The baby,” she explains, not wanting to hide anything from him.

               Jesse’s eyes don’t leave hers. She feels the pull of him, even though this feels like a betrayal. This is another decision that will alienate her. If they marry, it won’t solve any of their problems. It honestly could make them worse.

“Is that what you want?” he asks slowly.

               “Yes,” she whispers. “I don’t want to do this alone.” She can’t keep her hand from sliding across her stomach. She has the urge to unbutton her jeans. Everything feels too tight.

He nods slowly. “Who do you want at this wedding?”

               She chews her lip, thinking. “Family,” she answers. “Anna. Maybe Martha.”

               Jesse raises an eyebrow again. “Martha?”

               She winces. She is only friends with Martha because she has always been friends with Martha. “I can’t not invite her.”

               He nods. “Your family, my family, Anna, and Martha,” he says. “That should be enough.”

               “You don’t want to invite your friends?” she asks.

               He smiles warmly. He seems glad to have been offered this. “I’ll invite David but I’m not sure he’ll come.”

               David is Jesse’s best friend, but he lives in Vermont. “Maybe he will,” she says. “I don’t know how soon Anna’s sister can plan…”

               “Next weekend,” he interrupts her.

               “Next weekend?” she squeaks. “You meant, this coming weekend? 6 days from now?”

               “Why not?” he asks.

               She has no good reason why not. It seems as good a day as any. She is already beginning to show. She can’t decide if this route is more scandalous than not getting married. “Okay then. Saturday. 4 o’clock. Here at the house.” He nods and she is relieved and terrified by his calm. She is a whirlpool of emotions, but he is a glass-smooth sea. “I’ll order a cake tomorrow, I guess” she says, as she nestles her head back against his shoulder.

               They are quiet. The evening is warm. She closes her eyes for a moment, enjoying the stillness.

               “Rebecca,” Jesse says, interrupting the emptiness. “You were never going to be alone.” He pauses. “You know that, right?”

               She bites her lip, wanting to reply, but not having the words. “I know,” she offers. He presses a kiss against her temple, and she leans into him, emptying herself—for a moment—of worry.