Page 12 of Friar
“They know you’re what?”His eyes narrowed, smoke curling from his nostrils as he exhaled.
“Pregnant,” I whispered, the word barely audible.Then louder, as if saying it with force might make it easier to bear: “I’m pregnant.”
His cigarette froze halfway to his lips, his entire body going still.I watched as understanding dawned in his eyes, followed quickly by calculation, by mental arithmetic counting back the weeks.
“From that night?”he asked, his voice carefully neutral.
I nodded, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks.“I don’t know -- I can’t remember exactly --” I broke off, shame burning hot on my face.“It might be you.Or Nugget.Or Nigel.I don’t know.”
The silence that followed seemed to stretch for an eternity, broken only by the distant sound of traffic on the main road and the quiet hitch of my breathing as I tried to control my tears.Friar’s expression was unreadable, his hazel eyes giving nothing away as they studied my face.
Before he could respond, a wave of nausea hit me with brutal force.My stomach clenched, bile rising in my throat.I barely had time to push open the car door, nearly hitting Friar’s legs as I leaned out and emptied what little was in my stomach onto the gravel.
My body heaved, tears streaming down my face from the physical strain and the humiliation of vomiting at his feet.When it finally passed, I stayed bent over, afraid to straighten up, afraid to see the disgust that must be on his face.
“Jesus,” I heard him mutter.A clean bandana appeared in my field of vision, offered without comment.
I took it with shaking fingers, wiping my mouth.“I’m sorry,” I whispered.“I’m so sorry.”
“For puking or for showing up here?”His voice wasn’t unkind, just direct.
“Both.”I finally dared to look up at him.“I didn’t know where else to go.”
Friar’s expression had changed again, the wariness still there but now mixed with something else -- concern, perhaps.Or resignation.He took a final drag of his cigarette, then dropped it to the ground, crushing it beneath his boot.
“How far along?”he asked, eyes flicking to my belly.
“Ten weeks.”I swallowed hard, fighting another wave of nausea.“From that night.There hasn’t been… there’s been no one else.”
He nodded slowly, processing this information.His jaw worked back and forth, a muscle jumping in his cheek.The afternoon sun caught in his hazel eyes, making them seem to shift from green to amber as he looked from me to my back seat and back again.
“You said they threw you out?Your family?”
“My uncle and aunt.”I twisted the bandana between my fingers.“This morning.They gave me an hour to pack and leave.Called me…” My voice broke.“Called me a whore.A Jezebel.”
Something darkened in Friar’s eyes, a flash of anger quickly controlled.“Nice folks,” he said, the sarcasm thick in his voice.“Real Christian of them.”
“I have nowhere to go,” I admitted, the words costing me what little pride I had left.“I thought maybe… I don’t know what I thought.”I looked down at my hands, unable to bear the weight of his gaze any longer.
Friar was silent for so long I thought he might walk away, leave me sitting there in my car full of belongings with nowhere to go and no plan beyond this desperate gamble.When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than I’d expected.
“Come on,” he said, stepping back from the car door.“You can’t sit out here all day.”
Hope fluttered in my chest, fragile and terrified.“Where…?”
“I’ve got a place,” he said.“It’s not much, but it’s quiet.You look like you could use quiet.”
Fresh tears welled in my eyes, these born of relief rather than despair.“Thank you,” I whispered.
Friar nodded once, a short, decisive movement.“You can follow me in your car,” he said.Then, glancing at the vomit on the gravel, he added, “You good to drive?Not gonna puke again?”
“I think I’m okay now.”I wasn’t sure if that was true, but I’d drive regardless.I couldn’t afford to show more weakness than I already had.
“All right then.”He stepped back, gesturing for me to close my door.“Let’s go, church girl.Looks like we’ve got some talking to do.”
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Friar
