Page 70 of There's Pumpkin About You
Now, as I make my down the street to the Sweet Cinnamon Café by myself, I take a deep breath and let the feeling of contentment fill my chest and zip through my blood. This town feels more and more like home and I chastise myself for spending so much time in a house that’s felt empty to me since the day I bought it purely because I once thought I loved a man enough to live within it with him.
Here, the trees along the sidewalk shelter me from my fear, the short buildings that line the street emphasize my relief, and the smell of fresh air that reminds me of my freedom. If I’m being honest, I don’t think there is anything that could ruin my day today.
“Have you no decorum, girl?”
I turn to find Sandra behind me, her cane clicking against the paved walkway as she storms over to me. She looks extremely pissed off.
“Excuse me?” I ask, backing up even though she continues to come closer.
“Have you no sense of good personal hygiene?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I knew you were bad news. I can always tell when there’s something to dislike about new people.”
“Okay, let’s just clam down?—”
“Wren!” Lori runs up to me, concern written all over her face, eyes twinkling behind her round glasses. As she reaches me, she rips off her cardigan and wraps it around my waist despite my protests. “Wren, you’ve leaked.”
My blood runs cold.
This cannot be happening to me. This has to be some kind of infernal nightmare, some hideous trick of fate that has decided to give me a reason to fear coming to this town. Neither of us speak, not when I can see the sympathy clear as day in Lori’s eyes, not when Sandra’s disgust is right there in the set of her shoulders.
“I had no idea, oh my God. I must have forgotten to take my pill the past few days.”
“Probably because you’re too busy spending an unhealthy amount of time with August Finch of all people,” Sandra scoffs, as if the thought of anyone wanting to spend time with Gus to be absolutely preposterous.
“Where is your heart?” Lori asks Sandra. “I would have thought that as a woman, you would have more empathy towards other women when they experience this kind of problem. You’re chastising her as if this is her fault. That’s not nice, Sandra. Not at all.”
A hand on my shoulder jolts me out of my daze, and Simone stands behind me, a comforting smile that extends everywhere from her cheeks to her neck.
“Come on, dear, I have some clothes that may fit you in the back of my shop.”
Half of the town is on the street, watching the scene unfold. I have no idea how long they’ve all been standing there. The street was almost empty when I started walking. Sam stands a little ways off ahead of me, brown hair such a similar shade of brown to his brother’s that my heart aches.
The shame floods in soon after, icing the fire that Gus had caused within me. The tears flow from my face one by one, falling onto my green scarf and immediately getting absorbed by the fibers.
Thankfully, Simone and Lori support me, hold me up just as women should do for each other in times such as these. They bring me to Flora and Flowers, where Simone hands me a pair of jeans that fit me perfectly, and Lori pulls a pad out of her bag.
If I hadn’t known it then, I would have known now, because almost as soon as I put the pad on, the pain hits me like a truck going seventy miles an hour. The tightening of my stomach and the sharp pain that I feel further down is a mixture that I, and so many other women, know all too well, and yet my advanced knowledge of it can never seem to prepare me for when it hits. It never helps me to build up an immunity towards the aches and pains of womanhood.
I don’t allow Simone and Lori to coddle me for too long before I thank them and rush to my car without a second glance towards the two people whose support I’m so thankful for.
As I walk away, heart heavy and mind blank, I think about how I can’t stand that all I want right now is a tall farmer to wrap me up and hold me tight without so much as a second thought.
ChapterThirty-Two
GUS
I’m not even sure what there is for me to say. How do you even begin to find the words to console someone when you know the shame they feel will erase anything you say?
Even as I indicate left and head back towards Eaglewood with Wren beside me, there’s a pressure to get it right the first time round, to find the exact words that will make her feel better. When I glance over every now and again and see that very hurt reflected in those big brown eyes, it makes me want to find Sandra and see how it looks in hers.
Wren has been quiet ever since her explanation ended. She’s staring out the window in contemplation, probably wondering what it is she did to deserve such treatment. The answer is nothing.
Should I tell her that, though, or is it something she already knows regardless of whether or not she questions herself?
“Penny for your thoughts?” I ask.
