Page 22 of Darla's Christmas Knight
Her car beeped, startling her. It had auto locked. Cursing silently, she found her keys, pressed the unlock button, and climbed behind the steering wheel. She placed the card on the passenger seat beside her purse.
A new smile ghosted across her lips, and she couldn’t stop the surge of pleasure. Bobby loved her hair.
Darla shifted into reverse and looked in the rearview mirror. “You’re in so much trouble, girl,” she told herself, backed out her parking bay, and drove her pregnant self to church.
*
The sun streamed through the stained-glass windows, the kaleidoscope of colors shimmering over the worn wooden pews. She had grown up attending this church, but the familiar sights and sounds of people gathering, greeting each other, finding their places in the pews, did nothing to calm her nerves. As the congregation settled, a palpable sense of anticipation filled the air, but the weight of the pregnant (no pun intended!) silence created a heaviness in her chest.
Darla watched her mother step up behind the pulpit. Strange how the woman had so much time for her flock, showering them with grace and forgiveness, yet she ruled her family with an iron fist. There was no place for mistakes, for breaking the rules, going against the tide. Her mother’s voice soothed the fears of many as she spoke of faith, love, and community, but for Darla every word was a reminder of the road ahead — one laden with judgment. She knew going down this path would create friction within her family. An accidental pregnancy she might’ve gottenaway with, but a planned one, especially when she had no plans on marrying the father, would not be accepted with a smile.
She moved her hand to her midriff.
You are loved and wanted, little one.
Pushing aside her troubled thoughts. Darla looked up.
Right into the eagle stare of Pastor Norma.
A flash of dread surged through her. Had her mom caught her furtive move? The pulpit offered a clear view across the entire church. She resisted squirming and left her hand in place. Holding her mother’s gaze, she lifted her chin in a silent dare. The woman looked away first, giving Darla a sense of victory. Her father, seated beside her, shifted his gaze between her and his wife, and murmured, “Are you two at loggerheads again?”
“Not yet,” she muttered.
His only reply was a deep, beleaguered sigh.
Darla tilted her head and laid it on his shoulder. In turn, her father brushed a kiss across her forehead and patted her still bent arm. She gave a sigh of her own, knowing no matter what, she had the support of her daddy.
Lunch passed in the normal raucous Miller style, and Darla focused on participating, hellbent on avoiding any manner of conflict. It was exhausting, and she couldn’t help giving a big fat yawn.
Of course, it didn’t escape the notice of Momma Miller. “You getting enough sleep, Darla?”
“Yes, Momma,” she replied.
“Humph! That skinny white boy visiting again?” her grandfather boomed from across the room.
All eyes turned to her, and before she could catch herself, the words tumbled from her mouth, “Bobby’s not skinny.” Indeed, a lot of hard muscle covered his trim frame.
Someone giggled. Maybe one of her nieces from the corner where the teenagers clustered.
She wasn’t one to blush (that was Bobby’s thing), but Darla felt the heat spread across her chest and neck, flooding her face. So much for flying under the radar. And Bobby parking a street over to avoid anyone seeing his truck outside her apartment building was for nought.
“Bobby?” her mother asked, her tone calm. Too calm.
“Why would you hook up with Bobby Bell again?” her brother asked.
His wife shushed him.
“You seeing Bobby Bell, Darla?” her mother asked.
Darla squared her shoulders. “It’s over.”But he’s the father of your grandbaby. So what you gonna do about that?she almost added, but today was not the day to drop her bombshell. Besides, Bobby deserved to hear the news first.
Her mother’s brows disappeared beneath her hair. “He was in church today. Sat at the back. Came in late” — she sniffed — “left early.”
7
Monday morning Darla walked to her car, scanning the windshield as she neared. And swallowed her acute disappointment when finding it devoid of an envelope. She spent the whole trip to work castigating herself for being weak. For reading more into his unexpected behavior. He’d given her a gift. So what? It was customary to bring gifts when one travels.
But the note on the car? Him attending church?
