Tell me you told Cy.
Ut oh.
Another text came in a few minutes later.
Petal! Answer the text. Did you call Cy like you said you would?
A few minutes after that one, came the last one.
Sorry. I wish I could see you. I’ve got Bertie and need to get Maya to piano lessons. Jude knows. I thought you’d told Cy. Jude said Cy was acting weird. I said maybe it was because of the baby. He asked Cy about it. He seemed surprised at the news.
I sank back on the stool in the kitchen as I felt my world start to crumble. Clearly there was no putting it off. I had to call Cy now.
I checked the number, making sure I wasn’t recalling his mom’s landline again, and dialed his cell phone number.
It rang four times. Each ring, my heart started thudding faster. Harder.
It’s Cy. I can’t talk. Leave a message.
What message did I leave? Hi Cy. I’m pregnant. Have a nice life?
Not sure what to say, I hung up. If he knew, why hadn’t he called me? Or had he? I checked my messages as well as the calls that had come in that I hadn’t answered. None were from Cy. So, either he knew and didn’t care, or he didn’t believe Jude.
I started dialing his number again, deciding to leave a message to call me when he had time.
“Petal? There’s a line,” Libby called from the front.
I’d leave the message later. I put my phone in my pocket and walked back out front to help Libby with the customers. Once again, I was putting him on hold. It was wrong, and I couldn’t help the sense of dread when he realized I’d kept the news of his child from him.
27
Cyrus
Taking care of my mother became an all-encompassing feat. I cooked, cleaned, and paid mom’s bills. I took her to her treatments and appointments, sometimes alone and sometimes with Lora. I read to her and went through old photos with her. It felt like I was caring for her from dawn to midnight. But I was happy to do it, because she was my mom and I couldn’t lose her. Plus, she’d give her days and nights to raise me alone.
I hated leaving so much for Jude to manage at the office, so I did what I could, working when my mother napped, when Lora stopped by to check on her, or late at night after she’d gone to bed. But I could feel that I was burning the proverbial candle at both ends. I’d missed a conference call because I’d fallen asleep while
reading Jane Eyre to my mother.
“I’d always wished I’d had a Mr. Rochester,” she’d said to me when I told her I’d read something to her. I guess she always had an affinity for the story since the leading lady was named Jane, just as my mother was.
“Mr. Rochester, huh?” I said. “He seems sort of dark, broody, and cynical.”
She smiled at me. “Like someone else I know.”
“Who me?” I gave her an affable grin.
She laughed. “Rochester also had a sense of humor, deep loyalty to his family and obligations, and he was a passionate man.”
“He locked his wife in an attic,” I quipped.
“In those times, he could have locked her in an asylum, but he kept her home and hired caregivers. It shows his strength of character not to toss her away as a crazy woman.”
“He was nearly a bigamist,” I pointed out.
She shrugged. “It can’t be easy to be legally attached to one woman, while loving another one.”
Lora and Petal came to mind. Lora and I weren’t legally attached, but my mother was still hopeful that would change. Meanwhile, Petal was still staring in all my dreams.