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Jarret
“Do we have to do this?” Jarret desperately wanted a cigarette, but he wouldn’t compromise his car, so he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel instead. He couldn’t peel his eyes from the front door of Zoe’s house. It would be a while before he’d get the chance to smoke.
Zoe leaned against his arm and moaned. “We already waited for Christmas, then New Year’s. We can’t wait for Valentine’s Day. I’m four-and-a-half months. I was lucky to get past the morning sickness without anyone catching on, but I’ll start showing soon. Besides, don’t you think this is the responsible thing to do?”
“No. I think we should run away, raise our baby bohemian style.”
She giggled and looked up at him.
He gave her a little kiss. Sure, he was kidding, but part of him wasn’t. He’d do anything to avoid telling Mr. McGowan he’d knocked up his daughter. The man looked mean, probably had a temper. What would he do when he found out?
“Come on. Let’s do it before I chicken out.” Zoe patted his thigh and slipped her fingers around the passenger-side door handle.
Jarret tensed. He forced himself to open his door and emerge from the car. Should he hold her hand? Should he put his arm around her? Should he keep his hands to himself? Did it matter what he did? He was a dead man.
Zoe gave him a determined look and reached for his hand.
Taking her clammy hand into his own, he walked with her to the door, each step increasing his desire to run. She opened the front door. As he crossed the threshold, he resigned himself to his fate.
Mr. McGowan sat hunched over a magazine at the kitchen table, sparing them a glance as they took off their shoes in the foyer. Zoe hung her coat in the closet.
“I didn’t know we were having company for dinner,” Mr. McGowan muttered.
Jarret put his mouth to Zoe’s ear and whispered, “We’re not staying for dinner.”
She patted his arm and gave him a reassuring nod. “I know.”
“Oh, Zoe, you’re home.” Mrs. McGowan peeked around the corner of the kitchen, a spatula in her hand and a smile on her face. Something sizzled on the stove. “Hello, Jarret. Will you be joining us for dinner? I’ll have to put more—”
“No. Don’t worry about me. I won’t be staying.” He followed Zoe to the kitchen.
“Why don’t you sit down?” Zoe nodded toward the table, the determined look still in her eyes.
Eyes wide, Jarret shook his head and wanted to whisper a protest to Zoe, but Mrs. McGowan looked at him. So he took the chair across from Mr. McGowan.
The man hadn’t looked up from the magazine since his first beady-eyed glance. He was a big man, a good two-fifty or more pounds, but he didn’t look like he worked out any. His dress clothes, the tie on the table, and the business magazine in his hands probably told it all.
“Want to give me some help here?” Mrs. McGowan handed Zoe a head of lettuce and other things from the refrigerator.
Zoe took them to the sink. “Mom, actually, Jarret and I have something serious to tell you and Dad.” She turned on the water and stuck the lettuce under the stream.
“Serious, huh?” Mrs. McGowan pushed something around in the skillet. Her lazy tone of voice made her seem distracted.
Mr. McGowan’s gaze snapped from his magazine to Jarret.
Jarret looked away, trying to appear unfazed, though beads of sweat rolled down his back. Maybe he should’ve taken off his leather jacket. No. He did not intend to stay longer than necessary.
Zoe set the vegetables on paper towels then turned and leaned against the countertop. “You’re not going to like what I have to say.”
“Oh?” That got Mrs. McGowan’s attention.
Jarret could feel Mr. McGowan drilling a hole through his head with his eyes, but he wasn’t ready to meet his gaze just yet.
“I’m pregnant.” She said it. The words were out. Just like that.
Mrs. McGowan gasped and smacked her chest.
Mr. McGowan stood, his chair scraping the floor, his eyes still on Jarret. “Is that so?”
The blood drained from Jarret’s head. He got to his feet, meaning to make his exit. She said it. They were done. A wave of heat hotter than hell washed over him.
“Boy, I’m talking to you.” The man’s voice boomed. “Did you get my daughter pregnant?”
Jarret met his gaze and forced himself to answer. “Yeah.”
“You’ve been taking advantage of my daughter?” Red faced and eyes blazing, he stepped to the end of the table, the end Jarret would have to pass to get to the door.
“Dad!” Zoe grabbed his arm. “Don’t worry. We’re not keeping the baby. We’re going to see a social—”
“You’re daggone straight you’re not keeping the baby. You’re a child. How long has this been going on?”
Zoe scowled and folded her arms. Mr. McGowan turned to Jarret for the answer.
“Look, I’m sorry.” Jarret’s threw his hands up, palms out. “We messed up. I didn’t, I didn’t want her to get pregnant. We’ll take care of it. We’re gonna put the baby up for adoption.”
“When hell freezes over!” Mr. McGowan grabbed Jarret by the front of his jacket, whipped him around, and slammed him into the wall.
Unsure of the man’s strength and not wanting to rile him further, Jarret only glared, tempted though he was to peel the man’s hands from his Hugo Boss dirty-black leather bomber.
“You stay away from my daughter, boy.” He shoved Jarret again as if for emphasis. “If I ever catch you near her—”
Zoe and Mrs. McGowan grabbed Mr. McGowan’s arms, both shrieking for him to stop.
Mr. McGowan backed off and dusted his shirtfront as if he had soiled himself by touching Jarret. “Get out of my house.” He turned to his wife and ranted, “Take your daughter to get an abortion. You’re too lenient with her. You let her run wild . . .”
Mrs. McGowan turned her back on him and put an arm around Zoe, saying something to her about being so young and wondering how it happened.
Jarret’s head reeled. Anger or fear brought stars to his vision. He backed away from everyone, taking a few steps down the hall. He wanted to take Zoe and leave, or be shut of the place, as Papa would say. What would Papa say when he found out? He wasn’t going to find out. There was no reason he should have to know. Zoe just had to stay away from the house, that’s all.
Mr. McGowan kept ranting. He faced the glass doors to the patio now. Mrs. McGowan, her arm still around Zoe’s shoulders, spoke low. “I understand what you’re feeling . . .” Her eyes showed worry though she smiled. “I’ll be there with you. It’ll be okay . . .” Her voice dropped too low to overhear, but it sounded like she said abortion clinic.
Jarret’s fists and jaw tightened. He stomped back into the kitchen. “We’re not killing our baby.” Grabbing Zoe’s arm, he yanked her to himself.
Zoe was saying something about making an adoption plan but neither of her parents listened. Mr. McGowan stormed over, yanked Zoe’s other arm, and shoved Jarret back.
Jarret’s shoulder hit the wall.
Mrs. McGowan shrieked.
Zoe was crying.
“She’ll do what I tell her,” Mr. McGowan spit. He said something about lawyers.
“Not to my baby,” Jarret spit back then ducked as the man swung at his face.
“Just go, Jarret,” Mrs. McGowan shrieked.
Zoe grabbed his hand and dragged him to the foyer. “It’ll be okay. Dad just needs to calm down. Don’t worry . . .” She pushed him out the door.
Hands trembling, Jarret groped his jacket pockets for his cigarettes as he walked alone down the driveway and to his car.