weeks, Melody and Ryan became Verity’s focal points. Ryan adored Melody, and by loving and looking out for Mel, Verity felt like she was honoring Colton’s unspoken wishes, which gave her purpose and somehow made his absence easier to bear . . . except at night, when she slept in his bed and snuggled into his pillow, missing him, dreaming of him—bright vivid dreams of his hands on her body, his dark eyes looking tenderly into hers, through hers, fusing his soul to hers. When she woke up alone, the endless tears would start, falling until she fell asleep again or woke up groggily to make Ryan’s breakfast.
Time went slowly without a job, without word from Colton, her thoughts and worries preying on her, even as she tried to stay positive. Bonnie’s Place became her haven, little by little, until she and Ryan got into the habit of stopping by every afternoon, after Melody got home from work, to share supper together.
The little family that Verity had seen coming into focus at the zoo, less one important member, was as intact as it could be for now, though missing Colton’s face at the table was a daily ache that wouldn’t subside.
But her time visiting Bonnie’s Place turned out to be fruitful for more than just looking after Melody. It led to a new opportunity that gave Verity even more purpose. After several weeks of daily visits, one of Mel’s CMs, Francisco, asked Verity if she had any interest in, one, enrolling Ryan in their day program, and two, working part-time at the Bonnie’s Place sundries store.
“Doesn’t pay much,” he said, standing outside complex F (Is For “Friendship”), where he caught Verity and Ryan as they were walking back to Colton’s car one evening. “But the older lady who used to work there? Simone? She fell down some stairs and broke her hip. Would be nice to have someone there who we already knew we could trust.”
“You’re offering me a job?” she asked, her mouth dropping open in surprise.
“No,” he said, grinning at her. “It’s not mine to offer. But I think you should apply.”
She did. And on the spot, the director of Bonnie’s Place told her she could have the job: Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, from noon to six p.m. She accepted the position gratefully and signed up Ryan for the Bonnie’s Place day program, where he learned life and job skills and enjoyed the amenities at the recreation center five days a week. She enjoyed the part-time work, and she loved watching Ryan build a new life for himself, making friends within the nurturing gates of Bonnie’s Place.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, while her brother was at the day program, she cared for Colton’s house: gardening, of course, but also making new curtains for the kitchen and living room windows, freshening up the paint on the outside shutters, and planting climbing ivy that was already growing up and around the mailbox. It was the only way for her to show him that she loved him, and besides, she would have gone crazy if she didn’t stay busy.
But she should have known that the status quo wouldn’t last.
Almost forty days into Colton’s rehabilitation, Verity came down with a stomach bug, a wicked one that made her throw up for a few hours one Tuesday morning, then fall back into bed at the brink of exhaustion and sleep for an additional four hours before waking up and hurling again.
The funny thing was, she didn’t have a fever or the sweats, she hadn’t eaten anything funny, and even after sleeping, she still felt bone tired. Nursing a cup of tea in the kitchen, where she checked off the days of Colton’s commitment on a wall calendar, she finally put two and two together, widening her eyes with shock and awe. Leaping up from the table, she stared at the calendar, her heart beating faster and faster, her hands shaking as she turned back the page.
She and Colton had made love on the picnic table forty-two days ago . . . and she hadn’t gotten a period since. She’d been so overwhelmed and depressed and anxious to stay busy, it hadn’t occurred to her that she’d skipped a cycle, but now it did.
Racing to the bathroom, she whipped her T-shirt over her head and looked at her breasts spilling out of her simple white cotton bra.
“Oh my God,” she murmured, staring at her still-flat stomach in the mirror with wide eyes. Unprotected sex. Nausea.