Heartland (True North #7) - Sarina Bowen Page 0,104

a lot more talking to do. But not tonight. Come on.”

I take another deep breath of the cold Vermont air, and I let myself be led.

Thirty-Eight

Chastity

I’ve already walked down the long driveway to the road when I hear shouting.

I stop suddenly, listening. Is that Dylan’s voice? It’s hard to tell from this distance. And anyway, it ends after just a few seconds.

The Shipley boys can be boisterous. It kills me a little to think that they’re out having fun in the snow, when I feel like my life is over.

Dylan had seemed freaked out earlier, though. When Leah spilled her news, he looked like someone had punched him. Or maybe I just wish it were true.

Leah spilled her plans before I had a chance to get used to the idea. I’m still so upset, and I don’t know what to do about it.

So I’m walking home alone. It was either that or sit at the Shipley’s table and cry.

A couple of minutes later, Isaac’s truck ambles along, the headlights illuminating the snowy road. I step to the side and wait for him to pass.

But of course he stops. “Chastity,” Isaac says after rolling down his window. “Come on, sweetie. Get in the truck.”

It’s cold, and I’m not wearing a hat or gloves. I open the back door, and climb in right next to Maeve, who’s in her car seat. “Santa is coming!” she says. “Gotta sleep.”

“That’s right,” I whisper. “If you’re awake he might fly right past your house.”

I learned about Santa when I was little. I went to a real kindergarten before our Divine Pastor decided that school was a terrible influence. The teacher read us a story about Christmas Eve. I didn’t understand it, so I went home and asked my mother.

“It’s just a lie,” my mom said. “A lie that sinners tell their children to make them behave. There’s no Santa Claus in the bible, Chastity. There’s no Christmas holiday, either. If you walk the true path of Jesus, you don’t need any lies.”

Mom’s “true path of Jesus” turned out to be full of lies too, though.

And now Maeve is getting all the things her parents were denied. There’s a giant Christmas tree in her living room. Tomorrow she’ll receive a pile of presents. They won’t be expensive, but that’s not the point.

“The only sin of Christmas is the unrecyclable plastic in these toys,” Leah had told me my first year here. “My kid deserves the same red and green hype that everyone else has.”

I get that. But what I don’t get is why Leah wants to move back to the hellscape where we were told these lies?

I’ve only begun getting over all the bullshit they taught me. Two thousand miles of distance isn’t enough.

After Isaac parks the truck, I remove Maeve from her car seat. Inside the house, I kiss her goodnight, and then go upstairs to my room and close the door. Heartsick, I put on my most comforting flannel pajamas and crawl into bed.

I can’t sleep, though. So when Leah opens my door an hour later, I’m just staring at the darkened ceiling. “Chastity?”

“Yeah?” I croak.

She comes in and sits down near my feet. “Are you sleeping with him?”

“What?” I sputter. “Why?”

What I don’t bother asking is who. Because I guess I’m not fooling anyone.

She lays a hand on my ankle. “I’m trying to figure out why you’re so upset about the move. And that’s all I could come up with. Is it true?”

I slam my eyes shut. “Will you kill him if it is?”

“Maybe.” She lets out a sigh. “That isn’t very fair of him.”

“Why not?” I demand. Dylan has been nothing but truthful with me since we started up. “It was all my idea.”

She’s silent for a moment. “How does that end well?”

“It doesn’t,” I say flatly. “You don’t have to say it.”

“He’s just—”

“I know, Leah. Everyone knows.”

“Have you been careful?”

“Yes. I got an implant last week, if you must know. And they did a pregnancy test just to be safe.”

“Oh.” She clears her throat. “I’m sorry. This is really none of my business. I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

That’s pretty much a given, though.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“If it weren’t for Dylan, how would you feel about moving to Wyoming?”

“Terrible.” But after I say it, I stop and think it over. “I don’t know, honestly. I like it here. But…” My head is a jumble. I can no sooner imagine Vermont without Dylan than