think that’s it.”
Rory hit the flush. They backed from the stall and turned to the big mirror over the two sinks. Clara rinsed her mouth and her face. Rory was ready with the paper towels. Clara took them and blotted her cheeks. They’d left their purses at the table, so Clara smoothed her hair as best she could.
And then they ended up just standing there, staring into each other’s eyes in the mirror.
Finally, Rory asked in a whisper, “Clara, what is going on?”
And Clara gave a tiny, sad little shrug. “I’m pregnant. Four months along.”
Rory choked. “No...”
“Yeah.”
“Shut the fridge door.” Rory had already kind of figured it out. But it was still a surprise to hear Clara say it.
A weary little chuckle escaped Clara. “I haven’t had morning sickness in a month. But today was too much.” She pressed her hand against her belly, which was maybe slightly rounded, but only if you stared really hard. And even then, maybe not. “I might have to kill my sisters—all three of them. And Tracy, too.”
Rory was still trying to get her mind around this startling bit of information. Clara. Pregnant. “So you actually had sex with Ryan?” The words just popped from her mouth of their own accord. She really hadn’t meant to say them out loud. Clara winced and then looked stricken. And Rory felt so bad she started backpedaling like mad. “Well, I mean it’s only that you always said you didn’t see Ryan that way—but then, hey, what the hell?” She bopped her own forehead with the heel of her hand. “I mean, nobody can deny Ryan is hot. And you two are getting married, right? I mean, there’s nothing to be surprised about, because even if there hadn’t been a baby involved, you two would have had sex or be planning to have it. Because, well, sex is one of those things married people tend to do and—”
“Rory,” Clara cut in softly.
Rory gulped. “Uh. Yeah?”
“You’re just making it worse.”
Rory let out a small whimper. “You’re right. I am.”
“Come here.” Clara wrapped her arm around Rory’s shoulders and drew her closer. Rory slid her hand around Clara’s waist. They bent their heads to the side until they touched and they stared at each other in the mirror some more, both of them looking a little bit shell-shocked.
Finally, Rory said, “Four months? Seriously? You don’t even look pregnant.”
“I know.” Clara did the pregnant-lady move, lovingly pressing her palm to her belly for the second time. “Not showing yet. I’ll probably be like my mother. She once told me she would go for six months with nobody knowing. And then, all of a sudden...” Clara stretched her arm out in front of her. “Pop. Out to here. Like from one day to the next.”
“God, Clara. Four months? Since August?”
Clara dropped her hand from Rory’s shoulder, eased away and dampened a paper towel under the faucet. “Well, I didn’t know until about five weeks later when I took the first test.”
Rory couldn’t help looking at her reproachfully. “You should have called me. You should have told me. I mean, who have you told?”
Clara blotted her flushed face with the wet towel. “Ryan.”
“Only Ryan?”
Clara tossed the wet towel in the trash. “And he has been wonderful. Right there for me, you know? Best friend a girl could have.”
Best friend. Clara still talked about Ryan as a friend, a best buddy. She just didn’t sound like a woman in love.
Rory turned so she was face-to-face with Clara and took her firmly by the shoulders. “Is everything all right, with you and Ryan?”
“Of course. It’s wonderful. Couldn’t be better.”
“And the baby?”
Clara sighed. “No worries. Truly. The baby’s fine. I’ve been to the doctor. Clean bill of health.”
“Oh, my darling...” Rory gathered her close. Clara let out a little whimper and grabbed on. Tight. Rory murmured, “I’m here—you know that...” She rubbed Clara’s back and stared at the row of toilet stalls without really seeing them.
Until she happened to catch a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye. One of the stall doors was closed. And the movement had occurred in that tiny sliver of space between the door and frame.
Rory paid attention then, her gaze tracking lower, to the opening between the bottom of the door and the black-and-white tile floor. No shoes or legs showing.
But then, there it was again: a shadow moving between the frame and the door.
Someone was standing on the stool, listening in.
Rory let go of Clara and put a finger to her lips. Clara frowned at her, confused. So Rory turned her around and pointed at the stall.
Clara asked miserably, “Really?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“Wonderful.” Clara marched right over there and tapped on the door. “Come on out. We know you’re in there.”
Below the door, a pair of black Dansko duty shoes and two black trouser legs lowered into sight.
The door swung inward. Rory recognized the face: one of the Sylvan Inn waitresses, though not the one who’d waited on their table.
Clara knew her. “Monique Hightower. What a surprise.” And not in a good way, considering Clara’s bleak tone. She said to Rory, “Monique and I went to Justice Creek High together.”
The waitress gave a sheepish giggle. “Hey, Clara.”
Clara didn’t smile. “How much did you hear?”
“Um, nothing?” Monique suggested hopefully.
“Liar.”
Monique giggled some more. “Well, all right. Everything. But I swear to you, Clara. I would never say a word about your private business to anyone.”
* * *
Walker stood in the parking lot, waiting, watching Clara and Rory, who whispered to each other about fifteen feet away.
After whatever had gone down in the ladies’ room, Clara had settled up in the restaurant, and then Rory had asked him to give her and Clara a few more minutes alone. So there they stood, the two of them, between his SUV and a red pickup, both wrapped in heavy coats, their heads bent close together, their noses red from the cold winter air, talking a mile a minute, both of them intense, serious as hell.
Something very weird was going
