Jilo (Witching Savannah #4)(63)

He turned back to look at her, his expression cautious at first, his lips pulled tight together. Then that spark returned to his eyes. “Yes, ma—” His smiled widened. “Miss.”

“And I know where Darien is. I grew up in Savannah myself.” In spite of her decision to remain aloof, she felt herself relaxing into her seat. “Came here for school,” she said, “and stayed on . . .” Her attention was drawn away as Five Points Baptist came up on the right. She turned and bent over the case that sat between her and the window. From a block away she could see that the side windows had been boarded over.

Behind her PFC—no, Mister—Poole had begun going on about something, but she held her palm out behind her to quiet him. As the bus pulled before Five Points Baptist, her heart sunk in her chest. The doors had been secured with a heavy chain and lock. She sensed someone hovering over her and glanced back to see Poole standing in the aisle, craning his neck to see what had so distracted her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, turning back to the window. “But that’s my church.” She felt a bit like she was lying. “Well it was.”

“Why they got it all shut up like that?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m on my way to the pastor’s house now.” She continued to turn in her seat so she could keep her eye on the house of worship’s receding steeple.

“You family?” Poole asked.

Jilo turned away from the window. “Family?”

“Yes, you and your pastor.”

Jilo shook her head. “No, nothing like that.” The site of the seemingly abandoned church worried her, leaving her in even less of a mood for conversation. “He and his wife rent out rooms.” She turned to face Poole. “Listen. You seem like a real nice fellow . . .” Poole straightened in his seat and smiled at her. “But I’m not in the mood to talk right now. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings. I appreciate your kindness, and I do hope you have a good visit to Atlanta and a pleasant trip home, but . . .”

Without forcing her to finish, he nodded at her and stood. He hesitated an instant, his black eyes so full of empathy that for a mad moment Jilo felt that this total stranger did care about her church, about her pastor, about the things that mattered to her, and about her. As deeply as she did. A small rueful smile quivered on his lips, then faded. He moved a couple of seats back.

She stared out the window at the familiar landmarks that filled the mile and half between the church and the Joneses’ boarding house. When they got within a few blocks of the cross street that led to the house, she stood and tugged the case from the seat. Before she realized what was happening, Poole had grabbed ahold of the case and was maneuvering it with great care toward the exit.

The bus halted at the stop, and Poole hurried out to set the case on the ground. Jilo approached warily, hoping he hadn’t decided to accompany her to the boarding house. She already had enough to explain without arriving at the pastor’s door with a strange man. To her relief, he bounded back onto the bus after she passed him.

She gave him one quick and cautious look, not daring to smile for fear she might encourage him.

“Joseph,” he called out just before the doors closed behind her. “My name’s Joseph.” The doors muffled his voice. “But my friends all call me Tink . . .” His voice was drowned out by the bus’s engine as it pulled away.

She lifted the case and trudged down the road. The boarding house lay six blocks south and a block east from this point. Only now did she realize she should not have come here. She’d left the pastor’s house against his wishes, claiming she wanted to live closer to the hospital. But when she refused to allow Pastor Jones to check up on the apartment house for young single women where she was supposedly moving—a place she had visited only to provide a cover for her actual plan—he’d expressed both disappointment and dismay. She had promised him that she would continue as a member of his congregation, but she had never made it to a single service. At first it had been unintentional; she’d been asked to work a few Sundays, and she and Guy often stayed out late on Saturday nights, leading to late wake ups the next morning. After a while, it seemed as though she’d been too long gone to just show up with no kind of good explanation for her absence. If the pastor had ever discussed her lapse in attendance with her grandmother, Nana had never mentioned it, even though she insisted Jilo call her collect each Saturday afternoon.

None of that mattered now. She needed a place to spend the night, maybe a couple of days, while she figured out just what the hell she was going to do. No, she realized, she was lying to herself. She needed a couple of days to screw up her courage. She was seven weeks along. It was the last time they’d gone out for an evening together, the last time Guy had touched her. He had gotten drunk enough to believe he still loved her, and she’d been drunk enough to believe it was true.

At best, she might hide the pregnancy for a couple of months longer, but she’d lose her job as soon as anyone remarked on her condition. There was nothing left for her to do but go home to her grandmother’s place in Savannah, if Nana would still have her. What’s Nana gonna think of her smart girl now? The thought stopped her in her tracks. She drew a breath and walked on. She’d probably think Jilo hadn’t turned out so different from her mama, Betty, after all.

It surprised her how happy the sight of the wide front step leading up to the porch made her. Still, she took her time climbing those stairs, unsure of the reception she would receive. Even though the day was cool, she was sweating, somewhat from lugging the case, which she set at her feet, and somewhat from the changes going on in her body.