Never Doubt Me: Judge Me Not #2(53)

Kay presses her lips together determinedly. “Well, if that’s what you’re worried about, I think I have an idea to make sure Will doesn’t leave the house.”

“I’m open to anything,” I tell her. And, damn, I am.

Kay then tells me her idea. And, as it turns out, the plan isn’t bad. But it requires rapid action. Kay’s plan to keep Will from taking off is for the two of us to basically take turns babysitting him.

“That way,” Kay says, “he won’t have an opportunity to go out.”

I hope she’s right.

“If you can help Missy this morning,” Kay continues, “I’ll head home now and stay with Will until lunchtime. Then we’ll switch.”

It’s not optimum—and I am less than thrilled to be stuck with Missy Metzger all morning—but Kay’s plan is better than leaving Will to his own devices all day.

After we review the plan particulars, Kay says, “Okay, great. I’ll tell Father Maridale what’s going on. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

I grab her arm. “No, wait. I should be the one to tell him.” I nod to Missy, who’s clearly trying to eavesdrop. “You go fill her in on what’s going on. She looks like she’s dying to know.”

“I’m on it,” she says.

Kay heads over to the table Missy is sitting behind, and I leave to go find Father Maridale. I locate him in the church; bring him up to speed while we’re standing next to the confessionals. Of course, Father is fine with our plan—he’s always so easy-going. I then return to the gymnasium to let Kay know she can leave. But to my surprise, she has already left.

The rummage sale appears to be going full-speed ahead. There’s already a line a mile long of people waiting to buy stuff.

Missy glances over at me, tilts her head, and mouths one word: “Help.”

Chuckling, I nod and approach the table.

As the morning progresses, Missy and I don’t have an opportunity to talk much, but we work well together. She sells the stuff, and I carry anything exceptionally heavy out to the buyers’ cars.

Shortly before lunch, as I’m returning from carrying an outdated, heavy-as-f*ck TV out to the parking lot for some little old lady, I take note that the line has finally ended. Everyone is gone.

Slumping down into the seat next to Missy, I exhale loudly and say, “A break, at last.”

Missy smiles and says, “I know, right? I thought that line would never end.”

“Seriously,” I concur as I lean back in my chair.

Missy glances over at me. “Um,” she says softly, “Kay told me about what’s going on with your brother, and I know you have to leave soon, but I just wanted to say I hope everything turns out okay.”

Missy is trying to be nice, and I feel kind of bad for her that she’s knocked up with the kid of some guy she barely knows, so I decide I may as well be cool with her.

I run my fingers through my hair. “Yeah, I hope so, too.”

Missy falls silent. She starts straightening some things on the table. I can tell she’s nervous, especially when she knocks over a small, flimsy box filled with golf balls. The lid pops open, and golf balls roll out all over the table.

Missy stands quickly and grabs at the balls, but they’re rolling every which way and she has no luck collecting them.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she stammers. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

I gather the golf balls with one swoop of my hand and place them back in the box. “Missy”—my eyes meet hers—“it’s fine.”

She glances away, and I look down. She’s standing right in my line of sight, though, and I can’t help but notice that the dress she’s wearing is far more conservative than the sleazy shit she used to wear. In fact, the light-brown, sheath-like thing she has on is far more conservative than the dresses Kay reserves for Mass. Even though the dress is loose fitting, the fabric is stretched tight in the waist area. Missy is not really showing—according to Kay, she’s only eight or nine weeks—but her stomach is no longer completely flat.

When she catches me staring at her midsection, Missy covers her abdomen with her hand and sits back down quickly.

“I guess you think I’m, like, the town whore, huh?” she asks. “Especially since we”—she waves her hand between us—“have a history of our own.”

“Missy, I don’t think you’re a whore.”

“Yeah, you say that, but I know Kay told you what happened the night she and I went to the Anchor Inn.”

“She did,” I confirm.

Missy sighs. “I was out of control that night, Chase. But that was the drugs, not me.”

I don’t reply, and Missy continues.

“Anyway, I swear I was only with one of those guys—just Tony. Not Nick. Tony is the father of my baby. I already told Kay that. She believes me, doesn’t she?”

I shrug since I have no idea why what Kay believes is so important to Missy.

But she’s waiting for a reply, so I say, “I’m sure she believes you, Missy.”

“Good,” she says, nodding.

Missy seems pretty f*cking emphatic here, the way she’s insisting Tony—not Nick—is the dad. But I can’t imagine why it matters so much.