Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(50)

I was taking their pain, taking their horrific experiences and, what? Trivializing them? Using them to my own advantage? Using them to indulge in my own need to lay with a man who was not my husband.

I was the type of person the prophet preached about. The kind that could “infect” an entire family.

And if Lehi or Leandra discovered the truth about this fictitious pregnancy, my existence would be altered forever.

? ? ?

Tiffany was slumped over the counter at the free clinic, filling out paperwork for a patient with an injured arm. When I approached, we exchanged our usual verbal volley, a conversational dance that had become familiar. She always pleaded with me to ask for help, but this time I shocked her by taking her up on her offer.

“Actually, I-I could use some help.”

Her eyes snapped open wide. “Brinley! Are you leaving? Do you need a place to stay? A job?”

“No . . . no. I, uh, I need to know some things . . . about pregnancy and stuff.”

Her expectant smile fell into a frown. “I don’t understand. Those pills are keeping you from getting pregnant. What exactly do you want to know?”

“What is it like? When do women start to show? What is morning sickness like? Stuff like that. It’s no big deal, I can ask someone else.”

“No.” She raised her hand to stop my dismissive response. “We’re slow today. I’ll get you an examination room and we’ll talk. I’ve never been pregnant, but I can certainly do a Google search.”

“A what?”

Tiffany rolled her eyes. “I’ll show you.” She leaned down and retrieved several pamphlets, then placed them in my hand.

Your Pregnancy: How to Plan

So, You’re Going to be a Parent

And:

Morning Sickness, the First Trimester

“This is a good start. But I’ll answer everything I can. Come on back.” She grabbed a small device from the edge of the counter and led me to a cramped exam room.

I perched atop the paper-covered table, my heart going a mile a minute. I knew I could trust Tiffany, but that didn’t stop the dread from building. What would she think of this decision I’d made? What would she think of me and my desire to have a sexual relationship with Porter?

Should I tell her?

Could I?

“Okay,” she began. “Start from the beginning. Why do you need to know anything about pregnancy? Clearly, you have no intention of having Lehi’s babies anytime soon. So, fill me in. Because I’m kinda confused.”

“I’m not sure how to say this.” I rubbed at the crispy paper beneath me again and again until the sweat from my hands ripped it to soggy shreds. I was tentative in my words, my movements, afraid of losing an ally that I so desperately needed.

“Brinley, you don’t have to hesitate with me. Seriously. I’m not one of them. I’m on my own, remember?” Her sincerity soothed me, creating a cocoon of safety in the room.

Taking a chance, I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes, embraced the security of her promised trust.

“Lehi thinks I’m pregnant.”

“Okaaay,” Tiffany replied. My eyes still shut, I had no idea if hers were filled with judgment, confusion, or even empathy. “Why does he think that?”

“Because . . . because . . .” Tears streamed down my cheeks.

“Brinley, c’mon. Just tell me.”

“Because I lied. I made it up. I made up a pregnancy so I wouldn’t have to sleep with him.”

I brought up my hands to cover my face, and hung my head in my hands. I expected Tiffany’s disapproval, her scorn.

But instead, she laughed.

“Are you kidding me? That may be the smartest thing you’ve ever done!” I could hear her rise from her seat and walk to me. Her hand rubbed my back in a soothing motion.

Stunned, I lifted my face and my eyes met hers.

“What?” I couldn’t even begin to comprehend her reaction to my twisted, deplorable behavior.

“I mean it, cousin. That dirty old man doesn’t deserve to touch you, to have his hands on you. I’m proud of you for making this decision. Now you won’t need your pills.”

“Well . . .” Averting my eyes, I bit on my bottom lip and flinched from the pain.

“Oh my God. Are you . . .”

As her voice trailed off, I focused my attention on the wall, too ashamed to meet her eyes. But I nodded my head.

“Porter?” she pressed.

I nodded again.

“Holy shit.”

“Tiffany!”

“Sorry, sorry.” She shook her head. “But this is a big freaking deal. I mean, you’re sleeping with him? How long has this been going on?”

“It hasn’t yet, but I want to. So badly, I can think of almost nothing else.”

“Wow.” Tiffany returned to her seat, then picked up the small gadget and slid her finger on the screen. “Make sure he wears a condom, okay?”

“Why? What is that?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Please don’t do that,” I begged her. “I feel silly enough as it is.”

I surprised myself with my demand. It wasn’t like me to stick up for myself in any given situation—let alone one like this where I felt so vulnerable, so foolish for not understanding the outside world, and things with such silly names as “con-dum.”