Page 66 of A Thousand Little Goodbyes

“Hey.” Chrissie covered Scarlett’s hand with her own. “Paris will still be there in a few years, and so will I. As long as we have each other, nothing else matters, remember?”

Scarlett nodded, but she also felt a well of frustration starting to bubble up in her throat. Chrissie was and always would be the rock in her life. She was the parent neither of them had ever had, the one constant she could count on no matter what. But she was alsohappyabout what the next few years held. The baby blankets she’d crocheted and the bassinet they’d refurbished, the new apartment in Medford they were moving into together—all of it held charm for her, a chance to build a life perfectly suited to her tastes.

But Scarlett didn’t want to live in stupid Medford, where the good schools and low cost of living made life as a single unwed mother feasible. She didn’t want to raise a baby she’d never planned on having,a baby belonging to a man whose very name made her blood curdle with shame.

As if on cue, the staff social worker popped into the room, looking as bright and chipper as the earlier nurse. Scarlett tried to shoo the woman away, but for someone whose job it was to navigate tricky personal issues, she remained obstinately myopic.

“Good to see you again, Scarlett,” the woman said as she took a seat and pulled out a bag of carrot sticks. Scarlett hadn’t eaten a carrot stick in years, and would have stared down anyone who suggested she might want to chomp down on a dirt-flavored piece of chalk, but the injustice of the midmorning snack only served to enrage her. “Is this a good time to chat about that thing we were discussing on your last visit?”

“What thing?” Chrissie asked as she waved away the offer of a carrot stick. “Is there something I should know about?”

The social worker—Tammy Twaddle, according to the business card Scarlett was carrying around in her purse—blinked expectantly. Scarlett wouldn’t have chosen this moment for disclosure and did, in fact, resent everything about it, but the conversation was going to have to happen one way or another. Best to do it under the bright lights of the doctor’s office, where a full medical staff was on hand.

“Sure. Now is fine.”

Tammy snapped down on her carrot stick and opened the file in her lap. “Excellent! I know this has been a difficult time for you, and that your mind isn’t made up yet, but I’m here to reassure you that youdohave options. At your age, it’s completely normal to feel like the whole world is crumbling around you, but that doesn’t have to be the case.”

Scarlett snorted. It seemed as good a response as any.

“And I know you said that your upbringing—your grandmother’s faith—meant you weren’t interested in abortion, but that doesn’t leave you with nothing,” she continued as though Scarlett hadn’t made asound. “We work with several great adoption agencies, some of which are located here in Portland and others that—”

“I’m sorry.Adoption agencies?” Chrissie’s voice registered a full octave higher than usual. “Scarlett, what’s going on?”

Scarlett closed her eyes again, but she felt none of the earlier peace of the action. She didn’t have to see Chrissie to picture the expression of complete and utter betrayal she wore.

“Uh-oh. She didn’t tell you? Should I come back?”

“No, she didn’t tell me. Is this for real? Scarlett, are you seriously considering adoption?”

Even though it was the coward’s way out, Scarlett didn’t open her eyes. Better to let the social worker handle this. After all, that was her job, right? The reason she’d gotten into this career in the first place?

“It was just a conversation,” Scarlett murmured.

“That’s right,” Tammy said so brightly that Scarlett could hear the smile being injected into her voice. “No need to make a decision right now. The best thing you can do at this stage is get lots of rest and make sure you follow your doctor’s orders. Although if youdidwant to pursue the open adoption course, I’d suggest starting to vet the prospective parents early. Since you’ll be connected to them for the rest of your life, it’s important to find the right social and emotional fit. Plus, a lot of them get really excited about the delivery.”

“Open adoption,” Chrissie echoed. She sounded less shocked now and more resigned. As if this was just one more in a long line of disappointments Scarlett had in store for her.

“Yep. That’s when the parents and Scarlett keep a line of communication open—updates and pictures, sometimes even visits. It all depends on what your friend wants.”

“Thank you. I know what it is.”

A hand slipped into Scarlett’s, the gentle fingers of her best friend intertwining with her own. Scarlett was so surprised by this gesturethat she allowed herself to look at Chrissie—and then immediately regretted it. So far from the bitter disappointment she’d shown when Scarlett confessed her liaison with Grimshaw or the heart-wrenching shock of the positive pregnancy test, Chrissie looked…seriously pissed.

Chrissie squeezed Scarlett’s hand so hard that she felt some of the joints crack, but when she spoke, it was with the same detached resignation as before.

“You can leave the paperwork with me,” Chrissie said. “We’ll look over it and get back to you with any questions.”

“Are you sure?” Tammy turned to Scarlett with the careful look of a woman accustomed to reading between the lines. “This is a decision onlyyoucan make.”

“It’s fine,” Scarlett reassured her. She even managed a wan smile. “I trust Chrissie more than anyone else on the planet.”

“Okay, then.” Tammy got up and gently placed the folder on the seat she vacated. Scarlett could tell she wasn’t fully convinced that Chrissie wasn’t some evil, manipulative bestie who would strong-arm Scarlett into doing her own bidding, but short of manually hauling her out of the room, there was little she could do. “That baby girl of yours is lucky to have so many people who care about her. Remember that. No matter what else happens, she’s loved—and it’s my job to make sure she stays that way.”

Scarlett expected Chrissie to attack the moment the door closed behind the social worker, but she didn’t. All she did was stare down at where their hands linked—Chrissie’s perfectly glossed nails next to Scarlett’s chewed ones, the way her long fingers remained strong and supple despite the fact that she hadn’t touched a piano in months.

“She said ‘that baby girl of yours,’” Chrissie eventually said. “Is that true? You opened the envelope they gave us? It’s a girl?”

Scarlett nodded, unable to trust herself to speak. She hadn’t told Chrissie for fear of this exact reaction.