“What is it?” I said.
“There’s no easy way of breaking this to you. Andrea’s pregnant.”
My legs giving way, I leaned against the counter. Had I heard correctly? No, it must be a mistake, some mix-up.
“Margo? You still there?”
“Yes.” My voice came out barely a whisper.
“They’re getting married in a couple of months, so it’s going to be okay. Hey, we’re going to be grandparents!”
I dropped onto a chair. “Are you sure?”
“It’s still early in the pregnancy, but yeah. She’s been tested by a doctor.”
My hand wrapped around my throat.
“Andrea’s parents had a fit, as you can imagine,” he said. “But they’re grateful she didn’t get an abortion.”
I let the knowledge pour over me, but my every fiber rebelled against it. “How will they live? They’re just kids themselves. They can’t take care of a baby.”
“I’ll help them. Rob’s going to stay with me until we figure out what to do. Next quarter, maybe he can enroll in junior college and work part-time.”
“You know the chance of their marriage working out. Even my folks are ready to split.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I like your parents, even if your dad thought I was a bum.” Phil chuckled. “Hey, he was right. You were way too good for me.” He sounded happy, which made the conversation even more absurd. Had he lost his mind?
I hung up and sat with my forehead in my hands.
“Are you all right?” Henry asked.
I’d almost forgotten he was in the room with me. I looked up and said, “It’s Rob’s girlfriend. She’s pregnant.” There was no point in trying to cover up what Phil would eventually tell him.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know Phil’s your friend, but I could kill that man.” It might be worth facing the death penalty.
“I’m sure you’re upset, any parent would be. But how is this Phil’s fault?”
“Of course it’s not. It’s just that he’s acting like Andrea’s pregnancy is the greatest thing on earth.”
“I doubt Phil thinks that. He’s probably trying to make the best of a difficult situation.” He laid a hand on my shoulder for a quiet moment. “Let me know if there’s any way I can help.”
Too exhausted to answer, I nodded.
“Your son will be in my prayers,” he said as he prepared to leave. “The Lord can change your darkness into light.”
Yeah, right, I thought. How could anything but heartache come from this?
Rain splattering against my bedroom window woke me. It was already seven in the morning. In spite of everything, I’d rested soundly for almost nine hours.
Entering the kitchen, the first thing I saw was my painting. I stood staring at it as if a stranger had moved into the house while I was sleeping. With its flowing brush strokes and areas of dappled color, it looked unlike anything I’d ever done. In college, I would have considered using a magazine shot for a subject the cheap trick of a lazy artist. And a little boy and his mother would have seemed too sentimental for a proper subject. But as a grown woman, this scene filled my heart with gladness. On closer scrutiny the boy looked remarkably like Rob as a toddler. Without setting out to do so, I had painted my son.
As Rob was growing up, I’d tried extra hard to be a good mother. I’d read all the recommended parenting books, was home after school to assist him with his homework, attended all his games. I’d hovered over my son, but apparently it hadn’t been enough. I’d always assumed that he was an exceptional child—not the type to be a college dropout with a teenage wife and an unplanned baby. What about his aspirations to become a dentist like his Grandpa Vern? Or were those only my dreams?
There had to be something I could do to make things better. Should I call Andrea’s mother? I remembered meeting the girl’s parents, Joe and Lucille Walker, at Rob’s high-school graduation in June. Four months later, I knew little more about the couple than I had known then, except that Joe was a big-time attorney with the reputation of being a bulldog in the courtroom, and Lucille was a homemaker. Over the summer I’d chatted on the phone with Lucille several times while trying to track down Rob, and the woman seemed pleasant enough, but distant. Our calls usually ended quickly, with Lucille saying she needed to get back to her housework or run to the store.
As I walked toward the phone, a wave of dread grabbed my stomach. Lucille would be furious and probably blame the pregnancy on Rob. If Andrea were my daughter, I might do the same thing. Not that Andrea hadn’t been a willing participant, I reminded myself. The girl could have said no.
I moved to the sink and filled the coffeemaker with water. A moment later, as I measured grounds into a filter, my hand shook, strewing dirt-colored particles across the counter. I felt like screaming or breaking something. Wasn’t there any way out of this nightmare? The thought of Rob and Andrea in bed together sickened me. If only Rob had never met the girl. If only he had controlled his lust.
I grabbed the sponge and began wiping the coffee grains into the sink. My thoughts orbited to Phil; our conversation from the night before droned in my ears. How could he be happy about this catastrophe? If only his call had been a prank, some sick joke. In the old days it would have been just like Phil to manufacture the whole story to drive me nuts. Maybe he was hitting the bottle again. Since when did I believe anything he told me? He was the most unreliable person I knew. No, in spite of his almost intoxicated elation, Phil had been deadly serious.
I strode over to the phone and punched in Rob’s number. When he answered, I said, “It’s your mother,” sounding like a middle-school principal.
“Hey, Mom,” Rob said in a garbled
