Chapter 13: The Baby's Roof

Nobody in the kitchen moved.

My father's cup shook against the saucer, and he put it down.

Boone stood very still by the counter.

"How far along?" I said.

"Eleven weeks," Brooke said.

"Does Austin know?"

"No."

"Does Constance?"

"No. I haven't told anyone but my mother."

I looked at her flat hands and her white face.

She had slept with my groom in my bed, and she was carrying his child, and she was also my father's daughter.

All of it was true at once, and none of it cancelled the rest.

"Then listen," I said. "I'll say this once."

"Annie," my father started.

"No, Dad. You've talked enough this year."

He closed his mouth.

"That baby is a Sorley," I said. "It's your grandchild, and it will not grow up in a motel."

Brooke's eyes filled.

"You'll set up a trust for it, in your name, at the bank, today," I said to my father. "It gets what a Sorley child gets."

"Of course," he said.

"The guest house is mine to lend. Brooke and her mother can have it for ninety days. They sign a paper as my tenants, and the rent is a dollar."

"I didn't ask for charity," Brooke said.

"It isn't charity. And it isn't for you."

She flinched.

"There's nothing from me for you," I said. "Not money, not forgiveness. The house is for the baby's first months, and the baby is not at fault."

She wiped her face with her sleeve.

"Okay," she said. "That's fair."

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