Miles From Kara by Melissa West Page A

words
not yet
 . . . they’d never enter our minds.

Chapter Twelve
    I sat down behind the desk in session room B, trying—and failing—to keep my thoughts focused on work. Instead of Colt. It had been three days since we’d sat together by the pool, and while I had hoped to run into him while he was at his internship at the architecture firm down the street, I’d yet to see him even once.
    I checked my phone again, searching first through missed calls, then text messages, then clicked my Facebook app. I typed in Colt’s name, because apparently I was getting a bachelor’s degree in stalking, but there were no updates there either. Panic coursed through me as I wondered if maybe he’d left Charleston altogether.
    I had just decided to stop being a chicken and just text him, when the door to my session room opened and Maggie waddled in.
    I stood immediately, wishing they had an exit door in these rooms so the freaked-out counselors like me could flee.
    â€œPlease,” Maggie said, her hands out again, like she was willing to stop me by force if necessary. “I need to talk to someone. I know you don’t want to talk to me. I know that. I just . . . please.” Her eyes began to fill with tears. I drew a breath and forced myself to sit back down in my seat, with Maggie now across from me. I threaded my fingers together and leaned into my desk for support. “How can I help you?” I asked, all business-like and void of emotion. I waited for her to answer, and then before I could repeat my question, she burst into tears.
    Instantly, I jumped to my feet, again wishing for a damn escape, but then the real me seeped in through my fear. I drew a long breath, watching as she cried. I couldn’t just let her cry. Besides, I’d talked with countless people now, most of whom only needed someone to listen. Maggie was no different than them, at least in theory. I walked around the desk to the chair beside her and sat down. “What happened?” I asked, more gently this time.
    Maggie reached for a tissue and tried miserably to clean up her face, then placed her shaking hands in her lap and shook her head. “My dad wants me to give the baby up. You know, for adoption.”
    I nodded slowly. “You mentioned that before. But what do you want?”
    Her bottom lip shook as she looked up at me. “I don’t know. I want to be a good mom, and I just . . . look at me. How can I be a good mom? I’m still a kid myself.”
    I reached out and took her hand, instantly wishing I’d thought before I did it. Maggie’s gaze fixed on me, and I saw hope there, like she wanted me to tell her that she was wrong, that she would be a fantastic mother, that it didn’t matter that she was sixteen. But I couldn’t say those things. I didn’t believe them, and I had decided when I took the job that if I was going to be a good counselor, it was best to try to not lie.
    Maggie’s body began to tremble as sobs wrecked through her. “You think he’s right, don’t you? You think I should give her up.”
    â€œHonestly?” I said. “I don’t know what’s right here. I only know that you have to think about something more than just you and what you want. It’s not just about what will make you happy. You also have to think about what’s best for your baby. And maybe that
is
you. Maybe it is. But also . . . maybe it’s not.”
    She nodded through her tears and I grabbed her another tissue. “How do I figure that out?”
    I shook my head. “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone does . . . other than you. I think you’ll find the answer inside yourself. Maybe not this moment, but you will, and even though it may hurt or scare you, I think you know what’s right here. For you and your baby.”
    She dipped her head and cried into her hands for a long