She Woke Up Married by Suzanne Macpherson Page A

ways along anyway, I might have a miscarriage. It’s very common, actually.”
    “I sincerely hope not.”
    Paris glared at him, but at least she had the wisdom not to pursue the subject.
    “I figure I’ve got a few months before I start to show, but I might as well leave now before I start to puff up and people start talking about how much weight I’ve gained. This place is worse than high school the way gossip flies around.”
    “You know the idea of leaving town and hiding out while you’re pregnant is pretty old-fashioned. This is the new millennium. You’re a married woman.”
    “And then have everyone ask where the baby went? I don’t think so. I’m going to take a leave of absence. Rita will figure I’m having a nervous breakdown or something.” Paris smiled a wry smile. “Who knows, I might be.”
    “They have treatment now, Paris.”
    “They had treatment then, too. It didn’t work. Somewhere out there I have a sister that was taken away from my mother because they couldn’t help her.”
    “Paris, they didn’t know what was wrong with your mother back then.”
    “They were smart to give my sister up for adoption. She was neglected and sick. I didn’t realize my mother wasn’t taking care of the baby right. Dad was so messed up himself, he didn’t see it either. If I’d realized it, I’d have done something.” Paris’s voice broke for a moment.
    Turner watched as she pulled her emotions back up like a drawbridge and shut the door. He got up from the table and went to get Paris aglass of water. “Paris, you were only a child. Your father didn’t realize what was happening. Those were different times.”
    “He should have given me up too. But no, he keeps me, gives my sister away, and two years later I end up in a convent. He killed himself over my mother’s illness, Turner. Is that the kind of tragedy you want?”
    “Your father died of a heart attack, Paris.”
    “I watched him do it, Turner. He would never rest. He worked three jobs. He drove himself to that heart attack. At night he’d never sleep or eat right. He did it on purpose. He killed himself all right, just slowly.”
    “Paris, it wasn’t your fault.”
    “I’ve got their genes, Turner. I’m not going to let that happen to a child of mine. That baby will be safe with other people.”
    Turner set the glass of water in front of Paris and put his hand on her shoulder. It was hard as a rock—tensed up to the point of pain, he was sure. He gently rubbed the tight muscle.
    Paris let out a cry and jerked her hand across the table. The water glass flew as she struck it. It hit the kitchen counter behind them, shattering. Turner moved as she shoved her chair back and ran from him.
     
    There was nowhere to run in this apartment to get away from Turner, so she headed for her bed.
    Paris couldn’t take another minute of Turner’s kind heart or kind gestures—water, peppermint tea, all his good deeds. His touch was full of sympathy for the pain she’d suffered as a child. She hated that sympathy.
    She wanted with all her heart to never have her child know that kind of sympathy. She wanted people to say Oh, that child was so lucky to be adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Jones. They wanted a baby so much.
    Paris kicked off her slippers and clawed her way back into her bed covers. She wrapped them around herself and made a cocoon. And then she cried until she thought she’d never be able to stop. She cried for her father, for her mother, and for her sister, whom she’d only known for two months. Her tiny, helpless sister, who, she hoped, was in a place where no one had to pity her, ever. Then she cried for herself and for the baby she was going to give away.
     
    Turner pulled the upholstered bedside chair up close to Paris’s bed after he let her alone for about an hour to cry. Crying was sometimes the only thing to do to get your soul rinsed out from all the pain. He cried for her as he sat there and wiped away the tears with his