“Hardly. People don’t drop by anymore,” Miles said.
“Maybe it’s Drew or Greg,” Jude said, steeling herself to see one of Zach’s friends.
She went to the door and opened it.
A stranger stood there, holding a manila envelope.
No. Not a stranger, but she couldn’t place his face. “Hello?”
“I’m Scot Jacobs. Alexa—Lexi—Baill’s defense attorney.”
“Come in, Mr. Jacobs,” Miles said, appearing beside Jude.
She felt herself being pushed aside. She heard the door shut. Feeling light-headed, she followed the men into the living room.
“I came to speak to Zachary,” the lawyer said, and, at his name, Zach put down the controller and stood. “I have these papers from Lexi. She asked me to deliver them to you personally. She thought you would be home this weekend.” He didn’t look at Jude—just Zach—and offered the envelope. “She’s pregnant,” he said quietly.
*
How long did she stand there, staring? She could feel the blood moving in her veins, pounding on the walls of her heart. A high-pitched scream filled her head.
No. She was making that sound. Was that really her? The anger she’d spent months suppressing came roaring back. Zach was talking, saying something, but Jude didn’t hear the words; she didn’t care anyway.
“Get out of this house,” she said suddenly. Yelled.
“I’m sorry…” Scot said.
“Sorry? Sorry? Your client kills my daughter, but that’s not enough for her, is it? She’s not done with us. Now she has to ruin my son’s life, too. How do we even know Zach is the father? How far along is she?”
“Mom!” Zach said sharply.
Miles looked shaken and pale, but the anger Jude felt was nowhere to be seen in his eyes. That pissed her off even more. She was always alone in her feelings lately, always wrong.
“She’s five and a half months pregnant,” Scot answered.
“How convenient. What is in the envelope? What does she want from Zach?”
“These are adoption papers, Mrs. Farraday, and I can tell you that Lexi did not come to this decision easily. If … Zach doesn’t want the baby, she’s prepared to undergo the adoption process alone. She’ll find a good family. She doesn’t want her baby to be in foster care.”
“If Zach doesn’t want the baby?” Jude said, incredulous. “He’s eighteen years old, for God’s sake. He can’t remember to wash his clothes.”
“She hated foster care,” Zach said quietly.
Scot nodded. “She doesn’t want that for her baby.”
Jude couldn’t make sense of all of this; there seemed to be some undercurrent pulling at her, swirling around her, but she couldn’t see a ripple. “Where’s a pen?” Jude said tightly.
“Judith,” Miles said, using his reasonable voice, the one that meant she was being a bitch or a shrew or whatever. She couldn’t care less. She was sick to death of his reasonableness. The pain in her heart was all consuming, unbearable. It took every scrap of control she possessed not to howl in agony. “This is our grandchild we’re talking about. We can’t be cavalier.”
“You think I’m being cavalier?” Jude stared at her husband, hating him as much as she’d ever hated anyone. “You think it’s not tearing me up inside? You think I haven’t dreamed of my first grandchild? But not like this, Miles. A child by the girl who killed our Mia? No, I won’t—”
“Stop,” Zach said loudly.
Jude had forgotten he was even there. “I’m sorry, Zach. I know this is terrible, tragic, but you need to listen to me.”
“When have I ever done anything but listen to you?” he said.
She heard the anger in his voice and stepped back from it. “W-what are you saying, Zach?”
“It’s my baby,” Zach said firmly. “Mine and Lexi’s. I can’t just turn my back on that. How can you want me to?”
Jude felt the floor beneath her open up, and suddenly she was falling. She saw his whole sad future in a flash: no college degree, no decent job, no falling in love with the right girl and starting fresh in life. At that, her last, desperate hope that he would someday climb out of this pit and learn to be happy again disappeared.
“I’ll be a dad,” Zach said. “I’ll quit school and come home.”
Jude couldn’t breathe. How could this be happening? “Zach,” she pleaded. “Think about your future—”