JoHanna held the spatula in her hand as she turned to me. On the stove the cast iron skillet was spitting and popping with the strips of bacon that sizzled in it. “No, thanks.” I swallowed, running my finger around the edge of the cup of coffee I had not touched. Sitting in JoHanna’s kitchen, I was terrified. I’d come to her because of Janelle’s gossip, and watching her stand at the stove, her arms pale but muscular in the short-sleeved blouse, her head covered in a fine fuzz of chestnut, I couldn’t bring myself to ask what it was I wanted. “You haven’t been sleeping lately, have you?” She wasn’t even looking at me. She was turning the bacon. “No.” “Is it Elikah?” “No.” I swallowed again, letting the coffee warm my hands. “Well, yes and no.” “Are you pregnant?” She turned around and held me with that blue, blue gaze. “I think I may be.” I started to cry. “I don’t want to die.” Her smile was immediate. “Most people don’t die in childbirth, Mattie.
