“TWELVE No. Freaking. Way.” Sara’s astonished voice blared from the Bluetooth system in Boo’s Honda. “The girl who founded the Purity Pact was . . . pregnant?” It was hard to concentrate on the road with her shouting. “I read it in black and white.” “It’s like the world just flipped upside down,” Sara said. “We—or at least I—spent an hour this morning being told by Kemple that Erin Donohue was the saint I could never hope to be and . . .” I checked my rearview. A pair of headlights that had been... with me since I pulled out of the driveway was still there. That wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was that it was midnight on a Wednesday in Potsdam and hardly anyone was up and about at this hour on my side of town. Maybe I should try to lose him, I thought, taking a sudden right on Cedar Crest just to throw him off. “. . . that’s it for Matt, of course. He’s toast.” I went back to listening to Sarah. “Why?” “Because obviously he’s the father.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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