Rich in Love: When God Rescues Messy People Read Free Page B

and he had been angry that I hadn’t told him. But what would he do when he knew for sure? How would he react?
    As I drove into the auto-shop parking lot, I took a deep breath. I turned to unlock the door, but my hands were shaking so badly that it took me a moment to be able to pull up the button. I stepped out of the car and tried to gather all my strength. I could hear the whoosh of the air compressor, the clank of tools, the shouts of guys as they bantered back and forth over their work. The strong smell of engine oil, brake fluid, and gas mixed with my fear and made it hard for me to keep my breakfast down. I took in another deep breath, but it didn’t help. I knew all the rosaries wouldn’t save me from what I’d done. What we’d done. I bowed my head. I refused to cry. I had too much pride for tears. I’d show everybody, including Domingo, that I had it all under control.
    “Hey, Irene.”
    I popped my head up. Domingo’s brother-in-law who owned the shop stood there, wiping his hands on a blue shop towel. “Mingo’s in the clean room, building an engine.”
    I tried to smile at him, but feeling the shame rise inside me, I quickly turned my head instead. My knees softened and felt as though they wouldn’t hold me up much longer. I looked away and walked through the shop, hoping not to have any eye contact with the guys who were working. I wondered what Domingo had shared with them. What did they know? What did they think about me? My face flamed, and the words I imagined stuck in my belly. Words that made me hate myself. Made me sick. Who was I trying to fool? I wasn’t strong. I didn’t have a plan. I had thought at sixteen I was so mature and knew so much. Really, I was just a lost and confused child.
    I stepped into the clean room. “Domingo,” I said to his back. He turned to face me.
    “Hey, Irene. What’s up?”
    “I’m pregnant.” Humiliation washed over me as I said the words.
    Domingo froze. He stared off into space, saying nothing.
    I looked down at my black shoes, waiting, bracing myself for the ugly words I knew would come.
    “There’s only one thing to do,” Domingo said in his strong, confident voice. “Get married as soon as possible. I will take care of you. You and the baby. You don’t have to worry about anything.”
    I was relieved that he accepted I was carrying his child. Then, with a sense of pride, I wondered at this sixteen-year-old boy acting like a grown man. How confident he was. That he promised to take care of us. He put many grown men to shame with his stance.
    Then panic seeped in. My heart felt heavy and fearful. A wave of conflicting emotions piled in on top of the others. I didn’t really want to marry him. I didn’t even like him, not anymore. He wasn’t who I had thought he was.
    Even so, I felt trapped. Where else could I go? What other options did I have? If I didn’t marry Domingo, my life was doomed. What man would want to take me as his wife after I had committed such a despicable act? There was really nothing I could do but agree with him.
    getting permission
    Domingo took me home and waited outside for my dad to get home from work. When Dad arrived, he was in a good mood, and I hated knowing I was going to destroy that mood. “Dad,” I said, trembling, “I have to talk to you.”
    “What’s wrong, Rene?” He looked concerned.
    “I have committed the worst act a young girl can do.” I swallowed, then took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”
    Shock and disbelief took the place where concern had been.
    “Domingo’s outside, waiting to talk to you.”
    At that, my father erupted. “Tell that boy I don’t want to see him or talk to him.” I walked out of the room to tell Domingo he needed to leave.
    “I want to talk to your father,” he said, his anger climbing to the level of my father’s.
    “No, Mingo. Please. Please go now.”
    Domingo spun on his heels and stormed away to his car.
    Telling my mother was no easier. She kept saying,