“I can hear the beer talking.” Eloise couldn’t keep her eyes off the trash can. “How many is it tonight? This morning I counted eight cans.”

“So now you’re counting the cans. You are something! I’ll drink as many as I want! Why don’t you see how many this one makes?” He picked up the trash can and dumped the contents out in the middle of the kitchen floor.

“Now start counting!” He grabbed for her arm.

Eloise moved faster and escaped his reach.

“I said, count those cans!”

Defiantly, Eloise fled the room.

“Don’t turn your back on me!”

Enraged, Sam slammed down the beer, stormed forward, and grasped the scruff of her neck.

“Stop it! You’re hurting me. Are you going to beat up a pregnant woman?”

Sam stopped. The statement startled him. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Sam’s demeanor changed. He wanted a child, but Eloise didn’t. He reached out, but she pushed him away, walking out in disgust.

Nora could hear them. She peered over the top of the stairs. She watched Sam pick up the trash, mumbling under his breath. Her mother’s words had surprised him as well as her. Was her mother really pregnant? Maybe she said that so he wouldn’t hurt her.

In the morning Nora crept down the stairs. Her mother wasn’t in the kitchen. Nora knocked on her door. “Mama, please come out.”

Silence.

“Mama . . . Mama. Come out. Talk to me!”

Nora heard the bed frame creak. The doorknob turned and Eloise stepped out. She looked awful. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying.

“Talk to me, Mama. Come out to the kitchen and I’ll make some pancakes for you.” Nora gave her mother a hug, trying to comfort her.

Eloise started the coffee. She sat at the kitchen table with her hands over her face.

“Mama, I heard you and Sam last night. Is it true, about the baby?”

Eloise hung her head. She avoided looking at Nora. “It’s . . . true.”

“Are you sure?”

“I saw a doctor last week. He confirmed it. I’m pregnant.” Eloise’s voice cracked as she stood up. Tears filled her eyes. For Nora’s sake, Eloise put her arms around her daughter.

“Oh, Mama. When?”

“Late February.”

“What are we going to do? Sam’s no good. You can’t expect him to give you any help with the baby.”

“Mind your tongue. Sam is the one who wanted this baby. He has to provide for us.”

“I hate him. He’ll get even worse after the baby comes!”

“Somehow, we’ll make it work. We have to. . .”

“We can’t stay, Mama. Sam will hit you again. He scares me!”