by Davis, L. G.
My spine tingles. Something doesn’t feel right.
Maybe they had a fight last night and Marcia was so upset that she left the house early. Did Beatrice keep her promise and tell Marcia whatever secret she was holding over Travis’s head? And if Marcia left, where is Travis?
I drop my car keys back into my purse. Change of plans. Since no one is home to hover over me, I’ll stay. I’m too drained to go out, anyway. What I have to tell Clayton can easily be said over the phone.
Clayton doesn’t answer my call, but he calls back. “Sorry, my phone was in the back.”
“That’s all right,” I say. “Are you at Latte already?” I glance at the clock on the living room wall. Six-thirty.
“Yes, early start today. Will you drop by later?”
“I’m not sure. I should take it slow, remember?”
“Right.” He sounds different, distant somehow. It’s been that way since the day we almost kissed. My gut tells me he regrets getting too close. He did mention once that he has not dated anyone since his wife died, partly because he didn’t want to confuse Heidi.
Maybe I should stop involving him in my issues. I’ve been leaning on him too hard lately. It’s not fair to him. He has his own life to live, and I don’t want to disrupt it.
“I better let you work. Sounds like you’re busy.”
“No, no, I have a moment. Is everything okay?”
“Yes.” I rake a hand through my hair. “Sure.”
“Grace?” He draws out my name. “Something’s going on. What is it?”
Marigold appears from the kitchen and hops onto my lap. I lay a hand on her warm body and calm sweeps through me. Having her near gives me the courage I need to change my mind and get the words out. Clayton is a friend. Talking to him doesn’t have to mean anything.
The loud whirr of a coffee grinder on his end gives me a chance to weigh my words. When silence returns, I fill it.
“I went out for a late walk in the garden last night. I couldn’t sleep. I heard Travis talking with Beatrice, their housekeeper.”
“That’s strange. What would they be doing outside so late?”
“I asked myself the same question. And they looked as though they were hiding behind Marcia’s studio.”
“Did you hear what they were talking about?”
“They were not talking, not really. They were having some kind of confrontation—throwing around accusations and threats.”
“Threats?” Clayton asks.
“Yeah. I only showed up when it was escalating, so I have no idea what they were talking about exactly. But it seemed like Beatrice knew something… a secret she was holding over Travis’s head.”
“What do you think it is?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I had to get away. I didn’t want them to catch me. It sounded like something that could destroy Travis and Marcia’s marriage.”
“What does she know?” Clayton asks absentmindedly, as though he’s thinking.
“That’s the question.”
“Sounds intense. What time of night was this?”
“Around midnight.” I pause. “Beatrice mentioned something about Travis having hurt Marcia enough, and that it was time for her to know the truth.”
“Right.” Clayton draws in a breath. “I know Beatrice has been working for the Thorpes long before Travis and Marcia got married. It wouldn’t be a surprise if she’s protective of her.”
“True. Once I spoke to Beatrice briefly and she made it clear to me that she doesn’t think Travis is the right man for Marcia.” I can still remember the bitterness in her tone. “And there’s something else. Whatever secret they’re keeping between them must be serious because it got physical. I think I heard a slap.”
“Are you saying Travis struck Beatrice?” Travis sounds horrified. “Why would he do something like that?”
“Maybe it was Beatrice who hit him. I can’t be sure because I didn’t actually see it. All I know is that what I heard did sound like a slap.” I can’t explain it, but my gut tells me that Travis was the one who hit Beatrice.
Giving a baby to a man who might be capable of hitting a woman worries me. My goal from the start has been to care for and protect the baby I’m carrying. I trusted that when I handed it over to its parents, they would take over that task. Now I’m not sure what to do.
“Clayton,” Lillian calls in the background. “Come help me with these boxes.”
“I’m sorry, Grace,” Clayton says. “I have to get to work. We can talk about this later if you like. Why don’t you join us for dinner tonight? Mom promised to make her famous roast beef. Then we can try to figure out this big mystery.”
“Sounds delicious. I’ll let you know later if I’ll be able to make it.”
After hanging up, I stare at the blank screen of the TV and continue to stroke Marigold. I only stop when I hear the sound of cars pulling into the driveway.
They’re back.
I put Marigold on the couch and go to the window, my heart thudding hard in my chest. The tables have turned. The Thorpes are no longer watching me. I’m the one watching them.
I watch as Marcia and Travis exit their individual cars.
Why would they use separate cars if they went to the same place? Maybe they went to different locations. But then how did they happen to return at the same time?
They don’t seem to be talking to each other as they make their way to the house. Marcia’s shoulders are hunched forward, and she’s wiping her eyes. Travis attempts to put an arm around her, but she shakes him off.
I groan when they disappear into the house, where I can no longer see them.
I’ve seen enough to know that Marcia probably knows the secret. Maybe she also heard Travis and Beatrice talking last night. They could have started the conversation at the house before moving to the back of the studio.
I don’t see Marcia or Travis until after lunch, when they both show up at the guesthouse. I already suspect that what they have to say is important as they make their way to opposite ends of the couch.
Fear drips down my spine. Have they decided they don’t want the baby anymore? Is this what it’s about?
Maybe their marriage is over, and a baby is no longer part of their plans.
I try not to get ahead of myself as I sit in the armchair across from them.
They exchange looks with each other before looking back at me. Marcia’s eyes are swollen and red. A dried river of tears and mascara runs down her cheeks. When our eyes meet, hers well up again.
“Is everything all right?” I ask, my throat dry.
What if they really don’t want the baby? What will I do?
Travis shakes his head and Marcia drops her gaze to her lap. I watch as a tear drops onto her hands. Travis doesn’t say anything. He wants her to share their news.
“What’s going on?” I can’t bear the pressure in my chest. Not knowing is killing me inside.
“Beatrice is...” she wipes her eyes. “Beatrice is dead.”
A cold wave of shock sweeps through me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes and fingertips.
“She’s dead? She—how?”
“We received a call this morning from her granddaughter. She found her lying at the bottom of the stairs. She must have fallen last night.”
“But that’s impossible,” I say.
“It’s a shock to all of us,” Travis adds quickly. “Beatrice was a good woman, but she was also tired and weak. It wouldn’t be a surprise if she really did fall.”
Liar, I want to scream. The way he talked to her last night made it clear he didn’t think much of her. I’ll go as far as saying he hated her. And Beatrice was no weak woman.
They continue to tell me more about the accident that took Beatrice’s life, but I’m not interested in what they have to say. My mind is now focused on one single question.
Was it really an accident?
Twenty-Eight
“Have you eaten?” Clayton asks as he st
eps through the door. I shake my head and he holds up two goodie bags. “Only your favorites.”
He called me again during his lunch break, wanting to know if I had decided whether to have dinner with them. His mother liked to plan meals in advance. When I told him something terrible happened, he ditched the dinner plans and told me he’d come see me after work instead.
Even though it would be the first time I invited someone to come see me at the Thorpes, I said yes. I’m an adult. I’m allowed visitors.
“Thanks, Clayton. That’s really kind of you.” I close the door.
“Are you okay?” he asks when we take a seat in the living room.
“I think so,” I say.
“You don’t have to lie to me.” He draws closer, placing an arm around my shoulders, like he did in front of the fountain a few weeks ago. Despite the circumstances, my body reacts the same way.
I find myself leaning into him, resting my head on his shoulder. “Okay,” I say. “I’m not okay.” The tears come and I’m unable to stop them. I didn’t really know Beatrice, never had a connection with her, but what happened to her is so tragic.
I didn’t tell Clayton what happened over the phone. I figured by the time he made it to me, he would already have heard, but after sitting in silence for a few minutes, he pulls away and looks into my eyes, his brow knitted.
“What happened?” he asks. “Please tell me it has nothing to do with the baby.”
“No. The baby’s fine.” I pull a tissue from my pocket and blow my nose. “It’s Beatrice.”
“What about her?”
I sniff and blow out a breath. “She’s dead.”
The silence that follows is heavy and long.
“What do you mean she’s dead?” Clayton asks. “Didn’t you say you saw her last night?”
“I did. I mean, I heard her voice. I’m pretty sure it was her.” It’s not hard to recognize the voice of someone who speaks with a lisp. “Actually, I think Travis also said her name.”
Clayton scratches the back of his head, confused. “Then if you saw or heard her so recently, how can she be dead now?”
It’s not that out of the ordinary. People die overnight all the time. One second they’re in front of you and the next they’re nothing but a memory.
“I don’t know, Clayton. I don’t know what to think.”
“How did you find out about this?”
“Travis and Marcia came over this afternoon to tell me.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Did they say what the cause of death was?”
“Apparently, she fell down the stairs at her place. At least that’s what Beatrice’s granddaughter thinks. She was the one who found her at the bottom.” I bite down on my trembling lip.
Clayton rubs his chin. “What a painful way to die.”
“It is a painful way to die, but what if that’s not really what happened?” I turn my body to face him. “What if it was not an accident?”
“What do you mean?” Clayton’s words are low and measured. When I look into his eyes, I can tell he knows exactly where my thoughts are taking me. “You don’t think he has something to do with it, do you?” he whispers, then shakes his head. “No. He couldn’t have.”
“You’re right. Forget what I said. I just think it’s strange that he was the last person she argued with. He threatened her, for God’s sake. Now she’s gone.”
“It certainly raises a lot of questions. But what secret is so terrible it would lead to murder?”
I glance at the windows, making sure they’re closed and that no one can hear our conversation.
“I have no idea.” I close my eyes and keep them that way, trying to clear my head. Everything in my mind is a jumbled mess right now. I need to be able to think straight.
“What are you thinking?” Clayton asks.
I meet his gaze. “I’m thinking that if it wasn’t an accident, and he had something to do with it, I can’t… I won’t give this child to them.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You’re thinking of keeping the baby?”
“I don’t know. When I came into this, I never planned on keeping the baby, but I don’t know what else to do at this point. Can I really give a baby to someone I suspect is a murderer?”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Clayton says. “There’s no proof.”
I don’t say anything. Instead, I listen to the beating of my heart. My chest feels so tight, and I wish I could give up and crumble. But I can’t do that. I need to be strong. This is not just about me. I may be considering breaking one promise, but I will keep the other. I will protect this child.
But Clayton is right. There’s no proof Travis had anything to do with Beatrice’s death aside from the conversation I heard. I didn’t even see them with my own eyes. Travis could easily talk himself out of it if he were ever questioned by the police.
Maybe it was exactly what they said it was, an accident. No one could ever know the truth unless they were there.
“You know what I think?” Clayton asks. “I don’t think you should make such an important decision based on what you heard last night. You should wait and see what turns up. If there was really any foul play involved, the cops will uncover it.”
Unless Travis is smarter than the cops. People get away with murder all the time. Of course, I don’t remind Clayton of that.
“You really don’t think I should go to the police?”
“Not without any concrete evidence.” He pauses. “I don’t want you to get caught up in this mess, Grace. If Travis finds out you suspect him, you don’t know how he might react.”
“True.” I pull at my earlobe, still deep in thought. “I just have an uneasy feeling that Beatrice was murdered.” What if by not going to the cops, I’m actually doing something wrong? Isn’t it my obligation as a citizen to report the crime?
Clayton squeezes my hand. “Give it a few days and see what happens.”
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll keep my mouth shut until I know more.”
Never in my wildest dreams did I think my journey of being a surrogate would end this way, that I would come to a place where I would consider not handing over the baby. And here I was thinking that dealing with Agnes was my only obstacle.
Maybe I’m reading too much into it. The secret Travis and Beatrice were talking about could be something simple, a misunderstanding that wasn’t powerful enough to lead to murder. That’s it. That’s what I’ll hold on to.
When the sound of a car engine breaks the silence, we both go to the window. This time, Travis and Marcia are getting into Travis’s Jeep. They don’t even seem to notice Clayton’s SUV.
Again, they haven’t told me they’re going out. They don’t need to. It’s their business. It’s just a big change from their normal routine since I arrived here. The one good thing that came out of this whole mess is that I finally have some peace. They have something else to worry about instead of me.
I step away from the window. “I feel so sorry for Marcia,” I say. “She’s known Beatrice since she was a child. I bet Beatrice was more of a mother to her than Agnes ever could be.”
Clayton nods but says nothing.
After they drive away, Clayton and I change the subject, talking instead about Heidi’s school and his struggle with making a decision to return to law.
“Moving Heidi again after she’s settled here would be tough. My mother definitely wants us to stay. She won’t even discuss the topic.”
“Clayton, whatever decision you make will be the right one for you and your daughter, and if you decide to return to the big city, maybe Nina will get over her discomfort and come visit. Now that she’s used to having you and Heidi around, she will miss you quite a bit.” I pause. “What I’m trying to say is, you’re a great dad. You’ll help your daughter flourish anywhere.”
“Thank you for saying that.” He draws me into a hug. “Whatever decision you make will be the right one for you, too. Whatever comes your way, you will be stron
g enough to handle it.”
“Copycat,” I say, laughing as we draw apart. Our eyes meet and hold. Then he suddenly stands up, pushing his hands deep into his pockets. He won’t look me in the eye again.
“I should go,” he says.
“Sure. Thanks for dropping by, and for the food.”
“No problem. That’s what friends are for.”
At the door, he leans slightly forward, like he’s about to hug me again, but he steps back before our bodies touch.
“If you need anything, you have my number.” He disappears through the door, leaving me feeling empty inside.
Twenty-Nine
“Everything looks great,” Dr. Miller says at my last prenatal visit before the birth. He removes the transducer from my belly and hands me a tissue to wipe off the ultrasound gel.
“Great,” I murmur, my gaze focused on the exposed skin of my belly as I wipe it clean. I’m nervous that if I look him in the eye, he might see the betrayal hidden behind them.
He snaps off his rubber gloves and tosses them into a silver wastebasket. “How do you feel? Have you experienced any issues you’d like to speak to me about?”
I look up at him. Does he know about the spotting? Perhaps he was able to access my records from the hospital. Then again, who cares at this point? A lot has changed since that night.
“No,” I say. “I’m okay. Nothing to complain about.” I ease myself off the exam table, allow my linen blouse to fall over my stomach, and follow him out of the exam room and into his office, where Travis and Marcia are waiting.
Sitting behind his desk, he tells them what he told me. “Her blood pressure levels are no longer as elevated as they were at the last checkup. As long as she continues to take her medications and avoids stressful situations, there will be nothing to worry about.”
Given everything that has been going on, I’m surprised that my blood pressure is not high.
Travis forces a smile. He glances at Marcia and the smile crumbles. It’s been three days since Beatrice died, and Marcia is still grieving. She spends endless hours in her studio, sometimes even spending the night.