by R. S. Lively
"No," Grant says. "That's what I know. No matter how rough and impressive you think you are, you're not going to intimidate me. And she might have been your wife once, but never again."
"And how do you know that, fucker?" Wyatt hisses through gritted teeth.
I can see in his eyes he's afraid of Grant. He should be.
"Because she's my wife," he says in a low, even tone.
I wait for Wyatt to react, but he doesn't.
On the other side of me, Jesse leans toward him, a triumphant expression on his face.
"Ta-da, dick!" he says.
Grant and I both turn to him. I blink a few times.
"Thank you, Jesse," Grant says.
Guess he’s changed his tune.
The sheriff gives a nod of solidarity, and Grant turns back to Wyatt.
"Leave her alone," he warns. “I mean it, Wyatt.”
With that, the officers finally guide Wyatt down the hall toward the backdoor of the school.
"There's really not much we can do," Jesse says as they disappear. "We can make a show of dragging him out of here, and give him a warning and everything, but honestly that's about it. He didn't really do anything to justify more than that."
"He's trespassing," I point out. "It's after hours, and no one has permission to be here but me."
"Then by all rights, Grant is trespassing." I look over at Grant. Shit.
"So, you see how quickly that slope becomes slippery. I'll make sure he knows he's not allowed to come inside the school, regardless of the circumstances."
"He was told not to come back when he was here in the fall," Grant says.
"I understand why you're upset, Grant. I do. But he never got a formal trespass. This mess will likely be enough to dissuade him. If he really did come back here because he wants Emma back, you've made it pretty clear that's not going to happen. My officers will cut him loose, and he'll probably leave the island for good this time."
"And if he doesn't?" I ask.
Jesse looks at me with an expression that says he doesn't want any trouble, and hopes this will all play out exactly like he just told me.
"It’s going to be ok, I promise. Go home with your husband, Emma. Grant isn’t in town nearly enough for you to waste your time together being worried about some raving lunatic with his panties in a bunch because you moved on. He's probably gotten it out of his system now, and you won't have to deal with him anymore."
Jesse nods at each of us and heads down the hallway toward the rear exit. I turn to Grant, and he reaches to take my hand. Jesse's words still echo through my mind.
My husband.
"Are you sure you're ok?" Grant asks.
I nod.
"I'm fine," I say. "I probably overreacted. He just really scared me."
"No," he says, shaking his head as he pulls me close to him again. "You didn't overreact. He showed up at your work when no one else was around, and threatened you. You did the right thing by calling me. I'm sorry I couldn't get here faster."
Now it's my turn to shake my head.
"I'm just glad you're here," I say.
"I'm here," Grant says, wrapping his arms around me again. "I'm here. I'm not leaving again for another couple of months. At least until summer. You won’t have to worry."
"Really?" I ask.
I knew he intended to come back for the prom, but I thought he might continue leaving for weekends, or short appointments with clients. I'm relieved to know he intends on staying through the end of the school year. I want to tell myself it's because he'll be here to tie up all the loose ends for Mr. Bernheimer's retirement celebration, but I know that's not really the case. I'm glad he's here because this is where I want him – home with me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Grant
The next day…
"Are you sure you don’t need anything else?"
Emma tilts her head and makes a face like she's thinking deeply, then smiles and shakes her head.
"No," she says. "Just the ice cream."
"I always thought that was something Hollywood made up," I say as I open the door and start outside. "I never thought pregnant women actually craved ice cream."
"At least I'm not asking you to get pickles to dip in it," she points out.
"Fair enough.” I open the storm door, propping it open with my foot, and turn to look at my pregnant wife again. "And you're sure you're going to be alright here until I get back?"
"Grant, you're going to the boardwalk to get ice cream. It won’t take you long. I think by this point, they might even have a pint on-call in the freezer."
"Been eating a lot of mint chocolate chip the last few weeks?" I ask.
She shrugs, flashing me a hint of a flirty smile.
"What can I say? This baby knows what it likes."
Her words remind me that it won't be much longer until we find out if she’s carrying a girl or a boy, and we can stop referring to our baby as ‘it.’ The thought of having a daughter or a son sends a little thrill through me, and I can't help but smile. We haven't talked much about the status of our relationship, or the logistics of what's going to happen when the baby is born, or even how we're going to announce the pregnancy, but we need to start soon. Emma’s belly is beginning to show, and sooner than later, she won't be able to use Taco Tuesday as an excuse anymore. Then we'll have to really face reality. For now, I’m happy to just take things one day at a time.
"Well, I'm happy to oblige him or her. Just keep the door shut and locked, and don't open it. Alright?"
The words are barely out of my mouth when Emma's eyes grow wide with terror, and the door leaning against my leg is violently pulled away. I turn just fast enough to see Wyatt’s face contort with hate as he shoves me backwards, forcing himself into the house. I stumble under his weight, and he manages to dash inside. Emma stands her ground, facing him with her fists balled at her sides.
"Wyatt, go away," she demands in a voice that is strong and clear, but has a tiny tremor of fear beneath it.
"Baby?" he growls.
My stomach sinks at the sound of his voice. Emma's hand goes to her belly protectively, but doesn't say anything.
"She told you to go away," I say.
"You went and got yourself knocked up?" Wyatt asks, taking a step toward her.
I walk around him, using my body to shield Emma.
"No," I say. "She didn't get herself knocked up. I did."
He laughs, a bitter, jarring noise.
"Hilarious," he says. "You must think you’re so fucking funny. I bet you fucking love that she walked out on me, ruined my life, and is now shacked up with you in this two-bit little village when she should be home with me."
"I didn't walk out on you," Emma snaps. "Don't blame me for leaving after you decided to cheat. But honestly, I'm glad you did. If you hadn't, who knows how long I might have stayed there with you. You didn't deserve me then, and you don't deserve me now. I'm never going back to you, Wyatt. It’s over."
Wyatt's right eye twitches with rage, and his face reddens as his hands clench at his sides.
"I was the best thing that ever happened to you, Emma," he says. “Don’t you fucking forget it.”
"Wyatt, you need to leave," I say. "You stopped being a part of her life a long time ago."
"If that was true then I wouldn't be here," Wyatt says.
"You're only here because you can't stand losing control over me," Emma says. "You think you can coerce and manipulate everyone around you, and that they will magically do everything you want. It’s all in your head. It isn’t real. You mean nothing to me, Wyatt. You’re just an unfortunate part of my past I’d like to put behind me forever. You need to leave. Now."
"You think it's that easy?" Wyatt asks. "Yesterday, I was knocked around by those idiot cops because of you, and now I find out that even though you didn't want a kid when we were married, all of a sudden, you're knocked up by this loser."
"This guy is my husband," Emma says defiantly. H
er words make my heart swell, and a rush of loyalty and emotion surges through me. "He's not someone I settled for when I came back. I've known him since high school. Not that it's any of your fucking business. Now, before you say anything else, you need to leave."
"You're not going to tell me what to do, bitch."
"That's enough," I say, stepping closer to him.
I'm done. I tried not to interfere and let Emma could handle this on her own, but I've had enough of Wyatt. Emma and the baby she's carrying are mine to protect, and nothing will stop me from doing just that.
"Get out of my way."
"No," I say. "It's time for you to leave."
I push him back further, forcing my body between him and Emma so he can't see her. He doesn't deserve to even look at her. He tries to hold his ground, but he's no match for my size, not to mention the righteous anger coursing through me. I take another step forward, driving him back until he's at the door. One shove pushes the storm door open and sends him stumbling backward onto the porch. The impact seems to snap him out of the shock of my arrival, and he scrambles to his feet to face me. I don't hesitate to step through the door after him. He's out of the house, but I want to make sure he understands he is never welcome back here.
Reaching forward, I grab a handful of his shirt and yank him close to me.
"Get away from here, asshole," I growl.
He hesitates for a moment.
"No," he spits back, shifting his weight to force me down the steps and onto my knees on the sidewalk.
He jumps down the steps behind him, and I turn around just in time to stop him from burying his elbow into the back of my neck. Surging forward, I catch him by his legs, toppling him to the ground.
"Stop it!" Emma shouts from the door.
I ignore her, crawling over to the prone figure on the ground in front of me, and burying my knee in his protruding gut as I pull my fist back and smash it into his face. There's a satisfying crunching sound accompanied by a deep groan, but an instant later, he forces his shoulders up and sends me onto my side. He returns my punch, and finds just enough energy to kick out, hitting me square in the stomach. Suddenly he's on his feet, rushing back to the porch. The wet grass is slippery beneath my feet, but I dig my shoes into the mud and push myself up. I've only taken one step forward when I hear Emma's blood-chilling scream.
Emma’s bent over, her hands clutching her belly as she gasps for breath. Wyatt stares at her, his eyes locked on where she grips our baby. As I rush past him, I notice his face. Hard. Emotionless. Gathering Emma into my arms, I lead her back toward the couch and sit down.
"What is it, Emma?" I ask. "What happened?"
I'm focused on her, but out of the corner of my eye I’m watching Wyatt walk away until he disappears from view.
"Something's wrong," Emma manages to say.
"What is it?" I ask.
Emma nods.
"There's a really sharp pain in my lower belly," she groans. "I can barely breathe."
"We need to get you to the hospital,” I say. “Right now.”
I expect her to argue and try to minimize the situation like she usually does, but she nods in agreement. Grabbing my keys, I scoop her into my arms and rush out of the house to my waiting car.
Three hours later, I'm sitting beside Emma's bed in the emergency room. She's gripping my hand, her head tilted back, and her eyes closed as an IV pumps fluids into her arm. The room around us is quiet except for a series of muted beeps and blips in the background. I look up, like I’ve been doing every few seconds since getting here, and check the lines crawling across the screen. One for Emma. One for the baby. All good.
There's a soft knock on the door, and it eases open so Dr. Connor, our attending physician, can step inside. I look at her expectantly, and she gives a slight nod toward Emma.
"How are you doing?" she asks.
"Alright," Emma replies. "I’ve been resting."
Dr. Connor walks further into the room, and her silence makes my heart pound in my chest. I've been listening to the beeps coming from the machine linked to Emma’s belly and have found reassurance and comfort in them, but the longer the doctor doesn’t speak, the more I worry. Finally, Dr. Connor opens the folder in her hands, and I see her eyes scan over the papers inside.
"I've reviewed the results from the tests we ran," she says. "So far, everything looks good."
"So far?" Emma asks.
She nods.
"I'd like to do another ultrasound now that things have calmed down a little. I know the tech did one when you first got here, but I'd like to take a look for myself and make sure everything is still fine."
"Do you have any idea what happened?" I ask. "What would have caused pain like that?"
"I know that was a terrifying experience for you," the doctor says, looking at Emma, then turning her eyes to me, "and I'm sure for you, too. But I want to reassure you, it doesn't appear that anything serious happened. Pregnancy can be very strange, and unpredictable things happen, especially if the mother is experiencing episodes of high stress. You mentioned you were having an argument when she first experienced the pains?"
"Not between us," Emma clarifies.
I shake my head.
"We weren't arguing," I explain, suddenly concerned about letting the doctor know it wasn't tension between Emma and me that might have caused this to happen. "Emma's…" I stop myself and look over at her.
Emma's expression is tight and drawn, but she looks directly at the doctor and speaks without hesitation.
"My ex-husband showed up at our house," she says. "He had it in his mind we were going to have a reconciliation."
"I’m guessing he wasn't happy when he found out you are remarried?" the doctor asks.
"That's an understatement," I say.
"He was threatening both of us," Emma says, "and he got into a physical altercation with Grant."
She nods.
"That would be stressful on anyone, especially a pregnant woman. You need to try and avoid emotional strain and shock. That stress, combined with some dehydration, was the likely culprit behind those pains."
"So, it wasn't anything serious?" Emma confirms.
"I don't think so," the doctor tells her. "At the beginning of their second trimester, many women experience aching, cramping, and even some contraction-like pain, especially when dehydrated or tired. It's usually nothing to be concerned about. But, just to be cautious, I do want to perform a second ultrasound. The tech probably didn't linger in there any, so this will give you a chance to get a peek, too."
That thought excites me. The doctor was right. When the tech did the first ultrasound within minutes after processing through triage, we didn't even get to look at the screen. He flashed through for a few seconds, confirmed the baby's heart was beating, and left so the nurses could come in and hook Emma up to all the little beeping machinery surrounding her now.
Dr. Connor slips out of the room, returning a few seconds later with the same ultrasound contraption from earlier. Emma wriggles down slightly lower on the bed to better position herself, and the doctor moves her gown out of the way, revealing the small swell of her belly.
Nearly four months in, Emma is only just starting to look a little softer, a little heavier in the middle – like she had switched seasons and put on her holiday weight in the spring.
That’s probably not something I should ever say to her.
I watch for a few seconds as the doctor squeezes blue gel onto Emma's belly, then pressing the wand to her skin. Dr. Connor’s pushing hard enough it looks painful, but Emma's not reacting. Instead, her eyes are locked on the screen beside the doctor. All I see is a hazy grayish-black image. I have no idea what it is at first. There seems to be nothing but the vague shape of an upside-down triangle, and something that looks like the interference at the beginning of old Twilight Zone episodes. It takes me a few seconds to realize what I'm looking at, but as soon as I do it's so clear it takes my breath away.
Tha
t's my baby. That round little head and spindly little arms belong to our child. Suddenly, it's all so incredibly real. I knew she was carrying my baby, but actually seeing it has transformed it from an abstract thought into firm, tangible reality. Emma and I reach for each other's hands as we watch the baby twitch around on the screen. The little flutter in the middle seems to be moving at an impossible speed, but the doctor isn't concerned.
"It looks great," he says.
"It?" I ask. "Still it?"
Dr. Connor laughs and nods as she takes the wand away from Emma's belly. She wipes the gel away from her skin and covers her up.
"For now," she says. "It's too early to give you an accurate answer. Give it a few more weeks. Then, you can find out if you're going to be welcoming a little boy or little girl in late September or early October."
My head immediately fills with thoughts of the fall season returning, and our baby being there to experience it with us. He or she will be a few weeks old by Halloween – perfect for one of those completely impractical yet adorable costumes. Maybe a pea. Or a taco. I wonder if I could figure out how to make a comfortable ice cream cone costume.
I look over at Emma, and our eyes meet. Leaning down, I touch a soft kiss to her lips, then rest my forehead against hers briefly.
"Are you ready to go home?" I whisper.
She nods, and I look over at the doctor.
"I'll have the nurse bring your discharge papers in just a minute," she says, walking out of the room.
"Thanks, Dr. Connor.”
Emma coos as I settle my head on her belly, trying to be as close as possible to the little dancing figure inside.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Emma
Two days later…
"Should I be seeing fingers? I can't see fingers."
Judy turns the ultrasound picture over a few times and narrows her eyes to peer at it more closely.
"The baby has fingers," I assure her. "It's just not easy to see in that picture. Its hands are kind of scrunched up."