“I secured us a flight . . . we have to be at the airport within the hour. We’ll be back in the city early tomorrow morning.”
Charlotte shook her head, unappeased. “I didn’t ask you that.”
Nicholas’ silvers clouded with regret. “I’m needed back home,” he said. It was a confession, the only declaration of guilt he could muster.
“Okay,” Charlotte responded, unsatisfied, but beyond her level of expertise on how to handle Nicholas’ uncommunicative temperament. For weeks now he had been unforthcoming, taciturn. She was at a loss. “Fine,” she sighed, dropping her hands away from him and letting them fall idly to her sides.
Backing out of Charlotte’s reach, Nicholas hurried past her to collect the rest of their belongings, feeling dismayed and disgusted with himself.
***
Charlotte stared absently out the taxi’s dirty window, her mind in a dismal state. Her dark gaze jumped from one stranger’s face to the next as the cab passed the city blocks that had become her home, her place of refuge. Only now, looking out into the streets, she didn’t feel comfort. Everything seemed dim, colorless− uninviting even, whereas before life seemed to bud from every corner, every turn. Perhaps, it was the melancholy atmosphere within the cab that caused the outside to appear dull, she wondered. The flight from Maui had been long, excruciatingly painful due to the unnerving silence that stretched on between them. It was maddening how quickly the dynamic of their relationship had changed. Not even twenty- four hours ago they were in a state of euphoria from the splendor of soaring above active volcanos and exploring paradise. They were contented, they were happy.
“I won’t be long,” Nicholas said, interrupting Charlotte from her thoughts. “I’ll put our luggage in my car for now and carry it up when I get back.”
To her surprise the cab had come to a complete stop in front of her apartment building. When had they passed 8th Ave, W. 25th St.? Charlotte adjusted her weight in the small proximity of the backseat so that she was facing Nicholas. “This problem at the magazine is so important that you don’t have time to take our things upstairs?” she asked, clearly frustrated.
When Nicholas didn’t respond, she nodded her head in understanding before getting out of the car and slamming the door to prove her point. With long strides Charlotte quickly made her way into the building, skipping steps she half ran, half walked the flights in record time. More than anything she wanted to be done with the day, she was exhausted, and jet lagged from the time difference. But− she knew that sleep would not be an option until Nicholas was home and in bed with her. Opening her purse, Charlotte pulled out her keys and cell phone simultaneously. Skillfully working the device with one hand, she managed to open the door to her apartment with the other.
“Trish!” she exclaimed when the line connected. “Tell me you’re free.”
“Chil’ I thought I was going to have to send a search party for you. You straight up disappeared off the face of the earth,” Patricia laughed loudly in her ear. “I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks.”
Charlotte closed her eyes, reveling in the familiarity of the sound. “I miss you, Trish,” she said, after a brief pause. “Come over.”
“You’re home?” Patricia asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m on my way.”
Chapter Eleven
Briskly walking into St. Timothy’s Hospital emergency room lobby, Nicholas made his way to the receptionist, a woman of about twenty- five with a pixie haircut and full lips. “Excuse me,” he said, his tone anxious. “I would like to visit a patient, Blithe Sullivan.”
“I need your identification,” she returned, not bothering to look away from her computer monitor. “Blithe Sullivan?” she repeated.
“Yes,” Nicholas answered, sliding his license across the counter. “She was in a car accident a week and a half ago.”
“She was recently moved from ICU to a step- down unit. Let me check something . . . okay, she’s on the fourth floor in room 412, Wing A.”
“Thank you.”
“Sure thing,” she replied, handing Nicholas his identification, her gaze still locked on the screen in front of her.
Nicholas followed the signs leading to the elevators and with practiced patience waited to board one that did not require him to be thronged and uncomfortably pressed against strangers. While he appeared calm on the outside, inwardly he was experiencing pure pandemonium. Two months ago, he was satisfied with the path his life had taken, happy even. But one mistake, one terrible mistake and his life had quickly spiraled out of control− had totally gotten away from him. “Four, please,” he said to the stout, older man in front of him. The ride to the fourth floor wasn’t long enough.
Fear of the unknown brought on an overwhelming feeling of anxiety. Blithe was fine, but what about the baby? The baby he had wanted so desperately to forget about was now all that he thought about, and part of him, most of him felt like a monster for allowing his mind to consider so many endless possibilities−possibilities that would free him from his mistake, but destroy others. It all seemed so hopeless.
The undertone of bleach and antiseptic filled Nicholas’ nostrils as he exited the elevator, causing him to wrinkle his nose. Moving down the long, wide hallway he passed nurses of all ages and ethnicities coming in and out of hospital rooms as they made their evening rounds. 412 A, he read to himself when he reached the room.
Opening the heavy oak door to Blithe’s hospital room, Nicholas walked into the small space without hesitation. Blithe was asleep, her thin body covered with several white cotton blankets. Nicholas made his way over to the bed; his gaze fixed on Blithe’s face. She was pale, her once rosy cheeks now void of color. His molten gaze drifted down her torso to settle at her abdomen. “Blithe,” Nicholas said, placing his hand on hers, hoping to wake her.
“I doubt she will be able to hear you,” came a man’s voice from behind him. “She was experiencing pain earlier and so we increased her pain medicine.”
Turning, Nicholas looked into the face of an older Asian man with salt hair. “Pain medication?” he repeated. “Is that safe?”
“It is,” the older man said. Slowly making his way to Blithe, he took his time taking her vitals, meticulous with his work. “I am Doctor Kim, Ms. Sullivan’s attending physician,” he said, as he jotted notes on his clipboard. “She is making excellent progress considering the state in which she came in.”
“The baby . . . how is the baby?”
Doctor Kim frowned deeply, the act causing him to look older and even more worn. “Baby?” he repeated, looking up from Blithe’s medical chart to meet Nicholas’ intense gaze. Shaking his head, he looked down at his clipboard once more, clearly confused. “Ms. Sullivan was not pregnant when she entered the hospital for treatment. Our staff performed a routine pregnancy screening before she went into surgery.”
Nicholas stared at the doctor stupidly. “She isn’t pregnant?”
“There is no indication from previous testing that Ms. Sullivan is with child, no,” Doctor Kim said. “And who are you exactly?” he asked warily.
“Is there a possibility that she lost the baby during the crash? Before arriving to the hospital?” Nicholas knew his questions were idiotic and lacked purpose. But he couldn’t quite accept the reality of Blithe lying about something as extreme as being pregnant. She was a smart woman, she had to have known that a fake pregnancy wasn’t something that could be hidden for very long. After all, she would have needed to produce a baby after nine months. Did you not think any of this through? He wondered.
“The bloodwork would have picked up on hGC levels if Ms. Sullivan was indeed pregnant, but there were no signs of pregnancy in her bloodwork,” Doctor Kim explained. Tucking his clipboard under his arm, he gave Nicholas a practiced, but still awkward smile. “I have to continue my rounds. Give Ms. Sullivan an hour or so and she should be coming out of her slumber. Take care.”
“Yeah, you too.”
***
Laughing, Charlotte wrapped her arms around her friend’s curvy waist. “I’ve missed you, too, Trish,” she said, sighing dramatically. “It’s been too long.”
“Yes, indeed,” Patricia said, sounding older than her thirty- five years. Backing away from Charlotte, she eyed the younger woman inquisitively. “So, where have you been?” she repeated.
Charlotte’s dark brown eyes lit with humor. “You’re still Trish,” she said, shaking her head at her friend’s meddlesome nature.
Placing her hands on her curvy hips, Patricia playfully rolled her chestnut brown eyes. “And who else would I be? New day, same Trish. Now, tell me where you’ve been. Rumors have been all the rage about you and Nicholas over the past few weeks. I’m not even at the magazine and I’ve heard story after wild story about the two of you.”
“Wild stories, huh?” Charlotte asked, forging interest in the gossip Patricia was no doubt using as bait to break her reticent disposition. “Come into the kitchen with me. I want to pour us some wine.” Taking Patricia by the wrist Charlotte ushered the shorter woman through her apartment. “Then we can sit down and talk.”
“Talk about where you’ve been, and how you fell off the face of the earth . . . ignored my calls for nearly a month . . . oh! And about what Nicholas was thinking stepping down and appointing Dean as his replacement! There is soo much for us to talk about.”
Releasing her hold on the other woman, Charlotte came to an abrupt stop. “What did you just say?”
Patricia turned to find a deep frown on Charlotte’s face, and a wary look in her eyes. Realizing that she had spoken out of turn, she blinked stupidly at the younger woman. Clearing her throat, she sighed before speaking. “I probably heard wrong,” she said, forcing a smile. “You know how rumors spread so−”
“No!” Charlotte interjected sharply. “Do not lie to me.”
“Charlotte, it’s not my place. You should talk to Nicholas, and−”
“He stepped down from the magazine? When? When did he step down?” she demanded.
Patricia exhaled, seemingly distressed. “I first heard about it a few weeks ago,” she said apologetically.
“And, Dean . . .? He made Dean his replacement?”
“From what I’ve heard, but Charlotte you know how those people are . . . you’ve experienced it firsthand . . . how easily lies spread at the magazine. Everyone is always looking for a fresh slice of drama to chew on and shit out at the expense of others. I wouldn’t pay it any mind.”
Charlotte laughed harshly. The sound was bitter, painful. “How easily lies are spread,” she repeated, contemplatively. “Call my phone,” she said suddenly, walking past Patricia to grab her Blackberry off the marble coffee table. “You said you tried to reach me, right? I haven’t gotten any calls or texts from you in weeks. Not since a couple days before we left.”
“You probably had bad reception,” Patricia sighed, outwardly distraught. The last thing she wanted to do was cause a mess. “You still haven’t told me where you were?” she said in a lame attempt to change the direction of their conversation.
Holding her phone out in front of her, Charlotte said, “Call me.”
Hesitantly, Patricia did as she was told, dialing Charlotte’s number with slow fingers. “It’s ringing,” she said when the line connected.
“Nothing came through.” Going to her settings she typed blocked numbers hoping that she was being irrational− paranoid even, but her optimism was futile. Her eyes widened at the sight of Patricia’s name. He blocked Trish from contacting me! Her subconscious screamed at her. She was at a loss, unable to wrap her head around what would cause Nicholas to do the things he had done. Holding her phone out for Patricia to see, she said, “He blocked you.”
“I think I should go,” Patricia said, her tone apologetic. “I came over to make sure you were okay, and instead spoke on things that had nothing to do with me . . . the last thing I wanted to do was destroy your first day back from your trip. I’m sorry−”
“Honeymoon,” Charlotte said, pulling an elastic band from her hair, allowing the thick black mass to fall around her face.
Looking down at Charlotte’s left hand, Patricia gasped. “Honeymoon?” she cried, truly feeling awful. “Charlotte, I’m so−”
“Second honeymoon, actually,” Charlotte corrected herself. “You see, he left before our first one could actually start . . . he had to get back to the magazine,” she laughed dryly.
“Charlotte, I−”
“Trish, I think you’re right. You should go,” Charlotte said, dropping her gaze to the wooden floor. She was hurt. Hurt and embarrassed. Having another woman tell her about Nicholas’ secret affairs was humiliating and disconcerting, even if that other woman was Patricia. And then to find out that he made Dean Editor-in-Chief was simply too much to fathom at once.
“Call me if you feel like talking,” Patricia said, interrupting Charlotte from her thoughts. “And I really am sorry.”
“Yeah, I know.”
***
Nicholas glanced at the clock adjacent to Blithe’s bed just as she began to stir. The small movement captured his attention, causing him to look at her for the first time since the doctor had made his last round nearly three hours before. Time ticked away slowly, painfully, as he silently stared at the walls, the floor, the curtains, anything . . . everything, except her. He would have given anything to be elsewhere, but he needed answers− answers that he knew only Blithe could provide. And so, he waited. Minutes passed before she fully opened her eyes, and then several more seconds before she noticed his presence in the room.
“Nicholas,” Blithe breathed his name, a litany on her dry lips. “I didn’t expect a visit from you.”
Nicholas regarded her carefully, his silver gaze dark and unreadable. “Why wouldn’t I visit the mother of my child after such a horrendous ordeal?” he asked, his voice low.
“Did Muffy tell you I was here?”
“My parents know about the accident?”
Blithe was silent for a moment, her once sensual facial features sharpening. It was a subtle shift of her lips and tightening of her nose, still, it hadn’t gone unnoticed. “I’m sure my parents would have told them by now.” Bringing an IV restricted hand to her swollen face, she rubbed the tips of her fingers across her thick brows, attempting to fix what she could not see. “If your parents didn’t tell you what happened, how did you find out?”
“I have my ways of finding information when I deem it relevant.”
Blithe’s mouth twitched. “And you deem me relevant?”
“Hardly.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Why wouldn’t I be here? You’re pregnant with my child, right? It only makes sense that I would check on the baby.”
“Phones do exist.”
“And apparently so do fake pregnancy tests,” he laughed, though there was no humor in it. “You know, I’ am curious, at what point was this game going to end for you?”
Blithe’s baby blue eyes narrowed under his condemnatory gaze. “When your fiancé left you,” she said sweetly. Even in a hospital bed, her fierce disposition never changed. “At least, that was the plan.”
Nicholas’ jaw clenched at her words. “You have nothing better to do with your life than to try and ruin mine? Have you always been this pitiful?”
Blithe’s eyes clouded from the sting of his words. Averting her gaze, she said, “You got what you came for, so leave.”
“I came to check on a baby that never existed. Even, you, must know that’s messed up.”
Turning to face Nicholas once more, Blithe forced a smile through the tears falling steadily down her pale cheeks. “We’re all a bit messed up, Nicholas. Even, you.”
Chapter Twelve
Charlotte lay on the couch draped in a thin cashmere coverlet, praying that sleep would
find her before insanity had the chance. For hours she had laid there, waiting for a text, a call, anything, but there was nothing. Nothing, but damaging thoughts that were threatening to send her over the edge. Learning years ago, that her mind could be her worst enemy, Charlotte fought to ignore her paranoia, rejecting the theories of betrayal that clawed their way into her subconscious. What she needed now, more than anything was for Nicholas to come home and to make sense of what Patricia had said. What she needed− was to be told that everything that had come out of their friend’s mouth was a huge misunderstanding, one that he could easily elucidate.
Listening for the sound of keys jingling outside of her apartment door, Charlotte knew the exact second Nicholas had come home. Sitting up, she straightened her torso against the backrest of the couch, loosely crossing her legs in front of her. Laying down she would be at a disadvantage, in a submissive state that would render her easily accessible. Accessible to the caress of his hand, the touch of his lips− the feel of his manhood against her always welcoming heat. No, facing Nicholas in such a manner would not get her the answers she so desperately needed from him− that truth she knew unequivocally.
“Dimple,” Nicholas called from the foyer. When no answer came, he said, “Did you fall asleep already?” Following the light into the living room, he stopped at the archway surprised to see her sitting there. “Hey beautiful. I called out to you.”
Charlotte stood then, allowing the blanket to fall to her feet. Her expression was un-readable, but her eyes spoke of confusion, possessed turmoil. “Where were you?” she inquired coolly.
Nicholas’ brows furrowed, causing thin wrinkles to form around his silver eyes. “The mag−”
“Don’t lie to me!” Charlotte yelled at him. “You were not at the magazine. And do you want to know how I know that?”
Nicholas’ heart leaped. His clear grey eyes stared at her intensely as fear quickly spread through him. “Dimple−”
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