I pick up my plate and head back to the kitchen. I smile when I see the feast covering the stove and counters. Jillian and I made this . . . together. It makes me proud that we could do this for her family, but I’m relieved knowing that I’m done in the kitchen for the day. Jillian, Kitty, and Cheryl pulled clean-up duty, while I’ve been deployed to take the guys downstairs to watch football after dinner. Score! No argument here.
I rescue the pies, and place them on the stove to cool.
I’m shoveling some stuffing onto my plate when Jenny walks in.
“Hey, Raine.” She comes to stand next to me wearing a frown, and crosses her arms over her chest.
“What’s up, Jen? You look bummed.” I reach for another slice of turkey. “What was going on with Russ out there?”
“He asked me to move to California with him,” she says without preamble. Jenny and I have gotten closer since we made up back in September. For some reason, she feels comfortable talking to me about personal things. I’m glad, but I follow a strict “don’t kiss and tell” policy when it comes to Jillian.
“And?”
“It’s not like he asked me to marry him or anything,” she says with an underlying tone of bitterness.
I put my plate down and look at her. “Do you want to marry him?” I ask, thinking it’s a logical question.
“That’s not the point,” she snaps.
I throw my hands up in surrender. “Then what is the point? Help a poor, ignorant guy understand what’s going on in your female head and where you’re going with this.”
“Would you shake up your life for no guarantees?” she asks.
I snort. Is she kidding me? “Jenny, my life has been shaken up since I left high school. Let me remind you—there are no guarantees. There are gambles, chances, and hope. You’ll have to place your bets in life, there’s no getting around it. For what it’s worth, the best advice I can give you is to follow your heart.”
She pouts. “But I could get all the way out there and we break up. Then what?”
“Come on, Jenny, really? You get on a plane and come home, or you make a life out there if you like the place. Point is, don’t be afraid to do something because of how it might turn out.”
“So you’d go?”
“Only if I wanted to be with the person who asked,” I say.
She nods and gives me a peck on the cheek. “Thanks.”
“Ironic, isn’t it? You asking me for relationship advice,” I say, grinning.
“Why? You clearly know what you’re doing,” she says with an appreciative glance, and walks out to rejoin everyone in the dining room.
I follow her a few moments later and sit back down. A bite of turkey is on its way to my mouth when Jillian sways into me and clutches my arm. Her face is a pale shade of green.
I drop my fork. “Are you okay?”
“I’m going to be sick,” she says. Her hand flies to her mouth as she bolts from the table toward the powder room next to the kitchen. I race after her. The door slams shut before I get there, and I hear her retching on the other side. God, I hate that sound.
“Jillian, what can I do? Do you need my help?” I ask with my hand poised on the doorknob.
“No, don’t come in,” she says in a weak voice that carries a quiver. “I’ll be okay.”
“I’ll wait out here then.” I post myself against the wall with a mix of worry and relief. I’d go in if she needed me, but all it would take is one whiff and I’d have to fight back the urge to join her. Suddenly, I wonder . . . the food! But I ate everything, and I feel fine. What if it’s E. coli? But we followed the safe handling instruction on the turkey.
I’m running over the possibilities when Kitty comes a minute later. “Raine, how is she?”
“She won’t let me in. But I think she’s done puking.” I can hear water running in the sink.
“Jillian, do you want some crackers and ginger ale, sweetie?” Kitty asks through the door.
My brows draw together. “No one else feels sick, do they?”
“Jillian probably picked up a bug,” she says, and gives my arm a reassuring squeeze. “I think the guys are ready to watch some football before dessert. Do you want to take them down now?”
“Not until Jillian comes out,” I say, locking my arms across my chest. The water shuts off.
“I’m out,” she says, no longer looking green but still a little shaken. “Kitty, crackers and soda sound good.”
“I’ll get them right away.” Kitty skitters off to the kitchen.
I take Jillian’s arm. “Do you think you’re coming down with something?”
She presses her hand to her forehead. “Maybe. I feel a little dizzy.”
My stomach clenches at the thought of her not feeling well. Worry is hardwired inside me after spending so much time with my mom when she was sick. “Can I take you upstairs?”
She attempts a smile and caresses my cheek. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a little nausea. Go take the guys downstairs. It’s okay, really.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Go.”
I follow her to the dining room, and reluctantly gather up the guys for the game. As I descend the stairs into the basement to the home theater, I can’t help but feel something is off.
Chapter 37
Jillian
“JILLIAN, please let me in,” Raine says from outside the bathroom door.
I press my cheek against the cold porcelain bowl, and hug it for dear life. This is the fourth day in a row that I haven’t been able to keep down any food. The nausea gripped me hard this morning after I drank my coffee. The back of my throat still burns with the bitter residue.
“I’ll be out a minute. I promise,” I say in a harsh rasp. I cough up some acid and spit it into the bowl. I hope I’ll be out in a minute. The wave of queasiness is receding, signaling that the worst of it should be over.
“I can stay home from work,” he says. I picture him leaning his blond head up against the door. His voice is that close. I hate seeing the concern in his eyes and want to push him away. When I’m sick, my instinct is to crawl into a hole and hide like a wounded animal . . . alone. He, on the other hand, is the opposite. He loves when I dote on him, liking me close and there to comfort him. After the broken ribs, he’s only been sick once. It turned into a two-day affair of chicken soup and tender loving care. I admit that I enjoy taking care of him, but I’m not the same, regardless of how much he wants me to be. I’ve given myself a pat on the back for not hurting his feelings over the last few days while he’s tried to care for me, but I can tell it’s stressing him out.
“No, go to work. I have an appointment with the doctor at ten. I’ll be fine,” I say as gently as I can.
“Will you call me after the appointment?”
“Yes, sweetheart. Right after I see him,” I say to placate him.
“Please let me see you so I can say good-bye,” he pleads.
“Just a sec,” I say, and crawl onto my knees before I can stand. I wash my mouth out and then open the door.
He’s standing against the doorjamb, his forehead etched with concern. His shoulders slump in relief, and he takes me in his arms. He’s dressed for work in slacks and a button-down, and his hair is neatly back. “I hate leaving you,” he says into my hair. “Call me later. Don’t just text me.”
I give him a kiss on the lips and meet the blue intensity of his beautiful, worried eyes. “Please don’t stress, I’ll be fine. I’ll call you right away. Now, go before you miss your train.”
He releases a breath. “Okay. I’ll come home if you need me.”
I give him a weak smile. “Raine, I love you. Go.”
He lets me go, and reluctantly heads for the garage. “I love you, too. Going.”
I breathe a deep sigh of relief when I hear the garage door close and his truck back out of the driveway. I pass my hand over my face and make my way up the stairs to dress.
God, I feel like shit.
My
mind shifts to a black place as I size up the possibilities and pray I’m wrong.
Chapter 38
Jillian
“LUCAS, how the HELL can I be pregnant?” I scream at Dr. Lucas Wilson as I pace inside his office like a caged animal. My lungs seize in panic as the walls close in on me. I’m trapped in a nightmare with an eight-week-old fetus inside me, and I can’t wake up.
No more than ten years older than me with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair and warm brown eyes, Lucas sits on the edge of his desk wearing a white lab coat over his golf shirt. He looks like he just stepped off the course right before my appointment . . . which he did. I rank on his list of patients—he’s a family friend and my private concierge physician. An excellent general practitioner, lucky for me, he has a dual specialty in gynecology and obstetrics.
“Jillian,” he says sternly with my file open, and his glasses perched on the end of his nose. “The fertility specialist said, and I quote, ‘Patient has less than a 2 percent chance of conceiving based on her current condition affecting the production of her ovum. It is highly unlikely that she will be able to conceive a child.’ They never said you can’t get pregnant, they only said it was highly unlikely.”
I clutch the sides of my head. “I tried for a decade and a half. I’ve never used birth control. How could this happen? Why now?” When I’m finally happy. I’m torn between wanting to cry and wanting to break something.
“I understand your surprise, Jillian, but I would think—given how hard you’ve tried—that you’d be . . . pleased.”
“Pleased? At thirty-three, maybe, but not at almost forty-three,” I snap and sweep a hand over my face.
“I understand your concern. We’ll have to watch you carefully given your advanced maternal age. I’d also recommend a genetic screening test in your fifth month.” Lucas picks up his pen. “Let me write you a script for prenatal vitamins.”
“No,” I say through my clenched teeth.
“What do you mean, ‘no?’ ” he asks, dumbfounded.
“I mean that I'm probably not going to keep it.” I never thought I’d be confronted with having to make this choice, but, damn it, here I am.
A horrified look passes over his face. “What?”
“You heard me,” I grit, clenching my hands at my sides. My fear and anger make me almost rabid. Doesn’t he understand? I. Don’t. Want. A. Child.
“Jillian, you can’t be serious. What about the father?” he says quietly.
“What about him?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize there is no way I can push this burden onto him.
Loneliness gores me, and I know. I’m going to lose him. If he doesn’t leave, I’ll end up pushing him away. I can see the train coming down the tracks, and I’m standing in its path unable to get out of the way.
Lucas blows out a breath. “Think long and hard before you make this decision, Jillian. But if you decide to move ahead, I’ll only agree to terminate the prenancy on two conditions,” he says roughly. “Or you can find someone else.”
“What conditions?” I ask, relieved that he won’t flat out refuse on moral grounds. I don’t relish finding a new doctor.
“You think about it for a week . . . and you tell the father. Obviously, the last piece is just a request. I’ll have to take you at your word.”
“Fine,” I say as I grind my teeth. I grab my purse and turn to leave.
“Wait,” he says.
I turn and glare at him, even though it’s me that I’m disgusted with. I want to be anywhere but inside my own body right now. “What?”
He shakes his head. “I hope you . . . decide to keep it. That’s all.”
“I’ll be in touch,” I say and shut the door behind me.
As I head to the SUV, I hear my phone pling with a new text. My jaw tightens, and I pull it out.
Don’t keep me hanging. What did the doctor say? Call me. Love ya, Raine
I drop the phone back in my purse. I let the numbness spread through me in preparation for the pain that will surely follow. Right now, I need some distance. I need to be away from Raine. I need to think by myself.
On autopilot, I find my way home. I leave my purse in the car since I won’t be staying long. I pack up my laptop and an overnight bag.
By the time I return to the car, there are two more texts and two voicemail messages.
Hey, where are you? I’m worried. Call me. Love ya.
Jillian, is everything okay? Please call me when you get this. R
Instead of listening to the voicemail messages, I delete them and text him back.
Will be in touch later. J
Then I turn off my phone. I need silence. I turn onto Route 24 and head for Spring Lake where I can be alone to think . . . and breathe.
Chapter 39
Raine
WILL BE IN TOUCH LATER. J
What the fuck does that mean?! I slam my cell onto my desk. Forget the fact that she’s avoiding me; there’s nothing warm or fuzzy about her message.
A pit of fear coalesces in my gut. I know something’s wrong, I can feel it in my bones. Jillian has been acting odd ever since Thanksgiving, slowly withdrawing and pushing me away. I keep racking my brain. What did I do? Have I done something wrong?
Karen, another intern, looks up from her computer. “Everything all right?” she asks.
“No,” I mumble, and before I can stop myself, I blurt out what’s on my mind. “My girlfriend went to the doctor, and now she won’t pick up the phone. I’m worried.”
“What’s wrong with her?” she asks while her fingers continue to fly across her keyboard.
“She’s been throwing up like crazy since Thanksgiving.”
Her eyes widen, and she stops typing. “Um, if you don’t mind my asking, how long have you’ve been dating?”
I quickly calculate our time together. “Almost four months, why?” I eye her with suspicion before I figure out where she’s going with this and shake my head. “No, not possible. She can’t have kids.”
She shrugs and resumes typing. “If you say so.”
Yeah, I fucking say so. There’s no way that can be it. If she didn’t already tell me she couldn’t get pregnant, I would’ve made that connection myself. I’m not an idiot.
A flash of doubt hits me, followed by a wave of discomfort. But what if . . . ? Our first date at Roots and our conversation about her not really wanting kids comes back to haunt me. Still, I can't believe that’s a possibility, and if it is? I could roll with that, and I’m sure she could, too. I shake off the thought and release a calmer breath. Like I said, there’s no way that can be it.
“Hey, I need to jet early and get home,” I say, as I log off the system.
“Okay. You coming in tomorrow?” she asks.
“Yeah, unless something crazy happens,” I say. My days are wrapped around my fall schedule, so I only come in on Monday, Tuesday, and Friday.
If I time it right, I can make the 1:20 p.m. train home from Penn Station.
I pull into the garage, and there’s no sign of Jillian’s car. “Shit,” I mutter. When I walk into the kitchen through the garage door, everything looks exactly as I left it this morning. I take some chicken out of the freezer and throw it on the counter to defrost. At least I’ll get an early start on dinner.
Where the hell could she be? I wonder.
I check my phone for the hundredth time. Nothing. I send her another text.
Jillian, I’m home. Will you be home soon? Love, R
I toss the phone onto the granite island and wait. Five minutes pass. Nothing. Ten minutes. Still nothing. I let out an exasperated breath and head to her office.
My eyes sweep over her desk. Her laptop is missing, but that’s not unusual. She routinely goes to Starbucks for a change of scenery when she writes. She also tends to ignore her phone if she’s in the middle of a tough scene, and I know she’s scrambling to finish Becca and Drew’s revisions by Friday. I sigh and feel only marginally better.
/> Still, I don’t like it. If she’d only kept her promise and called me, I wouldn’t be trashing my day trying to find her and worrying like an insane lunatic.
I trudge back to the kitchen and pick up my cell. No Jillian.
I dial Kitty.
“Hi, sweetie, is everything okay?” she asks.
“Not sure, Kitty. Jillian went to see the doctor this morning, and I haven’t heard from her. She sent a short text hours ago saying she’d be in touch later. It’s just not like her.” I drag my hand over my pulled-back hair.
“I’m sorry, Raine. I haven’t heard from her. Let me try to reach her, and I’ll call you back, okay?”
“Sure,” I say, frustrated to think she might pick up for Kitty but not for me. Kitty calls back a couple of minutes later.
“No luck, I’m afraid. If you don’t hear from her in an hour, call me back,” she says. “And if I hear from her, I’ll call you.”
“Okay, will do. Thanks, Kitty.” I hang up, somewhat relieved that I’m not being singled out.
Fuck it. I’ll go downstairs and work out. If nothing else, she should show up by dinnertime.
By six-thirty, I’ve worked out, I’ve called Kitty three times, and I’ve made dinner, which is drying out in the oven.
I nearly jump out of my skin when my cell phone rings. I snatch it off the counter. “Where the hell are you, Jillian?” I say, tightening my hand around the phone. “I was about to call John and ask him to put out an APB on you! Kitty and I were so freakin’ worried.”
“Raine, I’m sorry, please calm down,” she says. Her voice sounds weird. An icy finger of fear zips down my spine.
“What’s the matter? Why haven’t you called or texted me back?”
She takes a deep breath. “I’m fine. I’m sorry. I’m just working.”
“Where are you?” I ask.
“In Spring Lake. I’m going to stay here tonight.”
I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. We haven’t slept apart since the night of our first date. I’m suddenly overcome by a crazy sense of desperation. “I’ll come down.”
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