Come Back To Me

by Melissa Foster

  “Damned kids,” Louie murmured, still looking in the direction of the speeding car which was now long gone.

  Tess hurried past him without acknowledgment.

  Louie sidled up next to her on the cement walkway. “Tess, wait!” he pleaded. “What’s wrong?”

  She fumbled for her house key, ignoring the question, her blood pressure rising with every second. She dropped the keys and bent to get them, Louie bent down as well, their heads colliding.

  “Ouch!” she yanked the keys from his hands and quickly unlocked the door.

  “Tess,” he pushed his way inside, “do you mind telling me what the hell is going on? You’re acting crazy.”

  She stopped, turned toward him, teeth clenched, “Crazy? I’m not acting crazy. This is the first sane thing I’ve done in what seems like forever.”

  “Damn it, Tess. What is it? Is it the baby?” the words were out of his mouth before he had time to think.

  Tess’s jaw dropped open, “How—”

  Louie’s voice softened, “Come on, really? Have you looked in a mirror? How could I miss it?” Louie turned away, “Just because you don’t say something out loud doesn’t mean it isn’t real,” he said.

  Tess spun on her heels and raced upstairs.

  Louie found her standing in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom—the distressed look in her eyes as blatant as the belly itself.

  What had she seen in the mirror every day? How did she miss what was so obvious—the arc protruding from her abdomen?

  “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” Louie said from behind her.

  Tears sprang to Tess’s eyes. “I don’t know what I thought. It doesn’t matter anyway.” She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands hanging at her sides, her head bowed.

  “At first I thought maybe you were just gaining weight or something, but, well, when you kept getting a little bigger every week, I figured it out. It doesn’t change how I feel, Tess.”

  “It’s not yours,” her voice was nearly a whisper.

  He laughed. “Yeah, well, the last time I looked, it still took sex to make a baby.”

  “I guess that was a dumb thing to say.”

  “If it’s not the baby, then what is it? Why do you want to stop seeing me?” Louie’s voice cracked. “I want to be with you,” he reached over to put his hand on her belly, “and this baby is part of you—”

  Tess pushed his hand away. She was so confused. How could she describe the tingle in her stomach when they were together, the way her heart soared each time the phone rang, and the disappointment that felt like a physical blow when it wasn’t him calling? How could she admit that while she carried her husband’s baby, it was him she longed to feel inside her, and that the guilt that followed the desire had swallowed her whole? How could she voice the sadness over her lingering doubts—

  Madonna’s “Vogue” broke the uncomfortable silence.

  Tess rolled her eyes and left the room, leaving Louie to answer his call in private. Two minutes later, Louie came out of the bedroom, his face pale, his eyebrows furrowed.

  “I…I have to go,” he said quietly.

  “Of course you do,” Tess said and stormed into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

  Louie clenched his jaw in time to the ringing of the cell phone which lay on the seat beside him. He couldn’t bring himself to ignore it and answered.

  “What?” He wondered how long he could keep this up. He knew the answer—he was all she had.

  “I think someone’s trying to get out of the basement,” panic flew through the airwaves.

  Louie rolled his eyes. Her raspy voice grated on his nerves. Not today. “There’s no one in the basement,” his tone was firm.

  “I hear them, they’re turning the handle. Maybe I should call the police?”

  “Karen, I promise, there’s no one in the basement. Just go back to the couch and relax. I’ll be over as soon as I can.” He turned the car around and let out a sigh. “How much have you had to drink today?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Karen.”

  “I…I was thinking of her and…and…” her voice trailed off.

  You and I both. “I’m on my way.”

  ***

  Tess balanced her cell phone on her shoulder as she spoke to Alice and simultaneously stuffed her clothes into a small suitcase. “What do we have going on the next few days? I think I need to get away for a while.” She had to figure out her life, and she knew she couldn’t do it with Louie and his wife, or girlfriend, at the ready.

  “Just the one position. Are you alright?” Alice asked.

  Tess took a deep breath. Was she being fair to Alice? It’d only been a month since she’d been attacked. Thanksgiving was fast approaching, and the thought of facing the memories the holiday would stir made Tess’s heartbeat race. Would she have to sit across the table from the long faces of her mother and father-in-law? Could she do it? Even more importantly, should she make an appearance? Would Beau want her to? What am I doing? “I don’t know. I can stay if you need me to. Geez, I’m such a selfish bitch, aren’t I?” She pulled the shirts from her suitcase and threw them onto the bed. “Here you’re dealing with real life-altering issues, and I’m the one running away.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m fine. I told you, I’m almost thankful that asshole attacked me. I’m better now. Really.”

  “You’re sure?” she tentatively stuffed the shirts back into the suitcase, the tension easing from her shoulders. “Think you can wrap that one up yourself?” Tess asked. “I’m going to Ocean City, I think.” Where’d that come from? Tess wondered. She had only been to Ocean City once, with Beau, the previous summer.

  “’Course. Ocean City?”

  “I don’t know, I guess. I have to go someplace where I can think. Someplace that’s not here,” she zipped the suitcase with determination. “Sure you can handle it?” Tess took a deep breath. She rested her hand on her stomach. She could do this. She would do this. “I mean really hold down the fort? No cell phones, no access to me?”

  Alice’s voice strained, “Sure. Are you alright?”

  Tess nodded, then realized Alice couldn’t hear her nod. “Fine, I just need to…put this whole thing to rest, and I can’t do it here. It’s too—” hard, sad, confusing, emotionally wrenching? She said goodbye to Alice, wondering what in the hell her going away would accomplish.

  Her phone rang, the backlight illuminated Louie’s name on the screen. Tess pushed the Ignore button and turned her cell phone off. She didn’t want to hear his excuses. It occurred to her that she had yet to hear any type of excuse or explanation from Louie about his mysterious phone calls, and if that was how he wanted to play it, well, that was just fine with her. The last thing she needed in her life was more drama.

  ***

  A streak of light filtered in through the drawn curtains. Cigarette smoke hovered in the air like mist in the rainforest. Louie found Karen slumped on the couch, an empty bottle of Scotch lying on the floor. Her eyes were closed, her gray hair matted and greasy, the thin cotton sweater she wore buttoned askew. He sighed, picked up the bottle.

  “Sorry,” Karen slurred.

  Louie clenched his teeth. He carried the bottle into the kitchen and stopped dead in his tracks. The kitchen table was covered with photographs, framed and loose. Louie’s face fell flat. He lowered himself into an oak chair and set the bottle on the tile floor. He lifted a thick silver frame, staring into the eyes of his dead fiancée, Rebecca. He ran his index finger along her two-dimensional face, the outline of her brown hair. Bec. It had been almost a year since he’d packed away the photographs, or rather the shrine, he’d erected in his living room, months since he’d come home in the evenings and told those photographs about his day—about how nothing mattered anymore since she’d gone. He set the frame back down on the table and gathered a stack of photos—their engagement pictures. Nausea, or maybe it was just plain pain, swelled in the pit of his stomach. Her eyes l
ooked right into his soul, and it felt as if she knew his despair had been easing. Tess had changed him. She’d mattered. She’d needed him.

  “I’m sorry, Bec,” he said.

  “Lou-ie?” Karen leaned against the door jamb, her body swaying.

  Louie closed his eyes. If Rebecca’s death had stolen Louie’s reason for being, it had just about killed her mother. Karen’s occasional drink had turned into a nine A.M. ritual, at first, to get her over her only daughter’s senseless death, and as the days passed slowly into weeks, drinking had become the only way she could make it from one hour to the next. Louie had seen her addiction evolving, he’d even tried to convince her to stop, but he’d been trying to survive his own internal battle. Rising each day to show up at work had become a chore. He’d let phone calls and deadlines slip. If not for the determination of his partners, he’d never have been able to redeem himself. The firm suffered. Excuses came like coffee on a fatigue-filled day, often and necessary.

  He lifted the engagement photo that had run in his hometown newspaper: Rebecca sat on a swing, looking over her shoulder and into his eyes. A chill ran through him. He remembered seeing the message on his desk, Rebecca, 2:17, please call asap. His pulse fevered. The unanswerable questions returned to plague him. Why hadn’t he called her back right away? Why had he left her waiting for two hours? He’d returned the call of four clients, all while his silenced cell phone gathered message after frantic message from Rebecca. It had been a cold October afternoon, the type of day where gray engulfed not only the sky, but every breath you took, chilling you to the bone. Rebecca had gone to meet a new client in southeast D.C. He hadn’t thought anything of it. As a social worker, Rebecca often visited clients in unsavory areas. She knew how to handle herself. “I’m careful,” she’d told him. “I can spot the danger signs.”

  For weeks, he’d replayed her messages.

  “I had a great meeting. The boy’s parents are really trying to clean up their act.” Her voice grew tense. “Uh-oh, some guys are leaning on my car. Jesus Christ, really?” she sighed, hung up.

  Goddamn clients.

  “Louie, please pick up.” Silence. “I just want you on the phone. They’re not moving, and I’m almost to the car. I’m just gonna turn around and go back to the complex.”

  She spoke so quickly, high whispers—she could have been playing a prank.

  “They’re following me. Louie, I’m scared.”

  It was no prank.

  “Stop it. Stop! Help!”

  The phone landed on the pavement with a crack. The line had gone dead.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The smell of saltwater drenched the air as Tess drove across the low bridge and the tips of the Ocean City hotels came into view. The last time she’d crossed that bridge, she and Beau had cheered. The memory of their anticipation of the spur-of-the-moment getaway brought a smile to her lips. She touched her belly, “Oh, Beau,” she sighed.

  She pulled onto the main drag, telltale signs of the beach town lined the road. Brightly-colored surf shops and the boardwalk eased the tension in Tess’s shoulders. Her previous worries momentarily set aside. Even in the cold of almost-winter, people walked along the streets. The attire was different, sweatshirts instead of bathing suits, but the aura of a carefree existence remained. She reached for her cell phone to call Alice and let her know she’d arrived, then remembered she was on a communication-free vacation, the cell phone nicely hidden in the trunk of the car. She smiled. Cool, she thought, and her hand drifted back to the steering wheel. She inhaled the calming sea air and blew it out slowly. “I can do this,” she said. “This is good.”

  ***

  Tess felt like a kid playing hooky in her hooded sweatshirt and sweatpants which were about all that fit her anymore. She grabbed her bags from the trunk, momentarily contemplated her cell phone, decided it was better off out of sight, then slammed the trunk shut.

  The condo was just as fresh as she’d remembered. She laid her bags on the over-stuffed white couch, taking in the soothing hues of the ocean-blue recliner and sky-blue shag carpet. As seventies as it seemed, the shag carpet fit perfectly into the vacation feel of the condo. Tess swung open the balcony door and stepped into the brisk air, wondering why it was that the ocean brought such a sense of openness, while the city made her feel closed. She was glad she’d stopped for a pack of virgin strawberry daiquiris on the way. She grabbed one from her bag and put the rest in the empty refrigerator. If she couldn’t drink, at least she could pretend to drown her sorrows.

  Her heartbeat quickened as she opened the kitchen drawer and reached for the thickest, shiniest coaster she could find. She ran her hands over the cool ceramic. A chill ran up her spine—a ghost of times remembered. Tess closed her eyes, relishing the security the coaster brought to her.

  An hour and two lame daiquiris later, Tess showered and headed out for a walk. The cold air stung her face, whipping her hair behind her. She was pleasantly surprised to find most of the stores remained open so late in the season. She walked through a small gift shop, touching the rough lines of the painted shells and smooth curves of the wave-beaten rocks. She read through gift cards, her heart sinking with longing for Beau.

  She walked down the windy boardwalk. If she concentrated hard enough, Tess could feel Beau’s thick palm in her own, though his smile eluded her, just out of reach of her memory. She furrowed her brow, trying to push his image free of the ties that bound it, the ties that had been so necessary in order for her to keep her sanity.

  Children’s laughter flitted through the air. Tess sat on the edge of the boardwalk, her legs kicking up and down. She leaned back, resting one hand on her belly. Her hand lifted, not of her volition. Her eyes grew wide, dropping to stare at her belly. She pressed her hand tighter against the mound. A moment later, the same sensation, only softer, pressed upon her palm. “Oh, my God,” Tess said, her face tight. Again, she felt the flutter in her belly. “Oh, my God, oh, my—” A grin stretched across her face, then quickly faded. Had she somehow missed this sensation before? Had her thoughts been so tangled up that she’d been oblivious to the life growing within her? She pressed her hand harder, willing the baby to kick. A momentary flutter whispered across her palm. She looked around, excited to tell someone about the life within her, the life she’d been ignoring, the sensations she’d been blocking from her mind, dismissing as normal aches and pains. She bit her lower lip, breathing hard and fast. Tears slipped down her cheeks. She was actually doing it—she was going to have a baby, Beau’s baby. Tess cried at the revelation, laughing through the tears.

  A twenty-something guy in surfer shorts and a sweatshirt approached Tess, his hand outstretched, a flyer flapping in the wind. “Cool duds at the Surf Pro Shop,” he said, then noticed her tears. “Oh, uh, sorry,” he mumbled awkwardly, turning quickly away.

  Tess wiped her eyes, the smile glued across her face. She walked down the boardwalk, calculating how long Beau had been gone, how many weeks it had been since her last period, and how, in total, it equated to about five months. Five months. Can that be right? she wondered. She thought of the images she’d seen on the computer the first day she’d found out she was pregnant and what the baby would look like at five months of gestation. Her hand moved once again to her belly.

  Tess wondered if passersby noticed her elation. She was sure that she had an aura of light around her. She had changed. It seemed that everywhere she looked, she noticed mothers with their children, the way the fathers looked proud, protective. She had abruptly become someone other than Tess Johnson, Business Owner and Grieving Wife. She was going to be Tess Johnson, Mother. She’d joined the millions of other women in a silent sisterhood, one of the esteemed women giving knowing looks to each other. She would know the pain of childbirth and the love described by mothers as larger than life itself. Even Tess’s gait had changed. Instead of hurrying, looking for a distraction, hunching just enough to try and hide her belly, she stood tall, thrusting her pregnant belly ou
t a little further.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Curled up in front of the television, Tess half-watched, half-thought about her life. She thought of Beau and all that he’d miss, that he’d already missed. She thought vaguely about going out to find a wifi café, feeling the pull—albeit a weak one—to check Skype just one more time.

  Tess sat up and leaned forward, conscious, for the first time, of the way she had to lift her torso upward in order to lean forward comfortably. When does one more time end? she wondered. She shook her head and spoke as if she were convincing someone other than herself, “You can’t do this. He’s not coming back. You’re raising this baby alone. You’re moving forward.” She sighed and leaned back against the soft pillows. The corners of her lips twitched downward, a stream of tears followed. Tess let her body fall to the side. “It’s not fair,” she whispered. “It’s just not fair.”

  ***

  Morning found Tess sitting on the couch clutching a crumpled piece of paper on which she’d written:

  1.Do not think about Beau OR Louie!

  2.Find myself, be alone, get strong

  3.Read about babies

  That was as far as she’d gotten. She lay back, rubbing her stomach. An unexpected laugh escaped her lips. How could she think Louie wouldn’t notice that she was pregnant? There she went, thinking of Louie. No more, she reminded herself. She could get through this, and she’d be damned if she needed some man by her side. No, she corrected herself, she would get through this.

  Tess walked along the beach, her sweats rolled up, thick sweatshirt bulging. The sun rose, warming the air to a comfortable degree. She took a picture for a young couple, and got a Henna tattoo of a pocket watch on her forearm, with the words, until we meet again, written above it. Lunch was Boardwalk Fries, again, and then she headed back to the beach where she sat for hours, thinking of nothing in particular and watching families pass by. The rhythmic tug and pull of the surf soothed her sorrow. She lay back, listening to the crashing waves against the shore and their soft roll as they retreated from the beach. Spray from the waves dotted her face—the smell of saltwater filled her senses. Tess closed her eyes and imagined what her life would be like with a baby on her hip. How would she work? Find daycare? Would she be a good mother? She envisioned the baby, a girl, she was sure, with a mop of dark hair, thick like Beau’s, and blue eyes like her own. The warmth of the sun beat down on her face, lulling her into a light nap.