Feels Like Falling

by Kristy Woodson Harvey

  He texted back: But I want to work with you.

  Duh.

  We smiled at each other.

  “Now that that unpleasantness is over,” Heather said, “please tell me there’s an exciting new man in your life.”

  I laughed, and I was so relieved to have sealed this deal that the laugh almost felt genuine. It almost didn’t break my heart that I’d had a new man in my life and I had pushed him away. Almost.

  When Heather left, Trey and I each breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Barfed all night and still pulled it out,” he said. “So, about that promotion…”

  “Oh, that was just something I said in the moment. Moment’s over,” I joked.

  He elbowed me gently.

  “No,” I said. “New title. More money. All that jazz. I’ll get you details, but you have been my go-to for years and you deserve it.”

  “But who will plan your cocktail parties? And make your matcha lattes the way you like them? And hide Quinn’s e-mails? And put Greg on hold for egregious amounts of time to piss him off?”

  I laughed. “Obviously you’ll have to find and train your replacement.”

  He grinned. “Obviously.”

  He held his glass up and I clinked it with mine. “To moving up in every sense of the word,” he said.

  “Onward and upward,” I responded.

  And, for the first time in a long time, I meant it.

  diana: warning sign

  For the past two days, I had been feeling confident. When I told Gray that I was meeting Frank’s mother, she’d said, “Diana, you are a strong, beautiful, smart woman and you are deserving of everything wonderful that life has to offer. No one can take that away from you.”

  When I hadn’t look convinced, she had motioned for me to follow her into her bedroom. She opened the jewelry box on her vanity and pressed a pair of pearl earrings into my palm. “These are my grandmother’s,” she said, “and they are lucky. I always wear them when I feel like I need some extra strength.”

  “But you have that big meeting with Glitter,” I had protested.

  Gray shook her head. “That’s just a client, Diana. This is your life.”

  It had made me feel so warm inside, so strong. I had been a rock for Gray these past few months. Now I knew she was a rock for me too.

  She had also cleaned out her closet and insisted that I take everything that fit. Some of the clothes still had the tags on them. “You could sell these,” I protested.

  “I could,” she said. “But I will not let you see Frank’s mother for the first time in twenty-two years wearing jean shorts and a T-shirt.”

  I couldn’t really argue with that. I knew she was right, and I had been stressing about using part of my paycheck to buy something new. I needed that money to stock up on those little red-and-white-checked baskets I had dreamed of. Gray and I agreed on a pink dress that was fitted but not tight. It was elegant. And, better yet, it was free. I felt like the princess my momma always told me I would be.

  Now that the day was here, I wasn’t feeling quite so confident.

  “I don’t see why this is necessary,” I said as I slid Gray’s pearl through my ear and pushed the post onto the back.

  Frank laughed. “Come on, Di. It won’t be so bad.”

  I looked at him like he was totally nuts. “Not so bad? You sure about that?” Trailer trash orphan ran through my mind again. Yeah, it could be that damn bad, and Frank knew it as well as I did.

  I felt my stomach churn. I leaned back on the bed and pulled on my other shoe. I put the back of my hand to my forehead. No fever, just nerves. “You know, Frank, I don’t feel so great,” I said.

  He put his arm around me, pulled me close, and kissed my cheek. “Look,” he said, “I’ve talked to her. I’ve told her that this is it. You’re it. If she can’t get along with you, then she won’t have me.”

  I nodded and swallowed, my tongue feeling unusually thick in my mouth. “Okay,” I whispered, unconvinced.

  As I climbed in the front seat of his T-bird, a wave of nausea passed over me again.

  I closed my eyes. “Frank,” I said. “I’m serious. I really don’t feel good.”

  He squeezed my hand. “Babe, it’s just my mom. She’s sixty-eight years old, for heaven’s sake. She’s not that scary anymore.”

  “Women get scarier as they get older,” I said under my breath. Whatever. I had let her take Frank away from me once. I wouldn’t do it again.

  We pulled into the parking lot of the club, my head spinning. Get it together, I told myself.

  Frank stepped out of the car, and I took a deep breath, trying to swallow away that queasy feeling. I took a sip of the water in my cup holder and scooted out of the T-bird as ladylike as I could muster in that pink dress that was too narrow at the bottom to really move right.

  It was a gorgeous day, but the hot sun turned my stomach even more. I leaned over for a second, my hands on the car.

  “Babe? You really don’t feel good, do you?”

  I shook my head. Then it hit me. Wagner’s throw-up virus. Hadn’t been sick in fifteen years, and today of all days… I was getting ready to tell Frank I needed to go home when I heard, “Yoo-hoo, Frank!” and saw his mother, wearing a pale-blue suit. I pinned on a fake smile.

  “Well, hello, Diana,” she said as we made our way down the stone path toward the dining patio. I knew already I couldn’t eat anything. We were only a few steps away from the door, thank the Lord. Because, as I started to say hello to Frank’s mom, I felt bile finally rise in the back of my throat. I beelined through the door and into the bathroom, thankful that I had spent quite a bit of time here this summer and had the place pretty well mapped out.

  I wanted to be embarrassed and sad that I had ruined this day, but I felt so horrible that I couldn’t be. Frank was waiting outside the door; mercifully, his mother was not.

  He squeezed my shoulder. “Lose your lunch before you had it?”

  I nodded. “Please take me home.”

  I didn’t even care where his mother was. I was to that point where the sickness was all I could think about. Frank tucked me into bed and brought me a Sprite, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep it down.

  The next day, I was still getting sick sporadically. “Twenty-four-hour bug, my ass,” I said, as Frank hoisted my weak dish towel of a body into the T-bird.

  “You will go to the doctor today,” he had insisted. “At the very least, you need some fluids and some Phenergan. This is ridiculous.”

  I had finally agreed because I was too miserable not to.

  A few minutes later I was climbing up onto the doctor’s table. Evidently this bug was spreading like wildfire, and they were making special arrangements to get patients seen quickly so they could go back home and vomit in private.

  “I’m going to run a few quick tests,” Dr. Gold said when he came in the room, looking exhausted and flustered. “I’m sure it’s just this virus, but we need to be certain we aren’t looking at a bigger culprit.”

  I dutifully followed him for testing, and was back in the exam room a few minutes later, lying on the crinkly white sheet. Frank kissed my hand and said, “You’re the bravest woman I know. Do you know that?”

  I smiled weakly and heard my phone ding. I motioned for Frank to see who it was. He laughed. “Gray sure does feel bad about how sick you are.”

  “It is her fault,” I mumbled. But I didn’t mean it. How many times had she told me to stay out of that house? Stubborn old mule, I was.

  A soft rap on the door immediately preceded Dr. Gold flying back into the room. He sat down on a stool with his clipboard and said, “Well, Diana, it is definitely something bigger than a virus.”

  I sat up, alarmed. “What do you mean? Do I have E. coli or something? A parasite?”

  He shook his head gravely, and my heart sank. It was cancer. I had stomach cancer. I had finally gotten Frank back after all these years. I was finally living the life I had always dreamed of, and now I was
going to die.

  “Kids,” he said, “you’re having a baby.”

  My head spun to look at Frank. I know I looked shocked. He, on the other hand, looked like how I imagined him to on the day he got that check for his land.

  “Oh my Lord,” he said.

  “Dr. Gold, you know I can’t get pregnant.”

  He shrugged. “Evidently you can.”

  “Dr. Gold,” I said. “I’m forty years old.”

  “Indeed you are,” he said, “which is why we’re going to need to monitor you extra closely to make sure this pregnancy goes well. We’ll need to go ahead and get some initial blood work.…”

  He was still talking, but I couldn’t even hear him. Pregnant. I didn’t know how to feel. After twenty years of knowing I would never be a mother, of knowing this would never happen for me, it seemed impossible, like the obvious truth wouldn’t set in.

  Frank hugged and kissed me and said, “I think we’ve finally got it right, babe.”

  We walked out into the parking lot, and I put together the first coherent words since I’d heard the news: “They ought to put some sort of warning sign on that sand dune.”

  CHAPTER 17

  gray: bitter divorcée territory

  The bar at the Spectator was utter perfection. Trey had invited me out with some friends of his who lived in Charleston, but I wanted to get some rest. I was feeling up to eating and drinking again, so I decided to pop down to the hotel bar and grab a cocktail. I felt terribly guilty because Diana had texted that she had been struck down by the throw-up bug too. This one was intense. I hoped Trey didn’t get it—or Heather, for that matter.

  When I glanced down to see We need to talk pop up on my phone later, I assumed it was from Andrew. My heart felt a little heavy, but then I saw it was from my sister. This was her turf, but surely she didn’t know I was here. I’d done a couple of Instagram posts, but, as one could imagine, Pastor Elijah didn’t allow social media.

  I flicked my phone across the bar. I caught the bartender’s eye and said, “Yeah. I’m definitely going to need another.”

  “So, rough day?” I heard a voice beside me say.

  I laughed. “Oh, you know, just family drama.”

  I turned to look at the man the voice was attached to. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place him. Super handsome, but maybe his nose was a little too—oh my gosh! It was Mr. Corporate Takeover.

  “I know you,” he said. He took a sip of his beer, smiling, and said, “From that boring party at the beach. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”

  I shrugged. “Oh yeah?” I asked coyly, as if I hadn’t noticed.

  “Price,” he said.

  “Gray.”

  He raised his eyebrow. “As in Fifty Shades?”

  “Sometimes,” I said seriously.

  We both laughed.

  The bartender handed me a glass, and Price said, “Add that one to my tab.”

  I smiled. “Well, thank you, sir.”

  I could feel myself getting kind of nervous. If he was buying my drink, then that meant he kind of liked me. And if he kind of liked me, then this might be kind of a date. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Drinking. Same as you.”

  I smirked, and he smiled at me. “No, I actually have an investment property here—I live between Raleigh and Cape Carolina, but I come down here a couple weeks a year to check on it.”

  “That’s awesome,” I said.

  He nodded. “Yeah. But don’t be impressed. I’ve lost money on every real estate venture I’ve ever pursued except this one. I guess I was bound to get lucky eventually.”

  We both laughed, and I realized that my first impression of Price might have been wrong. I’d thought he might be a little cocky, but he was charmingly self-deprecating.

  “So, what’s your story?” I asked, sounding so much cooler than I felt and mentally patting myself on the back for it.

  He shrugged. “You know…” From his tone and facial expression, I was expecting something like: “Investment banker, divorced, three kids.” Instead, he said, “Virgo, enjoys long hikes up mountain streams, the jackass who makes the bagger at the grocery give him paper instead of plastic.”

  I laughed so hard I nearly spit out my drink. He stayed serious. “What?” Then he grinned, displaying a row of teeth that weren’t perfect, yet somehow managed to be perfect for his face.

  “Your turn,” he said.

  “Okay.” I paused. “Libra, thwarted tap dancer, carries her own reusable bags to the grocery to pretend she’s green but then doesn’t recycle her glass bottles.”

  He gasped in mock shock and pretended to get down from the stool. “If you don’t recycle, then I’m out of here.”

  We both laughed, and I felt those nervous butterflies.

  “Have you eaten?” Price asked.

  “Do you mean ever or tonight?” I smiled.

  “Okay, smarty-pants.”

  We laughed again. I wanted the ease of this, the lack of intensity, to continue.

  As if the universe had heard me and thwarted my plans, my phone buzzed three times in quick succession. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “But I just have to make sure this isn’t my son.” I smirked, reaching for my phone. “My soon-to-be ex-husband got him an iPhone. He’s eight.”

  Oh no. I cringed. I just crossed over into “bitter divorcée” territory. Reel it in, Gray.

  But Price laughed. “Ah yes. Classic divorced dad move. I bought my son a PlayStation and a Wii.”

  I laughed, relieved that I hadn’t killed the mood. But then I felt the blood drain from my face as I read the texts. “Oh my gosh,” I said, reaching for my purse, then realizing I couldn’t drive. So I looked at this total stranger and asked, “How many drinks have you had?”

  He shrugged, lifting his glass. “Like, three sips?”

  I smiled. “So, this is a bit of a strange request since we have only known each other for five minutes, but could you take me to pick up my sister?”

  “Sure thing,” he said, reaching for his wallet and dropping a twenty on the bar. “Where is she?”

  I rolled my eyes as I said, “Jail.”

  diana: a cockamamie kidney bean

  I just kept staring at it, that little photo in the frame. It looked like a cockamamie kidney bean with some growths coming out the sides. But it was our kidney bean, our first photo of what I trusted would become a full-size baby.

  It’s amazing how finding out you’re pregnant and not dying of some rare strain of E. coli makes you feel a hair better right off the bat. And then, when you start having a panic attack that, holy hell, you’re forty and pregnant and not married and is this guy going to stick with you this time? Well, then you start feeling right sick again.

  I had gone straight home to take a good nap, and I really did feel a smidge better. Frank, he lay in bed with me, but I don’t think he slept because when I went to sleep he was staring at me, and when I woke up he was still staring at me.

  “Have I got some sort of zit or something?”

  He laughed. “No. You’re just beautiful. You’re always beautiful, but now you’re even more beautiful. You’re giving me a baby, Diana. A baby. Can you believe that?”

  I had forgotten for about a half second that I was even pregnant, it was so new. But, no, I couldn’t believe it. And it scared me to death. Because what if it didn’t take and I lost the baby? I had promised myself I wouldn’t read about all the risks of having a baby at forty. But I knew they were real.

  “May I take you to dinner tonight?” he asked, smiling. “To celebrate?”

  Good Lord, he was so handsome. I hoped the baby looked just like him. I nodded, feeling like I might actually be able to eat something, and I said so.

  “But, Frank?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I show you something first?”

  Cheyenne’s husband, Kevin, and I had been down to the docks a few days earlier and spent hours on that boat. An
d, let me tell you, it was a dump. But that didn’t matter. We were going to tear everything out. All I needed was a simple kitchen and a big window on the dock side where people could come up and order their steamer pots for lunch. I had decided on a simple menu, no options: shrimp, sausage, vegetables, corn, and potatoes over rice cooked in my secret, special blend of spices. We’d serve from 11:30 a.m. until 2 p.m. That was perfect.

  And now that I knew about the baby, I realized this was the best way to do it, because I could work a little, have my dream, but still be there for my kid. The only thing I couldn’t figure out was how I was still going to help Gray every day. And I dreaded telling her.

  Frank kissed my lips and squeezed me to him a little tighter. “Babe, I’d go anywhere with you.”

  I hauled my tired bones out of bed and got myself in the shower. It felt so good, that steamy water running down my skin. I looked at my tummy. I was only nine weeks now—pretty long not to know you were knocked up, but not that long in the scheme of things—and I couldn’t imagine what it was going to look like to have my tummy all protruding and full of baby, kicking and flipping about. What a miracle, all of it.

  “Hey, babe,” Frank said, turning on the sink and slathering shaving cream on his face.

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t want to upset you or anything. But do you think that this…?” He trailed off.

  “Do I think this what?”

  “Nothing.”

  I peeked my head out from around the curtain. “Well, you have to say it now.”

  “Do you think that maybe this is the same baby?”

  I pulled my head back in. All that hot water was running down my face, and I thought tears might be mixed in too, but it was all so warm and steamy in there that I couldn’t be sure.

  I felt a cold blast of air on my behind and turned to see Frank peeking through the shower curtain. “See,” he said, “now I’ve gone and upset you. We’re supposed to be celebrating. Just forget I said anything.”