by HJ Bellus
“Is your wallet empty yet?” Dr. Hilton asks, squirting the warm liquid over my belly. “Babies tend to do that.”
I clutch Bentley’s forearms. “Our moms have that taken care of it. Drove them nuts I wouldn’t let them peek in the envelope, but it didn’t stop them. We pretty much have everything from a crib, bassinet, swing, high chair, vibrating chair, and even a Keurig for bottles.”
“How did they manage to keep everything neutral colored?” Dr. Hilton asks.
“They chose to go with a farm animals theme, but I wonder if they used a light or something because it’s pretty damn girly.”
“Those two would.” Bentley bends over, kissing my forehead. “I could picture them holding it up at a light pulling out all stops.”
“Or it could be Grandma’s intuitions,” Dr. Hilton offers, pressing the wand against my belly.
That action stops all conversation. Hope’s vigorous and steady heartbeat fills the room. I don’t stare at the screen like I normally do, choosing to study Bentley. His jaw goes slack and tears well up. Proud, happy ones that have been rare for us. I squeeze his arm.
“She’s beautiful.” He covers his mouth.
“I think she was excited to show off for her daddy.” Dr. Hilton begins pointing everything out on the screen for Bentley. Hope has her thumb up to her mouth melting my heart. My knees will get tired thanking God every day for this miracle.
Dr. Hilton’s voice cracks. She even has tears in her eyes. The moment is magical. She prints off several pictures of Hope for us and by the time we leave the office, Bentley has worked his magic on all the nurses and even Dr. Hilton. His natural charisma is charming their scrubs off, only proving some things never do change.
17
“You can't blame gravity for falling in love.” -Albert Einstein
“I know there will be a shit ton of food at the party, but I want to go out to dinner with you.” Bentley stares straight ahead at the road. “That way I can focus on talking to people and then we can sneak out early.”
He turns to me, waggling his eyebrows. Dirty boy.
“If that’s the case, I say we claim you have diarrhea and head home now.”
“Why is always me who has a case of the massive shits?”
It’s true I always blame it on Bentley to get out of events we don’t want to attend. At one point, his mom was determined he had irritable bowel syndrome. Our family caught onto us after that.
“Because it’s the right thing to do, like taking one for the team.”
Bentley’s stopped at a red light, leans over, trailing his tongue along the seam of my lips. “Sounds like I’m going to have to punish you, Mrs. Foster.”
“Oh, do tell.”,” I moan, writhing in my seat.
Bentley picks up on what he’s doing to me. His hand glides down between my legs. Christ on a cracker, all things holy, and God bless leggings, letting me feel the strum of his fingers. It’s almost enough to send me over the edge of ecstasy. Just a few more strums, my hips buck to help him, and then a car horn blares behind us, snapping Bentley’s attention back to the road. He takes his damn talented fingers back to his side.
“Jerk!”
“Punishment,” he taunts.
We go back and forth engaging in playful banter. Bentley doesn’t ask where I want to eat. He pulls into our favorite pizza place, Maxie’s. My stomach growls on command. This pizza may be better than what was about to happen in the car. Okay, not better, but a very close runner-up in the game.
We order two large pizzas and settle in a corner booth by the fireplace. I urged Bentley to order a Coors Light draft in hopes to take the edge off the impending nerves. He finally gave in after I told him I’d drive us to his party since he’s the celebrity and all. That earned me a grand eye roll.
I take a long pull from my lemonade, snuggling into Bentley’s side. “Do you think there’s any married couple in the world that both like pineapple on pizza?”
My question catches him off guard. He stares down at me, shaking his head then raising his eyebrows. “I often worry about your thought process, Birdie.”
“I’m serious. There’s not one couple I know of that both love or hate pineapple on pizza. It’s always split down the middle. I love pineapple, but it’s a crime on pizza, and you love pineapple, sausage, and green peppers on pizza.”
“I’m sure there are plenty of couples out there who have mature taste buds enjoying the exquisite delicacy of pineapple on pizza.”
“I think you’re wrong and I said married couples. I think plenty of dating couples might agree on the horrendous topic, but the ones who commit to marriage are another story.”
“You’re not going to give this up, are you?”
“Nope, not until you tell me I’m right.”
Our server places down a pizza rack followed by the two piping hot pizzas. My mouth waters.
“Anything else I can get you?” she asks, wiping her hands down the front of her apron.
A large crowd fills the abandoned section of the restaurant we’re nestled in. Bentley tenses, surveying his surroundings.
“Another beer please.” I grab his hand flexing on the top of his thigh, gently squeezing it.
She bee-bops off not picking up on the tension, and I decide to do the same thing, grabbing the spatula and serving up pizza. I put two on Bentley’s plate knowing the man will have it down within seconds. With my free hand, I pick up a slice of thin crust pizza biting into the cheesy goodness.
Seconds later, Bentley does something that shocks me. He begins humming the tune of “I Love Rock N’ Roll.” I’ve always loved it when he mindlessly hums, and oddly it always has the power to ground me. He picks up a slice of pizza from his plate and has it down in three bites. He finishes off his first beer and takes a long pull from the fresh one. After half of his pizza has disappeared, he relaxes back in the booth.
“That was delicious.” He leans over, kissing me on my cheek.
The noise level in the room is a dull roar, but he’s managed to fight through the anxiety of it.
“Look.” I point to a table where an older couple sits.
“What am I looking at?” He squints.
“Two pizzas. One with pineapple and one without.”
He shakes his head. “Coincidence.”
We box up my pizza and one slice of his nasty one. Bentley leaves the server a generous tip. The three beers did the trick relaxing him just enough. The server offered him a fourth, but he waved her off. I think he was reassuring himself when he explained he wouldn’t become dependent on alcohol.
“Quit over-analyzing everything, baby.” I shrug into my winter coat. “You’re being too hard on yourself.”
He grabs my hip, pulling me to him. “I know I’m scaring you and I don’t want to. I have to talk it out.”
“You’re not scaring me. I hurt for you. It’s not fair.”
“It’s not,” he agrees, dropping his forehead to mine. “Let’s get this welcome home shindig over with, so I can go home and sink balls deep in you.”
I swat his chest, pushing him away. “You dirty, dirty talking man.”
“You know you love it.”
“I do.” I wink at him and turn, walking to the door. Bentley keeps his chest pressed to my back all the way to the car.
He hands over the keys, waiting until I’m settled behind the wheel adjusting the seat.
“Damn, Larry Long Legs.” I tap his chest once I’m buckled in and ready to go.
“Ain’t the only thing long about me.”
His chuckle echoes in the night air as he jogs around to his side. I back out of the parking space, waiting for him to buckle before pulling out onto the main road. It’s a good twenty-five minute drive to the small center our parents are hosting the gathering in. I made our parents keep the guest list to twenty people. Maddie had to cancel because Sara came down with an ear infection. Maddie’s been MIA since Bentley’s return. She hasn’t come out and told me, but I know it
’s too hard seeing him when Coy is still deployed.
“Sure you’re good to drive?” Bentley stares out the window.
The pitch-black skies have opened up with pouring rain. Better than snow, but not ideal driving conditions. Heading home and getting our freak on sounds better every second.
“I’m fine, daddy.” He can’t see the gesture of me rolling my eyes.
“You’ll be calling me daddy later.”
“Don’t ever say that again.” I reach over and slap his thigh. He’s quick, catching my hand and not letting go.
“You kept me up too late last night. I’m going to check my eyelids for holes for a bit. Gonna need stamina and energy to have you screaming give it to me daddy.”
“Get some rest, Bentley.” I place extra emphasis on his name.
He squeezes my hand and moments later his breathing grows even. It’s the sweetest, calming sound. The best song ever. He stretches his legs out and rolls his head to face the outline of my face.
“Babe.”
“Yeah.” I’m stopped at a four-way stop.
“You’re my greatest love. My Birdie.”
Mindlessly, I reach for my necklace. My fingers are memorizing the shape of the pendant.
“You’re my greatest love story. Never forget that.” His voice trails off. The moon is offering up enough light, making it possible for me to see his eyelids flutter shut.
I’ve always wanted more in my life. Wanted to date Bentley the moment I realized I was madly in love with him. Yearned to graduate high school and get married to the man of my dreams. Then it was all about getting my real estate license and accelerating my career. From then on it was all about getting pregnant. It consumed me. It’s always been the what’s next in my life. I enjoyed life and loved it, but was always looking forward to the next big thing.
Until now.
I’m full. Finally able to live in the moment. Exhaling with relief and on top of the world. My husband is home and our baby girl, Hope, will soon be joining us.
My phone dings with a text message, but I ignore it. I know it’s Mom wanting our ETA. The back roads would’ve been faster to take, but the rain detoured me. The highway puts about fifteen more minutes on the trip. It’s lonely tonight, leaving me with the beaming headlights and my thoughts.
Hope strikes me with a kick of her heel to my left ribcage. I gasp, wince, and rub away the pain, keeping one hand on the steering wheel. The pain makes me smile. Feeling her move always puts me on a natural high.
The glow of the one stoplight on the highway comes into view, flickering a bright green. Headlights set to high flood the cabin of the truck and I turn my head to see another truck right before it careens into us. My head whips back, hitting the headrest. The sound of metal bending and flexing is deafening. The smell of smoke, blood, and death is all too much. My world goes black.
18
“Hide your eyes darling people can see your heart through them.” –Unknown
The chaos stopped. I have no idea how long I was out for before light filled my vision again. Red and blue flashing colors swarmed my vision. My head was heavy as it took everything inside of me to look to my left. Bentley. I fight to scream for help, but no sound comes out. His body is slumped over, blood covering him, and no movement coming from him.
“Baby.” I get a whisper out and reach over to rattle him awake.
My fingers soak in his blood. No movement.
“Call for life flight.”
Talking ensues outside of the truck. The door flies open. My eyelids barely a slit. I can’t open them all the way no matter how hard I try. A foreign hand goes to Bentley’s neck.
“Cancel life flight. Dead on arrival.”
A brutal yell echoes around me. It doesn’t stop until my door opens and arms move me. I recognize my voice, but can’t put all the pieces together.
“She’s pregnant and bleeding.”
My shoulders rattle.
“How far along are you?”
I stare up into a set of rich brown eyes studying me. The question rolls around in my head. But it doesn’t matter because I feel Hope being ripped away from me.
Thud. Thud. Thud. I shoot straight up out of bed. Sweat coating my body. I clutch Bentley’s shirt I sleep in every night and grab for the pink baby blanket. My hand searches the bed for it, never feeling the soft material.
I scream. I leap from the bed, flipping on the lights in a frantic state to find it. I rip away the blanket and sheets from the bed. Nothing. I fall to my hands and knees looking around the floor and under the bed. It’s bundled in a heap like their dead bodies next to the edge of the bed. I grasp it, pulling the pink receiving blanket to my chest.
Guy doesn’t get up from the couch. He studies me with sad eyes. This occurrence isn’t the first time. He’s used to it, suffering as bad as I am.
The tears and cries of sorrow begin. My panic attack is still rattling me to the core. I’m unable to calm myself down even though I have the two items I require to survive. I clamber to my feet and with trembling fingers manage to get the top of the vodka bottle off. I fall in the middle of my bed, sitting cross-legged, tossing back the bottle.
The bitter, harsh liquid glides over my tongue. I don’t stop at two or three swallows. I lose count, letting the vodka do its job of beginning to numb me. The near empty bottle lands between my crossed legs. I drop my chin to my chest defeated, enduring the lingering pains.
I clutch the blanket to my chest feeling my heart constrict because I’ve lost track how old Hope would’ve been. A year and something or would it be two? My fingers tremble, and my body quivers with anxiety the harder I fight to remember. Bentley. I picture him and Hope fighting like hell to ground myself. Bentley would no doubt be by her side playing with her while I finished up dinner. I squeeze my eyes shut, struggling to drift off into my fantasy world. Rubbing my cheek with the blanket speeds up the process, taking me to the moment in our home.
The tears rolling down my face sting with bitter reality. They’re dead. I’m alive and alone. Inhale. Exhale. The pain is all the same and grows daily by bounds. I open my eyes, glancing over to the butcher knife. It calls me to me every single day even as the year has drifted by. Its voice is growing more determined and higher in decibel each passing day.
Mom. She’d be devastated without my calls home. They’re rare in nature. I do my best to call her every so often. I’ve destroyed her since leaving.
I climb out of bed, drain the vodka left in the bottle, and toss it in the trashcan. I reach into my cupboard and grab the last bottle. My supplies are running low. That thought alone sends off in another panic attack storm.
The rare mountain wind rattles the shell of my camp trailer. The place I’m learning to live again. I left home with no plan. Hitting the road, finding a new place far away wasn’t an option. I hate driving, despite being trapped in a vehicle. I took the bus and ended up in a random town where nobody cared who I was. I holed up in a cheap hotel room for little over a year until I mustered up the courage to buy a one-way ticket to Idaho.
The stale room all became too much for me to handle. The nightmares thrived on the musky, moldy air that brewed in the four walls and my fear. They won every single night, driving me closer and closer to the edge of darkness.
One morning, I overheard two men talking in the parking lot. It had become a pastime of mine since the walls were paper-thin. They talked about Idaho and the mountains and some town called Moore.
The thought of fresh, clean air. Open space bordered by mountains consumed me. I had to run again, so I did.
Riding in the back of a car getting to the airport wasn’t as bad as I thought. I wasn’t in control. I felt the same way when the RV dealership drove me up to the mountains in Idaho.
The responsibility of being behind the wheel didn’t weigh heavy on my shoulders. I found myself looking to the right, begging like hell there’d be headlights promising to crash into us to take my life.
It ne
ver happened.
And now I’m in the mountains alone with a camp trailer and a periwinkle cruiser style bicycle that has never been pedaled. The salesman who sold me the Airstream trailer had no problem stocking it with groceries, supplies, and vodka. Of course, the request happened thanks to a pretty penny.
I truly only have the bike, camper and what’s in it, and nothing else. My savings account shriveled up from the purchases. Money doesn’t mean a damn thing to me anymore.
I fall back onto the bed, staring out of the tinted window. The stars are bright enough to shine back at me. Wondering what comes after death brings back pangs of panic. I twist the lid off the new bottle and swallow. I used to believe in heaven and knew Papa Wally was up there staring down at us. But now all of my weak convictions have been obliterated. I don’t believe in God.
I sit in silence, staring up at the sky and drinking vodka until my head swims with sleep. I keep the bottle close and lie back down with Bentley’s shirt hugging my skin and Hope’s blanket cradled to my cheek. I try again to tumble into sleep where my living nightmare stays away.
“Call the OR. Female looks to be in her third term of pregnancy. Loss of blood and thrown into labor.”
“Dr. Hilton.” I manage to get out between cracked lips.
She appears out of nowhere when I’m wheeled into a room with bright lights.
“I’m here, Marlee.” She runs her hand over my hair.
I don’t have to ask. I see it in her eyes. I’m too numb and struck with fear to cry. This has to be a nightmare where I can’t wake up. A nurse’s voice catches Dr. Hilton up to speed. Dead on arrival reverberates around the room. There’s pressure on my belly, cool instruments, and dead silence. Dr. Hilton is back in my vision. Her features are no longer holding any glimpses of beauty and confidence. Right now she’s the devil.