I hang my head and go back up in the townhouse. Jordan is really squirming around now. And it stinks to high heaven in here. I grab her bag and put it on my shoulder. Then I lean down to pick her up and the heavy bag falls off my arm. I roll my eyes at my awkwardness. I deposit the bag on the couch and pick up little Jordan. I hold her tightly in one arm, supporting her head like Baylor showed me, while I put the bag over my other shoulder. I did it. Okay, I can do this.
Proud of myself, I head to the stairs. I stand at the bottom of them and look up. What if I trip and drop her? What if my foot slips and we both fall? Who the hell decided a baby’s room should be up the fucking stairs anyway? How on earth did so many of us survive this?
I take one slow step at a time until we reach the top where I exhale the breath I was holding. I walk into the nursery and eye the ornate changing table. I decide it’s too dangerous. She might fall off it. I put Jordon in the crib and get a blanket from the closet, spreading it on the floor. Then I get a diaper and a cleansing wipe from Baylor’s bag and put them next to the blanket. Grabbing Jordan, I carefully place her in the middle of the blanket and proceed to take her out of her clothes. When I’m struggling to get her little arms out of the outfit, I curse the sadistic makers of the baby clothes before I discover the crotch snaps.
“You’ve got a lot to learn, Skylar,” I mumble to myself.
I gasp when I remove her diaper. She must be sick. There’s a gooey pile of greenish-yellow poop. Oh, God. I try to breathe through my mouth. I just have to do this and then I’ll call my mom. Or a doctor.
I remove the diaper, but not before Jordan’s little feet smear the disgusting poo all over her legs, my hands and the blanket. I reach over for the wipe, realizing I got out only one and the rest are tucked into the designer baby bag. I wipe her up the best I can with the one wipe and the blanket beneath her. I’ll throw the damn thing away. Anything to get rid of the nasty poo she’s spreading around.
I need to wash her. I get another blanket out of the closet knowing I’ll ruin that one as well, but at this point, I really don’t care. When I’m in the closet, I notice a small baby bathtub. I look at the picture on the box. It shows a little baby, about Jordan’s size. It has this thing up by the head so she can’t slump over and fall under the water. Yes, this’ll work.
What seems like hours later, I have one clean baby, but a train-wreck of a bathroom. I leave it to deal with later. I carefully carry Jordan down the stairs, one step at a time, leaving the baby bag in the nursery. No need to chance it. I call Baylor but go directly to voicemail. I call my mom. She laughs at me. Laughs. She assures me that Jordan’s poop was perfectly normal for a breast-fed baby. Good Lord, why would anyone choose to breastfeed if that’s what it produces?
She starts crying and I check the clock. Two hours almost on the dot. Baylor thought she’d be back by now. I retrieve the notebook and follow the instructions for warming up the bottle of breast milk. After she eats, I curse Baylor for leaving out the fact that Jordan will vomit half of it back up, ruining one of my favorite shirts. I wonder if I should feed her again. Baylor did bring extra bottles, maybe that’s why. But Jordan falls asleep before I can heat one up. Thank God. I’m sure Baylor will be back before she wakes up.
I run upstairs and clean up the bathroom and nursery while Jordan sleeps in her stroller. How can one baby cause this much of a mess? Frazzled, I change my shirt, grabbing an old t-shirt from the laundry.
I sit down to finally get that cup of coffee when Jordan starts to cry. I look at the clock and I could swear she just went down, but time tells me it’s been over an hour. I sigh and take a few lukewarm sips before I walk over to see what’s wrong. She’s been fed. She’s clean. I stick my head a little closer—nope, no more explosive poop. I pick up my phone and call Baylor. Voicemail. I call my mom again. She tells me to pick her up. Talk to her. Play with her—babies need attention, not just care.
I look in the baby bag and pull out some sort of play mat. I lay it on the floor and then put Jordan on it before I lay on my side and show her the rattles and bears that detach from the Velcro on the mat. This seems to mollify her for a while so I sneak into the kitchen and grab a quick bite to eat, running out to check on her every ten seconds in case she learns to roll over or crawl in the span of time that I’m gone.
I take my sandwich out and sit next to Jordan when my phone pings with a message from Baylor that tells me she’s going to be a lot longer than she thought. Hours longer. She may not even be back until dinner time.
Shit!
I call my mom. “You need to come help me. Baylor may not be back for hours.”
More laughter. “Honey, I’m here all by myself, waiting on a delivery. By the time I get someone to cover for me and take the subway all the way into the city, Baylor will be home. You’re doing fine. You shouldn’t doubt your abilities.”
“Mo-om,” I whine.
“Oh, gotta go. The delivery is here. Call me later if you need anything else. Bye, honey.”
I stare at the dead phone. My own mother hung me out to dry. I try calling Mindy and Jenna, but both go to voicemail. I look at Jordan, happily sucking on her little fist and drooling like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
“I know what’s going on here,” I tell her. “They can all go to hell. They’re throwing me in the fucking deep end.” I roll my eyes at my choice of words. “Sorry,” I say to Jordan.
By the time Baylor comes back to get Jordan, it’s after nine o’clock at night. I had to give Jordan two more baths and take a shower myself after her faulty diaper leaked and she got shit all over me. It was awful. I put her next to my shower in a bassinette from Aaron’s room. Every noise she made had me poking my head out and checking to make sure she wasn’t climbing out or falling over. How do people do this?
Baylor finds us sleeping on my bed. I had barricaded Jordan’s side of the bed with furniture and pillows. I know I could have put her in Aaron’s crib, but I was afraid to leave her in there. What if she woke up and I didn’t hear her? What if she got sick or got her little arms stuck in between the slats? But I was exhausted. I had to lie down come hell or high water.
I’m only half awake when Baylor enters my room. I don’t even have the energy to yell at her. I just tell her to get the hell out.
~ ~ ~
I wake up to discover a letter on the pillow next to me. It’s labeled with only my name. There’s a sticky note attached to it that reads ‘I was supposed to give this to you when the time was right.’ It’s signed by Baylor.
I open it and the first thing that comes to mind is that Griffin was wrong. She did leave parting words. It’s a letter from Erin. My heart pounds inside my chest and Bean moves around as if he can feel the shot of adrenaline coursing through my body. I close my eyes and breathe. In and out. In and out. I settle into my pillow and read her words.
Skylar,
I’m not sure if this is the first letter you’ve been given, or one of the last. So if this is redundant, I apologize. Baylor and Mason have a series of letters written by me. They have been instructed to give them to you and/or Griffin in certain situations.
Right now, at this very second, I’m rejoicing. It doesn’t matter if I’m still alive but unaware, if I’ve been dead for a year, or if I’ve only recently passed. It doesn’t matter, because if you are reading this letter it means that you and Griffin have taken a step towards being together. A step towards becoming the family I so desperately want for you. A step towards the love and caring that radiates around you when you are together.
I’m talking about sex. You and Griffin making love. If you are reading this, it’s happened. But if you are reading this, something has gone wrong. I wish I could see into the future. But I can’t. I’m only human, or maybe an angel by this point. All I can do is try to put myself in your shoes. How would I feel if I had just slept with my best friend’s husband?
I can only imagine that you are carrying a heavy load of guilt. Shame. Betray
al. How could you do this to your best friend?
I have one thing to say. STOP IT!
I put you there, Skylar. I put you in the very position you’ve found yourself in. I threw the two of you together with the sole intention for you to develop feelings for each other. If anyone is to blame here, it’s me. You fell into the trap that I perfectly orchestrated.
I lied—I have another thing to say. GET OVER IT.
Let go of the guilt. You are doing exactly what I’ve asked you to do. You are trying to fulfill my dying wish. You are allowing yourself the chance at happiness. And let me tell you something, Skylar, you deserve it. You deserve every loving touch Griffin bestows upon you. Every tender word he whispers to you. Every wonderful child he gives to you. And I will be smiling down upon you every single second of it. You don’t need it, but if for some reason, you think you do, I’ll say it anyway—you have my permission. I give it to you wholeheartedly, now and always. I give you my blessing to love and live and be happy with him.
I don’t presume to know if it’s you or Griffin or both of you that are fighting your feelings. I don’t presume to have any magical words of wisdom that will take down any walls you may have erected. I don’t presume to have any heavenly powers that can fix what might be broken.
All I can say is this.
Have faith. And love them.
Love them hard.
Love them forever.
Your best friend on earth and in heaven,
Erin
I read the note again before folding it up and returning it to the envelope. Then I do something I haven’t done in many weeks. I smile. A weight is lifted from my shoulders. From my heart. This may not change the fact that Griffin is gone and may never return. But I feel the guilt being drawn from me as if Erin has attached a string to it from heaven and is actively extracting it from my every pore.
Then it hits me and I take a breath so big, it feels like it’s the first air I’ve allowed into my body in fourteen long days. Jordan was with me for twelve hours yesterday and she survived. I survived.
I put my hand on my growing belly. “You might have to cut me a little slack, Aaron. But I can do this.” I look around my room. The guest room that became mine almost a month ago.
Moms don’t sleep in the guest room.
I get up and walk down the hall and push open the door to Griffin’s bedroom. His suit still lies crumpled on the floor. Erin’s glass of water still sits, evaporating, on her night table. His pillows still lie on the decorative couch where he slept. I put my hand on the rich oak of the large bed. I pull up on it to see that I can’t even begin to budge it. I grab my phone and make a call.
“Mason, I need your help at the townhouse.”
After we hang up, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and laugh. Yesterday after my shower, in my haste to get back to little Jordan, I had inadvertently put on one of Griffin’s traitorous baseball shirts.
It feels good to laugh. It feels good to smile. It feels good to have the rest of my life ahead of me.
I call Mindy and tell her I’ll be back to work at the end of the week, after I take care of a few things. The last call I make is to Baylor. I only have one thing to say to her. “Thank you.”
I hear her relief come through the phone. “Anytime, little sister.”
I head down the stairs and sit on the couch, staring up at the urn that resides on the mantle. I’m not sure why I decided to put it there. Maybe it’s the best place for her to watch over us. Until we decide where she truly belongs.
I sigh. We. There isn’t a we. There’s only a me. And somehow, someway, I’m going to make the most of it.
I look up at the urn. “Don’t worry, Erin. I got this.”
part two
griffin
chapter twenty-one
Loud voices wake me, pounding through my skull like a sledgehammer. I cover my head with a pillow to drown them out, along with the light that’s shining through the curtains.
Wait . . . voices?
I sit up, then immediately curse myself for moving too quickly, adding even more pain to my already piercing headache.
I glance around the now-familiar bedroom that is part of the suite I’ve been staying in for a while now. Something’s different. And who’s talking outside the door? I look around the room for answers. Unfortunately, I get them.
Shit. I finally did it.
I stare at the floor where there’s a heap of women’s clothing. A dress. A pair of high heels.
I lie back down, raising the sheet from my body. Naked. I shake my head. Is this rock bottom? First I leave my family. Well, my sort-of family. Then I lose myself in a bottle. And now—sleeping with a random stranger. Have I finally become my father?
My eyes search the floor for a telltale square wrapper. Not there. I slowly walk into the connecting bathroom and check the waste basket. Nope.
I lock eyes with myself in the mirror. I don’t even look like me anymore. “What the fuck did you do?”
I splash some water on my face and then hold my mouth under the faucet and gulp down a long drink.
Throwing on some clothes, I hesitate before opening the door to the other room, wondering what I’m going to find on the other side. I listen for a second. Then, hearing a familiar male voice, I throw the door open. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Mason eyes me from head to toe. I know I must be a sight. My hand comes up to run over the long scruff on my face. I can’t remember the last time I shaved. Hell, I’m not even sure I’ve showered lately. He shakes his head in disapproval. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question, man?”
I ignore him and look at the woman. She’s wearing my shirt. It comes down to her knees and the collar is hanging off her bare shoulder. She looks like her. So much like her. Is that why I chose her?
She gives me a sympathetic look as she extends her hand. “Tammy. Nice to meet you, Griffin.”
I look between her and Mason, confused. “Uh, we didn’t make introductions last night?”
She just smiles, helping herself to a cup of coffee. “I hope you don’t mind me crashing here. I was in no condition to drive, and the rooms here are way out of this working girl’s budget.”
My eyes go wide and my blood pressure shoots through the roof. I hired a hooker?
Fuck. I have hit rock bottom.
I fall back onto the couch and put my head between my knees. I feel sick. I look up at her. She doesn’t look like a hooker. “Don’t you girls insist on using protection?”
She giggles. “Honey, you were so wasted last night, you couldn’t have hoisted it up with a sail. Hell, I thought your name was ‘Finn’ until Mason here set me straight.”
I blow out a relieved breath. Thank God. I didn’t know until this very second how bad I would have felt sleeping with someone else.
I hear Mason cracking up behind me. I’m about to ask him what his problem is when Tammy’s face breaks into a devious smile. She laughs out loud, turning to Mason. “I’m sorry, I never was a very good poker player.”
I look between them as they share some kind of private joke. “Wait, you’re not a hooker?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Sorry, no. Just a pharmaceutical sales rep you met in the hotel bar last night.”
“Not a very good one if you can’t even afford a room of your own,” I spit out in misguided anger.
“Dude!” Mason chides me for my crassness.
Tammy holds up a hand. “It’s okay. I deserved that. An eye for an eye.”
“No, I’m sorry,” I tell her. I run my hands through my dirty hair. “Can I call down for some breakfast? It’s the least I can do.”
She waves me off, taking another sip of her coffee. “Nah. Coffee’s good. I have a meeting to run to. But I’ll use the shower if that’s okay.”
“Of course.” I watch her walk into the bedroom and shut the door.
Once I hear the water running, I turn to Mason. “Why are you here? And how did you
even find me?”
“It took a while, brother. I’m not gonna lie.” He pulls a chair over from the small dining table and straddles it, resting his elbows on its back. “I found a girl at the post office who recognized me and she gave me the address where you were having your mail forwarded. I had to give her some tickets to next season’s opener because she said she could lose her job over it.”
Irritation pinches my brows. “Isn’t that some kind of federal offense?”
“That’s not the point,” he says.
“Well, what is the point exactly?”
“The point is, you ran away, Griffin.”
I get up from the couch and pour myself a cup of coffee. My head is pounding and I’m in no mood for a heart-to-heart with Mason Lawrence. Or with anyone, for that matter. I just want to be left the hell alone.
He nods his head towards the bedroom. “She said you were so drunk you kept telling her she had eyes as green as the sky.”
I stare at him blankly over the rim of my coffee cup.
“She looks like her,” he says. “She looks just like Skylar Mitchell. Is that what you’ve been doing down here? Picking up girls who look like Skylar and fucking them to assuage your guilt for sleeping with her?”
“What? How do you—”
“You’ve been gone a long time, my friend. Too long. Skylar and I have become friends. She needs as many as she can get. You know, to give her a little support after losing her best friend and then being hung out to dry by your sorry ass.”
“It’s not like I didn’t lose something, too, Dix.”
“Of course it’s not. We all know how much you loved Erin. Nobody is going to fault you for needing time to grieve your wife. But you have a kid to worry about now. Have you even stopped to think about that? Can you stop screwing your way around Miami Beach to give even a little thought as to how this might affect him?”
The Mitchell Sisters: A Complete Romance Series (3-Book Box Set) Page 50