Be My Baby

by Airicka Phoenix

  “I’m not going anywhere!”

  To prove it, he jerked off his coat and tossed it over the armchair. His boots were kicked off next.

  “What are you doing?”

  Before answering her, he stormed over, scooped her up into his arms and marched into the bedroom. He dropped her down onto the rumpled sheets and reached for the hem of his sweater. He tore it off. His pants and socks followed. Then he crawled into bed with her.

  “Jared…”

  “Shut up.” He pulled her to him and dragged the sheets up around them. “We’re going to bed,” he told her. “In the morning, we’re going to talk.”

  Chapter Eleven ~ Calla

  It irked her that her body so easily complied to his command. She blamed it on being exhausted, and the middle of the night, but she knew neither of those things were the case; she’d been tossing and turning for hours before he’d arrived. It was only when she was cocooned in his embrace that sleep hit her like a two ton truck. She was out before she could even think of a reason to protest.

  Her internal alarm clock woke her at six. She cursed the damn thing as she always did when it woke her up on her days off. But once she was awake, there was no going back. She usually got up, showered and dressed, and found something to do. That morning, she stayed in the confines of Jared’s arms and tried to think of what to say.

  Her reaction to spending the night at her place had been insane, childish and blown so far out of context, she inwardly cringed with embarrassment. Her insecurities had really fucked her that time and she had no idea what she was going to tell him when he started demanding answers.

  When Willa had called to ask her how things were going and to make her usual goodnight rounds before heading to bed as only Willa ever did, Calla hadn’t exactly told her. She only mentioned she’d had a fight with Jared, so of course, Willa went into instant concern mode, demanding to know what was wrong, which in turn had made Calla cry because all she could think was how stupid she was. She should have known Willa would badger Damon, who would badger Jared.

  She sighed.

  “How do you still smell so good first thing in the morning?” Jared’s stubble tickled the back of her neck with his quiet murmur. “I wake up smelling like I ate horse shit in my sleep.”

  Despite her anxiety, Calla laughed.

  His grin brushed her ear. “Morning.”

  “Morning.”

  The comfortable weight draped over her side and across her belly shifted. “How do you feel?”

  Like an idiot.

  “Fine.”

  “Tell me what happened last night.”

  While she knew it was coming, she couldn’t help flinch at the request. Part of her wondered if it was too late to pretend to be asleep still.

  “It was nothing,” she whispered.

  “It was not nothing,” he retorted. “There was nothing normal about that fight. You realize that, don’t you?”

  She stayed where she was, staring at the wilting bouquet of roses on her windowsill. She was relieved she couldn’t see his face. Somehow explaining herself with him watching her felt impossible, no matter how much of a coward that made her.

  “I was never allowed at his place,” she whispered. “He took me there once, but always made excuses for us to stay at mine. It never bothered me. I liked my place better anyway. Then I found out it was because she would visit his place and he didn’t want me to know.”

  Sunlight kissed the rim of the vase and sparked.

  “Jesus Christ, Calla.” His arms tightened around her. “I told you I would never—”

  “I know!” She squeezed her eyes closed tight. “I’m fucked up.”

  Jared sighed into the back of her neck. “You’re not fucked up, baby. You just need to realize I’m not him.”

  “I know you’re not.”

  “Then you need to stop treating me like I am.” He dragged her onto her back so she had no choice but to face him. “There is no one but you, and you need to remember that if we’re going to make us work.”

  She peered up into his beautiful gray eyes, illuminated by the light radiating through the window behind her.

  “I’ll try harder,” was the best she could do.

  Since the announcement of her wedding to Jared, Calla’s biggest fear had been retaliation from the community. She had expected a hard backlash for being so reckless and tactless. But the shop was busier than ever. Most of the people were there to grill her for information, but that didn’t stop her from making sure that they paid for every bit of what she told them. The more they asked, the higher their bill got. For most, it was a price they were willing to pay if it meant getting an exclusive before Georgia May. Others got the hint and left.

  The queen of gossip practically lived at the shop. She was there the moment Calla opened and stayed for hours, or until she had to leave for something else. It was more Georgia May than Calla ever wanted to see, but the woman was singlehandedly making Calla a very rich woman, so as far as Calla was concerned, she could rent a corner and live there if she wanted.

  “We should get you a cot in the back, Mrs. Hadley,” Calla only partially teased when the woman flounced through the doors in a beautiful emerald coat and black leather gloves.

  It had been almost eight weeks since she and Jared had tied the knot. Eight weeks and not a single other gossip worthy event had taken place. There was a brief moment when it almost seemed like something else was about to take the spotlight away, but at the last second, nothing happened and Calla was stuck with it.

  But she told herself it was okay. Gossip meant nosy-busybodies, which meant more sales and while it felt like she was selling her soul, it also meant she was getting that much closer to opening a second shop and that was the main goal.

  Nevertheless, it was not a good morning for her. Part of her had hoped no one would show, just for that one day so she could simply sit and wallow in her own misery. No such luck.

  “My in-laws are throwing a gathering this weekend,” Georgia May muttered, not sounding the least bit happy about the fact. “It’s their anniversary, or some such thing, so, of course, they’re having this enormous party, never mind that it’s a week before Christmas and we all have a million more important things to do.”

  “I’m sorry,” Calla managed.

  Georgia May waved a hand dismissively. “I need a dress.”

  Having no desire to move from her stool, Calla started to open her mouth and tell the woman she knew exactly where the dresses were, but decided against it. Customer service was how she kept her clients happy. Maybe if they found a dress quickly, the woman would just leave.

  Hoping, she pushed her aching and clammy body to her feet and started to shuffle around the counter when the phone rang. Calla halted mid step and reached for the receiver.

  “Libellule. Calla speaking.”

  There was a long breath of silence.

  “Hello?”

  She waited two full heartbeats before giving a shrug and hanging up. She straightened, having no energy to even lift her feet, but dragged her weary self forward. The air felt thick around her, making every inhale nearly impossible. Her head thrummed and all she wanted to do was sleep. Instead, she made her way through the racks to the dresses.

  “You look terrible, dear,” Georgia May observed, eyeing Calla shrewdly from head to toe. “Perhaps you should sit down.”

  It was a chore not to glare at the woman.

  “We have a few new…”

  The room swayed ever so slightly to the right. Calla barely caught herself on a rack.

  “Calla?” Georgia May grabbed for her. Even through the gloves, her manicured nails bit into Calla’s arm.

  “I’m all right.”

  “You need to sit down.” The woman argued, already maneuvering Calla to the settee. She dug her phone out of her pocket with the other. “Where do you keep your water?”

  “The back, but really, I’m—”

  Georgia May was already hurrying
into the stock room. Calla heard her talking and wondered if she was calling the Willow Creek Gazette.

  Unable to bring herself to care, she pressed her hot face into her sweaty palms. Her fingers trembled as she struggled to control her breathing. The air in the shop was heavy, suffocating, like she was in a box without air. Waves of heat rode along her spine, yet she couldn’t stop shivering.

  “Here.”

  Georgia May pressed a frosty bottle of water into Calla’s hand. The lid was already unscrewed and Calla took small ships. The cold liquid slid down the center of her chest and hit her empty stomach like a bomb.

  Calla heaved. The bottle slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a muffled thud. Water sloshed everywhere. But she couldn’t think past the ringing in her ears to care, or notice.

  Her stomach wrenched violently and bile soared up her throat. She gagged and coughed as the foul tang coated her tongue. Wads of tissue were stuffed into her hand and her hair was scooped off her face and neck.

  “It’s all right,” Georgia May crooned. “Just let it all up.”

  Breathing hard, sweaty and exhausted, Calla slumped back on the sofa. Beads of salty sweat rolled down her temples and soaked into the collar of her blouse. She wiped at her mouth and closed her eyes.

  “I’m so sorry.” She pried her eyes open and peered up at the woman standing over her. “I’ve been feeling off the last little while.”

  Georgia May said nothing a long while, but Calla could see something was brewing behind her calculating eyes.

  “You should see Dr. Phillips,” she said at last.

  Calla nodded, amazed that she was in actual agreement with the woman. “I think I will.” She forced herself back to her feet. “Thank you.”

  Georgia May inclined her head, still studying her. “Why don’t I come back tomorrow for that dress, hm? You go ahead and close shop and get yourself over to the clinic.”

  Refusing to be in agreement a second time, Calla just nodded and walked the woman out. She snapped the lock into place and flipped the sign early for the first time since opening the place. Then she made her way unsteadily to the back for the mop bucket.

  She had just finished cleaning up her mess when a loud knock erupted from the front. Groaning, Calla made her way forward, prepared to tell the person to go away, when she spotted her mother’s drawn and concerned face peering at her from behind the glass.

  “Mom?” She hurriedly undid the lock and let the other woman in. “What are you doing here?”

  “Georgia May called me,” her mom said, panting slightly. “She said you fainted?”

  “I didn’t faint.” She shut the door. “I got sick. I’m fine though. I was just on my way to see Dr. Phillips.”

  Her mother adjusted her purse strap more securely over her shoulder. “I’ll go with you.”

  The clinic was a ten minute walk that was done with only the sound of their boots crunching on snow. Calla wasn’t feeling well enough to bring herself to make conversation. Her heart was drumming between her ears and all she wanted to do was curl up and sleep.

  Nancy Hadley, Georgia May’s niece glanced up from the glossy fashion magazine she’d been dutifully filing her nails over and smiled at them with cool disinterest. As redheaded as her aunt, Nancy was just as arrogant and self-centered. Calla didn’t know Nancy all that well, but that didn’t mean she liked the woman.

  “Can I help you?”

  “We’d like to see Dr. Phillips,” Calla’s mom said evenly. “Is he available?”

  There was no one else in the office, yet Nancy made a big show of flipping through the calendar.

  “Look here,” Calla growled out through her teeth. “I will throw up all over your fucking desk if you don’t get me in that room to see the doctor, do you understand me?”

  Her mom touched her sweaty back, but didn’t reprimand her.

  Nancy’s nostrils flared, but she snapped the planner shut and rose to her feet. “This way.”

  Dr. Phillips, the man who had been the town doctor for more years than anyone could count, looked up when they walked in. His squinty eyes were made even smaller by the enormous glasses perched on his nose.

  “Calla. Lily.” He motioned them inside. “Thank you, Nancy. Please shut the door.”

  “I still need someone to fill out the forms,” Nancy said tartly.

  “I’ll do it,” Calla’s mom said, touching Calla’s arm. “You just talk to the doctor.”

  The pair left, closing the door behind them. Calla made her way to the examination table and heaved herself onto it. It felt like heaven getting off her feet.

  “What’s the problem, Calla?” Dr. Phillips drew his wheeling stool over and drooped his stooped little frame onto it.

  Calla described everything she was feeling the best way she could and waited for the doc to prescribe his strongest antibiotics. Instead, those watery gray eyes fixed on her face for several long, uncomfortable seconds before he heaved himself upright and shuffled to a cupboard. Calla watched as bottles, jars, and glass containers of cotton swaps and tongue depressors were shifted around.

  “How long have you been feelings like this?” he asked, still rummaging.

  Calla had to really rack her brain to recall. “A week? Roughly?”

  Whatever he was looking for didn’t seem to be in that cupboard. He moved to the next one. He found it immediately with a triumphant ha! Calla watched as he ambled back to her with a small, white packet no bigger than a condom wrapper. He regained his stool and fixed his gaze on her face once more.

  “How are you otherwise, Calla?”

  Calla’s eyebrows drew low over her eyes in confusion. “What? Fine. I’m fine.”

  “How are things with Jared?”

  She shrugged. “Fine.”

  “And the shop?”

  A nerve was beginning to twitch behind her eye, but she nodded. “Also fine.” She chuckled uneasily. “Are you going to tell me I need to write up a will?”

  Dr. Phillips laughed. “No, no, not at all.” Still smiling, he lifted his head and watched her with almost fatherly eyes. “Has your mother ever told you about the morning she was sitting right there talking to me about the same symptoms you’re experiencing? I swear it feels like just yesterday.”

  The confusion was still dominant, but there was something just underneath it, something cold and fierce and paralyzing.

  “What?”

  Rather than answer her squeak, Dr. Phillips opened his hand to reveal the packet. “I want to run some tests.”

  Twenty-nine minutes.

  That was all it took for Calla’s entire life to get flipped upside down.

  Twenty-nine minutes for a stupid piece of plastic to tell her what she should have known, what she should have recognized weeks ago. Twenty-nine minutes for Calla’s whole world to shatter and tinkle to the ground in tiny, red pieces.

  “Are you sure?”

  Dr. Phillips laughed. “I am very sure.”

  Calla glanced at the eight tests lying discarded at the bottom of the garbage and knew there was no point trying again. Yet the biggest shock was that she hadn’t known. She should have. The signs had all been there.

  “How long?” she choked out.

  Dr. Phillips adjusted his glasses and squinted at his notes. “If you’re correct about your last cycle, I’d say about two months.”

  Two months.

  She sucked in a breath. It lodged in her throat and she coughed.

  “Calla…”

  She shook her head and warded him back. “I’m okay. I just … I need to…”

  “Let me get your mother.”

  Her mother was there before Calla could tell the man she needed a few more minutes. Her comforting arms went around Calla as it used to when she was a little girl and had a bad day at school.

  “You okay?”

  No.

  “Calla? What did the doctor say?”

  Rather than put words to the nightmare she’d been thrust into, Calla
slid off the bench and ambled unsteadily to the door. It wasn’t until someone had settled her coat around her shoulders that she remembered she wasn’t wearing it.

  Outside, the cold afternoon slapped against her clammy cheeks. The sting almost felt good as she closed her eyes and tried not to break to pieces.

  “Calla!” Her mother shook her. “Calla, talk to me.”

  “I … I need to be alone.” Even her voice sounded listless and dead.

  Her mother blinked. “Alone? Why do you … Calla, stop!” She grabbed Calla’s sleeve when she started walking again. “What is it?”

  “Calla!” Another voice, deep, male and so painfully familiar cut through the street. Jared sprinted across the road, waving at a man in a blue pickup that he cut off and jogged straight up to them. “What happened?”

  Calla looked at her mother, oddly betrayed. “You called him?”

  Her mother stared back at her, bemused. “He’s your husband, Calla. He has a right to know something’s wrong.”

  “No, he doesn’t.” Calla backed away from both of them. “This has nothing to do with him. You shouldn’t be here!”

  Jared and her mother exchanged concerned glances.

  “Baby, talk to me.” Jared took a step towards her that made her take a step back in retreat. “What is it?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “No, I don’t want you here. Neither of you. I just want to be alone.”

  “Calla, what is going on?” her mother demanded. “Talk to us!”

  She couldn’t breathe. Everything kept going in and out of focus. Tears, terror, and disbelief roared between her ears like a fighter jet. It slammed into her chest.

  “I can’t do this again,” she panted. “I can’t … not again!”

  “Again? Do what again?” Jared grabbed for her, but she wrenched out of his reach. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t touch me!” Tears slid down her cheeks, burning her skin every time the wind shifted. “I can’t do this. I can’t…”

  “Calla, just stop for a second and calm down.” Her mother took a cautious step towards her, hands up like she was approaching a frightened dog. “Talk to me, okay? Come here. I promise I’ll fix whatever it is.”