by A. V. Geiger
Hit Refresh…on your life.
Inpatient treatment in a technology-free setting.
It was a treatment program for Internet addiction!
Eric could almost laugh at the sheer absurdity. It was all a mix-up. A failure to communicate. It would all be cleared up once Tessa and her mother were talking again. Once Tessa woke up.
If Tessa woke up…
He looked down into her sleeping face and squeezed her hand for the hundredth time that day. “Come on, Tessa,” he whispered. “Please come back.”
• • •
Tessa could hear his voice more clearly now. Was he arguing with someone? He sounded so tired. Exhausted. His voice was all gravelly, the way it got when he spent too many hours in the studio.
“Come on, Tessa. Please come back.”
She heard the plea in his voice. Didn’t he have anyone here with him? He sounded scared. He needed somebody. Somebody to hold him. Somebody to tell him…
Tessa felt tears well up beneath her lids. One by one, they slid down through the fringe of her lashes and made their way across her cheeks. The tears formed two long streams, and she heard him gasp as his fingers brushed the wetness from her face.
“Tessa? Tessa, are you there?”
He gathered her into his arms. She felt herself pulled upright, her head limp against his shoulder.
And then she remembered.
Tessa knew what she needed to say to him. With a monumental effort, she pulled in a shuddering breath.
“Tessa,” he whispered. He pressed his lips against her lids, kissing away the dampness. “Tessa, open your eyes.”
She couldn’t find the strength to make her eyelids move, but she slowly raised her hand. She let it rest against his cheek, coarse with stubble and wet with tears. Her tears or his own?
He gripped the nape of her neck and turned her face toward his. Tessa blinked. Her vision was blurry. She could only see his eyes, ice blue but rimmed with red, as his forehead came to rest against hers. “Tessa,” he said softly. “Say something.”
She whispered her reply, barely louder than a breath, desperate to get the words out before she forgot them again.
“Eric, what happened to the baby?”
22
BABY
Eric watched Tessa’s eyelids flutter open. He let out a strangled noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh. Her lips moved, but her voice was too soft for him to hear beneath the incessant hum of the hospital equipment.
He thought she said his name. And then something else. What happened, baby? Was that it?
It didn’t matter. At least she was awake.
He cupped her face between his hands, waiting for her to speak again. Only a sigh came forth before her eyelids drifted closed. Eric dropped his hands to her shoulders and gave a gentle shake. “Don’t go!” he gasped. “Stay with me. Come on. Don’t go back to sleep.”
He felt a shudder run through her. Then her eyes reopened, blinking rapidly this time.
“That’s it. Wake up.”
“I’m trying, Eric.”
At least she knew his name. That had to be a good sign, right?
Tessa’s mother came to the other side of the bed. She reached out toward Tessa for a moment, but she let her hand drop. She flicked the button to call the nurse instead.
Had Tessa noticed her mom standing there? Her eyes were fixed on Eric’s face, but she still looked half-asleep.
Eric rubbed his hands vigorously up and down her arms. “Just talk to me,” he said. “Keep talking.”
She nodded as her chest rose and fell. “Eric, did you hear me? What happened—”
Before she could finish, they were interrupted by the hospital room door. A nurse bustled into the room. “Look who’s awake!”
Tessa looked around at last, and she shrank against him. She’d finally noticed her mother, standing awkwardly on the other side of the bed. Tessa hid her face in the hollow of his neck. “No,” she said. “I don’t want to see her. Make her go away.”
“Wait a minute. Are you two…” Mrs. Hart pointed back and forth between them, meeting Eric’s eyes. “I thought she worked for you. What is this?”
Eric didn’t answer. He could feel his girlfriend trembling, and he pressed a kiss into her hair. “It’s OK. Your mom’s here for you. She came all the way from Texas.”
Tessa burrowed against him even closer. He strained to make out her words, muffled against his chest. “She wants to send me to some rehab center for Twitter zombies.”
Mrs. Hart took a step toward them. She let her hand come to rest on her daughter’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, let’s talk about that later.”
Tessa shrugged her hand away.
“Tessa,” her mother tried again. “I’m worried about you. I’m not the only one.”
“What do you mean?” Tessa shrank away, looking from her mother to Eric. “You too?” she asked, searching his face.
He shook his head, confused.
“Not him,” Mrs. Hart explained. “That manager. Mr. Gilroy. He was concerned enough to track me down and call me.”
Eric’s head jerked up. Maury? How did Tessa’s mother even know his manager’s name?
Mrs. Hart reached for her purse. She fished out a cell phone and pulled up a photo on the screen. “He called me a few weeks ago. He sent me this.”
Eric took the phone and tapped to enlarge the picture. He recognized the sleek leather seats of his private jet. It must have been taken when they were flying home from Las Vegas after the award show. Neither of them had slept much the night before. He and Tessa had both conked out on the plane. Tessa lay asleep, with her mouth hanging open and her cell phone gripped in her hand, casting her face in an otherworldly glow.
“Sweetheart,” her mother continued. “Mr. Gilroy told me you weren’t coping well. Obsessing. He thought you needed treatment. He wanted to help.”
“Wait,” Eric said slowly. “Was Maury the one who told you she had an Internet addiction?”
Her mother nodded. “He felt bad about hiring her. He found a treatment program and offered to pay for it.” She slipped the phone back into her purse. “Tessa, he was really concerned about you. He even convinced your old therapist to come out here and talk to you about it.”
“Dr. Regan?” Eric said. “That’s why she came to LA?”
Tessa looked dazed. “He told me that,” she said slowly. “Right before he drugged me.”
Mrs. Hart did a double take at her daughter’s words.
She doesn’t know, Eric realized. The police hadn’t spoken to her yet. All he’d told her on the phone was that Tessa had overdosed. Mrs. Hart had no idea that Maury was the one who’d put Tessa in this hospital bed.
“Maury did what now?”
Eric spoke rapidly to fill her in. “He’s been manipulating all of us. He killed Dr. Regan, and he tried to kill Tessa to frame her for the murder. He’s the one who drugged her!”
“It wasn’t a suicide attempt?”
“No, Mom! I’m not suicidal. I’m not an addict. I have anxiety. That’s it! I keep telling you, but you won’t listen—”
“OK.” Eric cut her off. He made a time-out sign with his hands. “She believes you now. Right, Mrs. Hart? You believe her.”
Tessa’s mother nodded. “Of course I do.” She remembered the carton of doughnuts she’d set down on the countertop. She picked them up, waving them in Tessa’s direction. “Look what I found down in the cafeteria. Are you hungry?”
But Tessa turned her face away. “I don’t want her here.”
“Tessa, your mom loves you.”
“I know what she’s going to say,” Tessa whispered. “She’s just going to look all smug and say she told me so.”
Mrs. Hart cast the doughnuts aside with a frown. “No, Tessa. Why would I say that?”
Tessa didn’t answer. She let out a low moan. Eric wasn’t sure what she meant either, but his attention was distracted. Her doctor had entered the room.
�
��Good to see you awake, Tessa.” He scanned their faces, getting his bearings, and his eyes came to rest on Mrs. Hart. “Mom can stay,” he ordered. “Boyfriend needs to clear out of the room while I examine the patient.”
Eric started to rise, but Tessa grabbed his hand to hold him in place. “No!”
“I’m sorry,” the doctor said. “Next of kin only. It’s hospital policy.”
“He is next of kin.”
Eric hesitated, eyeing her curiously. Her face had gone a shade paler. She pressed her lips together for a moment, and then she chewed at them as if she might gnaw them right off her face.
“This isn’t how I wanted to tell you,” she said softly.
“Tell him?” her mother asked from the other side of the bed. “Tell him what?”
Tessa didn’t answer. She rested her hand on her stomach, and her eyes locked with Eric’s. He could see the tears forming in the corners. All the air left his lungs in a sudden outrush as he realized what she meant.
She turned her face to the doctor, and her voice wavered as she spoke. “He’s the father,” she told him. “Is there any way my baby’s still alive?”
• • •
Tessa heard Eric’s sharp intake of breath, but she didn’t look at him. She couldn’t bear to see him shrink away—or to see the knowing look on her mother’s face.
Her eyes went to the doctor. He was the only one there who might ease the fear that stabbed at her from the inside out. This baby’s existence had been the source of constant anxiety for weeks—but now, the thought of losing it made her heart shatter into a thousand shards of glass.
It felt strange to say it out loud. The baby. She’d kept those words to herself all this time, too scared to speak. Week after week had rolled by, and she’d told no one.
No one except for Maury, in that final desperate plea as he stood counting out the pills.
Five…ten…fifteen…twenty…
Maury had barely paused when he heard the news. He’d looked askance at her for a moment, and she thought she saw a trace of regret on his face. But then his eyes went cold again. “You should’ve gone when you had the chance. You know I can’t let you walk out of here alive…”
Tessa wasn’t sure how many pills he’d stuffed down her throat or how long they’d been in her system. By some miracle, help had found her in time, but the tiny life inside her was only eight weeks old. How many doses of phenobarbital would it take to stop that tiny beating heart?
She could tell from her mother’s pinched expression that she was thinking the same thing. Tessa felt the gorge rise in her throat. Morning sickness? How long did pregnancy symptoms last after…after…
Eric put his arm around her shoulders. She looked up at him, but he didn’t speak. His mouth opened, but he let it drift closed without uttering a sound. He didn’t know the right words for this situation, and Tessa didn’t blame him. What was there to say?
The doctor approached her bedside, leafing through her medical chart. “That’s odd. Didn’t they run an HCG?” He clucked his tongue and then he looked at her, his voice growing gentler. “It all depends how much of the drug hit your bloodstream before we pumped your stomach. Do you know how far along you were?”
Were, Tessa thought. She didn’t miss the past tense.
Maybe it was for the best. She wasn’t ready for a baby. She could barely take care of herself. She knew what her mother was thinking. Her mom still hadn’t said anything, and Tessa couldn’t bring herself to meet her mother’s eyes.
She rubbed away her tears. “Eight weeks,” she told the doctor. Her eyes dropped to the thin, blue hospital gown, bunched around her waist. Tessa pulled it taut over her belly. She could feel Eric’s gaze following hers. “I wasn’t showing yet,” she said in a halting voice. She made a small O with her thumb and index finger, and pressed it against the gown. “It’s the size of a raspberry this week. I looked it up online.”
Eric shook his head slowly back and forth. He still hadn’t spoken. The doctor filled the silence instead. “Let’s take a listen.”
He inserted a stethoscope in his ears and pressed it through a gap in Tessa’s gown. She held her breath. The doctor’s forehead creased with concentration as he shifted the stethoscope around. Finally, he looked up. His grim expression hadn’t changed.
“Well?” her mother asked.
The doctor shook his head. “I can’t find a heartbeat,” he said. “But that’s not a reliable indicator in the first trimester. She’ll need blood work and an ultrasound to be sure.” He inclined his head toward Tessa. “Have you started prenatal care anywhere?”
“No. Not yet.” She rearranged her gown to cover herself and pulled the hospital blanket up to her waist.
The doctor patted her shoulder. “I’ll call for a consult. Then we’ll know for sure.” He picked up the chart at the foot of Tessa’s bed and made a note.
Tessa’s eyes filled with tears again. She didn’t need a consult. She knew the truth. She could feel the hollow place in the pit of her stomach. Empty.
The doctor turned to leave, and Tessa’s mother followed him out into the hall. Eric shifted beside her. He’d been sitting in a chair, but he rose and settled his weight on the edge of her bed. She inched sideways to make room as he looped his arm around her and buried his face in her hair. He held her there for a long moment. Tessa closed her eyes, bracing for his reaction.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he said at last.
A tiny sob escaped her throat. She didn’t know how to answer, other than the truth. “I meant to. I was scared.”
He placed a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face upward. “Scared of what?” he asked. “Of having a baby? Or of me?”
Tessa’s face crumpled. He looked so hurt. She couldn’t bear to tell him the rest. How she’d convinced herself he would leave her—concocted a whole elaborate story in her head about him fooling around with another girl.
She looked away. He didn’t need to know all that. Some secrets were better left untold. She sniffed loudly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. Eric fished in his pocket and handed her a tissue.
“Tessa,” he said gently. “Don’t you trust me?”
Trust me. Tessa felt her eyes refilling. If only it were that easy. She wanted to trust him. She needed to trust someone, and Eric’s arms felt so strong. So secure.
She blew her nose noisily, avoiding his eyes. At least she knew he wasn’t cheating on her. Not unless he’d been having a secret fling with Dr. Regan…
Tessa balled up the damp tissue in her hand. That idea would have made her laugh under other circumstances. It still hadn’t sunk in that her therapist was really dead. The shock would probably hit her later.
For now, Tessa couldn’t quite bring herself to care.
Not about Dr. Regan or Maury or the policemen who would probably show up soon with their endless string of questions. Tessa shoved all of it into some dark corner of her mind. She’d unpack it later. Right now, her only thought was for the baby. She pressed a hand below her belly button and held it there, as if she could cradle it. Comfort it. Keep it safely tucked inside where it belonged.
Was there still something in there, fighting for its life? The doctor hadn’t sounded completely hopeless…
Eric placed his hand on top of hers. Their fingers intertwined. Tessa looked up and met his eyes.
“I love you,” he whispered. “Baby or no baby. We’ll figure it out. Together.”
23
QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS
Eric disengaged his hand from Tessa’s, careful not to wake her. She’d dozed off again, and the nurse said to let her rest.
She shifted in her sleep, rolling onto her side, with her hand still cradling her abdomen. Eric pushed back his chair and stood to stretch his legs.
This isn’t how I wanted to tell you…
She’d known about the baby for weeks, and she hadn’t breathed a word. It blew his mind when he thought about it. When exactly was she planning
to fill him in?
Eric crossed the room to the pastry box her mother had left. He stuffed a doughnut in his mouth, but he didn’t taste the sugary glaze. His mind was in a million other places. A baby? Fatherhood? How was he supposed to process it when he didn’t even know if the baby was alive?
He chewed slowly and forced himself to swallow. He couldn’t think about it now. Later, he vowed. For now, his mind buzzed with questions. Like whether his manager had been arrested yet…and exactly how many different forms of torture he should inflict when he next found himself and Maury face-to-face.
Eric set the doughnut back in the box, half eaten. He didn’t have the stomach for it. He needed coffee…or sleep.
Or neither, he thought with a stifled yawn. Maybe what he really needed were some answers.
He drifted toward the door and poked his head out, searching for any sign of a baby doctor or an ultrasound machine. How long did it take to get a consult? He caught sight of Mrs. Hart by the nurses’ station, with her hands on her hips. Good. Let her take charge of nagging the hospital staff. His job was to sit by Tessa’s side and hold her hand.
Eric moved to shut the door, but a different voice distracted him from the opposite direction. He recognized the familiar baritone, filtering in from somewhere down the hall.
“Is she alert? Competent to answer questions?”
Eric stepped out of the room. He eased the door closed behind him just as the two LAPD detectives turned the corner. Detective Stevens raised a hand in greeting.
“How is she?”
His suit looked less crisp than yesterday. His eyes were bloodshot, and his partner didn’t look much better. The two of them must have been up all night, putting the pieces of this tangled mess together.
“She’s sleeping,” Eric said. “You can’t talk to her now. It’s not a great time.”
Detective Stevens drew a small notebook from his breast pocket. Morales held a tablet and stylus.