“And welcome to the party to you, too, beautiful,” he said with a sly grin.
If the man’s slurred words weren’t a tipoff that he was well into the sauce, the four or five empty Budweiser bottles littered around the barbecue were another clue.
And why shouldn’t he be? It was the almost the Fourth of July, after all.
“You smell good,” she blurted, then immediately turned red.
“I do, do I?” Tony winked at Martin. “You hear that? Your—”
“I mean the meat, jackass,” Arielle said quickly.
Tony’s small mouth puckered into an ‘o’ shape.
“I’m sorry,” he mocked. “Please don’t hit me!”
Arielle’s jaw dropped.
“Oh my God,” she turned to Martin. “You told him?”
Martin offered a surprised expression.
“No way!”
“Martin!”
She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned back to Tony.
The man was chuckling, the thick skin beneath his chin quivering like warm Jell-O. Even though Tony had been a big man ever since Arielle had met him, it still amazed her that a man of his stature was an officer of the law. If nothing else, it served as great fodder for her and Martin’s friendly banter when they imagined him running after someone who had just knocked off the corner store.
‘He’s deceptively fast,’ Martin would always say.
Cue Arielle’s predictable eye roll.
‘Yeah, right.’
‘For real.’
‘Downhill, maybe.’
“Relax, hon, it wasn’t Martin.” He hooked a meaty thumb over his shoulder. “Charlene over there went to see Dr. Barnes about some woman problems, and she asked about the shiner.”
“It was his jaw, sweetie, not his eye,” a tall, lanky woman said as she made her way out from the house via a set of sliding doors. She was wearing a yellow sundress and held matching glasses of pale green liquid in each hand.
“Charlene!”
The woman smiled a droopy smile and made her way over to them. Charlene was all elbows and knees, which made it difficult for Arielle to tell from her awkward gate if she too, like her husband, was already half in the bag.
When Charlene kissed her on the cheek, the sickly sweet smell of margaritas confirmed her suspicions.
“Take one, sweetie,” Charlene said, offering her one of the drinks.
“Just gimme a sec,” Arielle replied awkwardly. “Actually, do you think I could have some water first? I’m super thirsty.”
Charlene raised a thinly painted eyebrow. Even her expressions were angular.
“Water? You don’t need water, my love, what you need is alcohol. After all, it’s the Fourth of July!”
Martin laughed and the other partygoers, two other couples—the Allens and the Dupries—raised their beers from their respective lawn chairs.
“Doug, Marnie,” Martin said, acknowledging the Allens first. He said hello to the Dupries next, although Arielle could tell from the way that he called them exactly that—Dupries—that Martin had forgotten their names.
“Hi Cindy and Ron,” Arielle chimed in quickly, rescuing her husband’s poor memory. “Happy early Fourth of July!”
Tony’s voice drew her back to the delicious BBQ.
“Perfect timing, Marty. Dogs are almost ready, and I gotta tell you, I am starving.” Tony rubbed his considerable belly through the apron. “And you know the rules at the Woodward’s place: first come, first serve. If you come too late, you don’t get fed.”
Arielle’s gaze drifted to the grill. There were at least two dozen sausages sizzling away, and another half dozen chicken breasts coated in some sort of thick white sauce that was being licked by flame.
Charlene rolled her eyes.
“Oh God, Tony. You remember what the doctor said? You need to cut out the meat.”
Tony’s quip was immediate, a clear indication that this wasn’t the first time that Charlene had reminded him of his health—or unhealth, as it were.
“Can’t do it, sweetie. I was born a red-blooded American Meatatarian, and no quack doctor with a degree from community college is gonna tell me what to eat.”
“He went to Harvard, dumbass. They don’t have medical school at community college.”
Tony winked at Arielle, and it was her turn to roll her eyes.
“Meh, potayta, potata. Besides, if I don’t like what the doctor’s got to say, I can just throw him a right hook, i’nt that right, Arielle?”
Arielle gave him the finger.
“You mention that again, and I’ll be sure to land one on your chin… if I can find it.”
Tony laughed a hearty laugh, and Martin mimed stepping between them to break up a potential fight.
The Woodwards were a bizarre couple, what with Tony being a mountain of a man and Charlene a thin, angular woman. But it worked—they worked. Arielle and Martin had met the Woodwards more than a decade ago, when they had first moved to Batesburg. Martin had sold his first house to Woodward, a smaller yet similar ranch-style home to the one that they were currently visiting—which, incidentally, Martin had also sold to them—and they had kept in touch ever since. They weren’t what Arielle would consider best friends, partly because they led different lifestyles—case in point the Woodwards’ affinity for drinking and partying, while the Reigns preferred a much more low-key lifestyle.
And although Arielle wouldn’t dare say this to anyone, they were of different classes as well.
Just look at the contrast in their homes.
Arielle shook the negative thoughts away; today was a day for celebrating.
“And where’s little Tommy?” Arielle asked, changing the subject. Her eyes scanned the yard for the little guy.
“Thomas,” Charlene corrected. “And the little beast is right over there, happy as a clown!”
Arielle spotted Thomas just to the left of the sliding doors that Charlene had exited moments ago.
The boy was impossibly cute, the perfect combination of his parents’ features. He had a round head with big blue eyes and thick red lips. His blond, nearly white hair was running a little long, and the ends had curled upward from the heat and humidity.
Arielle’s heart nearly broke.
I’m going to have one of those.
Ignoring Tony’s continuing prattle, Arielle made her way over to the toddler, who was so content in bouncing up and down inside some sort of saucer contraption that he didn’t notice her approach.
When she got nearer, she squatted on her haunches and just watched, waiting patiently for Thomas to spin around and look at her.
The boy didn’t smile when he finally noticed her, but her presence was enough to cause him to cease jumping. He stared at her with his giant marble eyes like a man inspecting a newly discovered species.
Who is this mammalian creature that doth squat before me? his marbles asked. What does said creature want? Does it also provide sustenance and nurture from its udders?
“Hi,” Arielle said simply. She reached out and rubbed a dot of ketchup from the corner of his mouth.
The boy didn’t respond to either her words or the gesture.
“Hi Tommy,” she repeated. This time, the boy answered in the cutest little lisp-voice.
“Thomas,” he corrected, jutting his lower lip defiantly.
“Oh, I see. Well, little Thomas—”
The boy shook his head, his curly blond hair whipping about his face.
“Not little.”
Arielle laughed. The boy was so cute that her cheeks hurt from smiling.
“Well now that you’re all grown up, I guess I can tell you a secret. I—”
Something bumped into her back and she was momentarily distracted. It was Charlene with her two martini glasses in hand. Some of the tequila-laden liquid splashed to the flagstones below, but Charlene failed to notice. Or maybe she did and just didn’t care.
“And what’s this secret, hmmm?” her friend asked, p
laying along with Arielle and her son. “Take the drink, Air, you’re too sober for this party.”
“I can’t,” Arielle said without thinking.
One of Charlene’s thin eyebrows migrated up her flat forehead like a malnourished caterpillar.
“You can’t? Why—?”
When Charlene saw the tears in Arielle’s eyes, she stopped talking. Arielle waited for a moment as the woman’s gears ground, trying not to laugh or cry or something.
Charlene’s gaze bounced from Arielle to Thomas and back again. When her eyes landed on Arielle a second time, they went wide.
“Shut up,” Charlene said, to which Arielle nodded. “Shut up!” she repeated more forcefully this time.
Now both of them were crying.
“Shut up!” she said a third time, and this time she shoved Arielle backwards so hard that she had to dig her heels in to stop herself from stumbling over Thomas.
Charlene raised both of her glasses high in the sky. Before Arielle could stop her, she let out a cry reminiscent of frat parties and sorority celebrations.
“Wahoo! Tony, we have some celebrating to do tonight!”
* * *
Tony’s face was a deep shade of red when he finally made his way back downstairs.
“The little monster is finally napping,” he informed them in a huff.
Arielle had come inside to get out of the heat, and she was sitting at the table with Charlene having a glass of ice water. Martin had remained outside manning the grill, as a few latecomers had arrived to the party. Despite what Tony had said earlier, he wasn’t going to let any of his guests ‘leave with an empty gut.’ So Martin had volunteered to put some burgers on the grill while Tony put Thomas down for a nap.
Arielle and Charlene had spent the last ten or so minutes catching up, which, of course, had mainly focused on Arielle’s pregnancy.
Tony collapsed in the chair beside his wife like a sack of rotten onions.
“Monster,” he gasped between deep breaths. “Evil, evil boy.”
Deceptively quick, my ass.
He turned to Arielle.
“Did you know that he once shat all the way up his back to his hairline? No joke. Up to his hairline.”
They all laughed.
“Anyways, Arielle, I—” Tony glanced at Charlene. “—we are so happy for you guys. I know how much you wanted this.”
Arielle had cried so much recently that she feared dehydration, and took another sip of water to compose herself.
“Thanks,” she said, and was about to add more before the sliding door suddenly opened.
Martin poked his head in, which Arielle noted was nearly as pink as Tony’s had been.
He’s into the sauce too… but it’s a party, so who cares?
“Hon, your phone is blowing up over here. Rang like five times in the last two minutes. You wanna grab it? I have to feed the hungry dogs.”
He had a beer in one hand, and was holding her phone out to her with his other.
“Quick, before the burgers burn,” he added.
Arielle pulled herself out of her seat, picking up her water as she moved toward the door.
“Thanks,” she said, taking the phone.
Her battery was running low, and the screen had dimmed, making it difficult to see.
“I’ll be right back,” she said to the Woodwards as she followed her husband into the sun.
She took a sip of her water as she scrolled to the missed calls.
Had Martin broke the news, maybe? Was it people calling to congratulate her?
She remembered what he had said when they had first arrived a couple of hours ago.
‘You decide if you want to tell.’
No, Martin wouldn’t do that.
What, then? It couldn’t have been Charlene who spilled the beans—I was with her the whole time, and she hasn’t touched her phone. Tony, then?
All of her missed calls—of which there were four, and not five as Martin had said—were from the same number, one that wasn’t in her contact list and she didn’t recognize it.
She called the number back and when the voice answered, her heart fell into her stomach.
“Dr. Robert Barnes’s office, how may I help you?”
Chapter 11
“No, I can’t come in today. I’m at a party. Can’t it wait for my next visit? I booked a follow-up in a couple of weeks.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
“I think it would be best if you came back in today, Mrs. Reigns.”
Arielle shook her head. She pictured the woman, a squat, troll-like creature with skin tags hanging from her doughy face.
“What’s the rush? Why can’t you just tell me what’s up?”
Another pause. This conversation was starting to annoy her and she still didn’t even know what it was about.
“Mrs. Reigns, Dr. Barnes specifically asked that you come back in today.”
“Is it my pap? Abnormal cells?”
She had read about this; it’s not uncommon for pregnant woman to have abnormal pap smears.
It was usually nothing to worry about.
The secretary sighed.
“Mrs. Reigns, please just come in.”
Martin called her name, but she shooed him away. Her patience was wafer thin, and it was threatening to crack.
“Fine, I’ll come in, but not until you tell me what the issue is.”
“Our policy is not to reveal personal information over the phone.”
That was it. The final straw.
Arielle lost it.
“Just tell me what the fuck is going on!”
There was a longer pause and Arielle started to pace. She knew that everyone at the party was now looking at her, but she didn’t care. If this was about the baby…
“Mrs. Reigns, I’m sorry, but your blood tests came back and you’re—you’re—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake woman, spit it out!”
“Mrs. Reigns, I’m sorry but you aren’t pregnant.”
The words slipped out of the secretary’s mouth with as much empathy as an accountant.
“What? Did you say aren’t? That’s impossible.”
Her words came out in a strained whisper.
“We tested all three vials of blood, Mrs. Reigns, and the…”
The woman’s words all melded together.
Not pregnant.
The glass of water slipped from her hand and shattered on the flagstones.
Not pregnant.
“That’s impossible,” she repeated. “I took the pregnancy test and I have fucking morning sickness, for Christ’s sake.”
There were concerned looks on the faces of the other partygoers now, but she paid them no mind. Somewhere far away, she heard Martin calling her name, but she ignored him, too.
Dr. Barnes’s secretary’s words detonated in her head like a bomb.
Not pregnant.
“Mrs. Reigns, sometimes when you really want something, the mind has a way of—”
“What the fuck are you saying? I fucking puke every morning! What. Are. You. Saying?”
She was gripping the phone so tightly that her fingers were starting to ache.
Then the woman on the line had the gall to sigh.
“This is why we don’t usually reveal personal information over the phone.”
She sensed that Martin had come near, but she turned her back to him. When she felt his arm slip around her waist, she pushed it away.
“You’re gonna fucking lecture me, you stupid fucking twat?”
Martin reached for her again, but she shoved him so hard that he stumbled backward.
“Mrs. Reigns—”
“Don’t ‘Mrs. Reigns’ me, you stupid goblin. I fucking pay—”
At some point during her tirade, Arielle realized that the line had gone dead, either because her phone had run out of power or because the secretary had hung up on her. It didn’t matter which; she continued her tirade anyway.
>
“—your goddamn salary, you stupid bitch. So don’t you dare sigh at me. And it isn’t my fault that you haven’t been laid in years, you crusty asshole. Why don’t you hit the gym once in a while? Then maybe you’ll get laid.”
Seething, Arielle threw the phone to the ground, where it shattered into at least a dozen pieces of plastic. Her vision red, she stared at the broken glass and plastic that littered the flagstones.
Not pregnant? Not pregnant?
Only after the ramifications of those words began to settle did she look up and observe her surroundings. Martin was staring at her, his mouth wide, his hands at his sides. He was wearing the stupid ‘Kiss the ‘Cue’ apron, and this only enraged her further. At some point during her shouting, Charlene and Tony had also made their way outside and were standing just behind Martin. The other couples had likewise stopped what they were doing—drinking, mostly—and had turned to face her. It was as if the entire world had stopped, as if everything was frozen in time like in a bad sci-fi movie. Except for her, of course; Arielle could see, hear, and smell—God, the smell of rendered fat is disgusting—everything. Even the music seemed to have stopped.
Silence; there was silence and dread and disgust. And then a wail suddenly filled the air.
It was Thomas; beautiful baby Thomas.
Evil, evil monster.
When Tony’s eyes flicked back toward the open sliding doors in response to his son’s cries, something inside Arielle snapped.
“What the fuck are you all looking at?”
“Air—”
Arielle glared at Charlene.
“Don’t fucking ‘Air’ me, you drunk,” she said, pointing a finger at her. “You don’t deserve children.”
Something happened to Charlene’s face; her lips suddenly flipped downward, and all of her angular features suddenly became like softened rubber.
“Arielle!” Martin shouted as he moved toward her.
“Don’t,” she warned, immediately halting his progress. She turned to Tony. “And you, with your little fucking asshole of a mouth… you don’t deserve Thomas or Tommy or whatever the fuck you call him either. Evil monster? Evil monster?! I would kill for a monster.”
“Air,” Martin said again, almost whispering this time. His face had transformed into a mask of horror. “What’s wrong? What happened to the baby?”
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