She toyed with a bite of her grilled red snapper, nibbling a tiny piece. It was delicious, rubbed with fiery goat peppers and spritzed with lime juice. Andrew had opted for a very traditional Bahamian breakfast of corned beef and grits, but it sat on his plate untouched.
“Aren’t you hungry?” she asked him.
“Not very,” he replied from behind the paper.
“I got an e-mail from Charlie yesterday,” she said, taking a sip of freshly squeezed orange juice.
“Oh yes?” Andrew said politely.
“She sent us a surprise. Do you want to see?” Waverly took the photos from the petal-pink Fendi purse at her feet.
Andrew laid his paper aside.
“She sent me the ultrasound photos in 3-D.” She slid the photos across the table to Andrew. “I had the hotel print them off this morning. I couldn’t wait to show you. This is our baby, darling.”
Andrew picked up one of the photos, studying it with a furrowed brow. The image was of the baby’s face in profile, clear although strangely orange, as though he or she were sculpted from butterscotch pudding.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Waverly asked, picking up another of the images, tracing a finger down the button nose and across the plump lips.
Andrew didn’t say anything, just gazed at the photo in his hand.
“The doctor still couldn’t tell the sex because of the placement of the umbilical cord. It’s annoying to still not know, but he thinks it’s a girl,” Waverly confided. “He said 70 percent sure. Charlie thinks it’s a boy, but I agree with the doctor.” She thought of the handful of dreams she’d had—the little girl with dark hair and eyes the color of cocoa. Somehow she suspected she was seeing her daughter.
Andrew was still studying the ultrasound photo. He looked sober.
“Isn’t it amazing to see her sweet little face?” Waverly asked. “It makes her seem so real.” She gazed out at the water where a sailboat was bobbing gently across the waves. “Can you believe it, Andrew. In just a few months, we’re going to be holding our baby in our arms.”
Her voice caught, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. After so much heartbreak and loss—to see that little face, hold a warm little loaf of newborn baby in her arms and then take that baby home with her, not have to give it back to the mother with a fierce jab of longing. To be a mother herself—it seemed surreal. Her heart felt as though it were inflating in her chest, a pink balloon filling her with joy lighter than helium. She touched a finger to the photo again, tracing the little hand. It was real, this baby who would soon be hers.
“I’ve been thinking about nursery colors,” she said, pulling a few fabric samples from her purse. “I’m thinking of doing it in sherbet shades—tangerine, lemon, raspberry, lime. That way it’s cheerful and fresh. What do you think?” She pointed to the strips of color she’d selected.
Andrew cleared his throat, barely looking at the color swatches. “Waverly, we need to talk about this.”
She glanced up at his grave tone. He was holding the ultrasound photo. He was looking at her and he wasn’t smiling.
“All right,” she said calmly, as a frisson of unease skittered down her spine. She laid the swatches on the table next to the other ultrasound photos.
Andrew set the picture down by his untouched plate and gazed out at the view for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, thoughtful. “My darling, I don’t know if I can do this. I thought I could. I so wanted to for your sake, but I’m just not sure I can.”
Waverly stared at him for a moment. “Do what?” she asked blankly.
Andrew looked at her soberly. “Be a father to this baby. I was against the idea from the beginning, but I went along with it because I love you, and you were so determined to have a child. But, Waverly, I feel as though from the moment the baby came into our lives, even just in theory, I lost you. And I’m afraid that when the baby comes into our home for real, it will just get worse. I thought that by giving you a child, giving you the desire of your heart, you would finally feel complete. I thought it would bring us together, but every day I fear I am losing you more.” His eyes on hers were gray and bleak. He was begging her to understand. “I’m lonely lying next to you, and the thought of living this way for so many years . . . It feels impossible.”
“Impossible.” Waverly stared at her husband, aghast. “What are you saying?” she managed to choke out. “It’s too late. We have a baby. This is our baby.” Her eyes darted wildly from his face to the ultrasound photos. How could this be happening? “What are you saying?” she asked again.
“I don’t know,” Andrew admitted, his voice quiet.
That scared her more than if he’d shouted or raged. Andrew never raged. But the sorrow in his voice sounded final, as though he had already made a decision without her knowledge or consent.
Waverly gasped for breath, too stunned for words. She pressed the flat of her hand against her chest where a sharp pain was blooming, squeezing the air from her lungs. It was a panic attack. She knew the symptoms, had suffered them for years. She tried to breathe slowly in and out through her nose, but all she could hear was Andrew’s voice in her head, shattering her dreams. He was still talking. She caught fragments of his sentences, his tone calm and measured. She felt like she was watching him through a long black tunnel as a sense of helplessness enveloped her, the shock humming in her ears.
“But our dream for a family . . . ,” she managed.
“Was never my dream,” he said gently. He reached across the table and took her hand. She stared at their clasped fingers, at the swatches of nursery colors splayed beneath their hands like a delectable sherbet rainbow. She tried to draw a full breath, to stop the panicked feeling rising in her throat, cutting off her oxygen.
“What do we do?” she asked helplessly.
His gaze upon her was a mixture of confusion and pain. It hurt her deeply to see that look, to know that fulfilling her heart’s greatest desire was causing him such grief. She was still reeling, trying to grapple with the implication of his words. How could they ever figure out a compromise?
“I love you, my darling,” he said finally. “I will always love you. But we do not want the same future, and I don’t know what we can possibly do to change that.”
Waverly bunched her Burberry trench coat against the window of the plane and nestled the wad of fabric into the crook of her neck, watching the aquamarine water shimmering below as they gained altitude. She shifted again, trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and Andrew sitting next to her. He was reading the paper, his expression stoic and sad.
The weekend had gone exactly the opposite of how she had envisioned it. Andrew’s honest confession had blown a hole right through the middle of her dreams for the future. After the stalemate of the breakfast conversation, they had discussed the matter again that evening with a similar result. At the end of the conversation, when their words had trickled down into an unhappy silence, Andrew had made a suggestion.
“Perhaps we should take a few weeks apart to think things through,” he said, looking pained. “I can go to the cabin. You can stay at the house or go to that wellness spa in Vermont you like.”
“I don’t want to be apart,” Waverly said instantly, panicked at the thought. How had it come to this so quickly? How had she not seen the cracks in their relationship, the telltale signs of his deeper unrest?
“I need a little time and space to clear my head,” Andrew said, “and think about the future.”
His words petrified Waverly. What was there to think about? Everything had been going so well. She didn’t want a separation, but she couldn’t offer a better option and so she reluctantly agreed to his request. Maybe it would do them both good to have space to think through their priorities and their future. She hoped with a little time apart Andrew would either warm to the idea of the baby or one of them would come up with a brilliant compromise, whatever that might entail.
She shifted against the hard
window, trying to get comfortable as she felt her life dissolving around her. It seemed she was being asked to make a choice between the husband she deeply loved and the baby she desperately craved. Not only that, but what about Charlie? It was not a hypothetical baby they were discussing. It was a flesh-and-blood child, Andrew and Waverly’s flesh-and-blood child. Well, technically it was an anonymous sperm donor and Charlie’s flesh-and-blood child, but Waverly didn’t like to consider the minutia of eggs and sperm and DNA. Charlie had agreed to carry the baby for them, but from the beginning the understanding was that she was just the vehicle, the vessel. The baby was Waverly and Andrew’s.
Waverly pressed her forehead against the cold glass, trying to ease the pounding in her temples. She turned the dilemma over and over in her mind, but nothing changed. It seemed like an impossible puzzle. Any way she looked at it, she lost something precious.
She closed her eyes, exhausted and heartsick and more than a little angry at Andrew. How could he change his mind now, now that they had already committed to a life together as a family with this baby? She had no idea how this whole messy situation could possibly be made right again.
The minutes ticked by in the quiet airplane, and despite her agitation, Waverly began to feel the effects of her sleepless night. After a few more minutes, she felt herself drift into a restless doze.
In the first hazy moments of sleep, she found herself standing in front of a towering Corinthian column with the winged archangel Gabriel in bronzed glory at the top. Behind him were two curved monuments with statues of robed figures set in stone alcoves. It was evening, and the lights from the monuments cast a soft glow over the immense plaza spreading around her. A light rain speckled the plaza, the patter of drops on the ground muffling all other sound. A little girl in a bright pink raincoat stood at the base of the column.
Even before the girl turned, Waverly knew who it was. The girl met Waverly’s eyes and pulled back the hood of her coat, the rain beading on her dark hair, running down her cheek with its strawberry birthmark. “I’m waiting for you,” she called. Waverly put her hand out, but the girl was already gone.
Waverly blinked in the stale air of the plane. Andrew turned a page of his paper. The flight attendant rolled a cart down the aisle, collecting garbage. She had been asleep just a few seconds, but those seconds had changed everything. She knew where the dream had taken place. It was Heroes Square in Budapest. Charlie had sent her a postcard of it once. Waverly still had it pinned on her bulletin board in her office.
She glanced over at Andrew. The lines of his face had deepened to a tired frown. She could not convince him to embrace a dream and a life he did not want. Neither could she abandon the baby she was meant to raise. She didn’t know how to make it all come out okay. But she knew what she had to do next.
CHAPTER 17
Late March
Budapest
When the door buzzer rang, Charlie was expecting the pizza delivery man. She pushed the button down, calling into the receiver in English, “Come on up, first floor, door number four,” and hung up. A few minutes later, at a sharp knock on the door, she swung it open, already counting out forint.
“Szia,” she said absently, intent on the bills and coins in her hand. “One thousand eight hundred and ninety forint and . . .” She looked up, trying to calculate an appropriate tip, and stopped, the words catching in her throat. Waverly was standing in the doorway, a large suitcase next to her and one hand raised to knock again. The sisters stared at one another for a moment.
“Surprise,” Waverly said, flashing a bright smile.
Charlie blinked at her, the forint forgotten in her hand. Her mouth was hanging open just a little. She stared in speechless shock at her twin standing in the doorway of her apartment.
“Can I come in?” Waverly asked. “The flights were brutal, turbulence all the way and no decent white wine.”
Charlie stood back and let Waverly pass. “What are you doing here?” she finally managed to ask.
Waverly rolled her suitcase into the spacious hall and unwound a blush-colored pashmina scarf from around her neck. “I came to see you and the baby,” she said matter-of-factly. She unbuttoned her trench coat and hung it and the scarf on a coat hook. “You look wonderful, by the way. The bump is so darling, like you’ve swallowed half a cantaloupe. You’re glowing. Pregnancy becomes you.”
“You didn’t tell me you were coming.” Charlie was still staring at her sister in disbelief. “You’re lucky I’m even here. I’m almost never here.”
Waverly nodded, looking unconcerned. “You e-mailed me last week with the ultrasound pictures and said you were around until May. I knew you were in town.” She looked around the entrance hall and attached kitchen, taking in the high ceilings, parquet floors, and gracious open spaces.
“Very nice,” she said approvingly. “May I use your bathroom?”
Charlie shook herself, as though awakening from a dream. She was finding it hard to formulate sentences. “First door on your left.” She cast another disbelieving glance as Waverly disappeared into the hall, then addressed her retreating back. “I’ll go make up the futon.”
A half hour later they ate dinner sitting across from each other at the dining table in the corner of the living room. Neither spoke as they shared Charlie’s rustic goat cheese and red onion pizza and a bottle of Theodora sparkling mineral water. As they ate, Charlie watched her twin’s every move as though trying to solve a particularly perplexing puzzle. There was something off about Waverly, but Charlie couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. Something was going on under the surface—she’d lay money on the fact.
“How long are you planning to stay?” she asked finally.
Waverly shrugged and topped off her glass of mineral water. “A week or two, if that’s all right with you?”
“What about the show?”
“We finished taping the next series of episodes ages ago. Beau has it all in hand. I’m taking a holiday.”
“Where’s Andrew?”
At the mention of her husband’s name, Waverly hesitated, a shadow flitting across her face.
Aha, thought Charlie. That’s it. She eyed her sister with a prickle of unease. She was genuinely fond of her brother-in-law, not to mention the fact that she was currently six months pregnant with Waverly and Andrew’s baby. What was going on with Andrew?
“Everything okay?” she asked, watching her sister’s face carefully.
Waverly took a sip of water and smiled, slipping into her Simply Perfect persona in an instant. Charlie saw her do it, the perfect mask falling firmly into place.
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
“You’ve never visited me before,” Charlie pointed out. “And now you just show up with no warning. Are you sure everything’s all right?”
“Why shouldn’t it be?” Waverly asked, but there was the slightest edge to her voice. She met Charlie’s eyes, her own guileless and open as a spring sky. “I couldn’t stay away any longer,” she said simply. “I had to come for you and the baby.”
After dinner Waverly retired to the office to unpack her suitcase and settle in. Charlie knocked on the door, armed with a stack of fresh towels. When Waverly answered, Charlie caught a peek of her sister’s Louis Vuitton suitcase splayed open on the bed. Half the space was taken up with Waverly’s expensive vintage-looking clothes in the pastel shades she favored, but the other half was packed tight with cases of Snack Pack and Handi-Snacks pudding cups. Charlie said nothing but shot Waverly an assessing look. Grocery store pudding was her sister’s go-to comfort food, her culinary security blanket. If Charlie had needed further proof that something was not right in the simply perfect world of Waverly Talbot, this clinched it.
Waverly saw Charlie’s look. “I brought you some pudding,” she said smoothly. “I thought you might want something familiar from home. And it’s a good source of calcium. Do you mind if I pop these in the refrigerator?”
They both knew that Charlie didn’t like
pudding cups. She found the consistency gluey. It reminded her a little of mucus.
“Sure, put them anywhere you find space,” she said. She looked at Waverly for a long moment. Waverly looked back.
“Well, I’d better get my beauty sleep,” Waverly said, breaking the silence. “I’m sure we have lots of exciting things to do tomorrow. I’m so looking forward to exploring this beautiful city.”
Charlie nodded and backed out the doorway. For the present she would leave Waverly and her pudding cups in peace.
Over the weekend Charlie tried to be a good host, taking Waverly to see the most iconic sights, playing tour guide all over the city. They took in the breathtaking view of the city from Castle Hill where Waverly oohed and aahed over the fairy-tale splendor of Fisherman’s Bastion and Matthias Church, then strolled down Andrássy út, stopping for coffee and cake at one of the elegant old-world coffeehouses sprinkled around the city center.
They did not speak of the most important things in their lives, but instead discussed the flavors and textures of the famous Hungarian cakes and the grandiosity of the architecture. Charlie made no mention of the potentially dangerous situation with the trafficked women or of her conversation with Sandra Ling, but she was wary and alert whenever they went out, keeping her eyes open for anything suspicious. When she’d called Sandra to say she would testify, the attorney had given her a warning about her safety.
“Be careful and very vigilant. Now that you have agreed to testify, it may mean you will become a target of threats like Monica was.” The attorney’s tone was grave. “Or this may not happen at all. Even if the traffickers know of your involvement, it’s possible that they may choose to leave you alone. Often we find that people from powerful Western countries like the US do not suffer the same harassment as those from other, less-privileged countries.”
Becoming the Talbot Sisters Page 16