by Dee Palmer
“The other half?” I ignore the snide accusatory tone and question.
“What?”
“You said that wasn’t half of it. What happened after Mum said she’d disown me?” He lets out a sharp breath and runs his hand through his hair, a shared trait of open frustration or maybe hopelessness. I hope it’s just the former.
“Sam said she didn’t know who the father was. Did you know that?”
“I didn’t…I mean I did, when I read the letter only something came up. So I really haven’t had time to process.” I shake my head and close my eyes trying to prevent these events as they start to play out in my head like a slow moving train wreck.
“Something more important than this? It better be fucking spectacular because your little stunt had Sam running for the hills. No not running, she left with grace, considering.” He looks a little paler and I get a sick twisted knot and a deep sensation that my world is about to drop away.
“Considering?”
“Mum called her some pretty bad names.”
“Mum? Why would she do that? If anything this is my fault, we’re all responsible.”
“I’m sorry…I’m really sorry.”
“What…what are you sorry for? I’m just as much to blame, me, you, Leon and Sam. This is an all-for-one situation; don’t beat yourself up.” I try to ease his obvious burden but if it’s a fraction of what I’m feeling, it’s a futile gesture. “I don’t see why Mum would call Sam names? What did she call her?”
“Slut…whore.”
“Fuck, Will, and you let her?”
“I was worried about Mum she’d sort of collapsed, and look…I…I’m not fucking proud but I could see Mum wasn’t coping. I panicked I didn’t know what to do; it was like this fucking slow motion train wreck that I couldn’t stop. Sam did all the talking, and I let her. I’m so fucking sorry Jason.” He drags his hand over his face and the regret couldn’t be plainer if it was tattooed onto his pallid complexion. “After Sam left, I told Mum it wasn’t Sam’s fault. I told her everything, but it was too late.”
“Shit…you told her everything? Well no wonder she’s in a fucking ambulance. What do you mean too late?”
“Mum was hating on you, but that all turned around when Sam said she didn’t know who the father was and Mum asked her flat out if she cheated. She said yes.”
“What? Why?”
“She looked at me just before she answered; I saw the plea in her eyes and did nothing, man. Mum was falling apart, Sam was breaking, and I did nothing. She took the fall for us, and I fucking hate myself right now!”
“I fucking hate you right now. Go on.” I say the words, but they are half hearted because self-hatred is all I have at the moment.
“Sam took the whole blame, a direct fucking hit, and walked away.”
“Why would she do that? I don’t understand why she’d walk.”
“She loves you, Jason, and maybe she also loved me a little to shoulder all the blame like she did. She wasn’t going to stand in the way of family.”
“She is my fucking family! How could you let her do that?” I pull back and punch him hard across his cheek. He falters only to strike back up under my chin snapping my head up with a bone crunching crack.
“You fucking left her at the altar, you piece of shit. I was trying to stop our mother from having a fucking heart attack.” He staggers out of my range, and I spit the pooling blood from my mouth. My jaw snapped so sharply it sheared layers off the inside of my cheek.
“And how did that work out? She’s still on her way to the fucking hospital because you told her anyway. Why bother when Sam already took the hit?”
“I felt like an arsehole all right. Mum was cursing her, and she was wrong. I couldn’t stand it so I told her. I’m sorry I fucked up, but no more than you. If I was lucky enough to have Sam as my bride, there’s not a fucking thing that would make me leave her on my wedding day.” His righteous tirade hits hard, but I know he’s wrong.
“Oh really?”
“Yes really.” He swears and I silence him with more than enough evidence to justify my seemingly reckless behaviour.
“Well, it’s lucky she isn’t your bride or this would’ve gone viral On. Her. Wedding. Day.” I throw my phone at his chest and his reflexes are such that he catches it instantly. “Open the last email.” I draw in a steadying breath, which does little to calm my fury. His eyes widen and his jaw drops as does the remaining colour in his face.
“Shit.”
By the time we arrive at the hospital, I have answered all the questions I intend to answer about Stanford, and Will is silently sulking beside me. It’s for his own good and he really doesn’t need to know more than that the situation is sorted and Sam is safe.
Mum has been moved from Accident and Emergency to the cardio unit, and Will and I find our Dad in the waiting room. He is pacing and his expression is, as always, impassive, but he stops and smiles brightly when he sees us round the corner.
“Never a dull moment with you two, that’s for sure.” His tone is lightly admonishing but his relaxed demeanour has both Will and I exhaling loudly with relief.
“How is she?” I ask first. We speak in forced whispers because the whole area has an unnatural quiet despite the numerous briskly moving staff.
“She’s fine. Her blood pressure was a little high, they think the palpitations were just anxiety, nothing too serious. Well, that’s what the doctor said after the exam in the Emergency room. They are doing some more tests now, and she’s sent me out because I make it worse apparently.” He rolls his eyes slightly.
“She’s going to be all right?” Will’s voice is thick with worry, desperate for more reassurance. He must feel like shit; I know I do.
“I’m so sorry, Dad,” I say before he can reply to Will.
“She’s going to be fine, son. She’s a lot stronger than you two give her credit for.” He pulls me in to a big hug and reaches his other arm to include Will in the embrace. I rest my head on his shoulder and take the comfort this big strong man always manages to give.
“Evidence to the contrary, Dad.” I mumble into his shoulder and step back, my eyes flick to the door as I point out the very visible contradiction to his statement, the ominous Cardiac Surgery sign.
“I think we can at the very least say today was an exceptional circumstance.” He pats both our shoulders with his meaty hands.
“She told you?” Will told me Dad was with the guests downstairs when this all went down.
“She told me.” He tips his head with a slow, knowing nod.
“When?”
“I might have missed the show, but I got the critics’ review in the ambulance.” His wry tone makes me relax a little more because I know he wouldn’t be making quips if Mum was in any real danger. “Jason, I think you need to explain yourself.” He nods to the row of hard plastic bucket seats as an invitation for me sit and tell my tale, only I shake my head.
“I will, I promise just not right now. I have to find Sam.” I squeeze the back of my neck, which is rigid with tension and barely gives at all when I try to press some relief along the spine.
“Do you?” He narrows his eyes but mine widen at his shocking insinuation.
“What?” My mouth actually drops open.
“Is it true you don’t know who the father of this baby is?” He levels his sternest glare at me, and I feel transported back in time to wearing short pants, getting caught in the neighbour’s garden stealing all their raspberries straight from the vine.
“Yes sir.” I straighten at his tone, not judgmental but definitely reprimanding.
“And that’s why you left?”
“No…no not that.” I shake my head rapidly to dispel the very thought and draw in a deep steady breath. How to explain the unexplainable. “It’s complicated, just know that I didn’t leave because of that. I didn’t leave, period. I was just late.”
“To your own wedding?” His words hit hard.
“I’m
not proud.” I swallow the sickness that keeps pooling in the back of my mouth every time I picture Sam today…abandoned.
“So you’re okay with not knowing if you’re the father?” He pushes and I feel like he is throwing punches when I can barely stand.
“Um…I…I don’t know. I haven’t—” I stutter but check myself when he interrupts.
“Well, give it some thought now, son, because that girl just did an incredibly brave thing and is probably completely heartbroken. So don’t you go getting back into her life if you have no intention of sticking and stepping up to be one hundred percent that baby’s father regardless of the biology.”
“I won’t.” I pull my shoulders back and stiffen to my full height.
“I mean it, Jason.” My father does the same and I hold the challenge, because if I can’t answer a few simple questions honestly, then I don’t deserve to win this fight. “You think your mother was mad before? You go messing with that girl’s head and you’ll have us both to deal with.”
“I have no intention of messing with her, Dad.” I tip my chin and watch his stern face soften.
“Good to hear it son. So what is your intention?”
“I’m going to get my girl.”
“Where will you go?” Leon has been silent most of the time I have been bundling my clothes into his rucksack. The selection is pretty slim, considering I had moved most of my stuff over to Jason’s house however, I still need at least the basics. Just until I’m up to shopping for a replacement wardrobe, that is. I laugh bitterly to myself at that thought. I’m not going to hold my breath.
“I don’t know.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. Christ, I feel tired. I briefly wonder if that is the pregnancy and shake it off. I doubt it. After the last twenty-four hours, Hercules himself would need to take a nap. I roughly pull the straps tight and check my handbag for the essentials. Passport, iPod and credit card. I drop my phone on the bed, pull Jason’s cuff from my wrist, and take off my engagement ring, I crumple when I hesitate at the clasp to my collar. Richard tore my body to shreds, that jet-ski accident nearly took my life but Jason…Jason, had my heart and soul and when he left he destroyed me. My useless fingers shake.
“Here, let me.” Leon steps up and I am grateful. He unclips the necklace and wraps his arms around my trembling body, and not for the first time, holds me while I break. So many fucking tears. I just need to get away.
His shirt is soaked when I pull away. If his face is a reflection of a fraction of the sadness I feel, I must look like shit, utterly devastated, apt and accurate. I try to smile in an attempt at a brave face, only it hurts too damn much. “Don’t try so hard babe; in fact, don’t try at all…be sad. You have every fucking right to be, then get mad and move on. Take this time…whatever time you need. It’s your honeymoon.” He winces when I recoil like he’s just dealt the sucker punch to end all sucker punches. “Sorry.” His voice is gentle, and his face is so filled with love and concern, I have to turn away. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m keeping the baby,” I state emphatically just in case for some bizarre reason he thought just because I was uncertain of the paternity that that might be an option. It isn’t…It never was.
“Of course, I…I…” He stutters and I turn to see him struggling. This is a shock for him, and he is still here, being the best friend a girl could ever wish for. I reach for his hand and hold it in both of mine, hoping to pass a fragment of comfort his way. I only have fragments at the moment, and they are fleeting. Having a precious baby is definitely one of them.
“I’m not going to lie, I was thrilled and relieved when I thought Jason was the father, but you know what? Now…now I don’t care. This is my baby. It wasn’t an accident or a mistake, and I will never be ashamed of how it was conceived. That night brought me back to life and created this miracle, so I really don’t give a fuck who the father is because I am the mother.” I tip my chin and hold his gaze.
“Okay, feisty chick, I didn’t mean anything by it.” He holds up his hands in a surrender gesture, and I realize I may have let my vitriol fly at the wrong person.
“I’m sorry.” I draw in a deep breath and close my eyes. I feel like I’m drowning. Although, even when I was literally drowning, it didn’t hurt like it does now.
“Don’t be, you have nothing to be sorry for.” His voice is soft but his tone is matter of fact. “I would like to know why you didn’t give that little speech to their mother when she called you a slut.” He dips to maintain eye contact when I try to look away.
“It’s complicated.” I sigh and can’t hold his gaze. I don’t expect him to understand because I’m giving him nothing to understand.
“Bullshit it is. Will just stood there like a fucking mute and let you take all the blame. If you hadn’t shot me the death glare and dragged me out of there, I would’ve told that prudish old witch just how ‘wholesome’ her precious boys are.” He gestures with air quotes, mimicking a snippet of her outraged diatribe.
“I know, that’s exactly why I pulled you out of there. Will had his chance to say something; it was only a pause, even so, I saw in his eyes he couldn’t. I know why he didn’t, and I respect that. He loves his mum, Leon. The truth would’ve hurt her more; they both made that more than clear on several occasions. He was protecting her, and I can’t hold that against him.” I try to shrug but the weight of my situation rests too heavy for light gestures. “It wasn’t the first time I’ve been called that and I would rather that, than her disown Jason. He adores her, Leon, just like you do your mum, and I won’t come between family. She doesn’t really know me. I’ve been in her son’s life for five minutes, and now she has to try and make sense of a clusterfuck of a situation. Which, from her perspective, is where her son was doing the right thing, and I betrayed him in the worst possible way. She is just protecting her baby, and I can’t hold that against her either.” I press my fingertips to the bulging pulse at my temples this time, but the spread of tension is all over my face.
“And what makes you so magnanimous?” His question sounds snide but I silence him with my next words.
“I’m going to be a mum.”
“Simple as that, eh?” His frustrated tone softens and he squeezes my hand.
“Nothing simpler than protecting your own.” I take one last look around.
“You’ll get a test then, to see who the father is?” His voice is soft and tentative.
“No.” I give a light shake of my head.
“What? Why?” His voice is more shocked than sharp.
“Because it doesn’t matter. You didn’t sign up for daddy-time, Leon, and I wouldn’t hold you to any obligation.”
“What if I want an obligation?”
“Do you?” I raise a wry brow because I know the answer, although the fact he has asked has amused me.
“No, but I’d like to be asked.” He pouts and I almost laugh, there is no way I am going to respond to any form of happy emotion.
“Should I ask Will too?” I ask.
“Hell no, he lost his rights when he didn’t have the bollocks to stand up for you, but I’m your best friend.” His brow drops to a deep frown, and I step up to him and wrap my arms around his waist. His strong embrace is a tiny respite from my pain, and I cling to that small comfort, resting my head on his chest. I tip my head up to him looking down.
“You are and I know you’ll be there for me as a friend whenever I need you, regardless of whether the child is yours. So again, it really doesn’t matter.” His eyes soften and his lips spread into an equally warm smile.
“I will.” He kisses my forehead and releases his hold. “And Jason?”
“If Jason felt the same as you then the test is just as redundant.” I let out an exhausted sigh. “He’ll have a fight on his hands demanding a test. He walked away from us both.” I place a protective hand over my tummy. My heart crumbles with my words and my attempt to hold myself together is slipping. I need to leave. I take one last look around and
turn toward the door.
“Wait, why aren’t you taking your phone?” He points at my abandoned device on my old bed.
“Off the grid…I’ll call you when I get there.” I shrug and sling my bag over my shoulder, then lift the rucksack over that.
“You know my number?” He looks doubtful.
“After Richard, last time… Yeah, I memorized a few important numbers.” I sniff back the ever-present trickle of sadness.
“You think he’ll try and contact you? You know, when he realizes what a massive fuck-up he is?”
I snort with an acrid laugh. “No Leon…he left me at the altar. I don’t think he is going to be coming after me.”
“So if he contacts me…?” His voice is hesitant. He isn’t pushing, just clarifying.
“If you tell him where I am, you will be just like him,” I state emphatically.
“What do you mean…just like him?“
“Dead to me.” My icy response causes the colour to drain from his face.
I arrive at the main train station in Paris, the Gare du Nord, just before midnight with the time difference moving my body clock ahead an hour. Crossing that time zone from England into France seems more like it has moved me on a hundred years. I feel so utterly shattered. I checked into the nearest hotel opposite the station, not caring that the architecture was stunning or the entrance was old-world-grand. I just needed to sleep.
Despite the gentle, rhythmic rumble and hypnotic sway of the high speed train, sleep eluded me on the three-hour journey. I had closed my eyes, but all I saw were dark brown eyes with golden flecks and the most perfect smile, happy and easy, that once warmed my soul and made me feel safe. I make me safe.
I fight to keep my eyes open. They are sore from the effort and sting and burn from tears which fall unbidden all the damn time. I am broken, every cell in my body is raw and hurting, and I can’t stop it.
“How long will madam be staying?” Bright blue eyes flick up from the screen and the smooth French accent brings me back momentarily from my suffocating agony.