by Shelly Ellis
“Well, I better head out if I want to get home in enough time to watch my shows. You give the little one a kiss for me when you put him down for the night. All right?”
Paulette dumbly nodded as Miss Claudia walked out of the living room into the foyer. She opened the front door and waved. “See you Monday!” she said, before closing the door behind her.
Paulette stared at the closed door.
“Mama!” Little Nate shouted, snapping her out of her malaise.
“Yes, honey,” she said before turning toward her son.
* * *
The next morning, soon after breakfast, Paulette took Little Nate on a field trip to the local drug store. She made a furtive glance around her as she pushed the stroller through the store’s entrance, though it wasn’t necessary. No one but her knew why she was here today.
“Anything I can help you with, ma’am?” a salesgirl asked with a smile. “Looking for anything in particular?”
Paulette quickly shook her head. “Uh . . . no . . . no, I’m fine. Thank you.” She then pointed the stroller toward her left. Little Nate continued his baby chatter as they made their way across the store’s linoleum.
While she walked, scanning signs over each aisle, Paulette thought back to last night’s conversation with Miss Claudia. Miss Claudia was right: It was eating at Paulette that she still didn’t know whether Antonio was Nathan’s father. That’s why no matter how good things were in her life and their marriage, she always felt something lurking in the background like an ominous sound in the distance. If she found out the truth about Nate’s paternity, all her worries and inner turmoil would go away. She could have her answer. She could finally be the happy wife and mother that she’d always wanted to be.
Paulette approached the second to last aisle and found the boxed test kit within seconds, hanging next to the sealed packages of fertility tests and the assortment of condoms. She reached for the box, then paused.
What if the test says Tony isn’t Nate’s father?
She slowly lowered her hand from the shelf.
If that was true, then she would be hiding yet another secret from Antonio, and she had promised that she would never do that to him again. They had promised to each other that there would be no more lies and subterfuge in their relationship.
But Tony said he doesn’t care either way, she told herself. He said when Nate was born that he accepts him as his son no matter what. I’m the one who wants to know . . . who has to know!
With that resolved, she quickly grabbed the box and beelined to one of the checkout counters at the front of the store.
Getting a DNA sample from Little Nate had been a little challenging, but she had managed. Nate had tried more than once to swat Paulette’s hand away, whimpering in protest as she swabbed the inside of his cheek. But she rewarded him immediately after with his favorite strawberry Jell-O, and his mother’s offense was quickly forgotten. But Paulette knew getting a sample from Antonio wouldn’t be as easy.
She waited until late at night to do it, almost an hour after Antonio had fallen asleep. When his snores were loud enough to fill their bedroom suite, she slowly pulled back the covers on her side of their four-poster bed and eased to the hardwood floor. She walked toward the bathroom, pausing midway when his snores abruptly stopped.
Shit! He woke up, she thought.
She halted and whipped around only to find that her husband had flipped onto his side. The snores resumed, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
Paulette finally made it into the bathroom and retrieved the test kit, which she had stashed under her side of the bathroom sink. She turned off the bathroom light and returned to the bedroom, holding the swab brush in the air. She crept back across the room, stopping at the foot of the bed. She squinted at her husband in the darkened room.
Antonio was still asleep—thankfully. But his lips were only parted, not cocked open—as she’d hoped they would be.
Dammit, she thought. Her shoulders slumped.
But she still had to try. If she wanted answers, she had to do this!
Paulette climbed back into the bed and inched toward her husband, holding her breath as she did it. She leaned over him, peering down at his face. She eased the swab forward centimeter by centimeter, finally drawing close to his lips. She plunged the tip forward, quickly swabbing the inside of his mouth with a few quick strokes.
Antonio began to snort and cough and she instantly jumped back, tossing the swab stick over her shoulder. His eyes fluttered open as he turned to face her. He stared up at his wife uneasily.
“What the hell were you doin’?”
“Nothing,” she said, forcing a smile.
“It didn’t feel like nothing.” Antonio smacked and licked his lips. “It . . . it felt like you put something in my mouth.”
“Honey, what are you talking about?” She tittered nervously. “You must’ve been dreaming! I was just . . . just adjusting your pillow. See?” She shifted the pillow underneath his head. “Maybe that’s what you felt. You were snoring so loud that I thought if I raised your head a little, it might help.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he continued to squint up at her.
“I told you that you should consider getting one of those breathing thingies, Tony! All that snoring is keeping me up at night!”
He raised a hand to his cheek. She could see him licking the inside of his mouth where she had done the swab test. She held her breath again. Finally, he closed his eyes and rolled back onto his side.
“Sorry,” he murmured, “I’ll try to keep it down.”
Despite his promise, it took less than five minutes for Antonio to start snoring again. Paulette felt around her pillow and her bedsheets in the dark, in search of the swab. She found it on the edge of the bed, near the headboard. When she did, she said a prayer of thanks.
She tucked the swab back into its container, placed the container in her night table drawer, closed her eyes, and drifted to sleep.
Chapter 25
C. J.
C. J. yawned, stretched, and winced at the popping sounds in her lower back.
She hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in almost a week, unable to get comfortable on her newsroom buddy Allison’s lumpy pull-out couch. More than once she had been woken up in the middle of the night with the eerie sensation that someone was watching her, only to open her eyes and find Allison’s cat, Eddie, inches away from her face. She’d yelp, and Eddie would hiss before scurrying down the hall with his tail whipping behind him.
I miss my bed, C. J. thought as she stared tiredly at her laptop screen, working up the will to type her news story.
And if she were honest with herself, she would admit that she also missed the man who usually slept in that bed.
C. J. hadn’t spoken to Terrence in almost a week, not since she had walked out of their condo that painful night. It wasn’t that she hadn’t felt the urge to talk to him, but a little voice in her head would utter, “Don’t do it, girl!” whenever she found herself dialing his phone number or driving toward their condo.
She had already been through the full grief cycle. Her initial fury at what Terrence had done had faded days ago and was now replaced with a dull acceptance. Terrence had gotten someone pregnant, but it had happened while they were broken up—according to him, anyway, which seemed plausible considering how young the baby was. Either way, Terrence was now a father, and if she married him, that would make her the baby’s stepmother.
“A stepmother,” she mumbled as she typed a few more sentences and shook her head.
And there went her dreams of her and Terrence starting a family together, of holding their newborn in her arms.
You can still do that, she told herself. You guys can still have a family of your own. None of that has to change!
But it wouldn’t be special for Terrence as it would be for her. She had already accepted that she was one in a long list of girlfriends he’d had over the years. Now she would be just another one
of his baby mamas.
C. J. lowered her elbow onto her desk, dropped her head into her hands, and closed her eyes.
But even with the heartache and disappointment, she couldn’t deny that she still loved him. She couldn’t see herself walking away from him forever.
“C. J.!” her editor, Ralph, barked.
At the sound of his voice, her eyes flashed open and she snapped to attention, sitting upright in her chair.
Shit! I must have nodded off.
She peered over the top of her computer screen at Ralph, who was staring at her sternly. “Yes? Wha-what?”
“I need to see you in my office—now.” He gestured to his open office door before stalking inside.
C. J. nodded and slowly rose to her feet. She walked out of her cubicle and then the few feet leading to Ralph’s office. When she entered, he was already sitting at his desk with his fingers laced behind his head.
“I’m filing the city planning piece in like an hour,” she rushed out. “I’m just waiting on—”
“So how is the wedding planning going?” he suddenly asked, catching her off guard.
“W-w-wedding planning?”
In all the months she had worked at the Daily, Ralph hadn’t once asked her about her personal life, let alone her engagement. Why was he doing it today?
“Uh, it’s . . . it’s okay,” she lied.
He reached for one of the pencils sitting on his desk and began to twirl it around and around, all while gazing at her. “You know you’ve never spoken about your fiancé—not to me, not to the other reporters. It seems awfully odd.”
She frowned. “Why does it seem odd?”
“Because I would think anyone marrying into the Murdoch family would want to plaster it on a wall.”
C. J’s stomach clenched.
“Or name-drop a few times, at least,” Ralph said with a chuckle, leaning back in his chair again. “Enough people have heard of them that it’s pretty noteworthy.”
“How . . . how did you know that—”
“You work at a newspaper filled with investigative reporters, C. J. One of them is working on a story about your soon-to-be brother-in-law’s attempted murder trial, and he found that interesting nugget of information about you.”
She was at a loss for words. What exactly was she supposed to say to this?
“But our reporter got word today that the prosecutor decided to drop all charges against him. Just made the announcement out of the blue.”
“Oh, my God!” C. J. clamped a hand over her mouth. “They . . . they dropped all the charges against Evan?” She lowered her hand and grinned. She took another step toward Ralph’s desk. “That’s . . . that’s amazing! Terry was so worried about his brother! I know he’ll—”
“Yeah, they dropped the charges, but we don’t know why they did it,” Ralph said, narrowing his eyes at her. “Which is why you’re here, C. J.”
Her elation disappeared. “What? What do you mean?”
“I mean you have connections to the Murdochs that our other reporters don’t have. I need you to talk to Evan. Find out what happened. Maybe his lawyers have spoken to the prosecutor. I bet he knows what’s going on.”
She shook her head. “I can’t . . . I can’t do that, Ralph. Like you said . . . Evan Murdoch is my soon-to-be brother-in-law. It’s not ethical for me to get involved in a story about him. Besides, I’ve written stories about the Murdochs in the past, and it only caused friction. I promised Terry that I wouldn’t do it again!”
Ralph tossed his pencil onto his desk.
“Look, I’ll work on any other story you want, Ralph. Just not this one! The Murdochs are practically family to me!”
She watched as Ralph abruptly pushed back his chair and shot to his feet. “C. J., do you want to work here?”
“Of course I do!”
“Really? Well, you could’ve fooled me!” He began to pace behind his desk. “Because I’m not seeing it. I’m not seeing any growth. Your stories aren’t getting any better. Frankly, you’re a subpar reporter.”
“I am not a subpar reporter, Ralph! Just because I won’t—”
“You promised me scoops! You promised me that you would up your game, and the shit never happened, C. J.! You’re all talk!”
Her cheeks warmed with humiliation as she lowered her eyes to the office floor.
“I’m asking you to finally prove yourself as a member of the Washington Daily team, and you’re refusing to do it. That leaves me with a major problem. I’m not sure what decision I should make at this point.”
“When are you going to accept that there’s no pleasing him?” Terrence had asked her. “You’re too good for this shit, babe.”
C. J. raised her eyes. “I don’t know what decision you should make, Ralph, but I know which one I’m going to make—and it’s one I should’ve made a while ago.” She then turned and headed toward his office door. “I quit,” she said over her shoulder.
* * *
C. J. hesitated when the elevator doors opened, wondering if she should step out or just ride back to the first floor.
“This is probably a bad idea,” she muttered as she stepped into the carpeted corridor and the metal doors closed behind her.
She longed to see Terrence but had no idea what situation she would be walking into by showing up at his place without warning at eight o’clock at night.
Had he fallen back into depression; would he be splayed out drunk and sullen on his couch, in no mood to open his door let alone talk to her about their future? Or had he decided to seek solace in another woman’s arms instead of the liquor bottle? Would she stumble on him in bed with some model type?
That gave her enough pause to halt her in her steps. She didn’t think she could take it if she found him with another woman, especially so soon after she had walked out on him. But C. J. forced herself to start walking again. She had been mulling this over since she’d left the Washington Daily’s office earlier today. Once she resolved what to do after hours of inner debate, she couldn’t backtrack from her decision to come here. She would just have to accept whatever awaited her on the other side of Terrence’s door. She was the one who had told Terrence to stay away from her. Whatever way he chose to deal with her absence was something she would have to accept.
As she drew closer to his condo, she heard a sound she hadn’t expected: a baby wailing.
“Aww, what’s wrong? Come on, li’l man, it’s not that bad!” she heard Terrence pleading over the baby’s screams. “Mama will be back soon, all right?”
C. J. inserted her key into the door and shoved it open. When she did, she was met by the sight of Terrence cradling a crying infant against his chest, bouncing it up and down as he paced back and forth on the living room’s hardwood floor. He paused when he saw her standing in the doorway.
“C. J.?” he said, looking surprised.
They both stared at each other for several seconds while the baby continued to scream at the top of its lungs.
“What are you doing?” she asked, and he blinked, snapping out of his stupor. His face hardened.
“What the hell does it look like I’m doing?” He started pacing again. “I’m trying to get him to stop crying. I’ve been trying for the past hour, pretty much since Daphne left him here. I’ve fed him. I’ve changed his diaper—and that took about four tries before I could get the damn thing on! I’ve rocked him. I don’t know what else to do.” He peered down at the baby again, who seemed to have gotten louder, whose tiny face was one tight red little ball. “It’s okay, buddy. Come on, it can’t be that serious.”
She shut the door behind her, removed her satchel, and set it on the floor. “How did you get stuck babysitting?”
Terrence stopped and glared at her. “It’s not babysitting if it’s your kid.”
“You’re right . . . I just meant . . . well, never mind.” She walked toward them, removing her sweater and tossing it onto the sofa as she did. “Give the baby to me. Let me try.�
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Terrence seemed to hesitate.
“I just wanna help, Terry.”
Finally, he lowered the baby from his chest and held him out to her. “Fine. Whatever,” he murmured.
Don’t act so grateful, she thought sarcastically as she scooped the wriggling infant into her arms. She was struck by how light he was. When she lowered him to her shoulder, she felt his warmth, and despite his screaming at the top of his lungs, it had an almost calming effect on her.
“Do you miss your mommy, honey—or is it something else?” she whispered into the baby’s ear. She placed a hand on his forehead.
“You don’t seem like you have a fever,” she said as she peered into the infant’s big brown eyes. She then gently patted his back. “Did you burp him?”
“What?” Terrence asked, squinting again.
“Did you burp him after you fed him?”
He shook his head.
“Okay, I think I know what’s wrong,” she said, patting the baby on the back again. She did it a few more times, and then suddenly the infant released a loud, rumbling burp that made her grin.
“There you go!” she said, still gently patting his back. She then lowered herself onto the sofa. The baby’s strangled sobs had ceased. He now let out a few whimpers and gurgles but for the most part was quiet.
“How’d you learn to do that?” Terrence asked, taking the spot on the sectional across from her.
“I used to babysit for some of the kids in my church when I was a teen, and then Victor Junior when he was a baby. I haven’t done it in quite a while, but there are some skills you don’t forget, I guess.”
Terrence nodded. “Well, you look good doing it . . . holding a baby, I mean. It looks . . . natural.”
“Maybe.” She switched from patting the baby’s back to gently rubbing it. “I didn’t expect to be doing it again this soon, though.”
Terrence sat forward on the sofa cushions, lowered his gaze to the floor, and sighed. “Look, C. J., I can say sorry one million times, but it doesn’t mean anything if you don’t believe it. So I can’t keep apologizing. I didn’t intend for this to happen, but . . . it happened. Duncan’s my son.”