by Karen Cimms
After my mother and Bert left, I finished clearing the table and put on a pot of coffee. I had given Izzy a piece of cake earlier, and now I told her to say goodnight. She was polite with Mrs. Holgate, but when she came to Chase, she wrapped her little arms around his neck and begged him to put her to bed.
“Not tonight, sweetie,” I said. “Chase hasn’t seen his mommy in a while, so I’ll put you to bed and read you a quick story. He can put you to bed tomorrow night.”
My daughter was not happy.
“I promise.” He leaned in and whispered loudly, “and it won’t be a quick story either. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Tomorrow night. Three chapters. Just you and me.”
“It’s a date.” She squeezed him tightly.
That time, Mrs. Holgate’s smile seemed almost sincere.
Despite wanting a longer story, Izzy fell asleep quickly. I had almost pulled the door closed when I heard angry whispers coming from the dining room.
“You have nothing in common with this girl,” Mrs. Holgate said. “And what happens to that poor child when you finally realize that? You’ll disrupt her home, her life. I can’t believe you’re being so foolish. This isn’t like you to rush into something like this. I would think you would take your time and find the right woman. Maybe try to make things right with Jennifer. I understand looking to have a good time. Have your fun. That’s all girls like that are good for. God knows your father—”
“That’s enough, Mom. I don’t know if it’s Dylan or Lorraine telling you this, but I expected you to make up your own mind and not listen to either of them.”
“I’m basing my opinion on what I see with my own eyes. For god’s sake, Chase, that outfit looks like it was painted on her.”
I took a few deep breaths, then pulled the door closed with a snap. The voices fell away.
“More coffee?” Chase asked his mother, louder than necessary.
It hurt for him to pretend that what I’d just heard hadn’t happened. The child in me wanted to climb into bed and crawl under the covers. The teenager wanted to march into the other room and tell her to fuck off. The adult me plastered a smile on her face and returned to the dining room.
“No, darling,” Mrs. Holgate said, standing as I entered. “I should be going. I promised your brother I wouldn’t stay out late. I don’t want them worrying about me driving those dark roads by myself.”
I wanted to be the gracious hostess and encourage her to stay, even offer to drive her home and drop her car off in the morning so she could stay later. I’d looked forward to hearing about Chase from the person who knew him best. I wanted to do all those things, but I could hardly open my mouth. I could barely manage a smile as she thanked me for dinner.
“Your mother’s right. You’re a very good cook, Rain.”
Chase slipped his arm around my waist so ferociously I almost stumbled. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, then croaked out something resembling a thank you.
“Will you be staying in the area long, Mrs. Holgate?” I asked, toying with the masochistic idea of trying to win her over with another dinner.
“Um . . . No. Actually, I’m heading home tomorrow.”
Chase had told me she would be staying until Tuesday. Deer hunting season started Monday, and Chase and Dylan had been planning to head into the woods early that morning. Lorraine had to work, so his mother was going to watch the boys. Chase no longer had plans to go hunting. Maybe Dylan wasn’t going either.
“That’s too bad.” I smiled up at Chase. “I was hoping to hear some stories about Chase when he was younger.” When I looked back at her, I saw no warmth in her eyes. “Perhaps next time.”
I knew that as far as Mrs. Holgate was concerned, there would be no next time. She slipped her arms into the coat Chase held out for her. I wanted to thank her for coming, but caught myself. I didn’t want to be reminded again that it was not my place to thank her for coming to her son’s home.
Instead, I held out my hand.
“It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Holgate.” I left it at that.
She looked down at my hand before accepting it into her own, mumbled something I didn’t catch, and without meeting my eyes, she turned to go.
While Chase walked his mother to the car, I began stashing leftovers. That would be all I could manage tonight. I wanted a glass of wine and a hot bath, but I knew he’d want to climb in with me.
For the first time since we’d been together, I didn’t think I could manage his affection. I felt raw and inferior, and I didn’t want him to know I’d heard them talking. I didn’t want him to be embarrassed—or worse, to learn that she had convinced him that she was right.
It was like meeting Preston’s parents all over again, but this time, it hurt a lot more.
I was wedging the last plastic container into the refrigerator when he came back inside. He slipped his arms around my waist and kissed the spot behind my ear. My knees wanted to bend, and the rest of me wanted to lean into him and have him prove that whatever his mother had said didn’t matter.
But I remained stiff. I’d had plenty of practice at trying to protect my battered heart. Granted, I usually failed, but at least I knew what steps to take.
To his credit, he didn’t speak. He didn’t lie and tell me it went well or that his mother really liked me. He turned me around to face him.
I hoped he couldn’t read anything in my eyes.
“Do you mind if I get this in the morning? I’m not feeling too good. I’m just going to head off to bed.”
He rested his hand against my forehead. Then replaced his hand with his lips. “I’ll clean up. You go rest. Can I make you tea or something?”
I shook my head. “I’m just tired. I’m sure I’ll feel better in the morning.”
He tilted my mouth up to his. “Thank you for this evening. Everything was amazing.”
I swallowed, then smiled. My head bobbing up and down.
“I love you,” he called as I pulled away.
“Love you too,” I called over my shoulder, afraid to face him. Afraid for him to see the sting of shame branded on my face.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“No, no, no!”
I stared at the little white wand in my hand. One pink plus sign. I grabbed the package directions again. Just in case the plus sign meant you were positively not pregnant. Nope. Positively pregnant. And stupid. Definitely stupid. What was the sign for that?
I padded around the bathroom, muttering to myself. It had been a week since Chase’s mother’s disastrous visit. Chase was working. He always worked Saturdays, which made his brother even more of a jerk in my opinion. Not that I knew the guy. I had a feeling Lorraine had already worked her magic on both Dylan and their mother, which would more than explain the family’s hostility.
“Focus, Rain.” How could I be pregnant? I was on the damn pill—had been since Izzy was born. I loved my daughter, but I wasn’t about to do that again. It had to be a defective test.
I snatched Izzy up, buckled her into the car, and made it to the pharmacy just before it closed.
An hour and two more defective tests later, I was still pregnant.
I sat on the edge of the tub and tried to quell the roiling of my stomach. I’d always imagined that the next time I had to reveal I was pregnant, I’d be sitting across the table from the man I loved—my husband, preferably—over a candlelit dinner in a fancy restaurant. I’d take his hand, look lovingly into his eyes, and give him the good news. He’d gather my hands in his, get up from his chair, and pull me into his arms. He’d kiss me and tell me how happy he was. And we’d dance. In my dreams, we’d always dance, because we were that happy.
I let go a deep breath. It came out as a sob.
There would be no restaurant. No handholding. Definitely no dancing. And who knows? Once Chase found out, I might not even have the man I loved. It’s not like it hadn’t happened to me before.
I read the wand again. Maybe the whole batch was defective.<
br />
As much as I hated having to put out the money for a doctor’s visit, especially when I wasn’t sick, I didn’t have a choice.
First thing Monday morning, I’d call my gynecologist.
“How?” I wailed at Dr. Hart Monday afternoon. “I’m on the pill.”
Shaking her head, she scanned my chart. “The pill is over ninety-nine percent effective when used properly. Are you sure you didn’t miss a dose? Even one could be enough.”
“Positive.” I felt nauseated—nerves or the baby growing inside me, it didn’t matter which. I wanted to barf.
“Have you been sick?”
I shook my head. “No. Just a cold a couple months ago.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Did you take anything?”
Seems like we were getting a bit off topic. I was having a life crisis, and she wanted to talk about how to treat a cold.
“I drank lots of fluids and tried to rest, but I was going through a really difficult time. I think stress just brought on the cold in the first place. I’m usually pretty healthy.”
“Head cold, chest cold? Flu?”
Was she kidding?
“Chest cold. Cough.”
“Drugs?”
“I don’t do drugs. Never have.”
She smiled. “Not those kind. When you were sick, were you on any kind of medication? Antibiotics, maybe?”
“Yeah. Amoxicillin or something.”
“There you go.” She closed the chart and set it on the counter. “Lie back so we can see what’s going on.”
“There I go what?” I cried, not lying back.
“There you go, as in antibiotics affect the efficacy of oral contraceptives. If you were downing lots of grapefruit or OJ as well, that could’ve helped give those little swimmers even more of a fighting chance.”
“What?” They must have heard me in the next room. Maybe even the next town. “Why didn’t anyone tell me that? Don’t you think it should be on the box or something? I’m pretty sure Minute Maid doesn’t warn you that your chances of getting knocked up increase with every glass.”
Dr. Hart wasn’t doing a very good job not laughing. I, on the other hand, wasn’t amused.
“The chances of the orange juice itself being responsible for your pregnancy are pretty slim. I’d point my finger at the antibiotics, and I’m going to bet there’s a warning somewhere in that teeny-tiny print you probably didn’t bother to read. I’m just surprised the doctor who prescribed your antibiotics didn’t recommend you use another method of birth control during your course of treatment.”
Too bad Aunt Donna wasn’t a doctor, nor had she told me any such thing. And since I’d likely gotten pregnant while on that course of antibiotics, that also meant there was a chance that Chase wasn’t the father.
The room started to tilt, and saliva pooled in the back of my throat. Seconds later, my breakfast, including that sneaky glass of orange juice, found its way to the bottom of Dr. Hart’s trash can.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I didn’t know what to expect when I told Chase, so I asked my mother to keep Izzy overnight. Although I probably looked like a zombie when she asked if I was okay, I insisted I was and that I was just tired and needed a little alone time with Chase.
Izzy was disappointed. I think if the opportunity had presented itself, she would have dropped me off at my mother’s so she could have a little alone time with Chase instead.
I whipped up another roast beef, since it was Chase’s favorite, and made sure the fridge was stocked with Heineken. I grabbed myself a bottle of wine, then put it back. Even though I needed it, I wouldn’t be drinking any. Dr. Hart had discussed my options with me, and I knew no matter which side of this development Chase landed on, I would be having a baby.
When Chase’s Harley roared up the street and into the garage, I tried to remain calm. It wasn’t easy.
He came in through the front door and hung his leather jacket in the closet.
“Roast beef on a Monday? How come you’re not working?” His slow, warm smile warmed me all the way to the base of my spine.
I tried to smile back.
“Irena didn’t need me, and I had a little extra time, so I thought I’d make something special.”
I stuck my head into the fridge for a Heineken. They were right in front of my face, but he didn’t need to know that. Feeling only slightly more composed, I grabbed a bottle, slipped the neck into the bottle opener he’d screwed into the side of the counter, and popped off the top. When I handed it to him, he pulled me in for a long, slow kiss.
“Where’s Izzy?” he asked after letting go.
“Spending the night with my mom.”
I drained the potatoes and began pounding them with the potato masher as if my life depended on it. Chase watched me, an odd expression on his face, then asked if he had time for a shower.
“Yep, about twenty minutes. You want salad?”
“Not if you don’t. I’m good with anything,” he called as he disappeared down the hall.
“We’ll see about that,” I muttered.
“So,” Chase said, slicing into the meat I’d piled onto his plate. “What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“Just the two of us and my favorite dinner on a Monday. I figure something’s going on.”
I frowned. “Why does there have to be anything going on?”
He speared a piece of roast beef. “I don’t know. Just seems strange is all. And I miss playing twenty questions at dinner, although I do enjoy having you all to myself.”
He put the meat in his mouth and chewed. I should’ve gone for a tougher cut. It would’ve kept him busy longer.
He looked up to find me watching.
“What?”
I should probably wait until after dinner. No point having him choke on his roast beef. He was a pretty big guy for me to attempt the Heimlich.
I jumped up from the table. “Want more gravy?”
“It’s right here.” He held up the gravy boat.
“That’s not hot enough. Let me heat it up for you.”
“It’s fine.”
He grabbed my wrist and pulled me back down. Then he set his fork down and pushed his plate away.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Rain.”
“Nothing. Jeez.”
He leaned back and folded his arms. I stared at the indentation that separated the long, lean muscles in his forearms, the road map of veins running the length of his arms, the strong hands, the nails that were never quite clean no matter how hard he scrubbed them with Gojo. He waited patiently while my eyes traveled up his Mötley Crüe T-shirt to his face. His lips were pursed. The eyes that always sparkled for me were serious.
“What’s going on?”
I took a deep breath and opened my mouth. What came out was a low moan that quickly morphed into a sob.
He pulled my chair from the table with me in it, knelt before me, and took my face into his hands. I kept my eyes closed. It hurt too much to look at him.
“Baby, what’s wrong?”
I cried harder.
“Is it your mom? Izzy?”
I shook my head and sobbed louder. He helped me stand and led me into the living room, with me crying the entire way. When we reached the couch, he pulled me into his lap, which only made me cry harder.
“Rain, please.” He brushed strands of wet hair off my face. “Tell me what’s going on?”
The room was dark. He reached for the lamp, but I grabbed his arm. It would be much easier to say if I couldn’t see his reaction, especially if he hated me.
I wiped my eyes with the edge of my sleeve.
“Right around the time we got together—actually a few days before—I was sick. I had some kind of upper respiratory thing, and my aunt got me some antibiotics.”
I glanced up to see if he was following me. I could see enough of his face to tell he was clueless, although he looked worrie
d, like I was about to tell him I had something fatal. I pushed ahead.
“Anyway, I was on antibiotics for ten days to help with the infection.”
While I spoke, his thumb traced circles on the top of my hand. I stopped speaking for so long that he finally asked if I had gotten sick again. I shook my head.
“Not really.”
“Not really?” He rested his forehead against mine. “Please just tell me. You’re scaring me.”
“Don’t hate me.”
His hand gripped mine. “Never. I could never hate you.”
“Never say never.”
He stiffened. “Is this about Preston?”
“No! Um . . . not so much. God. I don’t know.”
The tears were back. They consumed me as Chase dropped my hand, lifted me off his lap, and stood, looking down at me.
“You’re going back to him?”
The accusation was so shocking, I stopped crying. “No! Absolutely not. How could you even ask me that? I love you.”
“Then what is it? Whatever’s going on here has you bawling your eyes out and me scared shitless. Just say it already, for fuck’s sake.”
I rolled my lips together and nodded. I blinked several times and squeezed my eyes shut.
“I’m pregnant.” For as much as I was afraid of his reaction, I didn’t want to miss it either. As the words left my mouth, I squinted up at him.
He ran his hand through his hair.
“Again. Tell me again.”
“I’m pregnant?”
It was impossible to read him.
He dropped back onto the couch.
“I thought you were on the pill.”
“I am, but when I was sick, I was on antibiotics. Did you know the pill doesn’t work if you’re on antibiotics?”
He shook his head.
“Me neither. Obviously. And then there’s the whole orange juice conspiracy—”
“You’re doing this, right?” His eyes met mine. I nodded, and he wove his fingers between mine.
“Okay. When”—he cleared his throat—“when is the baby due?”