by Wendy Owens
I hear the door open. Holden is standing, looking at me. I glance up and then quickly back down at the ground. “Really?” he taunts.
“What?” I reply, shrugging my shoulders innocently.
He steps inside and closes the door behind him. The closet feels very small all of the sudden. “You walk away from me without a word, and then come sit in a closet? What’s going on with you?”
I stand up and straighten out the maxi skirt I’m wearing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about; I only wanted a quiet minute to collect my thoughts, but clearly that’s too much to ask for.” I make the snark extra obvious so he knows I’m only having some fun.
He takes a step closer. I’m beginning to feel uneasy about the distance—or lack thereof—between us. “Just needed to collect your thoughts, huh? I’m having a few thoughts of my own.”
I snicker. “Oh yeah?”
He closes the space even more, so there are now mere inches dividing us. “Yeah.”
“Like what?” I ask in a soft voice. I can feel his breath in the air around me. I think I have a pretty good idea what his thoughts are, but I can’t help asking. I want to hear him say it for some reason.
“I can’t quit thinking about kissing you,” he confesses.
I know I should make an excuse and duck out of the room before things go too far, but it’s like my feet are set in concrete. My cheeks are hot, and I’m smiling before I can stop myself. “Is that right?” I tease.
“I won’t do it unless you tell me I can, though,” he begins. He is now only centimeters from my mouth. My eyes can’t look anywhere but into his. “Can I kiss you, Belle?”
I swallow hard. There’s a battle in my head. The cautious me, the soon-to-be-mother is saying no, but there’s a lustful side though, a side that is telling me to leap on him and show him why I’m the most amazing thing that will ever happen to him. I choose not to say a word in response. Instead I nod. It’s a nod I know I can’t take back.
I can only see the corners of his mouth as he grins. My heart is racing. Closing my eyes, I decide I can’t watch. My whole body is aching in anticipation, and I can’t figure out for the life of me what I’m doing. I know better than to allow this to happen, but I just want it so much. In a moment when I’m terrified about what’s ahead of me with the birth, I want to feel something so perfect that it makes me forget about everything else.
He’s moving so slowly; the first thing I feel is the tickle on my cheek. When we kissed last he had only been equipped with a short stubble, which has now filled into a full and luxurious beard. That slight dent in his bottom lip met me next, and I think to myself: if he goes any slower I might actual burst into a million pieces. I can’t wait, letting the promise of pleasure linger anymore. I push up on my toes, pressing our lips together, and in a second, his hand is entangled in my hair.
I’m not thinking that I haven’t washed it in four days. I’m not thinking about the child in my stomach. I’m not thinking that this is completely impractical and probably borderline inappropriate. No, what I’m thinking is in this moment the burning I feel, the little explosion; it must be a small piece of what heaven feels like. I reach one hand up to his shoulder. The muscle is hard and tense. I lean into him as my legs begin to wobble.
Our lips part, and I take a step back. That crooked, one-sided smile is staring at me. “Thank you,” he whispers.
I feel my eyes grow wet.
“Belle? What’s wrong?” he questions, but I don’t answer him. “Was it the kiss? It doesn’t have to mean anything. It can be a nice kiss, if that’s all you have right now.”
I shake my head, turn around, and sit back down on the crate. “That’s not it.”
He moves closer and places a hand on my shoulder. “Will you tell me what’s bothering you?”
“It’s nothing,” I insist.
He doesn’t believe me; he’s down on his knees, staring in my eyes. It’s so hard to say no to those eyes. “You can tell me.”
“I’m scared.” I surprise myself with my words.
His brow furrows. “Because of us?”
“That’s definitely scary, but no.”
“Then what?”
“I’m scared about the birth. All I can think is that I want my mom. Which makes no sense since she is a cold and unfeeling bitch.”
“She’s your mom, Belle.”
“She never acted like it.”
“I’m sure she loves you. Maybe she just doesn’t know how to show you.”
I sigh heavily. “That woman never wanted to be a part of anything, and this baby isn’t going to be any different.”
“Don’t you think you should at least give her the opportunity?”
“Are you kidding me? I haven’t even told her I’m pregnant. She’s going to be so pissed at me when she finds out. That’s one conversation I don’t need to have,” I ramble, the idea completely panicking me.
“Would it be better for her to find out after the baby is here?”
“No, but—” I can’t say anything. He’s right. The longer I wait the worse this is going to be. I’ve been avoiding their calls for the past six weeks, and every week I wait will only make my mother angrier.
Holden stands up, and as he does, he presses his lips against my forehead. When he pulls away he walks to the door, and over his shoulder says, “It’s your choice, beautiful, but I think you should call her.”
The anxiety inside of me is building each time the phone rings. My entire body feels like it’s vibrating. This is the conversation I’ve been dreading since I was in Greece. This is going to be the moment I tell my parents that not only have I quit my job, left my fiancé, but I’m also having a baby … on my own.
“Annabelle?” It’s my father’s. I hear the worry. This I regret. He’s a sweet man; the only fault I ever found in him was that he never stood up to my mother on my behalf. Let’s be real—he never stood up to anyone about anything.
“Dad.” My voice is shaking.
“Are you okay?” he asks with a panicked tone.
“Dad, calm down, I’m fine.”
“You’re mom has been going out of her mind with worry.”
“I bet,” I mutter under my breath.
“Hang on, let me get her.” I hear static against the phone as he muffles it and shouts for my mother. “She’s coming, wait just a minute.”
“I’m not going anywhere, it’s fine. Have you been getting my texts, Dad?” I ask while we wait.
“It’s Annabelle, she’s on the phone.” He ignores me as he speaks to my mother. I hear the phone click, and I know they’re on speaker when her voice comes across as well.
“Annabelle, is that you?” she questions.
“Yes, it’s me.”
“Oh, thank God,” she moans. I’m surprised by her response. She actually seems to have been concerned about my well-being.
“Mom, didn’t you guys get my texts?”
“You mean those vague messages that told us nothing? Yeah, thanks.” And there she is again, the woman I know so well.
“Look, I know this has been hard on everyone, but I’ve had some things I needed to work out.”
“Where are you?” my father asks. He still sounds just as panicked as when he initially answered.
“I’m fine.”
“He didn’t ask how you are, he asked where you are.” I wanted to scream. This type of behavior was what made me move out immediately the summer after graduation.
“I’m in England,” I answer, regretting it the moment the words leave my mouth.
“England?” she exclaims.
“Look, I’m fine, I got a job here.”
“What are you talking about? How do you have a job there? None of this is making sense,” my mother is rambling. I’ve been out from under her roof for seven years, yet she still insists on treating me like a child.
“Yes, look, it’s hard to explain. I’m working at an inn in Hampshire.”
“An inn? What
on Earth are you doing at an inn? Annabelle, you need to come home. Jack is sick with worry.”
It’s like all the oxygen has been sucked out of my lungs—a sucker punch to the gut. My mother is still talking, but I can’t hear or say anything. A white noise consumes me. I see spots, and I feel light headed. Jack, she said his name. My parents have spoken to him. The first sound to return is my heartbeat, pumping in my ears. The next is my mother shouting.
“Anna! How could you not tell us? Annabelle? Are you even listening to me?”
“I’m here,” I whisper.
“How could you not tell us about the baby, Anna? It’s like we don’t even know you anymore.”
“Mom, please, you have to promise me you won’t tell Jack where I am,” I plead. I’m frantic now.
“He deserves to be a part of this child’s life, Anna, no matter what he’s done.”
I hate the way she says my name over and over again in a conversation. It’s how she has established control in our relationship since I was a child. “Mom!” I’m shouting now. It’s the only way to get her attention. “Listen to me! Jack threatened to take this baby from me if I didn’t take him back.”
“Anna—” my mother interjects. I want to reach through the phone and throttle her, yell at her, and tell her to never say my name again. “Men say things when they’re angry. I don’t think he actually means it.”
“Please, just listen to me. I know him. I know what he’s capable of. I’ve never asked anything from either of you. Please, can you do this one thing for me? Don’t tell Jack where I am. Not until I have time to figure out how to protect myself and the baby.”
“Anna—” my mother’s pipes up again, but my father cuts her off.
“We won’t say anything. But promise us you’ll check in every week with an actual phone call.”
I hear my mother gasp in disappointment. She was ready for a fight. I wish I could give my father a huge hug. “I promise.”
“We love you, pumpkin,” he offers, his voice cracking.
“I love you, too.” He doesn’t wait for my mother to start in on me again. The phone clicks, and they’re gone.
“Good morning, beautiful.” When he first began saying this to me, it made my heart race and my stomach squirm, but now it feels natural, almost expected.
The visits with Dr. Marshall are now on a weekly basis. This morning after my exam he explained that everything appeared to be on track for the delivery to happen on time. All the details he gave me about the baby—how much she weighed at this point, her estimated length—made me antsy with delight.
I’m trying not to let myself think of this as my new way of life. After all, how can it be? Holden isn’t the father of my child. I can’t expect him to play that role. I know I can’t be with Jack, not after what he did to me, which leaves me with one significant truth: I’m going to be a mother, and I’m going to do it alone. No matter how many times I try and tell myself this, I keep thinking about that kiss with Holden.
Just like the night we’d shared together when I first came to The Three Horseshoes, it was otherworldly. Time had allowed me to convince myself our night of intimacy was built up in my head, but that kiss, it made it all come back. There was no build up, no convincing myself that it was more than it was. What it was simply couldn’t be denied. It was spectacular. A connection I hadn’t ever felt as intensely.
There’s such a chill in the air I can see ice crystals forming on the windows of the taxi. “Snow is heading this way.”
“It is?” I repeat.
“Well, it’s not in the forecast, but I’ve lived around here long enough to know when a storm is coming our way,” the gentlemen with silver hair explains.
“I see; well, I’ll be sure to stay inside.”
“You do that,” he says with a smile, the car coming to a stop in front of the inn.
I see Holden standing out front, placing a load of wood over one of his strong shoulders. He notices the taxi and turns toward us. Seeing it’s me, he begins to wave, smiling widely. I lean forward, paying the driver, then push open the door.
“Tell Holden I said congratulations,” the driver yells after me just as I stand up. I see him staring at my stomach, and I close the door before I fully process his statement. For a moment I think about going back and correcting the man on his assumptions, but before I can, he’s gone. On some level, I’m all right with him making this assumption.
One of Holden’s arms is bent to hold the three wood logs in place on his shoulder as he walks toward me. I smile in response to the stare on his face. I run my hand over my round stomach, looking down self-consciously.
“Did everything go all right at Dr. Marshall’s?” he asks, coming to a stop in front of me.
“Yes, it was good. He said everything’s exactly like it should be,” I reply, pulling my coat tighter around me in an attempt to stop the chill flooding over my body.
“Let’s get you out of the cold, and you can tell me all about it,” he adds, turning and offering me his extended hand. Without hesitation, I take it and lace my fingers through his. His skin is cold; I can tell he’s been outside for some time now.
We walk toward the door of inn, the itchy wool of his sweater rubbing my wrist as we move, but I don’t dare pull away. I wonder if he can see me out of his peripheral vision, staring up at him. I’m so entranced that I don’t hear the car pulling up behind us.
I do, however, hear the car door slam, then the footsteps in the gravel. Holden must have, too, because we both look over our shoulders at the same time. I’m frozen where I stand, and I can only imagine my expression.
“Annabelle?”
I swallow hard, looking at the man in front of me and then up at Holden’s beautiful and confused blue eyes, peering down at me. Processing the situation, I pull my hand away from Holden’s, turning around the rest of the way to face my past head on.
“What are you doing here, Jack?” I gasp.
“What am I doing here?” he repeats in an angry voice.
“Jack?” Holden mutters, then falls silent.
I can’t think about him right now, though; the one person I don’t want to see is here, and he looks very upset.
“How did you find me?” I question, irritated, as I begin to walk toward Jack.
“You run away to another country, pregnant with my child, and don’t even check in so I know you’re alive?” Jack is shouting and waving his arms wildly.
“Excuse me? First of all, don’t call this your baby. I never asked you to be a part of our lives.”
“That’s not something you get to ask … it’s just how it is.” Jack’s arrogance makes me grit my teeth. The baby moves sharply inside me, and I grab my stomach, moaning in discomfort.
I hear Holden drop the wood he’s carrying and rush to my side. He takes hold of my arm to examine me closer. “Belle, are you all right?”
Before I can figure out what’s going on, Jack is shouting at Holden and shoving him.
“Stop it!” I cry, still clutching my stomach. I’m relieved they do as I ask.
“Who the hell is this?” Jack growls, leaning toward Holden, as if warning him in some animalistic way.
“The lady doesn’t want you here, pal; you should leave,” Holden suggests, not backing down.
“Is everything okay out here?” Abner calls from the now open doorway of the inn. I turn to see a small crowd is gathering.
“I believe this gentleman needs a taxi,” Holden says over his shoulder.
This comment enrages Jack. He looks at me and then back to Holden. Jack lowers his head and barrels toward him, knocking him to the ground. I watch as the scuffle ensues, each one throwing multiple punches.
Suddenly Bea has a hold of my arm and is pulling me inside. I protest, but she is insistent. The crowd of people swarms past us and filters into the parking lot.
“We have to help him,” I say, then realize Bea may not understand which man I’m talking about. Jack was on the boxin
g team in college. I’m more than aware he can take care of himself. The idea of sweet and sensitive Holden, no matter how strong and rugged he seems, being put in a fight with Jack is unfair.
“Abner will take care of it, dear. He’s already phoned the constable,” Bea adds.
“What?” I gasp. “No, they’ll arrest Jack.”
“And that’s a bad thing? He’s a barbarian,” Bea states. I don’t have an answer for her. The baby is now going wild inside of me; my anxiety must have upset her.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I proclaim.
“Come on,” Bea says, ushering me up the stairs to the private tenants’ bathroom. “Let’s fix you up.”
I grasp her hand as she helps me up the stairs. She is the grandmother I always wished I’d had. My father’s mother died before I was born, and my mother’s when I was only three. The idea of a warm, older woman figure who would bake pies and dote on her grandchild had always been a fascinating concept for me.
We reach the top of the stairs, make our way down the hall, and I take a seat on the lid of the toilet. Bea is stroking my hair and hugging my head to her stomach. “There, there, love, everything is going to be all right. Don’t you worry.”
But I am worried, and I know for a fact everything isn’t going to be all right.
I wish Holden had stayed at the inn and allowed me to go alone to the station; I knew he wouldn’t ever go for that, though. The trip has been silent so far, and I find myself worrying that he’s interpreting my wanting to see Jack as if I’m siding with my ex, which is not the case.
To be quite honest, I have no idea what I’m going to say. After Jack was hauled away, and I had a moment to calm down, I began thinking about what he had said. He was right—his baby was a part of him, and after finding out I was pregnant, I bailed, without even a call to let him know we were safe. I’m not going to be able to outrun this problem; I need to face it.
We pull into the parking space. I look at Holden; there is a split in his lip and a slight bruising to his cheek. I can tell by the way he winced when getting in the truck that there are some other bruises I can’t see, but overall I’m impressed with the way he handled himself.