by Ashlee Price
That’s when my eyes caught the ad. “Roommate Wanted,” it read. The ad was from a woman looking to be someone’s roommate. She offered references and was willing to share expenses. She posted her phone number and invited anyone interested to look her up on social media. I did that immediately, following through on the friends she had. She seemed to be very normal, and there was a logical sequence of milestone events over the previous three years. I felt very comfortable in calling her, and we agreed to meet at a fast food restaurant at the edge of town.
She introduced herself as Abigail Struthers. She was smiling as she walked into the restaurant, and she promptly walked up to my table and held out her hand. “You are Lacy, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am. How did you know?”
“I know these kinds of things. Don’t let that scare you, it’s just who I am. I read people pretty well.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Abigail. How about you sit down and let’s talk.”
“Let me go up to the counter to get myself a coffee. Can I bring you anything?”
“No, I’m all set.”
“I’ll be right back.”
I watched her as she approached the counter and interacted with the cashier. There was laughter and smiles, and it all seemed very natural. I liked the words she used with people; it was a pleasant relief from putting up with the sour-faced Melanie. She came back to the table and slid into the chair, pulling the paper wrapper off her straw and sliding it into the perforated opening in the cup lid. She sat back, relaxed. “So, ask me anything you like.”
“Well… Okay, let’s start with why you were looking for a roommate.”
“I just went through a breakup with my fiancé. We’d moved into a condo along the lake a few miles north of here when we got engaged a year ago. I contributed money; he was supposed to match it, but somewhere along the way forgot his promise. So all my money got tied up in the down payment and renovations, but his name is on the title. I was a fool, I know it, and I’m paying the price.”
“What do you do for living?”
“I’m a writer. I ghostwrite books for people who either can’t or don’t want to write their own. They pay me for the project and I sign over my rights. I have to admit, sometimes it feels like I’m signing away a child. A writer gets very close to their work, you know.”
I liked the emotion she was expressing. She wasn’t cold, and she seemed capable of understanding deeper emotion. I liked that. “So what kind of accommodations are you needing?”
“For the time being, all I’m looking for is a room. A place to put my bed, a small side table, my clothes and a couple of tubs of crafting supplies.”
“You’re a crafter?” The idea excited me.
“I try. I’m one of those creative types, and you know we love to try our hand at everything and really never perfect anything. Except my writing. With that, I’m a stickler because my income depends on it.”
“Oh, I so understand what you mean. I’m a creative type too. I can’t write, but I’ve got a good eye for color and style, and I went to school for interior design.”
“Oh, how cool! I always thought I wanted to be an architect, but there were so many numbers involved. If you’re like me, the numbers bore you. I just want to get on with using the colors, or in my case, the words.” We both sipped our drinks and nodded in agreement. I was struck by how similar we were.
“May I ask you something very personal?” she said.
“I guess so, go ahead.”
“You’re going to have a baby, aren’t you?”
My mouth dropped open. Was I showing? Was it evident to everyone who looked at me?
She read my face. “No, no one else can tell, I’m pretty sure. Like I said, I just have a way with reading people. You look kind of drained, like you’ve been through a health crisis, and I feel a sense of desperation. You’re wearing layered clothes in an overheated restaurant, and that tells me you’re hiding something underneath. I don’t mean to be forward; I just hoped you might open up to me. You look like you could use a friend.”
“You are amazing! No wonder you’re a writer. You’re so observant, and you’re absolutely right. As for the health crisis, well, leaning over the toilet three times a day tends to drain you. I think I need more vitamins or something, but that’s for the doctor to say. Yes, my life is complicated right now. I am pregnant and the father, well, he’s not in my life anymore. It was my choice. He doesn’t even know about the baby.”
“I see. You don’t want him to know?”
“No, not yet. I don’t know, I’m all messed up, Abigail. May I call you Abby?”
“My friends always do.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. So, Abby, here’s my mess. As I mentioned, I’m an interior designer, and up until now, the bulk of my new clients have come as recommendations from a very proper, very influential and very wealthy woman in town. She met my boyfriend and wasn’t comfortable with him. He can be a little intimidating, I suppose. He’s very tall, has a stubbled beard and tattoos, and tends to wear black leather. He has some secrets that he won’t share with me quite yet. But I think I’m in love with him.
“The lady I mentioned holds the key to the growth of my business, and she ordered me to not keep company with him anymore. Well, I don’t need to tell you that that sort of an edict left an impression on our relationship. He is angry, because I’m angry, and I will tell you why. Well, actually I don’t even know why I’m angry, except that everyone seems to be running my life except me. My God, listen to me blabber on. I can’t believe I’m telling this to a perfect stranger.”
“I’m only a stranger until you accept me as a friend. You’re already calling me Abby, so you’re halfway there.” She smiled, and I felt the tension draining from my shoulders.
“So, if you don’t mind me asking, how are you going to hide this pregnancy from him and that woman?”
“That woman’s name is Mrs. Pettibone, and to answer your question, I have no idea. As you can tell, I’m not a petite woman and the nausea has diminished my appetite. I’ve lost some weight. So far, I’m still wearing my normal clothes, and since it’s winter, well, as you noticed, I’m wearing layers no matter how warm the building is.
“As for Mrs. Pettibone, as long as I don’t raise some sort of a scandal, she’s content to keep recommending me to her friends. Obviously, that has to end. I’ve been trying to come up with ways to market my business, but that can be expensive, and quite honestly, I could use someone living with me. Not just to share expenses, but to have someone close by in case anything happens, you know?”
She was nodding. “You’re not going to believe what I’m about to tell you.”
“I don’t know, I might. This whole thing seems spookily convenient as it is.”
She laughed out loud, a musical sound that I would’ve expected from her. She leaned close over the table and put one hand on mine. “I happen to be a certified midwife.”
“Are you kidding me? How did you choose that?”
“When I first got out of high school, and I think I’m a few years older than you, I wanted to see a little of the world. I was filled with the spirit of adventure and the desire to make the world a better place. So I joined a group of missionaries who were headed to Somalia. I guess you can imagine the state of medical care there. I trained with one of the other missionaries who was a midwife. She showed me everything she knew, and when it was time for her to go back to the States, I picked up where she left off. I’ve probably delivered two hundred babies. I lost count.”
“Are you telling me that you could deliver my baby at home?”
“As long as you’re seeing a doctor in the meantime and he doesn’t see any potential complications, absolutely. I’ve been on hand for quite a few home births since I’ve been back in the States. There’s no reason you can’t be my next patient.”
“I can hardly believe this. It’s just so perfect.”
“Let’s not get ahead of oursel
ves, shall we? Do you have room for me, since you have the baby coming?”
“My house is a small cottage. It’s right on the lake. It’s really everything I ever dreamed of having, but then I didn’t count on having a baby. It has a second-story that’s livable; it’s just empty at the moment. I had planned to put a creative studio up there and maybe even a dormer with window so I could look out over the lake. Of course, the dormer isn’t mandatory, but what I could do is move myself and my business up there. One big room will suffice for that. Once the baby is born, I would just keep it up there with me. You can have the single bedroom downstairs. We’d share the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom and the deck. Of course, the lake is for everyone,” I joked.
“Okay, how about the expenses? As I said, all my money was tied up in that condo and I’m flat broke right now. I couldn’t even give you a deposit; that’s why I can’t get my own apartment. But I just finished a book, and I expect to be paid in the next couple of days. I could give you that for the first month. How much rent were you planning to charge?”
“To tell you the truth, I only started thinking about this when I saw your ad. So I haven’t fixed a price. What would you say to a sort of exchange of services? For the time being, I’ll pay half of the utilities and for my own food, and you do the same. You can help me keep the house clean and keep an eye on me in case I get into trouble with the baby. I would pay you to deliver the baby, of course, and maybe after that, you could help me by babysitting? I don’t think it would be too demanding; since you work from home, it would just be a matter of checking on the baby from time to time while it sleeps. I’d try to time my design errands for nap times. Does that seem fair?”
“Are you kidding? You’re asking me to pay for my food and my half of the utilities and that’s it? I mean, I would just naturally help you keep the house clean and look after the baby. That’s just who I am. I think we women need to stick together. We have a lot of potential when we combine forces. Do you have internet?”
I nodded and smiled. “I sure do, luckily; the cable company stops its service at my house. Everyone beyond me has to go by satellite and the sand dunes block a lot of the signal.”
“So let me give you a sheet of references, and why don’t we both go home and think about this and talk in a couple days? Would that be okay?” she asked me.
“I think that would be absolutely perfect. I didn’t bring any references for myself, though.”
“You don’t need any references; it’s your house. Anyway, I’m not worried. Like I said, I read people pretty well.” She stood up and held out her hand for me to shake.
“Oh, don’t shake my hand, give me a hug,” I told her, and she nodded and wrapped her arms around me. “You’ll be showing a lot more very soon,” she observed after feeling my girth.
“Oh, don’t bring that up. I’m a little panicked at the moment about how I’m going to explain this all.”
“I’ll give it some thought. I can be pretty resourceful when I need to. I’ll talk to you in a couple days? You’ll give me a call?”
“You can count on it,” I told her, and she waved as she left the restaurant. I finished my drink and headed for the bathroom. It was getting to the point that I knew were every bathroom in the city was located.
I called Abby two days later and we were both in agreement. Within a few hours, she was at my door, her hands filled with luggage. “Can I help you with that?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Oh, I guess I shouldn’t. Well, at least I can hold the door. You’re in luck, I was just ladling out some beef stew I made in the crockpot. I know you haven’t had time to get groceries, so why don’t you grab the rest of your things and then let’s have a meal in the living room so you can get comfortable?
“That sounds wonderful! Don’t worry, I love to cook, and maybe we can economize a bit more by chipping in on the ingredients and letting me cook our meals.”
“Are you kidding me? I’m going to have to pay you now,” I joked and showed her to the bedroom.
“But your things are all still in there. And my bed is still in storage. How about if I camp on the couch for a few nights until I can find someone with a truck to move my bed in? They can move your things upstairs at the same time and we can get you settled in. I know I don’t need to help you decorate; that’s sort of your thing.”
I laughed and was terribly happy that Abby had come to live with me.
We sat down with our bowls of stew. I was eating gingerly, not sure how it was going to settle on my stomach.
“You’re looking little green,” she observed. “Don’t worry, it goes away soon. Before long you’re going to feel the best you ever have in your life. Pregnancy has a way of making a woman bloom. Even your face will have a glow.”
“I’m going to have to get a lot of face powder. I don’t want anyone to wonder why I am glowing in the middle of winter.”
“Oh, that’s right. About that. I’ve come up with a suggestion. Let me see what you think about it.” She seemed excited, and her long brown hair fell over her face as she leaned forward to scoot to the end of the chair. She reached back to grab her hair and wound it into a bun at the back of her head. “So, here’s what I was thinking. No one knows me around here yet. Since I work from home, I don’t go out much. So, what if, for the time being, I sort of pad my clothing a little more each time I go out. Since no one knows me, they won’t care that I’m pregnant. If anyone does say anything, I’ll just say that I broke up with my fiancé. That’s the truth, after all, and I really don’t care what they think of me. They’re not my customers.
“In the meantime, we’ll keep you home as much as we can. If you have to go out, I’ll help you adjust your wardrobe so that it just looks like you ate too many cookies at Christmas. Then, when the baby is born, since we’re doing it at home, we’ll just pretend it’s my baby. What do you think?”
My mouth was open. “Abby, you are a godsend. I couldn’t figure that part out, and I was afraid I’d have to move away. At least that would buy me enough time to get Mrs. Pettibone off my back and to grow my business beyond Chesterton. Once I’ve done that, I won’t care what people think either. It’s absolutely perfect.”
She nodded in agreement and echoed me, “Perfect.”
***
Abby and I became not just roommates but very close friends. When the time came, she delivered Justin, my son, and we were so excited because it meant we could go crazy making baby clothes and decorating with nautical blue-and-white wallpaper. Everything went smoothly, and Justin was healthy and happy, sleeping through the night almost immediately.
As I watched him sleeping peacefully in his bassinette, I reflected that he was the spitting image of his father. I yearned to call Riker and hand him his son. I was just afraid that I might not ever get him back.
Chapter 20
Riker
I was aching inside from Lacy’s rejection. I told myself I was tougher than that, that no woman could affect me that way. But she had, and she would continue to do so for the foreseeable future.
I knew I’d become a bastard. No one had to say it outright; I could tell by the way all three boys were avoiding me. If there was any saving grace, it was that they seemed more ready to toe the line to avoid confrontations with me.
I wasn’t ready to give up on Lacy quite yet. She had the inner fire that made her the potentially perfect mate for me. I wanted to take her through that locked door and make her scream for forgiveness. I was done with the gentle side of Riker. I’d put him away in favor of maintaining my sanity.
I’d also begun drinking again. I’d had a problem with that a few years earlier but had managed to kick it, with the help of a certain anonymous group. I had thought I was past all that; I had thought I was in charge of my emotions and knew how to funnel them safely out of my head. I was wrong, and that worthy group was right: “Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic.”
I knew better than to leave the
stuff around where the boys could get to it, so when they went to bed at night, I unlocked the padlock and went upstairs. I sat in the darkness and drank until the pain was diminished enough that I could sleep. That was what I was doing the night it happened.
The boys had been in bed for more than an hour. They’d been playing football in the backyard, and they were exhausted; I could hear their snores. A twelve-pack in my hand, I quietly unlocked the padlock and quietly took the stairs two at a time. There was a small dormer window, and I put a beanbag chair in front of it so I could drink in the darkness and watch the street. I don’t know, maybe I was fooling myself. Maybe I was hoping she’d change her mind and show up one night.
I was well into the tenth can when she did show up. Not Lacy, though. Melanie pulled up to the curb and gradually got out of her car, her legs wobbling as she staggered up my porch. It was summertime, and she was wearing what looked like a bathing suit top, except that it was made from something gold and shiny. I finished that tenth beer and went down to answer the door before she knocked.
“What you want?”
“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve got nowhere to go. I closed the bar and the girl I’m staying with got pissed and locked me out. Since you’ve got so many bedrooms, I was hoping you might let me sleep in one tonight?”
I was beyond caring. “Sure, come on in.” She followed me up the stairs and I flicked the light on in the last bedroom at the end of the hall, the furthest away from the boys. “It’s not much of a bed, but you can sleep there. The sheets are clean. The bathroom’s down the hall on the left. I’d appreciate it if you leave as soon as you wake up. It’s not a good idea to have you in the same house with three testosterone-filled boys, if you get my drift.”