by Jess Bentley
Please do that. Please see through me.
“Do whatever you need to,” he finally growls. “Propose, for all I care. Knock her up. I don’t give a fuck about the consequences. Are we clear?”
“Crystal,” I tell him.
I’m beyond fucked.
Chapter 69
Janie
I’m in my office ignoring the discomfort that now hovers in my stomach. Who knew being pregnant was so much like having chronic acid reflux? Not me, that’s who. Checking and rechecking the ledgers, there’s five hundred dollars missing and I desperately hope that Gloria is stealing from me, because that would be the only good icing on my towering shit cake. It doesn’t look like it, though, dammit—I missed an order last week because I handed it off to Chester.
He told me, and I even made a note about it in my phone. So why didn’t I enter it? Because I’m currently losing my goddamn mind, that’s why. On the up side, I have the most perfect skin I’ve had in my entire life.
My eyes wander across the desk for a moment, taking a break from the computer screen, and settle on the test results from the hospital. “You’re going to have one hell of a story, kid,” I mutter. “Maybe I’ll make up something. Somehow I think the truth would just piss you off. It would piss me off. Hell, it’s already pissing me off.”
The baby is the size of a raisin or something; she, or he, can’t hear me. But I’ve been doing that lately. I’m determined that this is going to be the snarkiest baby ever to walk the world, and right now I have sarcasm and nihilism in spades.
There’s a knock at the door to the office that makes me nearly jump out of my skin.
It’s Gloria. She looks like she just spotted the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, and she isn’t looking at me. “Oh, my…”
Clearing my throat, I stand up and snatch the test results off the desk, stuffing the papers into my purse. “I’ve got to go out,” I tell her. “Chester’s in charge, you need to—”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Gloria says, more gleefully manic than I’ve seen her basically ever. “This is too good. You don’t get to just brush this one off, Janie. Holy shit. You’re fucking pregnant?”
Hearing it from someone else’s lips shocks me, even though it isn’t exactly news. Hearing it from Gloria’s lips is potentially enough to make me miscarry. Can unbridled rage cause a woman to lose a baby? I suspect I’ll find out if I spend enough time around this woman.
“I don’t have time for this, Gloria,” I tell her. “We’ve got the last sauce debuting tonight and I need the place spotless, so you—”
“Uh, no.” Gloria folds her arms over her chest, looking smugly sinister. “We absolutely need to talk. Who’s is it? Let me guess: Jake Ferry. Funny I haven’t seen anything on Facebook about it… oooh.” Her eyes widen even more, if that’s possible. “Nobody knows.”
Much as I try to keep a straight, flat face with no affect or emotion at all, Gloria has this freakish instinct for gossip. Her hand goes to her mouth. “Jackpot,” she breathes. “He doesn’t know. Holy. Fuck. Janie!”
Threats are on my lips, clawing to get out. But that will only set her off, and being defensive will just confirm everything she’s thinking.
“If I had just slightly fewer scruples,” she says to my silence, “I would totally cash in on this. Wonder what Reginald Ferry would pay me for a tidbit like this? Probably a lot. What’s a few hundred thousand for him? I bet he’s got that in his couch cushions. Have you thought about that? I bet you could make a killing.”
“I don’t care about Ferry money,” I tell her. “I don’t need to ‘cash in.’ I’ve got my own money that I worked for and earned on my own merits instead of spending my life hunting down someone who could give it to me. Get out of my way.”
Gloria’s eyes narrow, her lips parted slightly with the offense she’s taken from my not-so-subtle comment. I have to stifle a groan. Just the thing I didn’t want to do. Set her off.
Her jaw twitches, and she steps out of the way.
As I walk past her, though, she has a final word. “We’ll talk later. Count on it.”
Seriously, they probably wouldn’t even look for the body.
Mama gives me a strange look when I visit to drop off her meds—sure enough, George texted me about picking them up because he was “busy”—and I find myself attempting to make a hasty exit.
“I had a strange dream the other night,” she says before I can escape.
“Oh?” I wonder. The look in her eyes tells me everything I need to know about what she’s thinking, but I feign ignorance anyway. “What about?”
“I was on the beach,” she says, her eyes going distant. “The beach where your father and I… anyway, there was a storm way out over the ocean, but there was no wind. And out of nowhere, these fish start leaping out of the ocean and onto the beach around me. Isn’t that funny?”
“That’s… funny all right. I’ve got to go, Mama.” I kiss her on the forehead.
“Did I ever tell you that before I even knew I was pregnant with you, I had a dream a lot like that? They say dreaming of fish is a signal of a pregnancy close to you…” She looks like she’s a combination of worried and near-ecstatic. And then her eyes drop to my belly.
“Uh… well, you know I don’t believe in that sort of thing, Mama.” It’s all I can think to say to throw her off my scent. But the truth is, Mama’s had some accurate dreams before. Who knows what actually causes them—I refuse to believe it’s some supernatural gift of prophecy—but once she’s got her mind set on something because of them they usually self-fulfill.
In this case, though? I’d rather not think about it.
“You can talk to me, Janie,” she says quietly. “You know that, right?”
“What? Mama,” I sigh, and take her hand. “Of course I know that. But I have to go. Lots to do. Are… you and George coming to the lounge for the launch party?”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” she assures me. “You know George doesn’t really like to go out, but I’ll be there, I promise.”
George doesn’t like spending money would be more accurate, and doesn’t like being seen in public with my mother. Never mind they’d never have to pay for a thing in my place. “We’ll go shopping before that,” I tell her. “Get you something sexy to wear, how’s that?”
Mama laughs, and that suspicion in her eyes is finally replaced with scandalized humor. “Oh, now… I don’t know about all that. I love you, baby girl.”
“I love you too, Mama.” With that, I’m finally out the door. Spooked, sure, but I’m at least reasonably certain my secret is still intact.
Not forever, though. In the mornings, I make a habit of checking the mirror to see if I’m showing. Day to day, I can’t really tell—probably the change is too gradual to track that way. Which is why I took a picture shortly after I had it confirmed and, like it or not, I look different.
Maybe Mama didn’t even have a dream. Maybe she’s just trying to find a way to get me to admit it. I feel awful for hiding it from her, but she would tell George and the boys, and they’d be all over it. Especially George—I’d never hear the end of how I got knocked up out of wedlock, never mind the fact that George has been married three times.
I have another checkup with Annie, so I head into town, keeping a wary eye out for any sign of Jake. Avoiding him is getting to be ridiculous. After having spotted him going into Ferry Lights a couple of times and even staying late at Red Hall to make sure he left before I did, I’ve started seeing him everywhere. I’m not even sure it’s him half the time, but I’ve left a nearly full cart of groceries at the store just because I thought I saw him walk into the aisle next to the one I was in.
Now, I expect him to pop out from behind any given corner, or show up at Red Hall, and the worst part is that I find myself hoping he will every time I stare at the slight bulge of my tummy.
What makes me more messed up? That I almost want him to know so that maybe we can work things out, even after he tricked his way into my p
ants? Or that I worry about the media shit-storm that would fall on my head if it got out? It’s a toss-up.
Mama dreamed about a storm, too. Who knows, maybe she really is a prophet.
As usual, being out in public makes me flustered and nervous. Any day now I’ll be heading outside with a shawl over my head and oversized sunglasses hiding my face like a fugitive. Annie gives me a sympathetic smile when she sees me.
“Let’s get you on the table,” she says. “Let me give you a lavender belly massage. It’ll help you both relax.”
“I know you probably believe in prophetic dreams,” I tell her, once I’m lying down on my back and I’ve gotten her caught up on recent events. “But it’s still kind of crazy, right?”
“Mother’s intuition, if you ask me,” Annie says. “How’s that?”
A mental check of my current state tells me that whatever other holistic bullshit Annie does, there really is something to the idea of a belly massage—whether the lavender helps or not. “I don’t know about Mama,” I tell her, “but you’ve got some kind of magic, for sure. Much better.”
“Good,” Annie says. “It’s not good for either of you to be stressed like this. If you’re going to stay uptight, maybe I should see you a little more often. I can get you in three times a week, if you don’t mind a kind of weird schedule.”
“You don’t have to go to all that trouble,” I tell her. Three times a week is almost three grand for Annie. Over nine months? She’d be losing more money than I can possibly ask her to give up.
“It’s no trouble,” she insists. “Let me put you on the books. Just promise me you’ll follow the schedule. I’ll lay it all out through your due date and push it to your calendar.”
I sigh. Am I a charity case? I suppose I must be. “You’re too good to me, Annie. I don’t deserve it.”
“If not for you, I wouldn’t be where I am,” she tells me. There’s a pause after that.
I know what’s coming.
“It’s your decision,” she starts out, “and you know I support you no matter what, but… have you been in touch with Jake?”
“I have been the opposite of in touch,” I admit. “It’s insane, Annie... it has to be the hormones. I see him everywhere. Everywhere, Annie. I was in the bathroom the other day at the gym”—she gives me an approving nod, because the gym was her idea—“and I couldn’t hear the person in the stall next to me, and could not shake the idea that it was Jake, that he’d somehow followed me in and was waiting for me to come out so he could confront me about the baby.”
Annie bites her lip. She looks concerned, and with a sigh she tells me why. “Hon, I have to be honest with you.”
“Please do,” I sigh. It’s not like Annie has the ability to not say what she’s thinking, even if she does have infinitely better tact than I do.
“Paranoia? High stress? Irrational fears? Does that sound familiar?” She says it gently enough, but it still sends a shiver down my spine.
“Shit,” I breathe. “I didn’t even…”
The story about the gym? Seeing Jake in the grocery store even though I know damn well that man doesn’t buy his own goddamn groceries…
Those are the sorts of things my mother might say; the kinds of irrational things she’d call me about to come and dispel.
“You just need to manage your stress, Janie,” Annie says, one hand on my bare belly. “So come see me, three days a week. An hour at a time. Keep going to the gym, and…”
She doesn’t finish, but I know what she wants to say.
Tell Jake.
“I can’t, Annie,” I whisper. “Not after what he did.”
“It won’t stay a secret forever, hon,” Annie tells me. “Just make sure it comes out on your terms, or it’ll be more trouble. Either way—I’m here.”
“Thank you for that,” I say. “You’re the only ally I feel like I’ve got right now.”
“An even better reason to tell him.”
For all her gentleness, I can see in her eyes what she thinks.
Maybe because I keep looking at myself in the mirror with the same expression.
Chapter 70
Janie
Freshly chastised, albeit gently, I leave Annie’s office feeling at odds with myself—much more relaxed, yes, but somehow more guilty, and more worried about what exactly I plan to do. So far, I haven’t given it enough thought.
But Annie’s absolutely right. I can’t hide a pregnancy forever. I have a tight body—for now, anyway—but I’m not some gymnast that can go nine months without showing and then have a surprise baby. I have another month at the most before there’s no hiding it. And that assumes that I can somehow convince Gloria to keep her trap shut, which will more than likely involve something ridiculous like making her part owner of Red Hall.
No. Over my dead body. Or hers. How much does a hit man cost?
I’m indulging in the macabre humor of that thought when I freeze. My heart crawls right up into my throat and before Jake even crosses the street it’s clear what’s on his mind.
He knows.
How could he not? Annie’s place has a sign on it, and it’s not subtle.
I consider running away. Somehow, I suspect Jake can run faster than a pregnant lady who’s never run more than a half a mile at full speed.
It doesn’t matter what choice I make though, because Jake is standing feet away from me just a second later, hurt and disgust all over his face. He looks from me to the sign, and then back at my belly, where his unborn child is growing.
“Are you fucking… Jesus, Janie… are you serious?” His face is red, and the veins on his neck are bulging. His mouth works as he tries to find words.
Mine does too. What do I say right now?
“I’ve been calling you for over a month,” he says, his voice getting louder. “Were you even going to tell me?”
“Jake, I…” but there’s nothing I can realistically say. Before, when I could have called him and told him, I would have been able to plan something or think out what I would say, but I haven’t even done that. Every time in the last month that I’ve imagined that conversation starting, I just put my mind on something else.
Now, I wish I’d spent the time playing that scenario out. At least I’d have something prepared.
Jake stares at me, waiting, but I’ve got nothing. Finally he rubs his face with both hands, and looks away. “And ah… I mean… is it mine?”
“The fuck do you mean, ‘is it yours’?” I ask, suddenly angry at the suggestion. Only after it’s out of my mouth do I realize it’s a completely rational thing to ask, but that doesn’t make me take it back. I’m committed. If we’re going to have this out, let’s have it out.
But that isn’t what happens. Jake looks like I hit him hard in the gut, and shakes his head slowly as he turns to leave.
“Jake…” God, I want to say something better. Something that fixes everything. Think, think…
“You can’t keep my own child from me, Janie,” Jake says as he leaves me. “Don’t even think about trying.”
I watch him go, stunned and numb. No, not numb. Terrified.
Terrified and racked with guilt that I absolutely deserve.
It takes until I’m back at Red Hall, locked in my office, before I work up the nerve to call Jake.
Well, almost. Each time my finger hovers over the call button, I try to rehearse what I’ll say. Every time, it sounds pathetic.
“I was going to tell you, but I wanted to make sure I got through the first trimester and the baby was healthy.” Christ, that’s not better than hiding it from him, and what, I was just going to wait three months?
“I’m actually not sure it’s yours and didn’t want to cause a panic.” Yeah, because tell him I’ve been sleeping all over town will get me some sympathy. The timing is too perfect. No way that will work.
“You’re a manipulative asshole who broke my heart and I never planned on telling you anything.” Honesty isn’t always the best poli
cy—especially when I was honestly being kind of a bitch. What mother keeps a child away from her father? That’s a can of worms…
Nothing sounds right in my head, and in every case I imagine the verbal beating I’m probably going to take from him. Worse, I imagine the fallout afterward. Jake has the kind of resources that could hire lawyers. Good ones. Better ones than I can afford and more of them. Calling or not calling, though, probably won’t change the reality of that.
So I put my phone away, and again slide this event back on my calendar. I’ll do it. Just… not right now.
It’s half an hour until dinner service. I wipe my eyes, and smooth my dress. I have to keep my shit together—if not for me, then for my staff. This is a critical juncture. Tonight, Lacey is delivering the last taste-teasers before the launch party. The reception so far has been incredible, and there’s tons of buzz around it. We’re under consideration for a Michelin star, for fuck’s sake. Now is not the time to break down.
And yet, when I see Gloria schmoozing it up with one of the foodie bloggers that’s here for the final taste-teaser, I nearly lose my shit. Gloria flashes her eyes at me, and I can see in that slight smile on her smug face that she wants me to be thinking precisely what I’m thinking—that any moment she’ll tell the world about my situation and all this will go spiraling down the drain.
All I can do is separate them and have the talk I’ve been avoiding with her, so that’s what I do. “Gloria?” I ask pleasantly as I approach. “I have a few things I want to go over with you about tonight. You mind meeting me in the office?”
“Oh, I think I’ve got a handle on it,” Gloria says.
My smile is stiff. “It’ll only take a minute. I want your input on a few ideas.”
Gloria smiles approvingly at me, and turns to her temporary friend. “If you’ll excuse me—it’s a big night! We definitely want to get it just right.” As if accomplishing that requires her input; which is exactly what I meant to imply. I know the game we’re playing, even if we haven’t set terms yet.