"You could make new ones," Grant says. “Together.”
"I have to think this through," Eleanor says. "Please. I'll get in touch with you when I've decided." She holds the letters up. "Thank you, again, for bringing these to me. It's wonderful to have them back."
We stay for only a short time longer, then walk out of Eleanor's house, leaving her our contact information so she could reach out to us. We're both quiet as we walk toward the car and climb into the backseat. The driver whisks us to a hotel and Grant carries my bags up to our room. My mind is spinning, and my heart is racing. He sits down on the edge of the bed and starts to take off his shoes, but I can't relax.
"I can't believe what happened to Eleanor," he says. "I knew her father sent her away to live in a convent, but I thought it was just a home for wayward girls. It never crossed my mind that she could have been pregnant."
"I know," I say.
"She must have been so scared and confused. And never being able to tell Neil about their baby. That must be awful."
"I'm sure it is," I say.
"I've never really thought about being a father before. I just don’t know if it’s in my future. But I can't even imagine what it must have been like for Eleanor to have Lily ripped away from her. To have no say in it. Even if she had been able to get in touch with Neil, I don't know how she would have told him. That's not something you can say over the phone."
I pause and stare at him, my hands falling to my sides as I draw in a deep, trembling breath.
"It's not," I say. "Which is exactly why I haven't told you."
Chapter Twenty-One
Grant
I feel like my brain has slowed to a crawl as it processes what Emma just said. She's standing in front of me, her eyes locked on me, and I’m melting in her resolute gaze. I can't find the right words. I'm afraid if I say something, it will be wrong.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," she says. "I only found out last week. I didn't know how to tell you, and I didn't want to just pick up the phone and call you out of the blue."
"You're pregnant?" I choke out.
"Yes," she says.
That's it. Just 'yes.' That one, simple word has changed my life in an instant. I don't know what I expected her to say, but somehow, it doesn't feel like enough. I wait for more, but she doesn't offer it. She's handed the conversation back over to me and is waiting for my response. I’m shocked, and for once in my life, I have no idea what to say.
"How?" I finally ask.
"How?" Emma asks incredulously.
"Damn it. I know how. I just…"
"From what the doctor told me at my appointment last week, I can only guess we celebrated our marriage more than we remember," she says. "And maybe weren't as careful as we should have been every time."
I nod. I feel like I should be responding differently. I can't decipher what's going through my head, and I don't know the right words to say to Emma. Her face is calm and neutral, giving me no indication of how she wants me to react. What she told me sinks in, and a thought occurs to me.
"New Year's?" I ask. "But if you've been pregnant for that long…"
"I've never had regular periods," Emma says. "It's a fairly common issue, and honestly not something I ever really think about. It can get worse with stress, and sometimes I miss a month or two in a row. With everything that's been going on, I guess I didn’t notice."
"Don't you think you should have been paying better attention to it?" I ask, shocked by her response. "Don't you keep track or something?"
Emma looks at me incredulously.
"Of course, I do," she says. "Just like every other woman, I have a little pink calendar and I draw a butterfly on the first day, and a flower on the day it's expected, and I count down until my next cycle, breathless with hope and anticipation."
"That's not what I meant," I say.
"You're seriously blaming me?”
"I'm not blaming you for anything," I groan. "It's not something to blame someone for. It's not something you did maliciously."
"Oh, thank goodness you said that! I was so worried you'd think I used my uterus as a weapon against you."
"Ok. We both need to calm down. This conversation has gotten derailed. We need to talk about this."
Emma draws in a breath, and her shoulders relax slightly. She comes to the bed and sits down beside me.
"You're right. We need to talk about this… when you get back to Magnolia Falls."
"What?" I ask. "What do you mean when I get back?"
"You still have work to do with your client," she points out.
"I can put that off," I say.
"No," Emma says, shaking her head. "You need to go back home, back to your office, and your life."
"Magnolia Falls is my home," I point out. "This is my life. Emma, I'm not going to just walk away after you’ve told me you’re carrying my baby."
"I don't think you're going to walk away," she says. "I know you're not some thoughtless, horrible man who would abandon the woman he knocked up. Does that make you feel better?"
"Not... particularly."
"Look, Grant. Minutes ago, you literally said yourself you never considered being a father."
"That just means it's something I hadn’t planned for."
"Exactly. This isn't something that was never on your radar, and you need some time to think it through. We both have a lot to think about. This isn't just a conversation piece. This isn't an accidental legality we have to figure out. We need to take the time to think about this and decide what it means for both of us. I don't want you to skip out on work, or start alienating clients because you think you should, out of some warped sense of duty. You need to keep living your life, and decide where and how will fit in."
"You said you didn't like people making decisions for you, and that you always want to make the decisions."
"Both of us know that hasn’t worked out for me so far. Besides, I am making a decision for myself. I’ve decided to keep living my life the same way I was before, and to give my mind and heart time to figure all of this out. You need to do the same thing. Come back to Magnolia Falls when you intended to in the first place, and then we'll talk about it more, ok?"
I continue to stare at her. I don't know what I'm doing. If someone had asked me a year ago what I would do if a woman was pregnant with my child, I would have come up with a full-proof, logical plan on the fly. Step one certainly wouldn't have included just staring at her wordlessly. And yet, here I am.
"Emma," I finally manage to say. "I can't do that."
"I'm not giving you an out, Grant. I'm not trying to manipulate or control you. This is me saying that I've got this, and I want you to think about it carefully before we talk. I'm not using this as a bargaining chip or trying some weird reverse psychology shit on you."
"I never said you were," I say defensively.
Emma shakes her head and stands from the edge of the bed.
"Grant, I'm not trying to turn this into a fight. Please don't. This doesn't have to be dramatic or cause all kinds of turmoil. Not yet, anyway. For now, I just didn't want to keep walking around and sharing my body with your baby without you knowing about it."
"Well, it's good for people to know where their children are, especially when they're young," I say.
Emma smiles at me and starts for the door.
"I'm going to the other bedroom. I need some sleep. Are we going back in the morning?"
I nod.
"Good." She takes a few more steps, then pauses and looks over her shoulder at me. "I'm keeping the baby, Grant. Regardless of what you decide. I don't want you to think you're making that decision. I wouldn't put the weight of that on you."
Our eyes meet for a few seconds, and she leaves the room.
I sit at the end of the bed holding the shoe I took off before Emma dropped the bomb, staring at the blank TV screen. If my life were a made-for-TV movie, this would be the moment the screen would spontaneously burst on, and my guard
ian angel would tell me what to do next. Seconds pass. Nope. No guardian angel. Guess I’m on my own with this one.
I decide to go to bed while mulling the situation over. As I fade toward sleep, I go back and forth between questioning if I’m capable of becoming the type of father our baby deserves, and feverish excitement at the thought of trying.
* * *
Three weeks later…
"When are you getting back?"
Emma's voice sounds tense, almost frightened, and instantly, dread tightens in my chest.
"I'm on my way," I say. "What's wrong? Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," she says. "It's just…"
Her voice trails off and my foot presses down harder on the gas pedal. I know logically a few extra miles an hour won’t get me there much faster than following the speed limits, but it makes me feel better, and if I can even shave off seconds, it’s worth it to me. I can tell she is trying not to sound scared or upset, but her voice is high and tight with anxiety.
"It's just what, Emma? What's wrong?"
"Wyatt’s here," she says.
"Wyatt?" I ask. "He's back?"
The last time I saw Emma's ex-husband, he was running bare-assed across the street to his rental house. As far as I know, she hasn't heard from him since he tried to audition for the spring musical. At least there was nothing threatening about his behavior when he was here last fall. Annoying as hell, but not threatening. The way she sounds tells me this has now changed.
"He showed back up yesterday," she says.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I knew you were coming home today, and I didn't want to worry you."
"Where was he? What did he do?"
"I saw him while I was shopping in town," she says. "I don't know why he didn't come to the house first. I'm glad he didn't. But somehow it was even more unnerving to see him talking to people while I was walking down Main Street. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but I could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t in a pleasant mood, and that this wasn't going to be another silly attempt to win me back."
"What did he say to you?" I ask.
I'm only a few miles away from the ferry now. I'm going to be in Magnolia Falls sooner than I had anticipated, but now it feels like I'm wasting time and should have been there earlier. I don't want to mention the baby. I won’t even let my mind go there right now.
"I didn't even want him to see me," she says. "So, I was going to try to get to the bakery before he noticed, but he looked up and our eyes met. He looked so angry. I ran inside the bakery on the corner, but I could hear him shouting my name. I went into the bathroom and hid there. He came inside and demanded to know where I had gone, but Lilibeth was working the counter, and said she hadn't seen me. I don't know how people her age stay so calm and unflustered when people are screaming obscenities at them, but she didn’t even flinch. Just stayed absolutely steady and repeated that she hadn't seen me come in and had no idea what he was talking about. That, surely, he must have been mistaken. It's lucky he's not from Magnolia Falls, and doesn't know to head around the back display case for the bathroom. It probably never occurred to him to look for one."
"Where is he now?" I ask.
Emma draws in a shuddering breath.
"He’s at the school," she says.
"The school?" I demand.
"I had to stay late to work on some things for the prom. I was actually really excited to show them to you when you got here. The decorations are coming along perfectly, and I've even gotten some RSVPs so I can start looking for pictures to use for the welcome event. I was going to the teachers’ lounge to get a drink, and I heard him ask one of the other teachers where I was. He was in the main hallway, and I snuck into the lounge right before he saw me. It didn't do any good, though. He remembered the lounge from when he was here before. He knew right where I was."
"Are you still in the lounge?" I ask.
"Yes," she says. "He's standing outside."
"And no one has done anything?"
"I don't know how many people are still here. The teacher he was talking to was on her way out. I didn't think there’s anyone left here at all. Months ago, Mrs. Burke slipped me a key and told Danny the custodian to just act like he didn’t see me if I was around after hours, so the surprise won't be spoiled for Mr. Bernheimer."
A sudden pounding sound echoes out of my car speakers, and Emma gasps. I know Wyatt must be hitting the door to the lounge. He's shouting, but his voice is muffled.
"What's he saying?" I ask.
"He wants me to open the door. He says he needs to talk to me."
"I don't care what he says, don't open that fucking door. Don't get anywhere near it, actually."
"I'm not going to," she says. "I'm in the back of the room."
"Good. Stay there and don't say anything to him. Get off the phone with me and call Jesse. Maybe the police will scare him off."
"It didn't last time."
"He wasn't threatening you last time. Go. Call them. I'll be there as fast as I can."
I hang up and look down at my phone, tempted to call the sheriff's office myself. But I know multiple people calling at the same time won't do any good. It might actually make it harder for them to respond to the situation. All I can do is get there as fast as I can.
* * *
Emma
The sound of Wyatt pounding on the door rattles through me. I squeeze my eyes closed, willing the tears to stay inside. Even though he can't see me, I don't want to give him the satisfaction of making me cry. He's done it too many times already, and I promised myself a long time ago that I wasn't going to give him that power over me anymore.
"Let me in, Emma!" he screams. I take a step back and feel the wall behind me. "I told you the last time I was here, you're my wife. You're always going to be my wife."
The comment makes me angry, and I feel some of my fear dissipate. After hanging up with Grant, I call the sheriff. Jesse himself answers rather than Sarah, the woman who usually handles calls at the office. I'm glad to skip over the niceties and small talk, and be able to tell Jesse directly what's happening. He doesn't hesitate before hanging up. I know he's on his way and it will only be a matter of moments before he arrives at the school. The sheriff's office is close enough that he could run here in little more than a minute.
"The sheriff is coming, Wyatt," I say, fighting to keep my voice as calm and strong as possible.
I know that I’m cowering behind a door I'm grateful I remembered to lock, and that Wyatt can't reach me without smashing it down. But I still want to sound strong and secure, unafraid of him and what he could do if he got through to me.
Wyatt doesn't say anything else, but lets out a growl and slams his hands on the door one more time before walking away. Seconds later, I hear heavy footsteps coming toward the door and a sharp knock.
"Emma?"
I recognize Jesse’s voice, and some of the tension relaxes out of my muscles.
"I'm in here, Jesse," I tell him. "I'm alright. He left."
"Where is he?"
I cross the room and unlock the door. Brushing my hair out of my face, I open it and look out at Jesse.
"I don't know," I say. "I just heard him walk away. He probably went toward the front of the school."
Jesse looks over his shoulder at the two officers standing behind him.
"Find him," Jesse commands. "Make sure he knows he isn’t welcome back on school grounds."
The two officers rush toward the main hallway and Jesse steps back to let me out of the room. I hesitate for a few seconds, reluctant to leave the safety of the space. I remind myself that I'm not alone anymore. If Wyatt did head for the front doors, it’s going to be easy for the officers to catch up with him. Everyone else in the school has left already, which means the door I left unlocked at the back of the school is the only one he would be able to get out of without a key. Shortly after that thought goes through my head, I hear shouting, followed by a muffled grunt. I ca
n only imagine that was the sound of Wyatt being tackled to the ground.
"Are you alright?" Jesse asks.
I nod.
"Yes," I say. "Thank you. I really appreciate you coming out so fast."
"Of course," he says. "What’s he doing here, anyway?"
"I don't know," I say honestly. "I thought I'd gotten rid of him before Christmas."
"Did he say anything to you?"
"Just that he wanted to talk."
"What about?"
"I don't know."
I'm starting to lose the relieved feeling I got when I first saw Jesse, but the sound of Grant's voice washes over me like a breath of fresh air.
"Emma!"
I look over Jesse's shoulder and see Grant jogging up the hallway from the back of the school. Without even thinking, I break away from where I'm standing and run toward him. Just a few days ago, I'd spent most of the day convincing myself that I didn't miss him or need him in my daily life. I tried to tell myself I was the independent, strong woman I intended to be, and that I could do this – all of it – on my own. Now, all I can think about is how much I missed being held by his strong, protective arms. Grant gathers me close to him. His body feels warm and familiar, enveloping me like it was designed to hold me. His lips find my head, and he alternates between pressing kisses to my hair and murmuring reassuring words I can barely hear but can feel.
"I'm alright," I tell him. "I’m ok."
I hear more grumbling and glance over to see the two officers half-dragging, half-carrying Wyatt out of the front hallway.
"Well, shit. This is about to get awkward," I mutter, turning into Grant's chest.
"There he is," Wyatt growls. "I was wondering where your precious knight in shining armor was. He was so quick to save you last time I was here."
"It's none of your concern where I was," Grant says, wrapping his arms around me as if he was trying to create a physical barrier between Wyatt and me. "What either one of us is doing doesn't concern you."
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