by Wendy Owens
“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.
Chapter Thirty
“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.
Jack! What are you doing here?” 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 boxing 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.
Chapter Thirty-One
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.
I reach over and touch his arm. I feel terrible that my past has come back and created so much drama in his life. He shouldn’t have to deal with these problems. “I’m sorry.” My words are quiet as they slip out.
“There’s no reason for you to apologize, Belle,” he says, but he doesn’t look at me as he speaks.
I push open the door to the truck and step out. “I’ll be right back.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?”
“No.” I give a nervous laugh. “I think you and my ex have seen quite enough of each other for now. I promise, I’ll be careful.”
I turn and start to walk away. The next thing that pops into my mind I’m sure will upset Holden, but I feel compelled to at least ask. I walk back and lean against the window, waiting for him to crank it down.
“Change your mind?” he inquires, still leaning toward me.
“I need to ask you a favor.”
“You know I’d do anything for you, Belle, name it.”
I hesitate, no clue as to how my request will change our relationship, but I need to ask. “You know the constable, right?”
“Yeah, he comes into the pub all the time, why?”
I swallow hard. “Is there any way you could talk to him and persuade him to release Jack?”
He sits up. I close my eyes and prepare for him to snap at me. Much to my surprise, he doesn’t, but instead he nods, careful not to look directly into my eyes. I wish I knew what he was thinking, but I can’t concern myself with that right now. I need to focus on figuring out what I’m going to do about Jack. He’s here and seems hell bent on destroying my life.
As I walk away, I hear Holden get out of the vehicle and follow closely behind. Once inside, he walks off without a word in another direction, and one of the other young men shows me into a room. He instructs me to wait here for someone who will escort me to the holding area soon.
The place is nothing like I imagined a police station would be. Of course, it’s not like I’ve spent a lot of time in my life wondering about such a thing. The building is old; there are cracks near the ceiling that are filled in and painted over. The patches are now crumbling, with pieces falling away. The room I’m sitting in is no bigger than a walk in closet and has chairs lining one wall.
“Okay miss, right around here,” the boy who looks like he is barely twenty says as he leads the way.
When I round the corner, I see Jack sitting on a bench inside of a cell. By the bruises on his face and his swollen eye, I realize I’d clearly underestimated Holden’s fighting skills.
“I’ll be right outside if you need me,” the boy informs me before walking away.
Jack doesn’t look up. I wonder if he knows I’m even here. I hear the door close behind the guard.
“What are you doing here, Annabelle?” Okay, so he does know I’m here.
“I thought we needed to talk.”
“I tried to talk to you, until you had your boyfriend beat me up.”
“Holden isn’t my boyfriend,” I say, wondering to myself what exactly he is. “And you got a few punches in yourself.”
“Holden? What kind of name is that? And you two sure looked cozy to me.”
“He’s a friend ...” I say the words, but I don’t even believe them. “I don’t know, maybe there could be something more one day, but for now he’s a friend.” Jack sits silent.
“You never told me how you found me.” I try and jump-start a conversation.
“Your mom ... she’s worried about you,” Jack explains, rising to his feet and walking over to the bars near me. Now I have a clear look at just how bad the beating was for him; one eye is swollen nearly shut.
“Of course she did,” I moan.
“She really is worried about you, Annabelle.” I hate it when he calls me by my full name. It is something my mother does, and it’s always rubbed me the wrong way. It feels condescending when he says it. “We all are.”
“Well, I’m a grown woman, so there’s no need to worry about me.”
“Fine, then can I worry about our child you’re carrying.”
“Please Jack,” I begin, protectively rubbing my hand over my stomach. “Let’s not act like you give a damn about this child. You made it quite clear in Chicago that this kid is just another tool you can use to manipulate me into getting what you want.”
“Is what I want really so bad?” Jack’s voice is tender, which throws me off my game, and I’m not sure how to react at first.
“Yes, when I don’t love you, a future with you would be terrible.”
“I don’t believe you. I still love you, and I miss you. You’re all I’ve thought about since you left.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
I shift and stare directly at him with narrowed eyes. “Like I ran out on you or something. You cheated on me; let’s not forget that. And let’s be real, you only want what you can’t have.”
“Damn it, Anna!” I shiver. I don’t like the way he says Anna either apparently.
“Why do you have to make everything so hard?”
I stand quietly, choosing my next words with care.
“Do you really want to have this talk?”
“That’s why I flew all the way here,” he grumbles, annoyed with me.
“Fine, I’ll have this talk with you, but only if you agree to be one hundred percent honest with me.”
I see him roll his eyes, as if I should assume he’s naturally going to choose to be honest. “Well?” I press.
“Fine, I promise.”
Looking him in the eyes and taking one step closer, I ask without fear or hesitation, “Was she the first?”
He pauses; this is more than enough of an answer for me. “Yes!” he insists at last. “Of course she was.”
“Look at us ... you can’t even be honest with me. Why would we ever be together?”
“What do you want me to say?” he snaps.
I sigh, then in a soft and calm tone I explain, “The truth. If you love me as much as you say you do, don’t you think I deserve that?”
He begins shifting nervously from one foot to the other, avoiding direct eye contact. “We had problems. I’m willing to admit I had a part in that. But I’m willing to work on us. Doesn’t our kid deserve that?”
The answer comes easily. “Our kid deserves to grow up in a happy home, and we don’t make each other happy.”
“But I think we can, if we just try.” His pleading doesn’t bring me the pleasure it did in my dreams.
“No, we can’t.”
“Were you ever happy with me?” He asks, he doesn’t sound angry. I can see he wants to understand.
“Sometimes,” I confess.
“Then give me a chance, and I can do that again. I can be that for you.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Why? Why not?” There’s
a sadness and desperation in him that I’ve rarely seen in our relationship.
“Because I don’t love you anymore.” The words feel so brutal as I say them, but they’re the truth. I watch his expression change, like he’s being stabbed. I don’t want to feel bad for him—he was the one who hurt me—but I can’t help it. At one time I did love him, and now, to hurt him so deeply, it feels as though I am wounding myself.
“So you love him, is that it?”
I hesitate, thinking about the question. “I don’t know ... maybe, maybe not.”
“What does he have that I don’t?” Jack demands.
I shake my head. I want to make him understand, but it seems it’s not something I can do. “It’s not like that. It isn’t a him or you thing. Even if he weren’t in the picture, I still wouldn’t love you. I let you go a long time ago. Probably, if we’re both honest, we were over before I ever caught you cheating.”
“You say that, but I can’t help thinking if I had never screwed up, we would be married today.”
“You mean if you never got caught?” I twist the knife a little to make sure he knows my intentions are unwavering. “Maybe you’re right, but I doubt we’d be happy.”
“How does he make you happy, and I can’t?”
The answer seems too simple, but it’s all I have to offer him. “I guess it’s because I know he’d do anything in the world just to see me smile.”
He doesn’t immediately respond to my statement, but instead he bows his head, a minute of silence passing before he asks in an almost whisper, “So where do we go from here?”
“It seems to me, you have a couple choices,” I begin.
“Really? Because it feels like I don’t have any.” Jacks tone is laced with resentment.
“Hear me out,” I continue, determined to bring some sort of resolution to our lives. “I want you to have a life again, Jack. I may not be in love with you, but on some level I still care about you.”
“Right.” I choose to ignore his muttering.
“I know you have dreams. You’ve always had political goals, so if it’s what you want, I’m willing to leave you off the birth certificate. You’ll have no obligations, no support payments, and you can just move on with your life. I chose to have this baby, not you. I don’t expect anything from you.”