by Emery Jacobs
“Are you sure about that, Emmie?” he asks.
“Sure about what?” My gaze meets his.
“About you and my brother-in-law?”
“Yes, I’m one hundred percent sure I’m not in any kind of relationship with your brother-in-law. He’s a nice guy and I consider him a friend for helping me out with my car, but that’s it.”
He cocks an eyebrow and purses his lips as he leans onto his desk.
“I’ve known Beau most of my life, and the only other woman I’ve ever seen him look at the way he looks at you is my sister,” he mumbles as he gathers up the signed documents and slides them back into the folder.
I let out a sigh and look Dave square in the eye. “I can assure you that what you’re seeing isn’t there. I like Beau, but only as—”
“Your mechanic. I gotcha, Ms. Carmichael. Beau’s a great guy to have around to fix things, but he’s not your type—or should I say, not in your social class.”
What an asshole.
“I didn’t say that. I just went through a divorce, and I’m not interested in dating, so…. Never mind. This is really none of your business anyway. I came here to sell you my car, not talk about my personal life.” I push up to my feet and slide the strap of my purse over my shoulder. He doesn’t need to know I’ve been having sex with Beau or that he makes me feel all tingly inside. Nobody needs to know the way I feel about him. What I do with Beau is my business, and the way he makes me feel, the way I feel about him… well, that’s for me to know and keep tucked away in my heart for later.
“You have my banking information, right?”
He nods. “Yes, it was all outlined in one of the documents you signed. The money will be deposited in your account on Monday.”
Of course it was in one of the documents I was supposed to have read in its entirety; I guess that’s what I get for not at least skimming the information before I signed. The only thing I want now is to get out of this office and go home.
“Thank you,” I say before turning away from him and heading toward the door.
“He still loves her—he always will.” I stop mid-step but keep my eyes toward the door. I refuse to look at Dave again, because I don’t want him to see all the emotions playing out in my eyes. I try to take in a couple of deep breaths, but I can’t. There’s a tightness in my chest that won’t budge. Why is he telling me this? And why do I care? A wave of nausea grabs ahold of me hard and doesn’t let go. My skin grows clammy as the nausea intensifies. Vomiting the pancakes and bacon I ate earlier isn’t what I want to do, but unfortunately, I don’t think I’m going to have a choice, because the longer I stand here, the worse I feel. I rush out the door and frantically look around the lobby, searching for the bathroom.
“Emmie, are you okay?” Beau’s voice echoes from behind me.
I slap my hand over my mouth and nod.
“Your color doesn’t look good. Are you sure you’re okay?” he continues.
I nod again as I lift my hand from my mouth. “Bathroom,” is the only word I’m able to get out.
Beau grabs my arm and quickly leads me down a hall then shoves open the door to the women’s bathroom. I wiggle free from his hold and rush into the first open stall, slamming the door and locking it.
“Do you need anything?” Beau asks as he taps lightly on the door.
“No, just please go away,” I plead, dropping to my knees and resting my face against the cool wall next to the toilet. I’m so embarrassed.
Heavy-booted footsteps walk across the bathroom floor and then out the door. Thank God, he’s gone.
My stomach rolls a few times with nausea punching me in the gut over and over again until I lose my breakfast in the toilet. “Oh, God,” I mumble as my head hangs over the big, white porcelain throne. I try to keep as much distance as possible between myself and the nastiness of the shitter that’s hosted who knows how many asses. Ugh. With that thought, the dry heaving starts and lasts for what seems like an eternity. I think I may be dying.
I lean against the wall and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Please let it be over. I squeeze my eyes shut and tuck a couple strands of hair behind my ear. After a few minutes, I’m beginning to feel better, so I push myself off the wall slowly and flush the toilet. Once I’m out of the stall and in front of a mirror, I look long and hard at the pale-faced woman reflected there. I clean up my face and use the makeup from my purse to reapply mascara and lipstick. Then I add a touch of bronzer and blush to put some color back into my face.
What just happened? I’ve never had anyone’s words hit me this hard. It has to be something else. I bet I’m coming down with a virus. Hopefully, I can make it home without having Beau pull over for round two. I give myself one last glance and walk back out into the lobby.
21
Beau
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask Emmie as she sips from the bottle of water I picked up from the convenience store next door to the dealership.
When Emmie walked out of Dave’s office earlier, she looked like death. Her face was the palest shade of white I’d ever seen, and when I led her to the bathroom, her skin was slick with sweat. I’m not sure what happened between them, but he said she seemed okay to him, just signed the paperwork, thanked him, and then walked out.
“Yeah, I feel a lot better,” she says, looking over at me from the passenger seat. “It must have been something I ate either last night or this morning.”
I pull out onto the interstate and start our short journey back to Idlewood.
“What did you eat this morning?”
“A pancake and two pieces of turkey bacon,” she says, scrunching her nose. “Can we please not talk about turkey bacon? Just thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach.”
“Oh, yeah, sure. I don’t want to talk about anything that might make you sick again. What about last night? What did you eat?”
“Nothing,” she mumbles, taking another drink of water. “I ate a sandwich yesterday afternoon before Ava, Jane, and I had our weekly meeting at Luna’s.”
“Luna’s?” I question, trying to pretend I don’t know she’s talking about Luna’s Wine Bar, located downtown on the square. It was the first place I ever saw her. She was wearing a white T-shirt, those black stretchy pants she likes to wear, and a pair of running shoes. Her hair was piled on top of her head and she barely had on any makeup. I remember thinking how beautiful she was and not understanding how any man could have walked out on her. Emmie’s laughter filled the small room that day. Even though I didn’t know her, just seeing her smile made my day better—which is weird for me, because it’s been years since anyone other than my son has made my day better.
“Luna’s Wine Bar. The girls and I have our weekly meeting there every Friday afternoon. We mostly talk about wedding planning stuff, and sometimes other stuff, too. It’s my favorite meeting of the week.” She smiles as she screws the top on her bottle of water.
I glance at Emmie as I take the exit toward home. She looks better than she did earlier and I’m glad, because I was worried I’d be stopping all the way home for her to run into random bathrooms to puke. More than that, though, I hated to see her so sick.
“I forgot to tell you Dave gave me copies of the documents you signed. He said you walked out of his office so fast he forgot to give them to you.” I open the console, grab the envelope, and hand it to her.
“Thank you. I was beginning to feel sick while I was in his office. That’s why I rushed out so quickly,” she says as she takes the envelope. She crams it into her purse before sliding her sunglasses over her eyes as she leans back into the seat and blows out a breath. She can tell me she feels better all day long, but her actions speak louder than any words she’s spoken.
I keep my left hand gripping the wheel and slide my right hand across the leather of the passenger seat. My fingers skim her arm and wrist and then I slide my hand into hers. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her lip twitch a couple of times before she smiles.
Touching her today is wrong, because this is it, the end. I’ve already risked more than I should by being with her, and I have a gut feeling Miles is up to something. There’s no way I’m getting off this easy, especially after punching him in the parking lot of my shop and him finding my truck parked in Emmie’s driveway a few weeks ago. I feel like he’s watching and waiting for the right time to rip apart my world—and Emmie’s—but if I walk away from her, then he won’t.
As we pull into town, I remember I need to pick up Rhys from Levi’s house, since he lives on this side of town.
“Hey, are you asleep?” I ask, gently squeezing her hand. I can’t see her eyes, because they’re still hidden behind her sunglasses, and she hasn’t said anything or moved for the last few miles.
“No, just resting. Are we home?” she mumbles.
I take a right on Pear Street and head toward Levi’s house.
“Yeah, we’re in Idlewood, but I need to pick up Rhys at his friend’s house. Are you good with that?”
The thought of having Rhys and Emmie in the car together does make me uncomfortable, mainly because Rhys has never seen me with any women throughout the years, but it’s only a ten-minute ride from Levi’s house to Emmie’s, so it should be okay. After all, what’s the worst that could happen?
Emmie nods and shifts her weight so she’s sitting up straight. I pull into the driveway, and Rhys is out the front door of the house before I park my truck. I slip my hand from Emmie’s hold and reach behind me to be sure there’s room for my son and his bag in the back.
My stomach twists into knots as he pulls open the door and climbs inside. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. I should have taken Emmie home first.
“Happy Birthday, son,” I say as Rhys buckles his seat belt. “How does it feel to finally be eleven?”
“Same as ten.” He laughs, and then his eyes immediately shoot to Emmie.
She pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head, turns toward him, and smiles.
“Rhys, this is Emmie,” I say as my eyes ping-pong between the two of them.
“Hi, Rhys,” Emmie says, holding her hand out for him to accept. “Happy Birthday.”
Rhys puts his hand in hers and grins. “So, Dad, is Emmie your girlfriend? Will she be spending the night tonight?” He releases her hand and settles into the back seat.
“Whoa, hold on a second,” I choke out as Emmie gasps and slaps her hand over her mouth. “Emmie is my friend and a customer at the shop. We went to Uncle Dave’s dealership today, because he bought her car.”
I glance over at Emmie and nod. She’s wearing a huge grin.
“It’s okay if she’s your girlfriend. Charlie’s dad has a girlfriend, and she spends the night at his house all the time,” Rhys says, shifting in his seat. “And he doesn’t keep the same girlfriend for more than a month, because he gets tired of them and wants someone else. Usually it’s somebody younger than his last girlfriend.”
“How do you know so much about Charlie’s dad?”
“Charlie tells us, and one time when I spent the night at his house, she was there—his dad’s girlfriend. They even sleep in the same bed,” Rhys says as he looks from me to Emmie. “Are you going to sleep in my dad’s bed?”
Fuck! This is not the conversation I thought we’d be having.
Emmie’s eyes widen as she looks at me for help.
“No, and don’t ask to spend the night at Charlie’s house anymore, because the answer will be no,” I say as I throw the truck in reverse and back out of the driveway. “Now apologize to Emmie for being so rude. You should never ask a lady whose bed she’s sleeping in.” My voice is thick and stern.
I cannot believe I just had to defend myself to my eleven-year-old son. I can only imagine what questions he will ask as a teenager.
“Dad,” he pleads, falling back into the seat.
We start our ten-minute drive to Emmie’s, and for all our sakes, I hope this conversation is over.
“Don’t Dad me. You know better than to ask questions like that in front of company.”
“I’m sorry I asked you if you were going to sleep in my dad’s bed,” he mumbles. “I wasn’t trying to be rude. I was kind of hoping you were my dad’s girlfriend so you could come to my birthday dinner tonight. My Nona is making homemade pizza and breadsticks. It’s my favorite,” Rhys says, looking downward. His words are so soft I can barely hear him. The tone of his voice pisses me off, though I’m not mad at him, but at myself. Does he need a female role model in his life? He has Mom and Hannah, and he’s never asked me about a girlfriend before today. But then again, he’s never been around me with a woman. Emmie’s the first.
I turn into her driveway, noticing the For Sale sign again. Dammit, I meant to ask her about that earlier today. I park next to the sidewalk leading to her front door and leave the engine running.
Emmie leans over the seat and puts two fingers under Rhys’s chin, lifting his head until his gaze meets hers. “Aw, honey, I would love to celebrate your birthday with you tonight, but I’ve been sick today, and I don’t want to take a chance of passing this virus on to you or your family.” She smiles and then looks at me for a moment before focusing her attention back on my son. God, this woman is fucking with my heart, and that is not allowed—not ever. “Maybe when I feel better, you and I can go to that new dinner-and-a-movie theater in town,” Emmie tells him.
Rhys smiles and nods before looking at me.
“Can I go? Just me and Emmie?” he asks.
“Yeah, when she’s feeling better.”
Emmie winks at Rhys and his cheeks redden. I know how he feels, because she has the same effect on me—well, almost the same effect.
I open my door and climb out, meeting Emmie at the front of my truck.
“Thank you for taking me today,” she says, her blue eyes meeting mine.
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
“I’m sure it’s just a stomach bug.” She smiles at me before moving in closer. She squeezes my hand gently then heads toward her house.
“Hey, sorry about… you know”—I motion toward the truck— “all the questions.”
When she reaches the door, she turns around and waves at Rhys, who is now sitting in the front seat.
“No worries,” she says before she walks inside.
22
Emmie
“I’m pregnant.” I pull back the peel of the banana I’ve been craving since I woke up this morning and then break off a small piece. A cold knot forms in my stomach as soon as the words fall from my lips. I’m still in shock, to say the least. I spent an entire year trying to get pregnant again in hopes of saving my marriage, and it never happened. I have sex with Beau twice without any promise of a relationship, and here I am, pregnant and unmarried at twenty-nine.
Ava coughs a couple times and then coffee spews from her mouth. Gross. Jane narrows her eyes at me before her vanilla latte crashes onto the floor. Oops.
We’re having breakfast before work at The Busy Bean. It’s a cute little coffee house just down the street from the office. I decided I should go ahead and break the news to somebody, and they were the first two somebodies I’ve been around since I took a pregnancy test yesterday.
I was sick all day on Saturday and hoped maybe it was a stomach virus. Then I was so sick on Sunday that I didn’t crawl out of bed for anything other than to vomit and pee. I knew I was pregnant before I even peed on the stick. Being pregnant is just one of those things in my life where I always know, but this time I wanted the test to be negative. I don’t want to live through another miscarriage. Dealing with the loss never gets easier, and the pain stays forever.
Luckily, I didn’t have to make a trip to the drugstore, because I had a couple of pregnancy tests tucked away in a drawer in the upstairs bathroom from when I was married. I’m feeling less sick today, which is good, but my emotions are all over the place, which is terrible.
I look at Jane and then at Ava. Both are staring at
me like I’ve suddenly sprouted horns.
“Please tell me you didn’t sleep with your ex,” Jane blurts out.
Ava stares at me with wide eyes and an open mouth. She knows the truth, and from the look on her face, she’s afraid for me to tell Jane—and probably anybody else.
My eyes dart to Jane. “I can’t believe you even spoke those words.”
“Well, I know you aren’t seeing Andrew after what he did. So, if it’s not Max, who’s the father?” Jane leans back in her chair and folds her arms across her chest.
My eyes flick to Ava, and she’s shaking her head. It’s in this moment I realize that I should’ve kept this secret to myself, because just like the three before it, this pregnancy will end in a miscarriage and no one would have ever known. God, the thought of going through this alone makes me sad. I’ve never been able to carry a baby longer than eight weeks. The first two, I miscarried at eight weeks, and the third, I lost only a few days after I found out I was pregnant. Each loss broke my heart, and I had to live through several months of grieving. My ex-husband may not have truly loved me like he said he did, but he was always there for me. He held me while I cried and mourned, and then he would wipe away my tears and promise me there would be a next time—tell me to be strong and hold on to our dreams. This time is different; I’ll go through all that grieving alone.
“You don’t know him,” I tell Jane.
Ava tenses slightly before she uses her napkin to wipe up her mess from earlier. She looks at me and then over at Jane, her eyes still full of panic. She knows this conversation is about to get ugly.
“Try me,” Jane snaps back.
“I’d rather not.” My voice is soft and shaky.
“Stop being ridiculous, Emmie. You’re pregnant, for fuck’s sake. It’s not going away. Everyone will know, so what are you going to do, never tell anyone who the father is?”