by Wylde, Tara
I hold onto the afterglow till it starts to feel more sticky than dreamy. Diana joins me in the shower, and we take our time with the soap, washing each other cleaner than we strictly need to be. If we can string together enough of these kinds of moments, maybe the rest won’t matter so much. Here in the shower, with the steam rising around us, we could be in our own little world, safe from the investors and the press and the looming threat of disgrace .
But when we finally stumble back to bed, I lie awake for a long time. The night might be a safe haven, but morning always comes .
14
D iana
I’m in the conservatory, watching the early damselflies dart around the lily pond, when it comes to me: a dawning certainty, settling over me all at once .
Green tea stopped tasting right to me last week. Today, it’s marmalade, bitter on the tongue where it ought to be sweet. And I’m tired: I could chalk it up to the endless cycle of balls and drives and fundraisers—even a half-marathon I somehow got roped into, for a new women’s shelter—but that’s not it. Or not all of it .
We’ve been so careful: I’ve been on the pill all along, and we’ve used condoms every time, but I can feel it. Something went wrong, somewhere down the line, and everything’s about to change .
I push my plate away, and sip my water instead. I’ll have to tell James—and who knows how he’ll react?—but first, I need to think this through, myself. Life can’t go on the way it has been, if it’s not going to be just the two of us. Everything’s fine on the surface, but there are serpents underneath. Nasmith’s been a plague lately: I’ve seen the dark sedans following me into town, the flash of cameras where none should be .
James has been stressed, too, hounded at work and at home. It’s like they’re trying to squeeze the last of his usefulness out of him before the hammer comes down. And I have no doubt it will: for all we’re living like saints, if you dig long enough and hard enough, there are going to be worms in the soil .
It’s time to put a stop to this. I’ve been taking down the license plates of every suspicious car, tallying up the phone calls outside working hours. Maybe we could make a case for harassment. Tom might be able to help. He still hasn’t warmed to me, but he’d at least do it for James .
Something tugs at my heart: a faint stirring of excitement. This...might not be bad news. It might even be just what we need to break free of the shadow that’s hung over us from the start. I’ve always wanted kids, and James—he hasn’t said as much, but I’ve seen the way he smiles at the families in the park .
I push back from the table and head upstairs, checking out my reflection in the hall mirror on the way past. I’m not showing at all, but I suppose it’s early. I’ll have to go to the doctor, find out just how early—I suppose that means Nasmith’ll find out, too .
No. This should be a happy time. Will be a happy time. The moment will soon come to confront those serpents, but until it does, they have no place in my thoughts .
My phone vibrates, bringing me back to reality. “Hello ?”
It’s James. His voice is faint and crackly, like he’s calling from underground. “Hey—can you hear me ?”
“Yeah, just. Where are you ?”
“St. John’s Trail—kinda—“ A burst of static crackles down the line, and for a moment, I think I’ve lost him. “Sorry—you still there ?”
“Yeah. What are you doing all the way out there?” Something cold coils in my gut. “Did something happen at work ?”
“No, just...one of those days. Had to get out of there .”
“Nasmith?”
“Yeah.” I hear shuffling, the snapping of twigs. “Some shit about—you don’t want to know. The things that come out of that man’s mouth... It’s like he’s got his anus on the wrong end.” He sighs, deep and defeated. “Listen, I thought we could do something tonight. Something nice, away from it all. Are you free ?”
“I can be.” There’s a library committee meeting, but I can’t imagine the roof’ll cave in if I blow that off. “What’d you have in mind ?”
Static hisses again, louder this time. “—a surprise. Five o’clock ?”
“I can’t hear you, but—yes! Just get home! I’ll be waiting .”
I hang up, more disturbed than I’d like to admit. It’s not like James to run out of work in the middle of the day. Something must’ve got to him, more than he wants to let on. And now I’ve got to tell him—maybe I should wait .
Maybe there’s no time to wait .
I’ll take a test: if that strip’s anything but bright, clear blue, I’ll hold off. If it’s for sure, I can’t hide it. Not with so much at stake .
* * *
J ames pulls up around five. Right on schedule. Hope I’m dressed right: never did find out where we’re going. That’s kind of the least of my worries, but, hey. One thing at a time. If he’s in a terrible mood—If something really has happened —
He steps out of the car. Opens the door for me. He’s smiling—nothing in his demeanor suggests disaster. So, that’s a start. I sink into the bucket seat, fighting the compulsion to close my eyes. If I do, I might drift off. Not the best start to our evening .
We’re halfway down Haist Street before I think to ask where we’re going. James just winks and turns us in the direction of St. Catharines. I try to think of what’s out there, where he could possibly be taking me—the university? A restaurant? But it’s not till we sail past downtown, all the way to Lake Ontario, that I get the idea .
“The carousel ?”
“Damn—busted!” He shakes his head. “Hoped you’d somehow never been .”
“I’ve never ridden it .”
“Seriously? How does that happen ?”
I glance out the window, toward the glimpses of water visible between the buildings. “Well, first I was too scared, then I was too cool for baby stuff—Last time I came out here was in high school, and I was going to ride it, for sure, but ....”
“But...?”
“I got dumped .”
James snorts. “Sorry! That’s not funny, but you? Dumped? At the most romantic place this side of the Falls?” He shakes his head. “That’s just not fair .”
I shrug. Somehow, the memory’s lost its sting. “Well, we’ll make up for it tonight. You and me, on the horseys .”
“And the giraffes. Don’t forget the giraffes.” He reaches over and pats my leg. Whatever was bothering him this morning seems to have passed. Maybe he just needed to walk it off. I feel a good mood sneaking up on me as he noses into the parking lot. The carousel’s nostalgic tune’s drifting in the window already. I can hear children shrieking and laughing. I guess if there was ever an ideal place to break my news, this might be it .
“Can’t believe it’s still five cents a ride.” James digs in his pockets. “Shit—can’t believe it. Got a nickel ?”
I toss him one, rolling my eyes. Only James would plan a trip to the carousel and forget to bring change. “I’ll take the white horse .”
“Gray for me, then.” James hops up next to me, grinning as the ride grinds to life. I close my eyes and savor the warm spring evening. There’s a fresh breeze off the water, carrying a faint beachy smell. It’s comforting. Reminds me of holidays and Dad’s rubber boots, the ones he always wore to the shore. Didn’t like the water, but he’d sit for hours, watching —
I blink the memory away before I can start to tear up. James is getting right into the experience, holding up his phone to record me on my horse. I wave for posterity, wondering if our kid might be watching this someday, knowing he—or she—was there with us, sharing the moment .
I find myself slipping further into the fantasy, picturing James holding a laughing little boy on his lap as his horse glides up and down on its pole. It feels almost real, like I could blink and watch it come to life .
I feel almost robbed when the ride comes to an end. Stepping off feels like letting go of something—something that could be mine, but isn’t yet. Something that could still b
e snatched away .
After the carousel, we wander down the beach. The afternoon’s dwindled to a hazy glow, sunlight dancing on the water. We take off our shoes and walk hand in hand in the shallows, tiny waves breaking over our feet. It’s still cold as hell, even late in May, but James doesn’t seem to mind, and neither do I .
When we run out of sand, we head down the pier. Gulls cry overhead. No one else is out here. Voices carry from the beach, but they seem to belong to another world, one we’ve left behind .
“So, I....” I look out over the water. I don’t think James will react badly, but if he does, this could be our last happy moment. I slip my arm around his waist, pull him in for a kiss. He responds warmly, holding me so close the breath goes out of me. I let him take his fill, long, lingering moments stretching into the golden hour .
“Were you going to say something?” he asks when he finally pulls away .
“Just that I’m—“ I can’t say it. The moment’s here, and the words are stuck behind a lump in my throat, refusing to break free .
“You’re...?”
I take his hand and place it on my belly, palm flat. He stares, jaw going slack. Slowly, slowly, a grin spreads over his face .
“Wait, you—But how ?”
“The usual way.” I try a wink, but I’m still too nervous—I just about manage an owlish blink .
“But we used....” He leans in for another kiss. “Oh! Who cares? It happened—it really did? Are you sure ?”
I nod. “Took the test this afternoon. Three of them, actually. All blue .”
“Wow, that’s—that’s perfect. That’s....” He sweeps me into his arms, spinning me around till I start to get dizzy. “I was having such a shit day, and I thought—I just wanted—Y’know, I figured we’d come here, flash back to a simpler time, but now.... Now, we have all that to look forward to, for ourselves .”
We really do. For the first time, I let myself think about first steps, first words, first days of school—with James on board, it’s all real. All possible .
He squeezes my hands. “We have to celebrate. Champagne, or—no. Sparkling grape juice. A bubble bath. Whatever you’re craving—is it too soon for cravings? Whatever you want .”
All of that sounds great. I’m not sure it’s an official pregnancy craving, but I could use some ice cream. Maybe in the bath. With James holding me in his arms, feeding me tiny, sweet spoonfuls .
The walk back to the car feels very different, charged with a new kind of excitement. James is practically beaming with pride, and I’m more resolved than ever to winkle us out from under Nasmith’s heel .
No one’s going to spoil this for us—no one and nothing .
15
J ames
I can’t get enough of the new, gentle roundness of Diana’s belly, the firm swell of her breasts. She’s been sleeping later since we got the news, and I’ve come to treasure these mornings, waking up to her in my arms, instead of puttering around the kitchen .
She stirs and sighs, and I bury my face in her hair. Don’t want her to move just yet. There’s a long day ahead of us, but for now, we have time .
I slide one arm around her waist, tracing that expectant curve I’ve come to love. Diana’s warm, heavy with sleep, but her hand comes up to cover mine. She guides it around in a wide semicircle, coming to rest at the base of her stomach, where the curve’s most pronounced .
I tuck her hair behind her ear. “Dream of anything good ?”
“Only you....” She stretches, stifling a yawn .
“Mm? Was I doing anything interesting ?”
“You were painting my belly.” She laughs. “It was silly .”
“I’ll be the judge of that. What kind of painting?” I sweep my fingers like a paintbrush, making her squirm. She’s been more ticklish since she’s been pregnant—more sensitive in every way .
“I guess...abstract expressionist?” She takes my hand again, making broad, swirling strokes. “Big whorls and spirals. Like the sun. Yellow and orange in the middle, bright blue sky all around .”
“I like that.” I keep swirling, liking the sensation. “I should hire someone to do your portrait like that—all rosy and glowing, with the sun down below. Like the Madonna, only...hot .”
That gets me an elbow in the ribs. “Way to make it weird .”
“Sorry.” I make it up to her with some kisses to the back of her neck, soft and whispery, just the way she likes. “Wish we could stay like this all morning. Make love and eat strawberries; let the postman ring twice .”
“Throw our phones in the pond ....”
“And our tablets, and my beeper—anything that makes noise .”
She curls more tightly into my embrace. “That would be perfect .”
The soft press of her body against mine emboldens me. I slide one finger between her thighs, running it along the length of her slit. Her faint shudder has me hard as a rock, eager for more. But the minute hand’s creeping up on the hour. Any second now, the alarm will go off, shattering our reverie. “Later, when we get home ....”
“I’ll bring the strawberries.” She reaches out and kills the alarm, pulling away in the same motion. “You bring your bad self. And some cream .”
A patch of sun lands on her belly as she stands and stretches, and for a moment, I can see the painting from her dream, clear as day. Then, she glides off in the direction of the bathroom, and the vision fades .
Outside the sanctuary of the covers, it’s shaping up to be a warm July day. I can hear the crickets chirping outside. Percy’s barking at something, probably a cat. I can’t quite shake that idle morning feeling—even now, with my school days far behind me, this time of year feels like it ought to be a holiday. I find myself resenting my shirt as I button it up. Feeling rebellious, I leave my tie loose, with the top button open above it .
I stop by the bathroom to kiss Diana goodbye as she soaks in the tub. Pretty soon, she’ll be on her way out, too, but I can’t begrudge her this little indulgence. She deserves it. She deserves everything .
A sunshower blows in on my drive to work, drizzling rain from the clear blue sky. While I’m parked waiting for the canal bridge to come down, I notice someone’s scratched a couple of letters off the sign, so it reads “ANAL BRID E.” And, as if to prove bad omens come in threes, Nasmith starts calling as I pull within sight of the Falls .
I let him go to voicemail, once, twice, three times—what the hell does he want? I’m not even fifteen minutes out—whatever it is, it can wait. Preferably till lunchtime, or better yet, the end of the day, when I can wring a little satisfaction out of making him trot along behind me on my way out the door .
Or, hey. Maybe he’ll be waiting in the foyer, brandishing a newspaper when I walk in. Because, of course he is. I do a graceless half-turn, entertaining some half-baked notion of pretending I’ve left something in my car, but it’s too late. I’ve been spotted .
“Dr. Ashby !”
I can still cut this short. If I can get to my computer, I can give him my best impression of someone who’s just got an urgent e-mail. Fob him off with distracted uh-huh s till he gives up in disgust .
He catches up to me at the elevator. “Got somewhere to be ?”
“Rounds.” I press for five. “Just gonna be in and out, so how about you make this quick ?”
Nasmith thrusts the paper into my hand, tapping a picture with his finger: Diana, smiling for the camera in her favorite green dress. I smile in spite of myself. “Very nice, but I don’t have time for the society pages .”
“Oh, that’s not—no, no, no.” He unfolds the paper to reveal the caption: CHARITY FRAUD EXPOSED .
I snatch it back. The elevator dings. I stand dumbly as the doors hiss open, then shut, skimming the article without taking in a word. If Nasmith’s grinning right now—if I look up and see that oily, smarmy —
“You didn’t know about this ?”
“About—?” I’m gaping. Lost. This is —
Nasmith drops a photocopy on top of the paper with a huff. “It’s all right here. Confirmation .”
A check. I’m looking at a canceled check, some kind of government issue. It’s almost two years old. I shake my head, trying to make sense of it .
“Last I heard, you’re not supposed to cash those after the death of the beneficiary.” Nasmith snatches it back. The newspaper article finally swims into focus, the words falling into place. A pension check—Diana cashed her father’s last pension check, several days after he’d ....
Oh.
A mistake, surely—an oversight. Something she probably corrected .
I swipe my hand over my eyes to clear the fog. “Charity fraud, though? This makes it sound like she was, I don’t know, snatching food out of the mouths of starving orphans .”
“This is bad enough .”
“How’d they even—“ I round on him, furious. “You. This is you. No one else was even looking into her. Don’t think we haven’t noticed the cars, the — “
“I hardly think — “
“You’ve been following us, harassing us, looking for the slightest — “
“Now, hold on one minute !”
I edge into his personal space. “I mean, if this came from the police, or the government, we’d have heard all about it by now. There’d have been questions. Fines to pay. This is a smear campaign. Pure and simple.” I advance on Nasmith. He’s a big man, but I have several inches on him, and a good head of steam going besides .
He holds up his hands. When I don’t stop, he takes a step back, and another, till his head raps against the sliding doors. “Hey, now! Don’t — “
Gonna make raspberry jam of this guy. I clench my fists at my sides .
Nasmith mashes the call button, eyes wide and frantic .
“It’s on six.” I grin. A small, sadistic part of me is reveling in his terror. Maybe if he pisses himself, I’ll let his humiliation be punishment enough .
I lurch forward like I’m about to throw a punch. He squeaks like a mouse, flattening himself against the doors .