Laurinda Ruby
The Offspring: Book 2
First published by Happenstance Publishing House 2020
Copyright © 2020 by Laurinda Ruby
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Laurinda Ruby asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
First edition
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Dedicated to my husand.
Preface
Julie glared at the plastic stick in her hand, willing it to change from positive to negative. Why had that second line shown up? Hadn’t she been careful? How could this have happened to her?
These were certainly the same questions every woman asked themself upon discovering they were unwantedly pregnant. Still, that brought her no comfort. The overwhelming desire to rewind and erase every second since the moment she’d met Peter came to a realization as she held back the urge to break the pregnancy test in half. What good would that do though? She’d still be pregnant whether she excepted it or not.
Only one question mattered now: What was she going to do about it?
Acknowledgement
I would like to thank Kelby and Erin for giving me your invaluable feedback during the writing process. Also, I would like to thank Emily for turning the first book in this series into an audio book. What would I do without all of you?
Chapter 1
Julie glared at her stomach. She was starting to show. According to the books, that was normal for being four months pregnant. The morning sickness had gone away, but she still felt nauseous most days when she thought about giving birth to—to his child. This wasn’t how a mother should feel. She couldn’t help it though. A part of him would always be with her whether she liked it or not. Her eyes filled with tears as her fingers brushed over where her blouse rested over her midsection.
That night at the restaurant was still clear as a crystal in her memory. After she’d spoken the words out loud to her friends, their mouths fell open. Anne’s eyes had stared at her like the stone eyes of a gargoyle. They were cold and hard. Julie knew that the expression wasn’t aimed at her, it was aimed at Peter. Anne could always feel other people’s pain. It’s what made her a good therapist. Julie had looked from one face to another with dread. Minty’s eyes had already filled halfway with tears. The moment she blinked, the little drops of saltwater rolled down her face. She was the easiest friend to look at because Julie noticed a very slight curve on the edges of Minty’s lips. She was sad like Julie, but she was also happy. That was the beauty of Minty. She could find the silver lining in any situation. It was the quality that would make her such a fierce lawyer someday.
Then Julie’s gaze had finally met Carrie’s bulldog expression. She wondered for a moment if Carrie would stand up and storm out of the restaurant. Her complexion had turned from pale to blush to red. Almost like she wasn’t breathing. Julie had expected her to be the hardest of the three to break the news to. But she hadn’t expected what came next.
“You’re kidding right?” Carrie asked.
Julie shook her head and frowned.
“Are you out of your mind?”
Julie’s head jerked back up as she tore her eyes away from her lap to stare in the direction of her accuser. “What?” she’d asked softly.
“First, you get married to a virtual stranger. No, I’m sorry, you elope with him. Next, you tell us that the guy turned out to be a psycho.” Julie cringed at the words being thrown through the air like they were as soft as cotton, yet hitting her as hard as stones. “Now, you’re pregnant with his child?”
Fortunately, Anne had stepped in. She’d always been the mother hen of the group. “Carrie, I can see you’re upset, but—”
Unfortunately, Carrie wasn’t in a listening mood. “Anne, don’t give me that therapy crap right now. Yes, I’m angry. Don’t tell me how I should be dealing with my anger.” Then her attention returned to Julie. “Are you going to keep the child?”
A wave of heat rushed over Julie’s head. Her father had asked a similar question. Would she give the baby up for adoption? Carrie’s question seemed different. Surely, she wasn’t asking if—
“Are you going to carry the child full-term?” she asked more clearly.
Julie wondered how the air had been physically knocked out of her chest by Carrie’s words. She inhaled hard. “Excuse me?”
“You can’t seriously be thinking about having his child, Julie,” Carrie said coldly.
“Are you asking me if I’m going to have an abortion?” Julie asked finally.
Carrie stared steadily. Julie shook her head and stood, pushing the chair back with her legs. Anne reached for her hand and asked her to sit back down. Julie stepped away from the table and said goodbye as calmly as she could manage. As she walked away, she could hear the three women she’d left behind continue the dispute in hushed restaurant-appropriate volume.
A knock at the door made her jump and almost let out a scream. Julie came out of her sea of memories and was back on the beach in the present. Her mind was back in her office, and someone was knocking on the door.
“Wh-who is it?” she said as evenly as possible, wiping the tears away from her eyes.
Nobody could see her like this. Nobody could know the dread she had. They wouldn’t understand. They couldn’t. Mothers were supposed to be excited. The ones that weren’t were deemed unloving. If only they knew that the father of her unborn child was her—
“Clara. Are you busy?”
“Kind of. What is it?”
“There was a basket for you left at the desk. There’s a note with your name on it.” Her voice was muffled by the door and Julie wondered if she’d heard her right.
“A basket? From who?” Julie asked.
“Doesn’t say. Are you going to open the door or should I take it back to my desk and eat these chocolates by myself.”
Julie’s eyebrows furrowed. Chocolates? Patients used to give gifts all the time, but it’d been a while since she’d received any. She wasn’t surprised. Her hand reached for the doorknob and turned. A gap in the doorway widened until Clara’s full face showed.
“You don’t look so good,” Clara said. “Maybe you should go home and rest. It’s not like you don’t have a good excuse,” she said glancing down at Julie’s stomach.
“I’m fine, Clara. Can you leave the basket on my desk?”
Clara did as she was asked. Then, turning to leave, she offered a sympathetic look. One that says, I’m concerned about you. Yeah, well, Julie had been concerned enough for the both of them for the past four months.
As the door latch clicked shut, Julie felt something kick against her bladder. She doubled over, holding onto a nearby chair. What was th—Oh, right. The baby. She hadn’t gotten used to that yet. The first time it’d happened was two days ago. The doctor said the baby was starting on the early side. His exact words were, “You’ve got a lively one.” Julie had visibly cringed when he’d said it.
Julie attempted to stand upright again. The kicking stopped. Her eyes fell over the basket. It looked like the kind she usually saw at the store around Easter. This one wasn’t filled with chocolate bunnies though. It was filled with roses
, Lindor chocolates, and was that…Swedish Fish? She couldn’t remember telling any of her clients that her favorite candy was Swedish Fish, and considering the elegance of the basket, they hadn’t placed them there by coincidence.
A note attached to the woven basket handle caught Julie’s eyes and she reached for it. Untying the plastic string that kept the note in place, she brought it closer so she could read the small handwriting on it. She gasped just before a small droplet of blood appeared where she’d cut herself on the edge of the paper. Her eyes read as she sucked on the tiny wound that was somehow managing to make her finger throb.
Congratulations are in order I hear…for both of us.
The note fell from her hand and fluttered to the floor like a feather. Like something harmless and soft. It wasn’t harmless though. Julie watched the note as it landed on the carpet. Everything seemed to be happening too fast. Yet, it also felt as if the world had stopped for a moment. Needing to get as far from the basket as possible, Julie stepped back. She stumbled backward as if she’d been pushed, tripping over the carpet and hurdling backward until there was a thud and everything went dark.
***
Julie blinked. The room was blurry, but she could tell immediately where she was. The smell of cinnamon and apple meant she was in her office still. What happened? Her head throbbed as she sat up. Why was she on the ground?
A small note lay beside her ankle. One of the corners was stained red from her blood from where it’d cut her thumb. She remembered now. Her head was pounding, aching, screaming. Twisting around to see what she’d hit, the Venician vase a patient gave her was shattered into pieces.
The door swung open quickly and Clara stood with her eyes popping out of her skull. “What happen—” she started to ask. Her eyes lowered to Julie, then the vase, then Julie again. “You’re bleeding,” she said weakly. Then her voice grew louder. “Like, a lot! Oh my gosh! That’s a lot of blood, Julie.”
Suddenly, Julie realized something warm was running down her neck. Then her back. It slid down her skin too slowly to be sweat. It was blood. She was bleeding a lot. Like a bee drawn to nectar, she couldn’t resist the urge to touch the back of her head. Her hair was wet and sticky at the nape of her neck. Suddenly, her body felt heavy. The room was spinning. She was going to be—the bile rose into her throat too fast for her to catch it. Orangish-brown liquid covered the carpet.
Clara grabbed at her stomach. “Oh my God. I’m going to be sick.”
Her voice sounded far away as if Julie was underwater.
“I’m calling 911,” Clara said, sounding even further away.
Julie stared at her blood-covered hand. She should be panicking, like Clara, but she wasn’t. Julie rested her hand over her stomach, causing red to stain her white blouse. When she removed it, a handprint was left. It reminded her of one of those handprints parents do with their children. Maybe she would bleed to death. Then this would all be over.
***
By the time Julie left the hospital, the sky had turned a greyish color outside. Clara had offered to drive her home, but Julie couldn’t bring herself to say yes. Her apartment in Manhattan was at least an hour’s drive from Clara’s home in Brooklyn.
“You can’t take the subway. You just got stitches,” Clara had protested.
“What does one have to do with the other?” Julie asked.
“You’re not in any condition to be riding on some filthy train right now. That’s what. You should be resting. Please let me drive you home. I would feel a lot better.”
Julie had considered saying yes. Instead, she said, “I’m fine, Clara. Go home. You’ve done enough for me. Really.”
Clara conceded finally. “Call me when you get home then.”
“Yes, Mom.”
There were no open seats on the subway. Of course, there weren’t. It was seven o’clock on a Monday. A mixture of people as diverse as the universe crammed together into the tube-shaped car. Some had nodded off in their seats. Others read the newspaper or scrolled through their phones. Julie stood and tried to keep her balance as the train swayed and shook violently through the tunnels. Normally, she wouldn’t have noticed the swaying. It’d become natural to her over the years, like breathing. She could always spot a tourist by the way they struggled to stand on the subway. They’d grip the railings with white-knuckled hands as if their life depended on it. Now, as the train bobbed and shook, Julie struggled to stay upright without hugging the pole beside her. Who else had touched this pole before her? What diseases patiently awaited a new host to cling to? Julie released the pole only to grab it a moment later when the train took a violent left turn and almost threw her into the stranger beside her. Then, the train stopped.
As she ascended the concrete steps, she couldn’t help but feel as if she was rising from a grave. For thirty minutes, she’d been underground—where she could’ve ended up permanently if the edge of the vase had stabbed one inch lower. The thought made her all too aware of where the doctor had stitched her up. The numbing agent he’d injected into her had worn off completely. A bulk-size bottle of Tylenol was waiting for her at home.
Why hadn’t she just let Clara bring her home again?
Julie’s hand brushed against the stitches as she pulled her jacket around her shoulders. She winced from the pain. The vase had made a clean-cut, according to the doctor, but it was deep. The baby wasn’t harmed by the fall either. The doctor said that was good news. Julie’s blood cell count was normal. She had probably just passed out from the shock of it. Everything was fine.
Good news. Normal. Fine.
It didn’t feel normal or fine to go to a hospital and get stitched up. And nothing the doctor had told her felt like good news. A pang of guilt stabbed at her for having such a terrible and wicked thought.
A chill ran down her back when a gust of wind blew past her. She pulled her jacket around her tightly. Something brushed her back. A hand? It was probably nothing, but Julie looked around. She wasn’t paranoid. Not quite. She was just being observant. Nobody was close enough to have touched her. Besides, even if someone had, it was probably just an accident.
Dead leaves rustled under her boots as she walked toward East Village, which was fortunately only a five-minute walk from the subway. She’d moved into the studio only two months ago. Anne had insisted that she stay at her place longer, even suggesting that they roommate permanently. Julie replayed their last argument in her mind almost every time she walked to her new residence. It was after she read the application form to her.
“Affordable Studio in the East Village! Seconds away from Greenwich Village & Union Square. No fee to apply. Teak wood floors. Newly renovated. Utilities included. Private bathrooms are available at any time. 2 co-signers required.” Julie looked up from her laptop. “Can you be one of the co-signers?”
“Julie, I still don’t think you should be moving out on your own right now. You’ll need help when the baby comes,” Anne had said. “If you’re on maternity leave, you won’t have any income coming in. How are you going to pay rent, buy groceries, and not to mention, diapers. One of my coworkers who just had a baby said she is spending more on diapers than she does on all her other bills combined.
“I think she’s exaggerating a bit, Anne,” Julie said.
“The point is, you are going to need help. And not just financially. Do you know how hard it is to take care of a baby by yourself?” She looked as if she’d tasted something bad. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that you’re alone—”
“I know what you meant. And I am alone. No need to apologize for it.”
“Julie, please just stay here until you can at least go back to work. If not for yourself, do it for the baby.”
The words had stung when they reached Julie’s ears, although she wasn’t sure why. Everything would be about the baby from now on. His baby.
“Anne, I know you’re only trying to help, but I can’t ask you to do that. It’s too much. I’ll be fine. HR has already approved my mate
rnity leave for three months. I’ve been saving up for diapers and clothes and whatever other things the baby might ever need.”
“At least let us throw you a baby shower.”
“I told you, I don’t want one. I have everything I need already.”
Anne was silent for a moment before she finally asked, “Have you thought about what you’ll do when maternity leave is over? You can’t exactly bring your baby to work around mentally unstable patients.”
“I’m going to be doing sessions through Telehealth from home. I won’t have to physically go anywhere.”
“Yeah, but still. You can’t exactly breastfeed while you’re Skyping your patient with schizophrenia either.”
Julie sighed. “I’ll figure it out, Anne. That’s months away. I’ll worry about crossing that bridge when I get to it. Okay?”
“No. Not okay actually. You need to be worrying about it now. Do you even realize you’re having a baby?”
Julie frowned, “Oh, is that why my stomach is getting bigger? I thought it was all the ice cream I’d been eating lately. Of course, I realize I’m having a baby, Anne.”
“You’re deflecting,” she said, speaking like a true therapist. “This isn’t a joke.”
“I know it isn’t. I know better than anyone how much it’s not a joke.”
Julie turned and walked into the narrow alley between the barbershop and wine shop on St. Marks Place. The men inside the barbershop seemed to be having a lively discussion about something. Probably football, with football season coming up and everything. People had been talking about it at work too. Her gaze fell on the display cases of wine in the window of the wine shop. It’d been too long since she’d had a drink.
Her keys jingled in her hand as she approached the door that opened up to a narrow stairwell. For now, ascending two flights of stairs wasn’t a problem, but she couldn’t help but wonder if it’d be too difficult once the baby arrived. She couldn’t picture herself carrying an infant and a stroller up and down these steps once, much less every day. She wouldn’t have a choice. She’d never be able to find another place for nine hundred and twenty dollars a month. Not in Manhattan anyway.
The Offspring Page 1