The rest of the students make their way down the hallway toward our classroom. Two boys push at each other, knocking into a quiet little redhead with long pigtails. She doesn’t say anything to them—she rarely says anything at all—so it’s my job to make sure the boys understand that horsing around isn’t permitted inside the school and remind them to apologize to little Emily. Her father passed away last year, and the little one hasn’t been the same since. I’ve spent many moments on the phone with her mother or visiting with her in person to assure that we’re doing everything we can to help Emily learn and grow as a person, and hopefully, come out of her shell soon. It’ll take time, and only the child knows the schedule.
“Good morning, Emily,” I say sweetly and quietly as she gets ready to pass through the door.
“Hi.” That’s all I get. That’s all I ever get for a greeting.
Closing my eyes, I get ready for my day. I push aside the looming sickness, the sadness I feel when I think about my ex-husband, and the despair that engulfs me for little Emily. That one right there is what makes my heart race in overtime. It’s part of the reason I pushed Harrison away when I did. We had a plan, and that plan was to transpire by my thirtieth birthday.
Tomorrow.
And it’s a reminder that we failed.
I slip inside my classroom and meet the students at the hooks in the back. I watch as they go through their routine of hanging their jackets and book bags from their designated hooks, place their empty folders in the take-home folder bin, and gather around the brightly colored reading rug. As soon as everyone’s set, I join them, sitting cross-legged in their circle. “Good morning, friends. Are you ready to begin?” I ask, watching as they all nod. “Well, it’s Friday, so we’re going to go around the circle and you can tell your classmates what you’re excited about for this weekend. Allie, you’re the room leader today, so you go first.”
We go around the room, each student eagerly sharing their weekend plans or something they’re looking forward to. When it’s Emily’s turn, she tucks her chin and whispers, “I’m going to my grandma’s house.”
My heart pitter-patters a heavy beat in my chest. Emily’s mom had confided in me that Emily often spends the weekend with her grandma so she could work at a local diner, where she’s a waitress. The weekend shifts bring in more money, which has been scarce ever since her husband passed away. They’ve managed to stay in their family home, as well as seek a few additional services from a counselor for Emily, but I know money is very tight for them.
“That sounds like fun. I’m sure you and your grandma are going to have a wonderful weekend together,” I tell her with a soft smile. She doesn’t return it. “You know, you’re very lucky, Emily. My grandparents passed away either before I was born or when I was very young. The fact that you get to spend time with your grandma is wonderful.” Again, I offer a reassuring, friendly smile to the little girl who has already experienced so much heartache and hurt in her short four years.
“My grandpa watches The Price is Right all day! He smokes cigars and calls his neighbor a jerk,” Carson says proudly, making the other students giggle.
“We don’t say jerk,” I state.
“My papa smells like fish!” Helena proclaims, again sending another round of laughter through my room.
I smile, listening to them all share their stories, not even worrying a second that we’ve reached the end of our time on the rug. But coloring and working on word association for the letter P can wait a few more minutes. The train wreck that is my life can wait. Spending the morning with these precious little beings is my top priority, and their laughter does wonders for my soul.
Today, they’re just what I needed.
“Happy Birthday to Gwen, Happy Birthday to you!” the crowd sings, bringing a smile to my face. I bend forward and blow the two candles. A three and a zero. In that exact order.
“Happy Birthday, sweetheart,” my mom says, wrapping her arms around me and pulling me into her petite frame.
“Thanks, Mom. So glad you guys could be here,” I tell her, glancing around at the familiar walls of Twist of Lime, my favorite local hangout. Well, it used to be my favorite. Now, it seems to hold too many memories of my past. I haven’t been here in nearly a year, and when my sister informed me we were headed here, I tried to back out. I didn’t want to come.
Not without Harrison.
“Look! Aunt Tina is here! Let’s go say hello,” Mom says to Dad, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him toward the front door.
“Here,” my little sister, Gabriella, or Gabby as I call her, says as she thrusts a plate of chocolate cake in my hand. “I can’t believe my big sister is finally thirty.”
“Me either,” I reply, shoveling a bite of the rich chocolaty cake into my mouth before I say too much.
“Stop being so damn gloomy, Gwen. It’s a celebration,” she argues, firmly planting her hands on her hips.
“You look like Mom when you have that face,” I inform her, my mouth full of dessert.
She gasps. “Do not!”
I can’t help but laugh. “Do too. You’re gonna be just like her,” I tease.
“Not me,” Gabby says. “You’re just like her.”
The thought stops my fork and causes my heart to stutter. I used to think just that; that I was just like her. Married at twenty-two to the love of her life. Maybe a baby on the way not too long after. Of course, my dream turned out much different than my mom’s. My dream was a cute little dark-haired, dark-eyed son or daughter running around who was the spitting image of his or her father. Actually, that was both our dreams. Though, he’d argue the baby would look just like me.
Twenty-five.
That’s when we thought it would happen.
But life stepped in.
Harrison became the most sought-after trainer at the gym. Even though, as the boss, he had control of his hours, he was busy, his schedule packed. Then the owner approached with the offer: Buy the gym and keep it local. A large corporation wanted it, but the man who built it from his blood, sweat, and tears didn’t want that to happen. Together, we made the decision that forever altered our lives. All Fit became his—ours, technically. Even though my name is on the business, I’ve never had anything to do with it. Even now, after the divorce, he insisted I stay on as co-owner. A silent partner, if you will, that could receive a small check of the profits each year.
With that one life-altering change, everything else became modified as well. Our dream of becoming parents at twenty-five was pushed to twenty-seven. Then twenty-eight. He started working six and seven days a week, more hours than any one person should. It was for the business, I know. The gym took off, and in a way, so did my husband. That one single gym will branch into two, and eventually three. In the last few years, All Fit has become a household name, including fitness videos, vitamin supplements, and other tools to improve the mind, as well as the body. The business is growing in leaps and bounds, and by the end of the year, there should be two additional All Fit locations joining the flagship location.
I’ve always been proud of him and probably always will be. His dream wasn’t to own a gym and watch it grow like weeds in a flowerbed, but it did. His life changed with that one decision and forever changed the course of our path together. We hit the fork in the road. He went one way, and I went the other.
Sadness sweeps in and my stomach rolls. The once-delicious cake now tastes like sawdust in my mouth. “Stop it,” Gabby chastises.
“Stop what?” I ask, though I know exactly what she’s talking about.
“You know what. Push him out of your mind, Gwen,” she says, and my eyes inadvertently sweep to the front door one more time. He’s not coming tonight, I know, but I can’t stop looking for him. It’s like he’s embedded in my brain somehow. “He probably would have missed tonight anyway,” she adds with annoyance.
Gabby loved Harrison. Being two years younger than me, she was that bratty little sister who followed me everywhere.
When I met Harrison in college, her senior year of high school, Gabby instantly took a liking to him, and he her. In a way, he became the older brother neither of us ever had and often treated her as such. He was overprotective and overbearing where she was concerned, but that never bothered her. She thrived off it.
Now, after the divorce, she’s not exactly his biggest fan. Even though I’ve told her many times that he wasn’t the only factor in the demise of our marriage, she refuses to see him as anything but the sole reason for our separation. She’s angry at him because he left her too, and my heart breaks a little every time I see the devastation reflecting in her eyes. Divorce has a way of taking a toll on everyone, not just the husband and wife.
“He wouldn’t have,” I quickly defend. Harrison wasn’t always there when I needed him, but I know in my heart, this was an event he wouldn’t have missed for anything.
Gabby rolls her eyes and stares at the door. “He would have insisted on more decorations,” she says softly, the hint of a smile playing on her lips.
I glance around at the single banner taped to the wall announcing my thirtieth birthday, and at the handful of helium balloons on the tables. Harrison would have gone all out, for sure. My mind quickly flips back to my twenty-fifth birthday, where he had streamers falling from the ceiling and more balloons than a party supply store. The cake had two tiers and the spread of food catered from my favorite Mexican restaurant. We celebrated my birthday hard that night, rocking it until the wee hours of the morning, before he took me home and made love to me in our bed. Everything changed a week later when he met with his boss. Nothing has been the same since.
My stomach lurches again, and I quickly deposit my plate down on the nearest table.
“Are you okay? You’re looking a little… green,” Gabby says, worry filling her eyes.
“Yeah, it’s this stupid flu bug. One of my students shared it with me, and I can’t seem to kick it.”
My head starts to heat and my hands become clammy. I know what’s about to happen. I take off for the bathroom, throwing open the door, and barely making it to the toilet before my body purges what little food I ate earlier in the day.
“Geez, Gwenny!” my sister bellows as she enters the bathroom and pushes on the stall door. She rushes over to the sink and grabs a paper towel to wet. The dry heaves subside and a mixture of relief and fatigue rushes through my body. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re knocked up.”
I know she’s joking, but her words strike me like a lightning bolt straight to the heart. Gasping for air, memories flood my mind—memories of Harrison and me. Together.
“…and that can’t be because you’d have to have sex in order to get pregnant, and we both know that’s not happening,” she continues with a laugh.
Sex.
Oh, God!
We had sex!
Unprotected sex!
Gabby returns to the stall and sets the wet paper cloth over my forehead. My mind is still reeling with realization and shock as she continues to talk about the different flu strands going around her office, but I already know.
I don’t have the flu.
When I begin to lose feeling in my legs from crouching beside the toilet, I start to stand. Gabby’s right there to help me. “You should go home,” she says, placing her hand on my forehead. “You don’t have a fever, but I don’t think you should stay and risk getting everyone sick.”
“You’re right,” I mumble, my mind swimming with uncertainty as she wraps her arm around my shoulder and guides me to the bathroom door.
“I’ll make regrets for you to everyone, and when I get them cleared out, I’ll come over,” she says.
“No, don’t do that. I’m just going to head home and rest. You don’t need to come over just to watch me sleep.” Lie. I’m not headed home, at least not yet. I’ll be making a trip to the drug store first to buy a pregnancy test.
Then what?
What if it’s actually positive?
Harrison flashes through my mind.
Oh, God, I’m going to have to tell him, and say what? Hey, Harrison, remember me, your ex-wife? The one you slept with mere minutes after our divorce was final? Well, good news, I’m pregnant.
My stomach recoils, but I don’t think it’s pregnancy-related sickness. It’s stress from having to tell my ex-husband that I’m pregnant with his baby. How did this happen? Well, I know how this happened, but how did this become my life? I’m like a walking episode of The Young and the Restless. What are my preschool parents going to think of me?
Gabby guides me down the hallway and to the table where we’ve stashed my purse. As if on autopilot, I smile politely while retrieving my belongings and make my way to the exit.
“Honey, are you all right?” Mom asks, coming up behind us with a look of worry on her face.
“Yeah, just a touch of the flu,” I answer, the lie rolling too easily off my tongue.
“Oh, no. Well, feel better. If you’re not well tomorrow, text me, and I’ll bring you some soup,” she replies, pulling me into her arms and giving me a warm hug.
“I will. Please give my regards to everyone. I really appreciate you all throwing me this party,” I add.
“It was nothing,” Mom says with the flick of her hand before setting it on my forehead. “It’s not every day your oldest turns thirty.”
“No, I guess not.”
“Do you want Dad to drive you home?” she offers, glancing over at Gabby.
“No, that’s okay. I can drive. My stomach isn’t too bad now, so I think I can make it home.”
She continues to look on with that motherly watchful eye, and I almost crack under the pressure. She knows I’m lying, but, if I am pregnant, I don’t want to tell them first. Harrison deserves to know before my family, which is why I continue the flu charade for just a little longer. “Well, if you’re sure… I’ll stop by tomorrow and check on you.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I reply, giving her another hug, before being ushered out of the bar and escorted to my car.
“I’ll text you in the morning,” Gabby says, full of concern.
“I’ll be fine, but thank you,” I reply quickly before climbing into my car. As I crank over the engine, I throw her a wave, plaster on a fake smile, and back out of my parking spot.
My mind is a mess of nerves and excitement as I drive toward the nearest drug store. Could I really be pregnant? The symptoms match up. Nausea, tired, and tender boobs. Plus, I missed my period this month, but I just chalked that up to the stress. It’s not like my monthly cycle has been normal since the separation. In fact, since I stopped taking my birth control several months back, my period has been all over the place. It’s not like I had a reason to stay on the pill, anyway.
I pull up to a stoplight, my hands trembling with nerves. I release the steering wheel and try to shake them out a little, my fingers feeling a bit cold. The light changes to green, and I slowly start to pull into the intersection. I see the flash of light only moments before the horn sounds. There’s nothing I can do, not even brace for impact. My vehicle jars hard as the other car makes impact, the seat belt pulling against my body and holding me in place. The airbag deploys with a loud bang as everything around me starts to fade away. It’s like I’m floating, all the sounds of crunching metal, shattering glass, and horns honking vanishing. There’s no sound. Even as I glance over and see a face full of fear in my driver’s side window. His mouth is moving, but there’s no sound.
My eyelids become heavy and the desire to sleep takes over.
The baby.
My hands drop to my still-flat stomach, and I send up a silent plea to God, his angels, and anyone else up there who’ll listen. Please don’t take away my baby. Please keep her safe.
And then my mind drifts to Harrison.
To the man I love.
To the one who’s going to be a father and doesn’t even know it yet.
My world fades to black.
My eyes open just as I’m
rushed through sliding doors. A man stands on one side and a woman on the other as I’m guided into what appears to be the emergency room. “What have we got?” I hear a man ask just before his face comes into focus.
I listen as the paramedic reports to the doctor about the car accident, my vitals, which are strong, and a slight bump on the side of my head. The doctor orders a CT scan to check for bleeding on the brain, and that’s when the panic sets in. “I’m pregnant,” I state, causing everyone around me to stop and glance down.
The doctor gives me a smile. “Okay. How far along are you?”
“Just a few weeks. Well, I think I’m pregnant. I was on my way to the store to get a test.”
“Well, start with a pregnancy test then,” he says with another polite smile. “Just hang tight, okay?” he adds, grabbing my hand and giving it a squeeze. That small gesture goes a long way to help settle my fears, even though I’m terrified right now.
Everything after that happens quickly. I’m taken to a room and stripped down to a gown, where my blood is drawn and a few small wounds are tended to. The nurse is very pleasant as she applies an ointment to the burn on my arm caused by the airbag and puts on bandages.
“Well, Mrs. Drake, you’re very lucky. They say your car was impacted at the driver’s side front tire and not the door. You have a few superficial burns and lacerations from the airbag, and a mild concussion from the bump to the head, but no other signs or symptoms of anything more severe,” he says, reading from my chart. “Oh, and your blood test came back positive. Congratulations, you’re pregnant.”
You’re pregnant.
Those two words have the biggest impact on me, changing the course of my future forever. A baby. I’m having a baby.
Fair Lakes Series Box Set Page 4