The closed door on the side wall opened and a woman fully donned in scrubs stepped into the waiting room. “Jaime Pine,” she said.
Everyone stood.
“We’re her parents,” Franklin said.
“We’re all here for Jaime,” her mother added. “Feel free to talk.”
“I’m Dr. Usher,” she said. “The surgery is complete, and Jaime is in recovery. The accident caused both a head trauma and an abruption in the placenta. There was severe blood loss during surgery and unfortunately, I’m sorry to tell you all that she miscarried.”
The women all released cries of disappointment. The men provided comfort, with Aria’s husband sliding an arm around both his wife and her friend.
Graham dropped down to his seat, thankful that Jaime’s life had been spared, but tortured for the lost life of the baby. He covered his face with his hands, remembering Jaime walking around the nursery with so much joy about being a mother and him holding so much inner hope that she carried his son.
His disappointment was piercing.
His pain profound.
“When can we see her?” Franklin asked.
“She’ll be in recovery for a good bit, but the nurses will let you know as soon as she is in a private room,” the doctor said. “We’re going to keep her here under observation.”
Just this morning he had awakened in her bed with her body snuggled close to his, and it took everything in him to get up and leave before he pleaded with her to let him stay. Then, all that mattered was the grudge he carried for her not telling him about the baby.
A boy. And now he’s gone before he even got a chance. Damn.
“Would you all like to pray for Jaime . . . and the baby?” Cara asked.
He ignored his mother.
“Graham?” she implored softy.
He looked up and everyone was in a ring with their hands clasped. There was an opening in the circle between his parents and both of their hands were extended toward him. There was a time his anger with God, his mother, and the church where he was violated would make prayer a nonviable option for him. And in even in that moment, the little bit of faith he held onto was wavering, but he rose and took each of their hands to close the prayer circle because although the baby was gone, Jaime was not, and for that he was beyond thankful.
* * *
This is what numb truly feels like.
Since she awakened and was told of her miscarriage, Jaime shifted from visceral pain to cold numbness with bouts of tears randomly in the mix. And although she understood everyone wanted to visit her, she truly wished they all left her alone to her grief. Platitudes were the worst.
“He’s with God.”
“He’s in a better place.”
“Pray for understanding.”
“I feel for you.”
“We’re here for you.”
“Anything you need.”
I need my baby.
“Jaime.”
She turned her head toward the window and closed her eyes as a tear silently ran down her cheek. Her parents were downstairs eating dinner in the café. Kingston, Aria, and Renee had left with promises to return the next day. Luc was a no-show. She met Graham’s parents for the first time before they too took their leave. Hours later, Graham remained by her side.
Jaime couldn’t bear to look at him because she just knew that her son was his and he would have grown up to look just like his father. “Just go, Graham. Please,” she whispered. “I can’t look at you right now.”
“Please, Jaime,” he said, his voice deep and serious.
I created my own karma. I thought I could have everything I wanted. I went in that storage room. I killed my baby.
She shook her head and released a cry that echoed against the ceilings and walls.
His hand enclosed one of hers and the scent of his cologne intensified as she felt him bend over her body. “Jaime, please don’t turn away from me. Please. I love you so much,” he whispered near her ear.
She made the mistake of turning her head on the pillow. His eyes were resting right next to hers with tears of his own. Those beautiful brown eyes with long lashes. Her heart broke all over again. “Ever since . . . I found out . . . the baby was a . . . boy,” she wailed in between moans of agony as her tears came in earnest. “All I could think... is I hope . . . he has. . . your eyes and your dimples. Oh God, help me.”
She closed her eyes, and her body shook with tears as she clutched the sheets into the fist of her free hand and gave in to the endless waves of pain, disappointment, and regret. “Graham, please go. Please,” she begged.
“Graham, give her time,” her father said, his voice gentle but firm.
He hadn’t even realized her parents had quietly reentered the room. He could only imagine how they felt seeing his presence upset her even more. He didn’t want to make things worse for her.
And with that he released her hand, and the scent of his cologne eventually faded away.
* * *
Luc lay in the middle of his bed looking up at the ceiling with the arm and leg of Miss Too Much draped over his body. His thoughts were on Jaime and her baby. It was still hard to believe the difference between before the day he discovered she was cheating on him and now. He looked up at the empty spot over the bed where the art of her lover had hung above them. Anger still caused tension to radiate across his shoulders.
Easing from under Miss Too Much, Luc sat on the side of the bed and picked up his phone from the nightstand. No missed calls from Renee or Aria.
Rising to his feet he strode around the bed to leave the room. He pulled up Renee’s number and called her. It rang endlessly before going to voice mail. He ended that connection and found Aria’s number to call instead.
It rang just once.
“What, Luc?” Aria snapped. “What could you possibly want?”
He clenched his jaw as he leaned against the same wall he leaned on the day he decided he wanted Jaime Pine in his life. “I wanted to check on her,” he said.
“The best way to do that would’ve been to drag your ass to the hospital like Graham did,” she said.
“Man, fuck him,” he snapped, his voice cold.
“You know what? I was on some fuck Graham shit for years, but today he showed the fuck up so now I’m on fuck you,” she said.
“Aria, just answer him and hang up. It’s over,” Kingston said to her in the background.
“No, he’s gone get this heat. He called my motherfucking phone,” Aria snapped. “Now lie and say you weren’t in New York when your artist, Blaze—who was on your plane when you went live while boarding—was on his Instagram story back in the city, Luc. How did he get back to New York if you didn’t?”
“Look, I didn’t call for all of that, Aria. I made a choice... just like she did back in Grenada,” he said, knowing he sounded spiteful when in fact he was hurt.
“Motherfucker!” Aria exclaimed.
“Okay, give me the phone,” Kingston said as she continued to call Luc everything but a child of God.
“Man, triple fuck him!” she lobbed.
“Listen, Luc, it’s Kingston. Jaime came through surgery, but she lost the baby,” he said calmly.
“Do you care?” Aria railed in the background. “If it was your child.”
Her words mocked those he had said to Jaime more times than he could count.
“Thanks, Kingston,” he said before ending the call.
Still, leaning against the wall he could see Jaime that first day walking around the living room as she made notes on her tablet. As he watched her and wanted her.
“I believe you are the woman for any and every job, Jaime Pine.”
For a little over a year, he believed that. He’d been wrong and his heart paid the cost.
In the vision, she looked over at him and gave him one final wave before the image faded. As he turned and walked back to his bedroom, he said goodbye to Jaime Pine for the last time.
* * *
> Graham stood in his loft staring at the painting. He had been planning to title it “Mother, Mother” when he was done and gift it to Jaime once the baby was born. The thought of her inconsolable grief shook him to his core, and he closed his eyes, finally allowing his own tears of grief and remorse to glide down his cheeks in privacy.
“Ever since . . . I found out . . . the baby was a . . . boy. All I could think . . . is I hope . . . he has . . . your eyes and dimples.”
His gut told him that was his son. His boy. His seed.
He released deep breaths through pursed lips that inflated his cheeks as he fought to control his torment. He failed and gave in to sinking beneath the depths of his grief until he flung his head back and released a cry. Fueled by his hurt for Jaime. Deepened by his despair for her.
And himself.
With his vision blurred by his tears, Graham took long strides across the loft and dug his fingers into the canvas to rip it with force. Again. And again. And again. With fury and brute force.
Until it was as torn and shredded as he felt.
Chapter 16
One month later
Jaime awakened with her pillow clutched to her body. The curtains of her bedroom windows were open, and she looked out at the snowfall in front of the streetlight. She released a heavy sigh. Perhaps her millionth in the last month. Since her release from the hospital, her bedroom had become her haven. Sleep was her savior.
If not for the daily visits of her mother and friends she wouldn’t have risen to wash, taken her pain medications, or even played with the food they forced her to eat. Her business was in the hands of Madison and Katie. Her body was in the hands of her doctor. Her spirit felt lost and bereft.
She allowed herself the time to grieve but she wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. But she was making headway. Small step by small step.
She rose from the bed in a long cotton gown with tiny rosettes, not even remembering being helped into it. She mustered a feeble smile; sure, it was her mother’s doing. She owned nothing like it. The smile faded as she gingerly pressed a hand to her belly. With a sharp intake of breath, she closed her eyes. Life would never be the same.
Barefoot, she padded across the room to the bathroom. As she relieved herself, she was thankful the bleeding had stopped. It had been a reminder of her loss. “Shit,” she swore as she rose, feeling the aches of her body from being in her bed for nearly all of the last month.
As she washed her hands, she eyed her reflection and saw a version of herself that was unfamiliar. She dragged her fingers through her tresses and felt tangles. Her hair was wild. Her face was pale. Her eyes were swollen and reddish from constant tears.
Who cares, she thought, turning from the reflection and leaving the bathroom.
Jaime flipped the switch on the wall outside the bathroom to turn on the lamps positioned about the room, now offering pockets of light. Atop the bench at the foot of her bed, slightly covered by a cotton robe that matched her gown, she noticed a tray holding mail. Lots of it.
She sat on the end of the bench and flung the robe away to pick up the first of the stacks. Christmas cards. Bills. Advertisements. Medical bills. At those, she sucked air between her teeth and ignored them. She wasn’t ready to see what it would cost her to be saved while she lost her child.
My baby.
She looked into the unlit fireplace opposite her bed as her loss weighed down her shoulders. “Damn,” she whispered.
The doctor said she would be able to have another child one day. That was of no help because she wanted the one she lost. He could never be replaced. Or forgotten.
“Never,” she swore in a whisper before she forced herself to continue through the mail.
She paused at the logo of the diagnostic center that performed the paternity test. Her hand closed, balling the envelope into her fist. Did it matter anymore which man fathered a child that would never be born into the world? Luc hadn’t cared enough to come to the hospital. Graham had disappeared in the weeks after it.
Perhaps both were happy it’s over. Pain radiated at that.
“Jaime, please don’t turn away from me. Please. I love you so much.”
No. She didn’t believe that about Graham. Not at all. But where is he? I asked for time, not a total disappearing act.
They all were supposed to be sent the test results and by now they knew the truth even if she did not. She smoothed the envelope, flattening the wrinkles as she furrowed her brows with a wince. She set the envelope on the end of the bed, trying her best to ignore it and the truth it contained as she continued through the mail.
Her eyes kept going back to it.
It would not be ignored. She rose from the bench and grabbed the envelope as she left her bedroom to walk down the hall to the nursery. She pressed a hand to the wood and let her forehead rest down upon it as she tightly gripped the doorknob before turning it and pushing the door open. She reached in to turn on the ceiling light, to bathe the room with light as she stood rooted in the doorway.
It felt like punishment to even be there—standing there—looking at a room that would forever remain empty. She felt like crumbling and had to lean against the doorjamb for support. She didn’t know how long she stayed there, clutching the frame, and fighting for strength before she finally took a step inside the room. She walked to the lounge chair and picked up the pillow she’d hoped to have monogrammed before she turned and dropped down onto the seat, pressing her face against the smooth velvet. “Jaymie,” she whispered, having given her son her name since she hadn’t known the father to give him his.
Forgive me, son.
Her tears wet the pillow and told the story of her loss. When she folded her hand into a fist again the rustle of the envelope echoed in the silence. She pushed the pillow between her body and the chair as her fingers tore into temptation. She hungered to know just which man should have been there to share in her grief.
She gasped as she dropped her hand and sent the paper floating gently to the area rug atop the hardwood floors. She bent her legs to surround with her arms as she settled her chin on her knees and stared down at the truth. “Damn,” she whispered, reckoning with the results.
Jaime was stunned.
Craving a drink, she eventually left the nursery and made her way to the kitchen. In the fridge was a half-finished bottle of red wine. She uncorked it and took a deep drink of it straight from the bottle. And then another.
The front door swung open and Jaime dropped the bottle to the floor with a crash as she reached for a knife from the block on the counter. “Who is it?” she yelled, brandishing the weapon.
Graham stepped inside the apartment holding bags and closed the door with a nudge from his foot. “It’s me,” he said, eyeing the knife she still held with a death grip.
Jaime eyed him with a mix of confusion, surprise, and anger. “What are you doing here?” she snapped.
“Hoping you put the knife down before you hurt yourself,” he said, coming into the kitchen to set the bags on the marble.
“You just pop up after a month and with a key to my damn house no less,” she said.
Graham removed his leather coat, hat, and gloves and set them on the island. “Still thinking the worst of me, huh?” he asked, his voice and eyes serious. “When will that get old, Jaime?”
She relaxed her stance and her grip on the knife as she eyed him calmly unpack groceries. “Wait? Huh?” she said as she scratched her head with her free hand. “Where’d you get a key?”
“It’s yours,” he said as he placed milk and juice in the fridge. “I’ve been using it all month while you were escaping from the world in your bedroom.”
She stiffened at that. It felt like a Virginia Osten-Pine level backhand judgment. “I was grieving my baby,” she snapped.
“Our baby,” he corrected her.
They stared at one another.
“Can you imagine the story we’ll tell our kid about running into each other after years—and giving in
to a one-time indulgence we both had reasons to fight—and we create him. It’s kind of amazing.”
“I grieved him too, Jaime . . . before I even knew he was mine,” Graham said with his eyes still brimming with his sadness.
“Jaime, please don’t turn away from me. Please.”
She believed him.
“I been staying here, sleeping on the sofa,” he explained. “Mostly making sure you were okay at night once everyone else went home.”
“Graham,” she said, taking a step toward him that landed down on a shard of glass.
“Ow!” she cried out, lifting the foot to keep from pressing more of the glass into it.
He came around the island, his boot crushing the glass beneath it, as he grabbed her waist and set her on the island. “Hold still,” he demanded as he bent to eye the piece of glass still embedded in her foot. “It’s pretty deep but I don’t think you’ll need stitches.”
She watched him closely as he removed the glass and then pressed a towel to the wound before he strode away to return with the first aid kit from her bathroom, proving his familiarity with her apartment. “Graham,” she said.
“Huh?” he asked intensely focused on cleaning the cut while he held her ankle in his hand.
“Look at me,” she said, not caring about her foot or the constant throbbing of her injury.
He did.
“We did something absolutely amazing,” she said, still stunned at that fact.
His eyes warmed and she knew he remembered their conversation that day outside the lab. He nodded. “Yes, we did,” he agreed.
“Then why did God take him?” she asked in a whisper.
Graham shrugged one broad shoulder as he pressed a gauze pad to her foot before he began wrapping it with his tape. “It wasn’t his time,” he finally said, releasing her bandaged foot to look at her. “I asked my mother the same thing and she promises that God forgives all and doesn’t punish. That’s not how He works. It wasn’t his time, but he was here long enough for us to love him and remember our hope for him for the rest of our lives.”
Her Pleasure Page 23
