by Megan Walker
I toss the snake down on a medical tray this time, instead of throwing it at him, and congratulate myself on my restraint. “That one.”
The nurse looks at it warily. “Are you just carrying that around? Can’t they bite after they’re dead?”
“Can they?” Anna-Marie shrieks.
I help her up on the medical bed. “Maybe,” I say. “But it didn’t bite me. It bit her. Right there.” Anna-Marie and I both point at the angry mark on her inner thigh.
“All right,” the nurse says—again, with way too much calm for the situation. “I just need you to fill out this paperwork while I draw some blood.” He hands me a clipboard, possibly to keep me from throwing snakes around while he pulls out a needle and syringe. He doesn’t seem to be moving with any particular haste.
“Could you be pregnant?” the nurse asks.
Even under the circumstances, that question makes Anna-Marie wince. “No,” she says. “Definitely not pregnant.” She cringes again as the needle goes into her arm. I reach for my wallet in the interior pocket of my tweed jacket to find our medical card, but I think it must have fallen out in the car. Oh no, wait—I remember tossing my wallet at the bus driver before frantically running into the hospital.
Regardless, I think they’re going to figure out how to bill us without it.
“All right,” the nurse says. “We’ll run some tests and the doctor will be with you shortly.”
When the door closes behind him, Anna-Marie and I stare at each other.
“Am I really dying?” she asks, and my hammering heart quails at the fear in her voice. God, why can’t I pull it together?
“Um,” I say, and I reach out and grab her hand. “No one here seems to think that you are except me. And they’re the professionals, right?”
“I guess,” Anna-Marie says. “If I had my phone, I’d call Gabby. She’d know.”
That’s a good idea, but I think I also left my phone in the car.
After what seems like forever, the door opens and a doctor walks in, a guy who looks about my age, also smiling at us. He greets us, looks at Anna-Marie’s thigh, at his clipboard, and then at the snake.
“I have good news,” he says. “You’re going to be fine.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yep,” the doctor says. He points at the snake on the medical tray. “That’s a gopher snake.”
Anna-Marie and I both blink at him. “It’s a what?” she asks.
“A gopher snake. Looks like it got you good, but it’s not poisonous.”
“It’s not a rattlesnake.” Anna-Marie’s blue eyes narrow.
“Nope,” the doctor says. “They look similar, but they aren’t deadly. I used to catch them all the time in my grandpa’s backyard.”
Anna-Marie still looks more suspicious than relieved. “And this is based on medical knowledge and not on charming childhood anecdotes?”
The doctor laughs. “It’s based on lots of experience, and your clean lab work.”
Oh, god. Oh, god. She isn’t going to die. My knees feel weak, but I force myself to keep standing.
“So the symptoms,” I say, still trying to wrap my brain around everything. “It was just the car accident, and the panic.”
“You were in a car accident?” the doctor says. Now, for the first time, someone in this hospital looks alarmed for a reason other than having a snake thrown at them.
“Yeah,” I say, trying to breathe again. She’s not going to die. The car accident itself seems completely inconsequential. I swallow hard, and gesture at her arm. “She’s got a burn, I think, from the airbag.”
Anna-Marie turns her arm to face out, with a little expression of surprise, like either she hadn’t noticed it yet herself or had forgotten again since.
The doctor eyes it briefly and nods. “Well, we need to check you out,” he says. “Especially because you’re pregnant.”
Anna-Marie and I both stare at him. I can see the same disbelief on her face as I feel.
“What?” we say together.
“You’re pregnant,” the doctor says. “It’s probably too early to show up on a home test, but it’s there on the blood work, plain as day.”
“I can’t be pregnant,” Anna-Marie says flatly. “There has to be a mistake. We’re infertile.”
“Not today, apparently,” the doctor says. “Congratulations.”
Anna-Marie and I exchange a look. I can tell she’s not believing this any more than I am.
“Test it again,” Anna-Marie says, sitting up straight on the bed.
The doctor looks taken aback. “The results are clear—”
Anna-Marie thrusts her arm at him. “Put another needle in my arm and test it again. I won’t believe it until you do.”
The doctor backs slowly out of the room and sends in the nurse to take another blood sample.
We don’t speak. I grip her hand and she grips mine back, and we wait, and I struggle to remember how to breathe.
A few minutes later, the test comes back positive.
“I’m pregnant,” Anna-Marie says. She’s testing these words out like a creaky floor that she’s not sure will hold her weight. “I’m pregnant.”
“You’re pregnant.” My voice sounds as numb as I feel.
Anna-Marie begins to smile, but my stomach goes queasy.
“They want to check you out,” I say, “and I need to go deal with the bus driver. And probably make a police report and see about getting my car towed to a mechanic. I’m sorry I handled that so badly.”
Anna-Marie’s smile widens. “It doesn’t matter,” she says. “We’re pregnant.” She breathes it like it’s the most fragile hope in the world, and grips my hand even tighter.
I manage to squeeze back before I have to let go.
“I love you,” I tell her.
“I love you too,” she says.
We’re pregnant, I hear her say over and over again in my mind.
And then I bolt out of the emergency room, ready to deal with anything but that.
Thirty-six
Felix
I’m pacing back and forth in my living room, feeling like I’m going out of my mind. I haven’t left the house in two days, not since Jenna left. I’ve had a phone session with my therapist in which she told me that yes, she thinks I have depression, and that she can’t diagnose Jenna without meeting her, but that my assessment of her symptoms sounds correct. I’ve also spent hours and hours pouring over every diagnostic for depression on the internet, every list of symptoms, comparing them to the stories I’ve heard from Jenna, and the things I remember from my past, and the events of our marriage.
If either of us had known about this years ago, it would have changed our whole lives.
Tonight the kids are with Dana—Ty didn’t go to school yesterday, but she took him today. I’ve been trying to get them out of the house as much as possible with Dana or with Jenna’s parents, so that Ty doesn’t sit around and worry.
I am not being the best example of this. I’ve spent forty-eight hours now doing nothing else, and my nerves feel like they’re all frayed and exposed.
There was no scenario in which I thought she wouldn’t be back by now. If she went to a party, if she woke up in some guy’s apartment, if she was drunk or hurt, surely she would have come back or ended up at a hospital by now. Surely someone would have recognized her, or one of the calls placed by Gabby or my mother-in-law would have yielded something.
Where is she?
I have this horrible image of her washing up on a beach somewhere days from now. But her car was found abandoned in downtown Los Angeles yesterday afternoon. Downtown is a hell of a long way from the beach, but it’s not very far from a lot of bars and hotels. I’ve been working my way down the long list of those, calling each one, but of course they won’t tell me anythi
ng, and the police don’t seem to be interested in making those calls themselves.
The doorbell rings. It’s eight-thirty at night, and I can’t imagine who else would be showing up. Jenna wouldn’t ring the doorbell, but the police probably would, and if they’re showing up in person to tell me something, it can’t be good.
I stop pacing. My hands are shaking.
I can’t have lost her. I can’t have lost her. I don’t know what I’m going to do if—
The doorbell rings again, twice this time, and I walk to the door like a man on death row and open it.
There are no police. Instead I blink at the kid standing on my doorstep.
Axel Dane.
“I’m here to play with Ty,” he says. “You said I could.”
I look past the doorstep, but I don’t see a car or a mother or anyone who might be responsible for him.
“How did you get here?” I ask. It’s not exactly the kind of hour that I expect friends to drop by to play with my kid, but I wonder if Axel even knows that.
“I took an Uber,” he says.
I stare at him. Axel Dane took a freaking Uber.
“Okay,” I say. “Where’s your mom?”
“She was busy.” He shifts from one foot to the other.
“She doesn’t know you’re here.”
He doesn’t respond to that, but he narrows his eyes at me. “Have you been crying?”
Shit. “Come in,” I say. “But Ty’s not here, and it’s kind of late to play.”
“Can I play video games?” Axel strides into the living room like he owns the place, and starts surveying our systems.
“No,” I say. “Ty’s not here, and this really isn’t a good time. I’m going to call your mom. What’s her number?”
Axel folds his arms. “Why can’t I play? You said I could come over to play.”
I take a deep breath. I don’t want to leave in case Jenna or the police show up, and I don’t know this kid’s mom’s phone number, but I’m pretty sure Josh does, since they’re his clients. I call him, but he doesn’t pick up.
Axel is at my house. I think he ran away, I text. Help.
Seconds tick by. Josh doesn’t respond.
Shiiiiit.
Rocket comes bounding into the room from wherever he was sleeping and starts sniffing Axel’s pants.
“Oh!” Axel says. “Can I play with your dog?”
“Tell me your mom’s number,” I say.
“But I want to play with your dog.” He reaches down and starts petting Rocket, who runs in circles around Axel’s moving hand trying to sniff it.
“Axel,” I say. “This is really not a good time, and I need to call your mom so she knows where you are.”
“But I want to play video games,” Axel says. He’s got his hands on his hips and his voice is rising.
I have had it. I’m about to . . . I don’t know, actually. I have no idea what I’m going to do. Thankfully, I’m spared from having to figure this out when my phone rings. I dearly hope it’s Josh, but no. It’s Phil. I told him yesterday about Jenna’s disappearance, figuring he needs to be ready to handle any media storm if reporters find out where she is before we do.
“Hello?” I say.
“Felix,” Phil says. “I just got a phone call from a bartender who found Jenna.”
My heart climbs into my throat.
“Can I play video games?” Axel says.
“He found her?” I ask. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah, but she’s wasted, and you need to go get her. Or I could send somebody.”
“Hey!” Axel says, jumping up and waving a hand in front of my face. “You said I could come over and—”
“Axel!” I shout at him. “Sit down and shut up!”
Axel stares at me. I wonder if anyone in his life has ever told him to sit down and shut up. But miraculously, he does.
“Sorry,” I say to Phil.
“Maybe I should send somebody.”
“No, I’ll do it. But she’s okay? She’s not hurt?” The desperation in my voice is all too clear.
“It didn’t sound like it,” Phil assures me. “He’s got her sleeping in the back room.”
“Give me the address,” I say, grabbing a notepad. I tear off the first sheet and shove it at Axel. “And you write down yours. Now.”
Axel gives me a sullen look, and then he does. I jot down the address Phil gives me to the bar, and ask him to call the bartender and tell him I’m on my way and will be there as soon as I can.
Right after I take a brief detour to drop off Axel, and tell his mother exactly what I think of her parenting.
Driving up to Axel’s mansion takes longer than I want. All the way there, he tells me I can just drop him off, which I assume means he snuck out and wants to sneak back in and hope he doesn’t get caught.
Instead I march him up to the massive oak front door and knock loudly, and then ring the doorbell repeatedly. A woman comes to the door who is not Axel’s mother, and I dearly hope wasn’t supposed to be his babysitter.
“I need to talk to Axel’s mom,” I say.
“I believe she’s busy right now—”
“I don’t care,” I tell her. “Now, before I call the police for child endangerment.”
The woman looks startled and heads off, and moments later, Axel’s mom appears at the door. “Oh, Axel, dear,” she says. “What on earth are you doing with—”
“He showed up at my house,” I say. “By Uber.”
She blinks. “Axel, what do you think you’re doing—”
“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s put the blame on him. He is definitely the problem in this relationship.”
“Excuse me?” she says. Her hand goes to her throat like she wishes she had a pearl necklace to clutch.
“Axel’s a good kid!” I blurt out, so tired and stressed I can’t tamp down my anger at this woman. “But you treat him like he’s both a prisoner and also the center of the universe. And I may not have been a parent as long as you, but I have a ten-year-old, and I know that neither is good for him. So stop being so selfish and be his mother for once!”
Axel is staring at me wide-eyed, but his shoulders straightened a little when I said the part about him being a good kid.
“I don’t see that it’s any of your business,” Axel’s mom says, her eyes narrowing. “After all, you’re the one who—”
“Introduced him to a kid his own age!” I’m still shouting, loud enough she takes a step back, but I can’t seem to stop. “I remember! And we’d love to have him over to play sometime when my family isn’t having a crisis! Josh has my number! Text me and we’ll set something up. That’s what parents do.”
I stare her down, and then I storm back to my car. I look back only once, to find both of them staring at me with open mouths.
I don’t know if his mom heard anything I just said, but I’m pretty sure Axel did.
The address for the bar leads me to a part of downtown several blocks from where Jenna’s car was found. I’m hoping she’s been at a hotel somewhere in the area and not bar-hopping for a full forty-eight hours.
I walk in and the bartender recognizes me immediately. I’m guessing if he called Phil first, he did some extensive Googling of us. There are several other patrons in the bar, and they all stare at me as he waves me over.
“Is she okay?” I ask, my heart pounding so hard I think I can hear it over the dance music. “Is she hurt?”
“She had some pretty heavy drinks for someone her size,” he says, running his hand over the short mohawk on his head. “And then she started dancing with this guy and freaked out and screamed at him. She said she wanted her husband and she wanted to go home. One of the patrons recognized her, so we found your manager’s number.”
I nod as the bartender leads me into the back r
oom, where Jenna is curled up in a tight ball on a cot that I assume is here for this exact purpose. She doesn’t look hurt, just small and scared and tired.
But then, that’s what she would look like, if she’s spent the last two days reliving her past. My heart aches from a combination of stark relief to be with her, and sorrow at seeing her like this.
I kneel down beside her.
“Jenna,” I say. “Jenna, it’s me.” I put a hand on her back and rub gently. She’s wearing a plain tank top, and her breath smells like gin. She stirs and looks at me blearily, her eyes puffy and bloodshot.
“Felix?” she says, more like a whimper. “Felix, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I’m going to take you home now.”
“Usually, we’d call the cops,” the bartender says, from where he’s still standing in the doorway. “But since she’s a celebrity, I figured I wouldn’t make a scene if I didn’t have to.”
“Thank you,” I tell him. “Thank you, I’ll take it from here.” I pick her up in my arms, and she lays her head on my shoulder and closes her eyes with a soft sigh. Tears well up in mine that I’ve got her again, that she’s here in my arms and she’s still alive, and anything else we can deal with. Anything else we can treat.
But it may be awful to work through, depending on where she’s been.
Jenna mumbles more apologies, but I shake my head. “It’s okay, Jenna,” I say. “I’ve got you.” And I ignore the stares while I carry her out of the bar, and buckle her into the car, where she closes her eyes again and falls back asleep against the headrest. It’s possible she has things that we need to collect at a hotel room somewhere, but we can deal with that later.
For right now, I just need to get her home.
Thirty-seven
Josh
It takes me a couple of hours to take care of the police reports and information exchanges and tow truck arrangements. And on top of it all, I’m getting a ticket for abandoning my car in the middle of the road. I manage to get both me and the bus driver out of an additional ticket for leaving the scene of an accident by telling the long sob story about my wife getting bit by a snake and us needing to get to the hospital. The cop confirms this with the emergency room before he believes me.
