by Dori Lavelle
“Sorry. I forget,” she whispers.
“It’s okay.” I squeeze my mother’s hand. “Anyway, I told Detective Selvery what I tell him every time. That I don’t know more than what Judson had told me about his disgusting business dealings. I wish they’d leave me alone.” I drop my head into my hands, squeeze my fatigued eyes. Even with the nightmare tormenting me at night, I’ve managed to sleep a lot. And yet the exhaustion refuses to go away.
“One day it will get better. You’ll have your life back, an even better one than the one you had before.” Mom crosses her legs and runs a hand through her hair. “Once the dust settles, what do you want to do with your life? I mean—”
“Mom, I’m not returning to modeling if that’s what you’re thinking. That part of my life is over for good.”
She places a hand on my thigh. “Sweetheart, since you got here, have I even once asked you to model again? I’ve changed. I really get it now. It’s your life. I’ll respect whatever decisions you make.”
My shoulders rise and fall as I sigh. “I’m sorry. It’s just that—it’s sometimes hard to believe, you know.”
“Believe me, I know.” She squeezes my thigh. “But thinking you were dead was a wake-up call for me. The months after you were gone were incredibly hard. Not a day went by without me beating myself up for never telling you how much I love you. I regretted chasing the wrong things in life, things that didn’t bring true happiness.” She blinks away tears. “Now that I have you back, I want you to be who you want to be. If you decide you’d rather return to Oaklow and continue your studies, I won’t stand in your way. I’m okay with whatever makes you happy.”
“That means a lot, Mom.” I pause. “You should also start living your life again. Go back to work. I don’t need you to take care of me.”
My mother sold her modeling agency business at around the time she sold the house but not because it held memories, but because it was in financial trouble. She could have fought to revive it, but after my supposed death, she didn’t find the joy she used to get from it. Now she’s employed by a small modeling agency that doesn’t pay as much as she used to earn but she seems happy.
“You’ve only been here for two weeks. Selena understands that I need a bit of time to be with my daughter. A few more days won’t hurt.”
“You do know that I won’t disappear again, right?” My lips curl into a sad smile.
“Can I have that in writing?” She gives a brittle laugh. I’m still getting used to my mother’s laughter, but I like it.
My phone vibrates on the coffee table. I turn it face down so I don’t see the call.
“Aren’t you going to take that? It might be important.”
“I’m sure it’s journalists. I’m tired of them pestering me.” The phone stops vibrating and I relax. “Maybe I should change my number. Except more of them will show up outside, ready to pounce when I leave the house.”
“Let’s hope another story pops up soon and they move on. But I don’t want you to stop living your life because of them. You should go out. It might do you good.”
I glance at the closed window, imagining the hungry press camping outside. “I doubt it. Right now the only place I want to be is here. I’m too exhausted to do anything else anyway.”
“All right.” Mom rises and picks up the tray. “Let me take the tea back to the kitchen. Unless you want some?”
“No, go ahead.”
After my mother leaves the living room, I pick up my phone and listen to the message left by the last caller.
“Ms. Hollifield, Marcus Jenkins again. I’ve been trying to reach you several times this week. I’m wondering if you’ve given our offer more thought. We’re very interested in your story. I’m talking book and movie deals here.”
I groan as I return Marcus Jenkins’s call. The man doesn’t take no for an answer. The first and only time we talked when he cornered me on my doorstep, I’d made it clear I’m not interested in his publishing company’s offer. Still, he’s called several times a day since then. His calls always go unanswered. Until today.
“Mr. Jenkins, Ivy Hollifield here. I listened to one of your messages.” I rest my forehead on the heel of my hand.
“Ms. Hollifield. What a pleasant surprise. I was hoping you’d call back.”
“Mr. Jenkins, I’m calling to let you know I haven’t changed my mind. Much as I appreciate your offer, it doesn’t appeal to me. I’m only interested in looking forward, not back. Now please stop calling me. My answer will stay the same. Goodbye.”
Before he can come up with more way to persuade me, I end the call and head to my room for a nap.
72
“Ivy, are you all right?” Dr. Stella Dickson rises from her chair and comes to place a well-manicured hand on my shoulder. “Would you like a glass of water?”
I raise my gaze to hers and shake my head.
Since playing a game of hide and seek with the truth is easier than facing it, I play. Her looks are a welcome distraction. I guess her to be in her fifties. Being my mother’s daughter, I spot the telltale signs which point to the fact that she has turned to Botox injections once or twice, but only to enhance her looks, not destroy. Her salt-and-pepper hair is in a braided bun on top of her head. Not a hair out of place. She’s striking, a polished and distinguished woman.
“Did you hear what I said?” She returns to her chair but her turquoise gaze remains on my face.
“I’m sorry.” I sigh. “What . . . What did you say?”
She clasps her hands on the table and leans forward. “You’re pregnant, Ivy. It explains why you’ve been so exhausted and nauseous in the past two months.”
I chuckle “No. No, that can’t be. It’s not possible.”
“I’m afraid your blood results say otherwise.” She glances at the papers on her desk.
I swallow hard and force air into my lungs. I can’t get enough. The more I try to breathe, the harder it gets. After all this time, after all the days of trying to forget Damien and Judson, and everything that happened in Mexico, this is what I get?
I thought the past was behind me or at least I fooled myself into believing it. I’ve enrolled in an online interior design course, moved into a place of my own, done everything that proves I’ve moved on with my life. Only for the past to walk into my present and slap me across the face.
Clenching my fists, I think back to the times Damien and I had sex, we used a condom every time before Judson showed up. Then he forced us to have sex in front of him, gave us no choice in the matter. Now here I am about to have a souvenir from the past.
A souvenir I’m not sure I want.
I wipe a sheen of sweat from my forehead only for sweat to pop up in its place. “I’m sorry.” I grip the sides of my chair. “I . . . have to go. Thank you for your time.” I stand up in a daze and sway to the door. It’s only when my hand touches the doorknob, that I realize I forgot my purse. I return blindly to my chair and lift it.
“Ivy, I’m so sorry this is not the news you wanted to hear. If you do decide to keep the baby, please call for an appointment so we can discuss your choices for prenatal care.”
I nod and barge out of her office, the word baby repeating over and over inside my head.
A few seconds later, I’m standing out on the street, a mild breeze sweeping back my hair. I remain on the sidewalk for quite some time, oblivious to the pedestrians walking around me, the blurred faces studying my face suspiciously, wondering what’s wrong with me.
Baby. Baby. Baby.
As the four letter word spins round and round inside my head, my world tips. I move to the nearest lamppost and lean against it for a second before sliding down to the ground. Someone asks if I’m okay. I wave them off because I can’t give them an answer.
“Okay” is a feeling that’s foreign to me, one that keeps moving out of my reach each time I get close to grasping it.
Sometimes it’s something simple, a dream, a random thought, a stranger on the
street that reminds me of Damien or his brother. And my day plunges into the whole of darkness.
Finally I am able to stand again without fainting. Instead of taking a taxi, I disappear into a nearby restaurant and order a glass of water.
After fifteen minutes of staring into my full glass of water, I blink. A tear drops onto the clear surface, breaking the calm. I watch the ripples while listening to the murmur of voices around me. Keeping this news to myself is killing me. I need to talk to someone.
I push the water away and root inside my bag for my phone. I dial Mom’s number first but she doesn’t answer. The only other person I feel comfortable confiding in is Chelsea.
Since returning from Mexico, I had seen Chelsea once when she traveled to Boston to see for herself that I really am alive and well. At seeing me in the flesh, she had wept for the friend she thought she had lost, her tears a mixture of happiness and pain as she apologized for not being there for me, for not protecting me.
I’ve come to realize that some things just happen and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop the inevitable. You plan your life a certain way, do the right things for you. And then, when you least expect it, the carpet is swept from under your feet and you’re sent flying and crashing so hard your plans shatter and you’re left with nothing but the pieces.
Chelsea picks up on the second ring. Before she says anything, I break my news to her. Heavy silence thickens between us when I tell her about the only time I had unprotected sex.
“I don’t know what to do.” I take a gulp of water and rest my head on my arms.
“Shit,” she finally breathes. “Wow. I don’t know what to say.”
“Yeah, it’s a shock for me too. I feel as though somebody hit me over the head with a hammer.”
“And you’re certain it’s Damien’s? Can a paternity test even determine who the father is? The process could be different when twins are involved.”
“Of course it’s Damien’s. He’s the only man I’ve slept with . . . without protection.” I bury my hands into my hair, trying not to think of having sex with Judson, of the known fact that condoms are not one hundred percent effective. “Look, Chelsea, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t lash out at you. This isn’t your fault. I just don’t . . . I’m so confused right now.” I rub tension from my brow as I answer her question. “A paternity test would be able to tell who the father is because Damien and Judson were fraternal twins, not identical. I think I’d need to get hold of posthumous DNA samples.”
“Damn. This is one hell of a surprise. I don’t know whether to congratulate you or to say I’m sorry.” She pauses for a moment. “Have you thought about whether you want to keep the baby?”
“I haven’t even digested the news yet.” I take another drink of water. This time I allow the liquid to linger longer inside my mouth, cooling my tongue, before swallowing. “Chelsea, what if the baby is evil?”
“I think that’s highly unlikely. That baby you’re carrying is yours. It has your genes and you’re an amazing person.”
“But what if Damien’s genes are dominant?”
“I think Damien wasn’t all evil. Otherwise he wouldn’t have wanted to make things right in the end.”
“He and Judson shared the same blood. Which two people can be closer than twins? And what if my baby takes after Judson?”
“I don’t think it would.” Chelsea exhales. “If you choose to bring that baby into the world, you will raise him or her to be a wonderful human being. Upbringing also has a lot to do with how a child turns out. And if Judson and Damien weren’t raised by the stepfather from hell, they might have turned out completely different.”
I place a hand on my flat stomach. “To tell you the truth, I don’t want this baby. But I don’t know if I’m strong enough to abort it.”
“I guess you only have to ask yourself one question. What will hurt more—keeping it or letting it go?”
I close my eyes and grip the phone tighter. “That’s a tough question.” At this point both options make my stomach twist with agony.
“I wish I could take some of your pain away.”
“I know.” I bite my lip to stop it from trembling. “I’ll let you know what I decide.”
“Call me anytime you need to talk, day or night. You don’t have to make it through this alone. And if you want me to come over to see you, just say the word.”
A tear rolls down my cheek. I wipe it away. “Thanks, Chelsea.”
“Stop thanking me.” She goes silent. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah.” From the slight hesitation in her voice, I sense her question will be an uncomfortable one to answer.
“If Damien hadn’t died, do you think you would have given him a chance? You did say he wanted to make amends.”
“Honestly, I don’t know. Probably not.” If he had let me go that day and Judson had not shown up, I probably wouldn’t have called the cops on him, but too much had happened between us, enough to taint any chance of a relationship. “I don’t allow myself to dwell on it.”
“You know what I think? I think if you decide to have this baby, you might be surprised to find it has the best parts of Damien, the qualities you felt drawn to, not repulsed by.” She pauses. “Look, I have to go to lectures. I’ll call you again tonight? Hang in there.”
“Sure. We’ll talk soon.”
73
SEVEN MONTHS LATER
Rosebud.
Damien’s name for me, the word which had sickened me each time he’d said it.
This time I turn the word over in my mind while gazing with awe into my baby daughter’s little face. I no longer associate the word with pain and darkness. The unopened beauty of a pink rose—that’s her lips—awakens in me feelings of love and hope.
The nine months of pregnancy had been a roller-coaster as I wrestled with the fear of keeping the baby and the guilt of aborting her or giving her up for adoption. After months of being trailed by the ominous cloud of depression, I made the decision to give her to someone who will love her without associating bad memories with her. I’d found a family, signed the papers, and gone through with the pregnancy.
When Mom heard of my decision, she and I had a huge argument that lasted a month. She offered to raise the baby, but I pointed out that it meant the baby would still be in my life. Finally she gave up trying to change my mind.
My daughter was born last night at the break of dawn. Before her new parents took her away, I asked for a moment with her, to say goodbye to the little person who’d been a part of me for nine months, to feel her warm body in my arms for the first and last time. The moment her big, hazel eyes met mine, the walls around my heart crumbled.
When Jane and Patrick Smith came back into the room to take her, I broke their hearts. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I apologized and told them that just because she left my body doesn’t make her less a part of me. Even if she’s not in my life, she will remain in my world. She’ll live under the same sun, moon, and stars. Giving her away will not mean she’s gone. My body will remember her heartbeat, my heart will forever hold a place for her. I’ll hurt more with her out of my life than in it.
Last night I slept better than I have in months and woke up with that light feeling one gets when something good is about to happen. She’s my something good, the miracle I never saw coming.
I’m standing by the window, gazing out into the night, finally alone for the first time today after my visitors have left. My overjoyed mother left an hour ago, leaving me alone with baby Reese Hollifield, named after my paternal grandmother.
“You are the most gorgeous baby.” I press a kiss on her forehead. “Forgive me for what I almost did.”
I sway from side to side, pulling her body close to mine. She belongs in my arms, in every fiber of my life. Something about Reese brings me peace, the kind I’ve been searching for since leaving Mexico. I could laugh at the irony of life. Funny how Damien’s child, the constant, ever-present reminder of him and Judson is
the one that returns to me the peace and joy that had been stolen from me that fateful day in Oaklow.
As I lay Reese back in her crib, she stirs but doesn’t wake. Her sleeping face suddenly reminds me of another baby from the past. Tim, the baby Damien had brought into my life for a short while, the little boy who had given me a slice of comfort when I needed it most. I wonder how he’s doing, whether he finally has the life he deserves, whether he is happy with his adoptive parents.
I recall the shock that had hit me when Damien asked me to look after him, my confusion at trying to understand how Damien could be a monster and still offer to help an abandoned baby.
I switch off all lights except the lamp above my hospital bed. Still sore from the birth, I wince as I lie down, turning to face Reese’s crib, unable to believe how something so precious could come from such a dark place.
The fog of sleep is still thick on my brain, but the urge to wake and check up on Reese is strong. Call it mother instinct. I’ve only fed and changed her an hour ago, but something tells me she needs me. I squeeze my eyes first, and open them, the insides of my eyelids grainy against the eyeballs. Before falling asleep, I’d switched off the light above my bed.
The room is illuminated by the moonlight entering from the window and the sliver of light sneaking in from the corridor through the slit under the door. More than enough light for me to make out a person sitting on the other side of Reese’s crib. But the light is enough to enable me to see the person’s shadow, but not enough to make out the face.
As I sit up in bed, at first I think it might be my mother, but visiting hours have been over for hours. A quick glance at my phone tells me it’s after midnight and the night nurses are strict on no visitors after hours, certainly not this late.
