“I can’t do this.” After a long look, she stands and walks again. This time she doesn’t pace. She keeps going.
I chase after her. “Amber, wait. What’s going on? Did I say something to upset you?” I wrack my brain for whatever idiot thing I did to make her run away.
The dark campus illuminates, as if all the lights are on a timer as she reaches a lamppost. She grabs it for a second and then turns and pulls me into a hug.
“I promise everything will be okay.” Obviously it’s a promise I can’t be sure to back up, but I have to say something.
She sobs in my arms, squeezing my back. She’s my height, tall. The kid will be tall. I feel the baby pressed between us. She whispers, “I wish….”
“Wish what?” I say in her ear.
She pulls away to look at me. Her hair is stuck to her tears, her eyes puffy. She uses the back of her hand to wipe under her eyes. “I wish you really were the father.” She groans then leans against the lamppost.
The words don’t register as I reach for her arm, making sure she’s steady on her feet. Her eyes are wide, like she’s watching a horror movie.
Then I process her words. “What did you just say?”
She holds her hand to her mouth and gasps. “I…I…I thought I could do it. I can’t do this to you. You’re too good.”
I replay the scene in my head. Did she say what I think she said?
Her face is a picture worth a thousand words as she reaches out to me, her eyes wide and her mouth in a frown.
I back away from her. She didn’t say that.
She follows me as I walk backward. “Suzi assumed it’s yours and convinced me that I should tell you. That you’d help support the baby. I never thought you’d give up your life—”
I take another step back. “I’m not the father?”
She shakes her head, and the tears start.
I’m not the father.
For some reason, relief is not my first emotion. More like hurt—that chest pain that squeezes me and makes me want to hide. How could she do that to me?
My head throbs. I grab it. “You lied?”
She nods. “I’m so sorry. I was scared—”
“You’re pregnant though. We had sex.”
Her body sags against the lamppost. “It’s not yours. I’m not due until August.”
I look at her belly again. I remember one of the ladies asking if she was six or seven months. “August? What the hell were you going to do in June when the baby wasn’t here? The paternity test?”
She gasps for breath. “I never thought you’d stay. It was stupid, I know, but when Suzi said she told you… I… don’t know. I thought you’d help support him, send me a check or something and then disappear. I never once thought you’d show here and want to be part of his life.”
I see the fear in her face, the sadness. She’s waiting for me to blow up, walk away, or yell. She’d said she’s scared. I don’t want to scare her anymore.
Her shoulders rise and fall with her sobs. “Calm down.” I reach out to touch her shoulder. “Relax, okay.” I nod to a bench a few feet away. “Sit down.”
She walks and sits, leaning back and rubbing her belly. “I didn’t know what to do.” She drops her head back onto the bench and looks at the dark sky.
When she calms down and the tears stop, she sits up and looks at me.
Mustering patience, I grind my teeth and ask, “How about you start from the beginning? Nice and easy.”
Her brow furrows as she studies me. “You don’t hate me? Why are you being so nice?”
“Because someone has to be nice to you. You need help.”
She frowns. “I’m really sorry, Dave.”
I comfort her, but all I can think about is getting to Maggie. My phone burns a hole in my pocket, waiting for me to pull it out and call her. I may have a chance to make this right. Except for the pregnant woman falling apart on my lap. I’ll have to wait. I’ll have to trust that Maggie will still be around and will want me back.
I squeeze Amber’s shoulder. “Before you tell me your story, could you tell me one thing?”
“Sure.”
“Why didn’t you tell the real father about the baby? Don’t you think he deserves to know he’s going to be a father?”
She covers her face with her hands. “I couldn’t tell the real father.”
Terrible thoughts run through my head. “Were you raped? Is he abusive?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“Is it because his family doesn’t have money?”
She shakes her head.
“Then why won’t you tell him?” Poor guy doesn’t even know he’s going to be a father. “Maybe he’ll be decent about it. If not, he still deserves to know.”
“I can’t.”
“You told me. What makes you think you can’t tell him?”
She purses her lips together as she looks at me. “Because he’s…dead.”
“Dead?” My mind scrambles to put the pieces together.
She sits up straight and grabs my hands. “Dave. The baby’s father…is Frank.”
Chapter 27
Dave
After the initial shock of Amber’s revelation, we went back to the hotel and talked for most of the night. She and Frank had hooked up the night before he died. She’d called him that morning, and they made plans to hang out over the Thanksgiving break.
Then, Frank died, and a few weeks later, she found out she was pregnant. He was the only person she’d had sex with, so she knew it was his. Still, she debated an abortion, but ultimately it didn’t feel right. Her decision to have the baby was sealed at the memorial service when she met Frank’s grandmother and heard everyone talk about how much they loved him. At that moment, she fell in love with Frank and the little baby that would carry on his spirit, so she decided to keep him.
She didn’t mention the baby’s father to anyone—until her parents threatened to kick her out if she didn’t. She called Suzi, who assumed I was the father. Amber went with it. Suzi convinced her to tell her parents about me, and before she knew it, she was into the lie. Amber’s parents were glad I had money and would be able to help financially.
I should be mad. An outsider hearing the story would be irate. But I’m not. Maybe because I saw her, talked to her, felt the baby move under my hand, saw the fear in her face, and heard the nervousness in her voice. I’m not mad at her. And I won’t tell anyone about the baby. No matter how much they loved Frank, Amber’s baby is none of their business.
Maggie
I wake early Saturday morning to Martha tugging on my arm.
“Go away.”
Martha shakes the bed and pokes me. “You have to come to the barn. Something’s wrong with the baby goat.”
I sit up, yawn, and then follow her outside. She runs across the yard to the barn as I shake the sleep off of me.
Sure enough, the kid lies there, sad-looking and miserable. “Go get Mom,” I tell Martha.
“No. She’ll yell at me. Can’t you figure out what’s wrong with her?”
I open the gate and approach the kid. “Hey, Betty girl,” I whisper. “Why don’t you want to move?”
I turn to Martha. “How long has she been like this?”
Martha shrugs. “I never noticed before now.”
I remain calm and resist the urge to strangle my sister. “Has she been nursing?”
Martha juts a hip and tsks. “Yeah, of course.”
“Poops?” The kid looks at me with sad eyes. I pet her gently.
“Ew. I don’t know. Stop asking me questions. Fix her! Mom’s going to kill me!”
I stand and turn toward my sister. “You were supposed to be watching her while Mom was at her conferences. What have you been doing?” I notice the phone in her hand. “I’m going to tell Mom to take away your phone when you are caring for the animals. Now go get her.”
Martha runs for the house, and I focus on Betty. I put my hand between her front legs to feel for
her heartbeat. Besides the sadness in them, her eyes look normal and her breathing seems fine. I touch her belly. It feels hard, maybe a bit distended.
“What’s wrong with you, Betty baby?” I whisper. “You don’t like to walk?”
I rub her legs and wrack my brain, recalling years of lessons about goats from my mom.
She comes running out with Martha. “What’s wrong?”
“Martha, call Dr. Wagner.” Dr. Wagner’s been the family vet since I was a baby. “She’s breathing normally, heartbeat feels okay. We should probably take her temperature.”
When Martha leaves to call the vet, Mom sits next to me and looks the baby over. “Nah, she’s okay. Just a bellyache. We’ll keep her warm, feed her some stomach medicine, and she’ll be fine.” She pets her.
“Maybe.” I know from my farm studies that young kids can have a condition that makes them appear lazy. “But her belly.”
Mom touches the kid’s belly and grimaces. “Yeah, it does feel a bit swollen. What do you think it is?”
“I don’t think it’s a bellyache. You know, when a kid overeats and Mama doesn’t graze, sometimes something in the milk combines with a problem in the gastro tract. They call it Floppy Kid. Martha hasn’t been watching, and I bet she never put them out to pasture.” The kids eat less when they are out to pasture since Mama is moving around more.
“Maybe you’re right,” Mom says. “If that’s the case, what do we do?”
“She needs an antibiotic, as soon as possible. For now, there’s something though…” I snap my fingers, trying to remember my studies. “Baking soda.” I shake my hands at my mother. “Look online, I think we can mix baking soda and give it to her in the meantime. We have to move fast though. Who knows how long this has been going on?”
I pick up the baby and cradle her in my arms. “Let’s take you away from Mama for a while.” Dumb Martha.
When the kid is settled in the next stall, I catch my mom studying me.
“What?”
She winks. “Excellent work, Dr. Patrinski. No matter New York or Olympia, wherever you go, they will be lucky to have you.”
Dr. Patrinski. I can’t even imagine that being real.
As soon as Dr. Wagner arrives, he gives Betty an antibiotic. I look around the farm at the animals grazing. I look past the property line to the green grass and the morning sun rising over the horizon.
This is what I want for my life. Space. Animals. Green. Air. I want to have a successful career as a vet. There’s no reason that I can’t, even if I’m on my own.
I’m not afraid to be on my own. I don’t need the happily ever after. Not now. I’m not even twenty years old yet. The realization frees and saddens me at the same time.
When Betty’s all settled and on the mend, I ask Mom if I can borrow her truck to drive back to school. “I think break time is over. I want to get on with my life.”
“Good for you, Buttercup,” she says. “I’d drive with you, but I probably shouldn’t leave the kid with your sister.”
“Please don’t do that. And give her a good punishment. I suggest taking the phone.”
“You’re tough, you know that?”
“Oh, I know. That Martha is soft. She needs to get herself some grit.” I smile thinking of my hot beach dream starring Frank O’Leary.
Mom raises an eyebrow. “Grits?”
“No. Grit.” I wave my hands. “Forget it. Help me pick a dress to wear to the gala tonight?”
We walk arm in arm into the house. I’m not sure I’ll ever understand my mother completely, but I think we’ll always have a mutual respect. And, of course, love. That’s not going anywhere.
Chapter 28
Dave
I speed into the parking lot behind Sheridan and curse when I can’t find a spot. I end up parking Sadie at the football stadium and running up campus to Sheridan. By the time I reach the building, I’m sweaty, out of breath, and exhilarated.
I can’t wait to see Maggie. Even if she won’t pick up my calls, I can’t wait to tell her in person that I’m not going to be a dad—that we can have a future together with this thing we started.
I click the door open and run to the basement. Room three’s door is closed. I bang on it like a crazy person. “Maggie!”
Meg answers. She’s dressed in a fancy green dress with heels. Her hair is still wet. She sees it’s me and tries to shut the door.
I stick my foot next to the frame to stop her. “Where’s Maggie?”
She huffs and opens the door. I double over and hold onto my knees, catching my breath.
“Jeez, Dave, don’t pass out or anything. Did you run back from Connecticut?”
I stand up. My heartbeat returns to normal. “How’d you know I was in Connecticut?”
“Tucker.”
Tuck! I pull my phone out of my pocket and tap out a quick text.
Basement. Now.
She juts a hip and crosses her arms. “How’s Amber? What are you going to do?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. It’s not mine.”
Meg’s jaw drops. “What?”
“Not mine. It’s a long story.”
Her stance softens, and she grabs my arm. “Whose then?”
I have no idea how Meg, or anyone in the basement, would react to knowing that Frank is the father of Amber’s baby. “I…I can’t say. Where’s Maggie?”
“She went to Miami a few days ago. Winston said she’s not there anymore and that she wants privacy. He won’t tell me where she went.”
“She went with Winston?”
Meg shrugs. “He kind of followed her there.”
“Fuck.” I sing the word, drawing it out as I think. “Can you call her for me? She won’t pick up my calls.”
She grunts a response at me but then turns into the room to get her phone. I cross my fingers as Tucker appears in the hallway.
On my way back from Connecticut, in between calling Maggie a million times, I called Tuck and told him to tell the guys we were back on for the gala. “Did you talk to the guys?”
“Hi to you too, jerkoff. I did. They’re on board—”
I look to the ceiling, shaking my hands. “At least one thing is working out.”
“Well, not quite,” Tuck says.
Meg appears at the door again. “She texted. She’s on her way back and anticipates being at the gala later.”
I fist pump. “Yes! Another thing works out.” I picture Maggie’s gorgeous face, her lips painted cherry red. I’m not positive she’ll talk to me, but seeing her is enough to excite me. “Thanks, Meg. You’re awesome.”
She scrunches her nose at me. “You’re still a jerk.”
I flash her my rock star grin. “Oh come on, Basement Girl. You know you love me.” I grab her and spin her around in a circle in the hallway. She squeals but laughs, punching me in the shoulder.
“Hey.” A loud voice bellows from the other end of the hallway. “Hands off my girl.” Ben approaches from the staircase. The idiot is wearing a kilt.
“Yeah, put me down,” Meg says, grinning.
I do, and Ben puts his arms around her.
“Nice skirt,” I tease. Tuck tries to lift it, but Ben smacks his hand away.
“The only one who gets to look under is this gorgeous lady. You look beautiful, sweet Meg.” He stares at her, and a pang of jealousy stabs me in the chest. I almost had that with Maggie. That look they share, like they’re talking to each other without words.
Meg kisses him. “I love the kilt. So hot.”
Tuck scratches his head and looks at Meg. “Really?”
She nods. “You have no idea.”
“I’ll never figure out women,” he says.
She giggles and then scowls at us. “Now all of you go away. I have to finish getting ready.” She looks at me. “I guess I’ll see you on stage later?”
Tuck sighs. “No, you won’t.”
I turn to face him. “I thought you said the guys were on board.”
He s
hrugs. “They are. It’s not the guys—it’s Juliet. She booked another band when we backed out. She had to do it last minute.”
Okay, so one thing may not work out. I drop my head back and cover my face with my hands. “Fuck.” Of course she had to fill her roster. Just when I thought things were looking up. “Is she here?”
Meg looks at her phone. “She was getting her hair done. I’ll text her, but let’s check room one. Maybe she’s back.”
The four of us scoot two rooms down. Ben pounds on the door. “CC? Jules? You in there?”
Chase flings the door open. He’s in a tux and a cloud of cologne wafts into the hallway. Even I had to admit he’s a damn nice-looking dude.
We all peek around him into the room except Meg, who stands there staring at Chase. “Wow,” she says. “You look amazing.”
I don’t even say hi, I just ask, “Where’s Juliet?”
He leans against the doorframe. “She’s on her way. We have to get over there early.”
“You look handsome as fuck,” Ben says.
Chase blows him a kiss. “I love your skirt. What do you guys need?”
Tuck steps to the front of the pack. “We need her to put The Randoms back on the roster.”
“Now? You just told her to take you off. The event starts in two hours.”
“There’s been a change in plans,” Tuck says.
Chase’s face morphs into a scowl. “Well, too bad. I’m not going to stress her out like that. She’s had a hard enough time with this, rehashing the shooting, the memories, never mind the semantics. You canceled, and she went crazy looking for a replacement.”
I step to the doorway. “This is all my fault, and I’m sorry. Can we just ask? If she says no, she says no.” I hold my hands in prayer.
Chase looks to Ben.
Ben shrugs. “Can’t hurt to let them ask.”
He walks into the room and comes back with his phone to his ear. I hear Juliet yelling at him when he moves the phone away.
“Yikes,” Meg says.
I take the phone, and Chase snickers. “Good luck.”
She Wants It All: Sheridan Hall Series, Book Three Page 26
