Bed of Lies

by Shelly Ellis

  “Okay, that works,” she mumbled, not sounding the least bit victorious even though he had given in to her. “I’ll see you next week, then.”

  Evan hung up without saying good-bye. The instant he did, he felt his fatigue grow. He glanced out the window and saw his mansion coming into view—its soaring portico and neat green hedges. He breathed a sigh of relief. He was finally home.

  “Is Ms. Hawkins around?” he asked his housekeeper as soon as he stepped through the doorway.

  The petite woman nodded. “I believe she’s upstairs in your room, Mr. Murdoch. Do you want me to tell her you’re looking for her?”

  “No, I’ll find her myself. Thanks.” He headed toward the staircase leading to the west wing. The housekeeper nodded again before shutting the front door behind him.

  A faint smile came to Evan’s lips. Leila was in their bedroom.

  Good, he thought.

  With the day he was having, Evan was badly in need of some sexual healing. He could envision Leila in her walk-in closet, peeling off the jeans and blouse she had worn that day to her doctor’s appointment. He could take her right there on one of the cedar shelves where she organized her sweaters and pashmina shawls. Or maybe she had decided to take a quick shower. He could step in naked with her, lather her from top to bottom with soapy water, and have her in the shower stall, right against the glass tile.

  As he climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time, he fantasized about the numerous ways he could make love to his fiancée: missionary, up against the bedroom wall, or doggie style on their Egyptian cotton sheets. Just thinking about Leila moaning beneath him made his pulse race. It made him hard as granite.

  He rushed down the corridor to their bedroom. When he threw open the door, he started to tug the hem of his shirt out of his pants. “All right,” he called out, “I hope you’re ready for what I’m about to—”

  Evan’s words faded when he saw his fiancée smiling and lying on her stomach across their California king–sized bed. She wasn’t alone.

  “Ready for what?” Leila asked, pushing herself up to her elbows. She raised her brows expectantly.

  Izzy, who was sitting on the bed facing her mother, turned to stare at Evan as she bit into an Oreo cookie.

  A board game sat between Izzy and Leila. It looked like a Monopoly set, though the pieces and board itself were covered with some girlie iconography Evan vaguely recognized. Disney princesses, it looked like. Two opened Coke cans sat on Leila’s end table. The flat-screen television seemed to be blaring the lyrics from the Disney movie Frozen.

  Evan had rushed upstairs to make love to his fiancée, but that obviously was out of the question right now. He felt his hard-on deflate like a balloon.

  He nervously cleared his throat. “Nothing! Ready for nothing,” he lied before forcing a smile and stepping farther into the room. “How are you, Isabel? What are you and your mom up to?”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “We’re playing a game,” she said between cookie munches, sounding mildly annoyed that he would ask such a stupid question. She then turned back around to face the board.

  “I promised Izzy that I would play Monopoly with her,” Leila explained.

  “And I’m winning!” Isabel said proudly, brandishing a multicolored stack of fake bills.

  Leila chuckled, leaned forward, and kissed Izzy’s forehead. “Yes, you are definitely winning. You are kicking Mommy’s butt up and down this board!” Leila’s smile faded and she became somber as she gazed over Isabel’s head at Evan. “So, how’d the talk with Terry go? Did he hear you out?”

  Evan had told Leila that he was on a mission today to get his brother out of the funk he had been wallowing in for months. Now he had to tell her that he hadn’t succeeded in his mission. He walked toward the bed and shook his head. “Terry’s too stuck in his self-pity to listen to me.”

  “Your turn, Mommy,” Isabel said, breaking into their conversation.

  “But you have to keep trying, Ev,” Leila insisted. “We both know the only person who could ever reach Terry would be you.”

  Evan tiredly closed his eyes. “But he has to want to get better, Lee. I can’t force him to do it.”

  “Mommy, your turn,” Isabel repeated before pointing down at the Monopoly board.

  “I heard you, Izzy,” Leila said tightly before bestowing a stern gaze on her daughter. “Evan and I are talking right now. All right? We’re going to play again in a sec.” She then returned her attention to Evan. “So, is he going back to physical therapy? I know it was painful for him, but it got him walking. Is he—”

  “He won’t even leave the house.” Evan opened his eyes and slumped back against one of his dressers. “He didn’t look or smell like he had washed in days. But he’s not on painkillers anymore. At least, there’s that. We don’t have to worry about him swallowing a handful of those.”

  “Jesus,” Leila whispered breathlessly, pushing herself upright. She looked horrified. “Do you really think he’s that bad off?”

  Evan shrugged. “I don’t know, Lee. I just . . . I just don’t know.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Why is this happening? Just when things start to settle down, something pops up to send the whole family into—”

  “Your turn! Your turn! Your turn!” Isabel started to shout, slamming her fists on her thighs.

  “Izzy, stop it!” Leila ordered. “Stop yelling like that. You’re acting like a baby and you’re being rude. Stop it now!”

  “No, he’s being rude!” Isabel shouted, jumping to her feet and glaring at Evan. “We were playing a game and he stopped us!”

  “Izzy,” Leila began with tightened lips, “you had better apologize right now to Evan, or I will cancel your party in a few months, because birthday parties are for good girls. I will—”

  “No!” Isabel screeched. She then flipped over the board game with a swipe of her hand, sending little princess figurines and cards flying across the plush carpet and the silk duvet. Leila jumped back in surprise. Evan went rigid. “No! I won’t apologize!” Isabel screamed. “And you can’t make me!”

  Evan couldn’t take it anymore. He had walked around on eggshells with this kid for months, trying his best to be patient and supportive of her, but he had officially hit his limit. She wasn’t a sad little girl who was trying her best to adjust; she was a manipulative little tyrant, and he was tired of her bullshit.

  “Izzy, don’t you ever, ever talk to your mother that way again. Do you understand me?” he said in a booming voice and with an icy coldness that he had learned well from his father.

  It was the same voice that had made Evan tremble in his sneakers when George Murdoch had used it with him when he was a little boy. Evan watched now as Isabel started to shake in front of him on her skinny legs, as she gnawed her chapped bottom lip.

  “Now you go over there and pick up every single piece you knocked off that board,” he ordered. “Do you hear me? Do it now.”

  Leila rose from the bed. “Ev, she doesn’t—”

  He held up his hand to silence Leila. “Every . . . single . . . piece,” he repeated, enunciating each word with a deliberateness that let Leila and Isabel know he meant what he said.

  The room fell silent. Isabel’s shaking only increased, but she took a hesitant step toward him then slowly bent down to the carpet. She grabbed one of the plastic pieces and set it on the bed. For the next five minutes, she gathered the missing pieces and cards, crying softly as she did so. When she was done, she kept her head bowed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

  “Now, the next time you decide to talk to your mother like that, I want you to think very carefully before you do it,” he continued, ignoring the beseeching look Leila was giving him. “Because you got off easy this time, but it won’t happen again. I won’t allow that kind of behavior in my home, Isabel. Not under my roof.”

  She mumbled a reply that he couldn’t hear.

  “What did you say?” he asked, taking a step toward
her.

  Isabel stopped trembling. She raised her head and met him with a defiant gaze. “I said, ‘Then I don’t wanna live here!’ ” she shouted between sniffs as tears spilled onto her cheeks. Isabel then turned and ran toward the bedroom doorway, stumbling slightly near the entrance before fleeing into the hall.

  Leila glared up at him. “You didn’t have to talk to her like that.”

  He stared at Leila in amazement. “Talk to her like what?”

  “Like she was some underling at your fucking company! You can use that tone in the boardroom, but you can’t talk like that to a seven-year-old.”

  “Oh, come on, Lee! I wasn’t talking to her like she was an underling. I was talking to her like she was a disobedient kid, which she was! And, I might add, I was also defending you!”

  “Defending me to my own daughter? You shouldn’t have said anything, let alone punish her! She’s my child, Evan.” She pointed at her chest. “I’ll handle her. Not you! Besides, I had it covered!”

  “Oh, you did?” He barked out a laugh. “Is that what you would call it? Her screaming and throwing shit around the room . . . is that what you call having it ‘covered’?”

  Leila didn’t answer him. Instead she marched to the bedroom door. “I’m going to find Izzy,” she mumbled, not looking back at him as she said it.

  Evan watched Leila disappear into the hall. He tiredly fell back onto the bed, bouncing slightly on the bedsprings.

  “To hell with it,” he muttered minutes later after furiously rising to his feet.

  Terrence wants to slowly kill himself, so be it, Evan thought as he stripped off his clothes, tossing them carelessly to the bedroom floor.

  Charisse wants to drag her feet on the divorce, I couldn’t care less, he thought as he walked into his expansive closet and grabbed a pair of swim trunks.

  Leila wants to let her daughter rule her life and decide the fate of our relationship, then there is absolutely nothing I can do about that, he thought as he headed to the east wing to take out his frustrations in the indoor pool.

  He’d had it with the people around him. As far as he was concerned, everyone—from Terrence to Charisse to Leila—could do whatever the hell they wanted with their lives and their life dramas. He was staying out of it.

  An hour and a half later, Evan was finishing yet another lap in the pool when he saw Leila’s distorted image above the water’s surface. She was gazing down at him with her hands on her hips. She was still gazing at him when he climbed out of the pool a minute later and sat on the tiled edge, his body sapped of all energy.

  “I thought I’d find you in here,” she said, handing him the towel he’d left sitting on one of the stone benches lining the pool.

  “I needed to clear my head,” Evan mumbled, taking the towel and wiping the droplets of water from his face and body. He didn’t meet her eyes.

  She sat on the stone bench as he toweled off. “Look, Ev, I’m . . . I’m sorry.”

  He paused and lowered his towel.

  “I know you were only trying to help. I shouldn’t have told you to butt out. You’re going to be Izzy’s stepfather and I can’t keep treating you like some interloper. I . . . I apologize for doing that.”

  Evan rose from the pool’s edge and sat on the bench beside her, feeling the cold air on his bare back and shoulders and the cold bench on his bottom. He sighed and rested his elbows on his knees as he peered at the water in the pool, watching how the overhead lights gleamed off of its blue surface.

  “Look, Lee, maybe you were right. Maybe I’m just trying too hard. I’m a square peg trying to bang myself into a round hole. Maybe I’m just not one of those guys meant to be a dad.”

  She suddenly sat upright and stared at him. She shook her head. “That’s not true, Ev. Don’t say that! Of course you’d make a good dad!”

  “But we have to consider the possibility that I won’t. It’s not like I have a good example to follow. You know how my dad was—withdrawn, demanding, and manipulative. Maybe I would better serve Izzy and you if I don’t try to take on a fatherly role with her. She says that she has only one dad, so let her have just one. I’ll just be her mom’s husband. The guy she goes to when she needs money or a letter of recommendation.”

  Leila winced and squirmed uncomfortably beside him. “That’s not funny.”

  “I’m not trying to be funny! I’m being honest. Maybe, with time, my relationship with Isabel will change, but for now, I’ll back off. I’ll stay in my lane, so to speak. Besides, parenting isn’t my strong point.”

  “It has to be your strong point, Ev.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” He reached out, held her hand, and squeezed it reassuringly. “Look, I’m not throwing in the towel completely. I’ll still keep trying with Isabel. I’m just saying that being a father isn’t something I had planned to—”

  “I’m pregnant,” Leila blurted out, making him pause again.

  “What?”

  She pulled her hand out of his grasp, closed her eyes, and gradually exhaled. “I said, I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.” She opened her eyes again and gave him a timid smile. “That’s why I went to the doctor today. I wanted to make sure the at-home pregnancy tests I took were right before I told you for sure.”

  He stared at her, now struck speechless.

  “I know it isn’t what we planned. I was on the pill, though frankly, I’ve never been very good at taking it. That’s how I ended up with Izzy. And you’re still married to someone else. This probably isn’t the ideal time to have a baby, but”—she lowered her hand to her stomach and rubbed it gently—“life happens, right?”

  Life happens. That was the understatement of the year! Had all the air left the room? Evan suddenly felt light-headed.

  “So, I hope parenting can become ‘your thing.’ I hope you can envision yourself as a real father because you’re . . . you’re going to be one whether you’re ready or not.”

  “I’m going to be a father,” he repeated dazedly.

  “Yes, you are going to be a father, Evan Murdoch.” Her smile faded. She tilted her head and eyed him apprehensively. “Please tell me you’re okay with all of this. You’re not going to faint on me, are you? Or run out of here screaming?”

  He slowly shook his head, still too stunned to speak. He was going to be a father!

  Evan had given up on the idea years ago, after Charisse had had miscarriage after miscarriage and their marriage took a tumble off a steep cliff. He had told himself that he wasn’t the type of guy who would make a great father anyway, with his screwed-up childhood and the lifestyle he had. He worked long hours and sometimes traveled at a moment’s notice. Not having a child was for the best.

  The lies we tell ourselves, he now thought, beyond amazed.

  But life happens when you least expect it and now the chance to be a father had come again. Evan didn’t know whether he was ready, but he didn’t care. Short of Leila, he hadn’t wanted anything so badly in his life than to be this baby’s father.

  “Evan,” Leila whispered, “please say something. You’re starting to scare me.”

  “I’m going to be a father!” he yelled, making her jump in surprise. His voice echoed off the tiled walls and high ceilings. He was pretty sure the entire mansion had heard him yelling. He then wrapped his arms around Leila, making her laugh. He drew her close and kissed her senseless.

  Chapter 8

  Paulette

  “All right, you can sit up now,” the doctor said. “Do you need some help?”

  Paulette nodded and held out her hand. “I’d appreciate it, Dr. Rodriguez. Thanks.”

  Whenever Paulette got on her back nowadays, it took a lot of shimmying and rocking back and forth to get upright on her own. If she stayed down for too long, she started to feel faint, thanks to the baby resting on a major artery.

  The joys of pregnancy, Paulette thought with exasperation.

  “One, two, three,” Dr. Rodriguez said after taking her hand in a firm
grasp. She hoisted Paulette from the examination table with a soft grunt. Paulette sighed with relief as she sat upright and gazed around the examination room. Several magazines on parenting and newborns sat on the ledge near the window facing the hospital parking lot. A chart on the wall showed a dilated vagina during the stages of labor. Several plastic fetuses sat on a shelf near the door.

  “Well, Mrs. Williams,” the doctor said before glancing at her chart, where she scribbled a few numbers. “Your labs look pretty good. You’re starting to experience some swelling in the legs and ankles, which is normal at this stage in the pregnancy. Just keep an eye on it.” She glanced at the chart again. “Yep, everything looks fine, but . . .”

  Paulette frowned when she heard the “but.”

  “The baby is measuring small for twenty-two weeks,” Dr. Rodriguez said, pursing her full lips and narrowing her brown eyes at something on her chart. “Smaller than I would like.”

  Paulette’s hands instinctively flew to her stomach, where her son now squirmed, perhaps sensing his mother’s anxiety. Paulette had considered herself lucky that she was still so small. It made covering up the pregnancy a little easier than she had hoped, being this far along. To cloak her changing body, she had switched from billowing wool winter sweaters to loose-fitting halter dresses and sheaths accompanied by shawls now that the weather was warmer. Besides Dr. Rodriguez and herself, no one else seemed to know she was pregnant. But now it turned out Paulette’s small size meant she wasn’t quite as lucky as she’d thought.

  The doctor sat down in her rollaway chair. “You’re not gaining much weight, either. Are you eating well, Mrs. Williams? You aren’t skipping meals, are you? Some women get so concerned about pregnancy weight gain that they can be a bit too restrictive with their diets.”

  “I’ve been trying to eat, but I haven’t . . . well, I haven’t had much of an appetite.”

  Dr. Rodriguez inclined her head. “Why’s that?”