She only threw up once on her way to the car. Some poor person was going to discover a nasty surprise in one of the potted plants in the lobby. She should feel bad about that, but she really couldn’t feel any worse than she already did.
She found a take-out bag on the floor of her car—just in case. She shook out the old wrappers and napkins, for once glad her car was a mess. Barely out of the parking lot, she had to pull over to heave again. When it seemed like the latest wave of nausea was gone, she set out again.
But after stopping and going and stopping and going a few more times, she gave up. She needed help. There was no way she could get to the hospital on her own. She grabbed her phone, punched in a number, and waited for her savior to answer.
In a way, she didn’t care if anyone came to her aid. If they did, she could go to the hospital. There, maybe some miracle of modern science would figure out what was wrong and cure her. Or she’d stay put and wait for the Black Death inside her to finish waging its war. She didn’t care. If it killed her, at least the unbearable pain ripping her apart from the inside would be over.
She could die right then and she didn’t care.
***
Wilder glared at his phone in disgust and threw it on the passenger seat. Where the hell was Bailey? They were supposed to meet at the old Victorian house to review the punch list before he sent the team in to finish, but she hadn’t shown and she wasn’t taking his calls.
After the way they’d left things last night—with her snapping at him when he asked if she wanted to hang out—the tardiness and unanswered calls didn’t sit right with him. He couldn’t figure out what he’d done wrong. It wasn’t like he was infallible. He was sure he’d done something to piss her off, but he didn’t know what.
His phone rang and he frantically reached for it. “Damn,” he muttered when he read the name on the display.
What could Waverly possibly want this morning? If she suddenly wanted to change something in the Victorian, she could forget it. She was the one who’d opted to skip out on most of the project. Bailey’s design was nothing short of showstopping, and it was what the homeowner wanted.
He was not caving and going with Waverly’s whim on this one. No, ma’am.
Bracing himself for a fight, he answered. “Hello.”
“Wilder.” Waverly let out a sob. “I need your help.”
His heart stopped. In a second, a dozen possible disasters populated his head. Had she broken up with the executive? Did she get another bad review on her book? Were they getting canceled pre-season? Had Bailey quit? Maybe Waverly got in a car accident. Oh God. Was Virginia okay? “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sick.” Her announcement was followed by the sound of retching on the other end of the line. He pulled the phone away from his ear. He wrinkled his nose, even as his heart resumed beating like normal.
Thank God. She was just sick. He didn’t figure anyone would blame him for not being more sympathetic, but having the stomach flu or food poisoning was preferable to the other options. This was at least something he could resolve. She just needed to be fussed over a little and she’d be fine. “Do you want me to bring you some saltines and ginger ale?”
“That,” she sniffed, “would be nice.”
He gave the Victorian another glance. The last-minute details could wait a few more hours, and it wasn’t like Bailey was there waiting on him. “I’ll be right there.”
It only took him a few minutes to pick up some get-better supplies and leave a message for Bailey. Virginia had her nose flat against the bay windows at the project house when he arrived. She jumped up and down as he pulled into the horseshoe driveway they’d installed. There wasn’t much that perked him up more than the sheer joy on his daughter’s face when she saw him. It was better than popping a couple of Xanax.
“Hey, peanut.” He scooped her up into a hug and gave a juicy kiss on her cheek. “Are you being a good helper for your mama?”
“You bet! She let me get her some crackers, but then she made me go away so she could have quiet crying time.”
Of course, Waverly could always be counted on to embrace her theatrical roots. She never missed a chance to perform—even when her daughter was the only member of the audience.
He set Virginia back on her feet. “How ‘bout I go check on your mama and you go work with your blocks for a while? Then later, you can show me what you built. Maybe we can go out for some ice cream while your mama has a rest.”
“Okay!” She was off and running without sparing him a second glance. That was the life of a daddy. One minute you were the best thing in the world. The next you were tossed aside for blocks and the promise of ice cream.
He found Waverley curled up in a fetal position in the middle of her four-poster bed. This shouldn’t take long. He’d get her to drink some ginger ale and munch on a few crackers. He’d be kind and courteous. He’d only give her as much pampering as it actually took. Then he was out of there to find Bailey. He’d take Virginia with him so her mama could have some quiet while she rested up. Virginia would be all about helping with the walk-through. Then, they could all get lunch and that ice cream he’d promised. Virginia would be thrilled. She was almost as crazy about Bailey as he was.
He liked the pretty picture he was painting for the three of them. It was much better than the one Waverly had created in this room. Glancing up from her spot, she croaked a pitiful “hello.”
Even though he knew it was probably at least half for show, he could feel his resolve to get in and out slipping away. Poor thing. Unlike him, she didn’t really know anyone in Austin. She didn’t have anyone else here to help her out.
He set the supplies on the nightstand and perched on the edge of the bed. She really did look awful. “What’s wrong?”
“My stomach.”
“Was it something you ate?”
“Could be.” She sniffled. “Bailey and I split a tuna salad sandwich yesterday for lunch. Last night, she said she didn’t feel well either.”
Waverly’s face was buried in the pillow, which was the only reason she didn’t catch the alarm on his face. Bailey wasn’t feeling well yesterday? She’d never said anything, just that she was tired. Why didn’t she tell him she was sick? He wouldn’t have pressed her so hard to hang out.
Now he felt like a real jerk.
“So it was some bad tuna?”
“Maybe.” She wiped her nose on the bedspread. He cringed imagining how Bailey would react if she’d been there to see Waverly do that to the hypoallergenic down comforter she’d carefully selected. “It could also be . . .”
When Waverly didn’t finish the idea, he prompted her with a gentle nudge. “What else could it be?”
“Well . . .” She sighed and pushed herself up so she was facing him. “I think I’m pregnant.”
He swallowed hard. “Come again?”
“I think . . .” she pulled back her shoulders and said more resolutely, “I’m pregnant.”
He’d heard those four words before. They echoed in his head like tires shrieking to a stop. “Pregnant?”
She nodded. “Whatever this . . .” she rubbed her stomach, “is feels a lot like the morning sickness I had with Ginny. Remember what my first trimester was like?”
Oh boy, he did. She’d been sicker than a dog. (Though he’d never compared her to one—at least not out loud.) She could have taught Linda Blair a thing or two.
Pregnant. For a moment, he was that scared, dumb kid back in that coffee shop in Toronto. He’d listened to Waverly tell him she was having a baby—and doing the show—with or without him. His life had changed forever. From that moment, there’d been no going back. His life had a bigger purpose: his daughter. It was why he was there now, doing a bad job of comforting his ex.
Waverly was pregnant. Maybe.
Only this time, he was most assuredly not the father. Somehow that fact didn’t ease his mind.
So Wilder made another trip to the drug store. This time with a dif
ferent, and more specific, shopping list. He was also toting Virginia along for the ride.
He hoped they weren’t recognized. Ideally, they’d go in, grab a box of pregnancy tests, and get through the checkout line without any drama. It was possible. He hadn’t lied when he’d told Bailey he was rarely recognized.
That’s why this situation was a little more complicated. Even though Virginia was only on the screen for a limited amount of time each episode, she had a bit of a fan base, too. With her hand gripped in his, they were more likely to be noticed, but it couldn’t be helped.
As a precaution, he grabbed a pint of ice cream, a pack of cookies, and a couple of activity books for their basket before they made their way to the family planning aisle.
Virginia’s eyes widened. “What are those?”
She pointed to row after row of tampons. He narrowly caught himself before he swore out loud.
Did he have to explain the birds and the bees and what goes on inside a woman’s body when she reached a certain age? He stared down at her angelic upturned face and made a decision, once and for all. He was never having that talk with her. Not now. Not ever. He’d pass the buck to her mother on this one issue.
Evasiveness. That was his only hope if he wanted to get through this shopping trip without taking their father-daughter relationship somewhere he didn’t want it to go.
But he couldn’t completely lie to his daughter . . . “Those are for big girls.”
“Like mommy?”
Not any time in the future. “That’s right. They’re for big girls like mommy. Speaking of your mama, let’s go get her . . . stuff.”
Before she could dig in any deeper on the subject, he tugged Virginia away from the display and farther down the aisle. She continued to eye the packages surrounding them with interest, but she kept any questions to herself. Thank God for that.
They stopped in front of the collection of pregnancy tests. He stared at the wall of choices. What little confidence he had in his mission slipped away. Where did he even begin? He should have asked what brand Waverly wanted, but it never occurred to him. He’d figured it would be pretty straightforward. How the hell was he supposed to know there’d be so many?
He plucked one from the shelf and read the label. “Get more accurate results earlier.” Sounded good. He grabbed it, but paused when he saw the words “greater accuracy, even faster” on another box. He grabbed it and held the two tests next to each other.
“Well, damn.”
Virginia gaped at him. “You aren’t supposed to say that.”
“Sorry.”
He kept his mouth shut while he checked out the other options. A third set of tests promised to be the top-rated by a medical association, while a fourth said more gynecologists chose it over any other brand. He picked one of each and dropped them in the basket. Who cared how much it cost? He’d rather break the bank than pick the wrong one and have to come back again.
The older woman behind the register at the checkout counter offered them a bright greeting. She leaned over to ask Virginia, “How old are you, sweetie?”
Still gripping his hand, Virginia leaned against his leg. “Four.”
“Are you here helping your daddy?”
Virginia nodded.
Picking up the ice cream, the clerk scanned it, then glanced down at the label more closely. “I haven’t had this kind before. Is it any good?”
He shrugged. “We’re trying it for the first time, too.”
“Gotcha. You’ll have to let me know what you think.” She placed it in the plastic bag and reached for the cookies. “My grandbabies sure love these cookies.”
“They’re the best.” He tapped his foot, but stopped, not wanting to draw more attention to himself by becoming an impatient ass.
She reached for a pregnancy test and shot him a conspiratorial glance. “Is someone in the market for a b-a-b-y?”
What was he supposed to say? “No, we just like to pee on sticks.” Or, “They’re for a friend.” Not very likely. This lady might be old, but she wasn’t senile.
“It’s looking like a real possibility.” It was a struggle to keep his tone light.
She “oohed” and went through the rest of the basket at a pace that would’ve made a turtle look speedy. Since there wasn’t a polite way to tell a nice, elderly lady to hurry the fuck up, he forced a smile and waited for her to finish.
When she finally closed out the sale and handed him the bag, she kept her grip a few seconds longer than necessary. “Say, you look just like that fella on Playing House.”
“Yeah.” He slipped the bag out of her hands and tugged Virginia away. “I get that a lot.”
When they made it home, it didn’t take long for Waverly to take the test. When she stepped out of the bathroom, pee stick in hand, she said what they already knew. “I’m pregnant.”
Now that he’d taken some time to process the eventuality, he didn’t feel quite so anxious. He still wanted to know what this meant for the show, for Virginia, and, well, himself. If she thought they were going to drop everything and head back to New York permanently, he wasn’t sure he’d go quietly this time. There was more at stake.
For one, they actually had a daughter of their own. She was the reason for all of this. Two, their show was a hit. People—and not just the lady at the drug store—knew them. Three, her boyfriend-turned baby daddy wasn’t some dumb kid she could boss around. Four, he wasn’t sure he wanted New York living any more. This time back in Texas had him thinking he could get used to his old country boy ways. And five, well, five was still M.I.A. for the day, but she counted.
“What are you thinking right now?”
“I’m thinking . . .” she trailed off and stared at her phone on the nightstand. “I’m thinking I should call Devon and let him know what’s going on.”
“That’s fair.” He got up and walked for the door.
She called after him, “I’ve already asked a lot of you, but can you do me one more favor?”
He tucked his hands in his pockets. “Sure.”
“Can we keep this between us for the moment?”
He gave her a curt nod and closed the door to give her some privacy while she let their boss know she was having his baby. With Virginia down for her afternoon nap, and her nanny close by, he headed to the soon-to-be completed kitchen to eat some of the drug store cookies.
This day. It could go ahead and end any time it wanted. He pulled out a carton of milk and poured himself a glass rather than swig it straight from the bottle. He was a guest in this house. It was only right. Settling into a stool at the bar, he’d just polished off the first cookie when his phone rang.
“Well, phank goph,” he mumbled with a full mouth. It was Bailey. At last. “He-woo.”
“Wilder.” The panicked voice on the other end of the line wasn’t Bailey. He almost choked on the milk.
He checked to make sure he’d read the name correctly, and plain as day, “Bailey Meredith” flashed on the screen. “Hello?”
“It’s Paige. Bailey wanted me to call you. She was going on and on about how she was supposed to meet you and it isn’t professional to be this late.” The nerves were still there, and her words bled together as she rushed them out. “I told her not to worry about work at a time like this, but you know Bailey. She’s always worried about work.”
“Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know.” She let out a shaky breath. “We’re at the hospital.”
He swore his heart stopped. “What’s wrong?”
“The doctors are running some tests. They just put her through an MRI, and they’re reading the images. They think it’s her appendix.”
Her appendix. There was only one thing he’d ever heard about appendixes. “Is she going into surgery?”
“More than likely.”
He grabbed his keys and told the nanny he was leaving. He’d apologize to Virginia later about their broken date. “Which hospital? I’ll be right there.”
/>
Chapter Eighteen
Bailey’s eyes flew open and focused on the bright light shining overhead. Voices murmured around her, and she was vaguely aware she was moving. She blinked once, twice, three times before she remembered where she was. She was in the hospital. She’d just had surgery to remove the bum appendix that had her praying to the porcelain god most of the night.
“There you are,” one of the voices said, becoming clearer in the fog. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” She said it automatically, but surprisingly upon further evaluation, she actually felt fine. She was awake, maybe a little hazy, but not exhausted. Her stomach no longer felt like she was about to reenact Alien any time soon. There was a dull pain around her middle, like someone had poked at her belly with a stick, which wasn’t that far from the truth.
Considering she’d just had an organ removed, she felt fine. Who needed an appendix anyways?
“What’s your pain level?”
Bailey shrugged, again surprised not to feel a sharp pain at the movement. “Like on a scale from one to ten, or do you have one of those smiley, frowny charts?”
The nurse chuckled. “Sorry, I don’t have one of those on me. A scale of one to ten will work.”
“I guess a two, maybe a three if I’m really being a baby.” The ceiling swirled and flowed as the fluorescent lights flew by. “I’m not sure. Maybe a one. I feel pretty good.”
“You’re still on a fairly high dosage of pain killers,” one of the nurses explained. “We’ll keep you on something for the next couple of days. Don’t wait for the pain to get too bad before we re-dose you. There’s no need to be a hero.”
She laughed, which instantly sent a tight ache through her midsection. “Ouch. Okay, I’m going to call that one a five.”
“I’d suggest you avoid watching anything too funny for the next few days. Anything that jostles your midsection around too much won’t feel good while you’re healing.”
“Now you tell me,” she muttered.
They rolled her into a small room, and the doors closed behind them. Someone pushed a couple of buttons and they were moving again. “Are we on an elevator?”
Playing House Page 20
