by Dee Palmer
“Told you what?” I touch his jaw, lifting his head. I don’t understand any of this. What’s he talking about? He did this, not me.
“That you were pregnant.” Tears fall from his eyes, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him cry or anything so unbearably sad.
“You’d left.” I cup his heavy head in my hand, relishing the warmth and prickle of his stubble.
“Not that pregnancy, Regan, not Ruby. I meant you should’ve told me you were carrying my baby, before you killed it.” I’m bleeding all over again as pain rips through me with his accusation. I can’t gasp or cry out; all the air in my lungs is gone. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I’m stunned, bereft, fuming.
I thought he meant Ruby. How did he know? How fucking dare he?
“You fucking son of a bitch! You don’t get to judge me.” Snatching my hand as if his touch burns, I spit my venom through gritted teeth.
“You’re right. I don’t. I do, however, get to throw up and pass out.” He rolls onto his side and nods before slumping like a corpse on the ground.
“Hi, Shannon,” I whisper into my cell phone.
“Hey, girl, you know you’re on a date right?” Shannon’s bright tone makes me smile regardless of the lousy outcome of this evening.
“Heading home now actually.”
“And why is that?”
“Slight change of plan.” I stroke the thick golden strands on the head lying heavy in my lap. Joel didn’t fully pass out, and I managed to persuade a taxi driver to bring us back to my place. I probably should’ve sent him straight to the Emergency Room, but I think he’s done enough damage to his reputation for one evening. Besides, we clearly have some unfinished business that needs discussing.
“Are you okay?” Shannon’s concern interrupts my troubled thoughts.
“I’m fine. I can come and pick up Ruby if you want?” A change of subject is sneaky, but I honestly don’t know what I would tell her right now.
“She’s fast asleep. She crashed early, and I haven’t heard a peep. I think the twins wore her out, so don’t worry. I’ll drop her over in the morning, as planned.”
“Okay, thank you. Bye, hun.” I end the call.
“Stop the car!” Joel sits bolts upright and starts retching from his chest, his hand on his mouth. The taxi driver swerves at the first yell and pulls into a safe lay-by. Joel springs from the car and races to the verge. I have the back door open and am shivering from my toes to my nose. I forget to collect Harper’s coat in my rush and Joel’s jacket is a poor substitute for a frosty Chicago night.
“Cinderella didn’t have to put up with this shit. The worst she got was a vanishing pumpkin, a missing shoe and a bit of a walk home,” I grumble, rubbing my arms to get the circulation going and hopefully some heat.
“I’ll make sure you don’t end up walking, even if we have to dump Prince Charming right here,” the taxi driver informs me from his front seat. His comment makes me laugh, even if, by his expression, I don’t think he was joking.
“It’s tempting, but kinda’ goes against the grain, abandoning a soul in need. I’m a nurse, and he’s a doctor,” I clarify, just in case he thought that was a genuine option.
“You think he’d know better than to drink himself into a coma then.”
“You’d think?”
“Aaaand neither of you have ever been drunk.” Joel staggers back from the side of the road, wiping saliva and vomit from his face with his sleeve. Prince Charming really has nothing to worry about.
“Oh, it’s alive!” I snark.
“I’d rather not be.” He pauses and has that expression on his face that indicates he is checking if any movement is too much movement and is going to cause more vomiting. Satisfied for now that he’s got nothing left to decorate the highway with, he crawls in next to me in the back of the cab. This time he rolls the window down and hangs his head out like a dog, a big, dumb dog, that is, and promptly falls back to sleep.
“Thank you for helping me carry him in. I thought when he woke back there I wouldn’t need to drag his sorry arse up three flights of stairs.” I stretch my back out and look at Joel’s sorry state crumpled on my sofa.
“Not a problem. You gave me a great tip.” The taxi driver waves his fingers in a happy salute.
“He gave you a great tip. I’m a nurse, remember.” I motion to Joel’s unconscious body.
“Right, and he’s one lucky guy.”
“Feeling all kinds of lucky right now, pal.” Joel pipes up, eyes closed, barely breathing, and he still has ears like a hawk.
“It’s a shame drunk doesn’t mean mute,” I say flatly and show the taxi driver to the door. I peek my head around the door and watch Joel wriggle and try in vain to get comfortable on my tiny sofa. He puffs the cushion and smooshes his face, drawing in a deep and heavy sniff that makes him smile. He looks peaceful, content, and even if he will be so stiff tomorrow from trying to cram his oversized frame into the two-seater, sleeping like this, he does at least look happy. I decide to let him sleep it off, and I’m just about to change into something a little less grand and a lot more comfortable when he emits out a pained guttural cry that hurts my heart.
He jolts himself awake, his chest heaving with the sudden shock of whatever woke him. Tortured, violent eyes search the room, and for a moment, he looks like a wild animal until he sees me. Dropping his head in his hands, he takes a moment of slow, steady breaths before he looks back up, still pale, but calm enough to attempt a faint smile. I hold up my finger when he is about to speak and go to fetch him something from the kitchen. I walk over and sit carefully beside him.
“You need to sip this.” He eyes the glass of cloudy liquid with suspicion. Men might make the worst patients, but add Doctor to that mix and you get some idea of the tantrum potential. “It’s water, with some electrolytes. It will help with the killer hangover you’re going to have, not that you deserve any different.”
“I’m sorry.” He takes the glass and sips several times before he speaks.
“I doubt that.”
“No, really I am. I never meant to embarrass you and ruin your date.” His eyes are earnest, and his tone is convincingly contrite; shame it’s too little, too late.
“All evidence to the contrary, Dr Lincoln Prescott.”
“Oh, God, what did I do?” He drops his head into his free hand and groans. When he looks up, he looks lost, and it pulls at the strings all tangled around my heart.
“It wasn’t that bad, not for me, at least. I didn’t really know anyone there. Even the ones I see almost everyday wouldn’t have recognised me. I didn’t recognise me.” I give an easy smile and try to brush off the fuck-up that was our evening. There are worse things than feeding the gossipmongers.
“I did. You were stunning.” He levels me with a look so raw I feel it in my soul.
“Joel?”
“I’m sorry for what I said. I’m just so angry.” His knuckles whiten around the glass, and I take it from his hand and place it at my feet, fearful he’s going to smash it in his grip. Tension oozes from every pore, and I can’t work out if I’m scared or heartbroken. He looks devastated.
“Angry at me?”
“Yes and no. Mostly angry at myself. I get why you did it.” He pinches the wrinkles on the bridge of his nose and forces out ugly words through a tight, unforgiving jaw. “Fuck, Regan, I can just hear my tirade on unplanned pregnancies. What choice did you have? I was a fucking asshole, but I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong, and I’m so sorry.” He grabs my hands in his; his plea is frantic, for what, I’m not sure. “Guilt and regret cloak my existence, Regan. I haven’t slept in peace since the day you left. I live my nightmare each day, seeing you happy and knowing you have something I will never have. A just and personal hell I know I deserve.” He’s rambling, and I can’t work out if he’s still drunk. He’s lucid one minute and confusing the shit out of me the next.
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t blame you.” Hi
s touch is so tender, his large palm warm on my cheek, and he traces my hairline with the thumb of his other hand. His eyes are hypnotic, his expression so deep in thought, it’s only as the words sink in that I’m rocked wide awake. “I can’t help wondering what would’ve happened if you had told me, and that haunts me, kills me.”
“I lost our baby, Joel.” I don’t know how he knows any of it, but he’s wrong.
“I saw the prescription, Regan.” He drags his hand through his hair, his tone resigned and filled with sorrow. There’s no fire or accusation from before, and I’m devastated all over again. Tears fill my eyes, and a tidal wave of sadness engulfs me. Joel pulls me onto his lap, scoops my legs across him, and wraps me in his arms.
I don’t know what to say.
“When you wouldn’t return my calls, I went to your apartment. Raleigh let me in, she told me you’d gone to stay with friends. I don’t think she was keeping the location secret, even if she did play coy. I know you wouldn’t have told her. The counterfoil on the prescription was in your trash can. I know you took the pill, and I know why. It’s my fault.” He strokes my hair smooth against my head, tears fall like a river, still I shake my head when I look up to explain what actually happened.
“I never took it. It’s possible I was going to; I hadn’t made up my mind, not really. Harper and I were going to talk it through when I got back from the cabin.” He looks down at me with surprise and understanding, fruitlessly wiping my cheeks dry with his fingers. I’m not nearly done with the tears. He’s not the only one that is wracked with guilt over that weekend. “I had cramps remember? I lost the baby that night.”
“Regan…I…” He chokes back the sadness and holds my gaze, pained and broken. “I wish…”
“Yeah, me too. I should’ve told you. I was so fucking angry with you.”
“Where did you go?” He accepts my statement as a given and gently kisses my forehead. He pulls the blanket from the back of the sofa and wraps our entwined bodies in a warm woolly cocoon.
“I had to get away. I was broken, completely devastated, a total fucking mess, and I didn’t really know why. I blamed you for a long time and your leaving was just an easy focus for all my pain. I know it wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, but I wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind. Hindsight is a bitch, but right or wrong, I took the decision to ignore the messages you left. I had to try and get myself better inside and out. I was still bleeding when Harper took me to her grandparents in Florida. I stayed with them, well, mostly in hospital.
“I lost a lot of blood and had hypovolemic shock. I was given multiple transfusions, contracted hepatitis, which caused some immune problems. Ended up clean eventually, but it left me anaemic, which I manage mostly with my diet. I still have to keep an eye on my iron levels and red cell counts. That actually helps with Ruby’s check-ups, when I have to have my check-up too. She just has to have more.” I kick myself that I mentioned Ruby’s name. This isn’t really a salt-in-the- wound conversation. Even so, it clearly affected him more than I imagined possible.
“You know when I came back and found out you had had a child, I thought perhaps she was mine.” His wistful intonation pulls at my heartstrings but not his words.
“She’s not.” I snap, and he holds up his hand too late to shield him from the sharpness in my tone.
“I know, I know.” He explains his thoughts. “The dates are close though, from when you were pregnant with mine, I mean.”
“I know, but I would’ve told you if she was yours, no matter how mad I was. If you were her father, you would deserve to know.” He looks down at me and closes his eyes, pain flashing behind the deep gold flecks of his irises. I touch the side of his face, and when he meets my gaze, I tell him the truth. “She’d be lucky to have you as her father.”
“Thank you, Reggie, you have no idea what that means to me to hear you say that.” He holds my gaze and falls silent. After a while, his features change, and I can see the moment wishful nostalgia turns to concern. His thick brows furrow, and he asks in his stern, no-nonsense doctor tone. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing…sorry.” My instant response is always my most aggressive. There’s nothing wrong with Ruby; she’s perfect. I take a moment to calm myself and answer his question as I would if we were both at work. “She was premature and has BPD, which I’m hopeful she will grow out of,” I clarify, and for once, I don’t need to explain what that means exactly.
“Is that what she was having checked at the hospital the other day?” I’ve been trying not to think about it, if I’m honest, and it’s possibly the last thing I want to discuss with him. I’m not sure who I’d be talking to, Joel or Dr Prescott.
“Yes, the first test got lost.” I lie and swiftly change the subject. “What did you mean when you said I have something you’ll never have?”
“I got mumps in New Zealand,” he replies.
“Weren’t you immunised?”
“I was, the recommended double dose, but with prolonged exposure to the disease, there’s always the chance of infection, and we had an outbreak in New Zealand. I had a whole ward of patients to treat. It’s so damn rare I didn’t even think it would be a thing, but there it is.” His voice is deflated, and it takes a moment to click. I shake my head at the assumption.
“But that doesn’t necessarily mean you can’t have children.” I offer with a fresh lift of optimism in my tone.
“Actually, it does. I got tested, my sperm count is non-existent.” His attempt to quash my positivity battles with my mind as it races to find a better prognosis.
“But permanent sterility is unlikely. I mean that is really-“ My mouth snaps shut before I utter the word. Joel finishes my sentence, and my heart breaks.
“-Rare.”
“Oh, god, Joel, I’m so sorry.” I sit up and face him, shaken to my core. A fresh wave of sorrow slams into me as the tragedy of his situation makes my heart bleed for him and our loss.
“Not as sorry as I am that I didn’t keep my mouth shut.” He places his hand flat on my tummy, and I buckle. Tears flood my face, and I sob into his chest when he pulls me back into his hold. “I blame myself for our baby, my view on unplanned babies, and now that I know the truth, I’m sure that my bombshell about moving to New Zealand just compounded stress on top of stress.” I’ve never heard him so desolate and hopeless. I suck back the sobs and want to shake the resignation out of him. I can’t quite sit back, but he’s looking down, and I hold his gaze.
“We don’t know that. I may not be able to carry a baby with my blood problems.”
“Nice try, Reggie, but I think Ruby would disagree with that.” He points out with a sad smile, and I do something I never thought I’d do, not with him.
“Ruby isn’t mine.” I actually feel sick saying this out loud. It feels all wrong.
“What?” He pushes me upright by my shoulders and holds me at arm’s length. “What did you say?”
“I mean she is mine, but she’s Raleigh’s baby.” I explain.
“I…I thought they died in the accident.”
“Raleigh died, Ruby survived.”
“And you adopted her.”
“She’s mine.” I state like the proud momma I am.
“Wow.” He flops hard against the back of the sofa and exhales loudly, shock fixed on his face and silencing him until the inevitable questions kick in. ”What happened?”
“Raleigh was brain dead when I got to the hospital. They kept her alive and did an emergency C-section to get Ruby out. She was so tiny, just under two pounds.” I hold my hands just so apart to the rough size Ruby was when she was born.
“How far along was Raleigh?”
“Seven months.”
“That’s a pretty good weight,” he muses, and it feels strange to be having such a normal conversation, surreal and yet familiar.
“I know, and I’ve cared for smaller. It’s just different when it’s your own.”
“You thought of her as your ow
n from the start.”
“Without question.” I screw my face up with the ridiculousness of his question.
“Did Raleigh even have life insurance?”
“No.”
“She left you nothing, nothing for her baby?” His tone is harsh, irritated at my sister’s irresponsibility. It’s amusing, as he was the same back then.
“She left a letter.” I tell him and watch his eyes roll.
“Because that will pay for Ruby’s college.”
“Actually that’s covered.” I dismiss a subject I have no intention of sharing. “The letter broke my heart and healed it a little too. I will show it to Ruby when she’s older.”
“What did it say?”
“Hang on, it’s easier to just read it.” I wiggle from his hold and go to fetch the letter from my bedside drawer. I remove it from the envelope, hand it to Joel, and climb back into his embrace as he sits back and starts to read the letter I could recite by broken heart.
My baby,
Why would I even write a letter like this? I asked myself the same question many, many times, as I felt you swell and grow inside me. I think I wanted to make sure you knew that however your conception was orchestrated, you were wanted. I didn’t know how I would feel about having a baby, and honestly I didn’t care, not until I felt that first flutter inside, where I couldn’t be sure if it was you, the feeling was so faint, yet in my heart I knew it was. You were growing inside me, all on your own, strong, and no doubt beautiful.
If you’re reading this, it’s because I did one good thing in my life. I left you to the best person to raise you. I don’t know why I’m not doing that myself, but I do know even if I was alive, there’s no one I would trust more to raise you as their own, love you, and care for you better than I ever could. Oh, I would’ve loved you more than my own life, I think, at least I hope that would be the case, but I’m a selfish person, always have been, and I come first, ask your aunt. She has my permission to tell you all the dreadful things I did to her as long as she tries hard to remember some of the good stuff too, although there isn’t much I’m proud of. I am proud of you, though. Even so, I also know I would’ve failed you somewhere down the line, and not in a small way, like forgetting to pack an apple in your lunch, I’d probably forget life-saving medicine or deathly allergies.
