by Cassia Leo
Jack’s truck was gone when I pulled into the garage and closed it behind me. With hands trembling, I left my yoga bag in the SUV and grabbed the plastic bag containing the pregnancy tests. As I pushed the car door open, I realized my entire body was shaking. Sweat sprouted on my brow, my chest tightened, and I closed my eyes to take several shallow breaths. I couldn’t have a panic attack now.
I coughed a few times, to clear the tightness in my chest, and took a couple of rapid, deep breaths to flood my lungs with much-needed oxygen. Within seconds, the tightness slowly began to dissipate. Opening my eyes, I quickly exited the SUV and headed straight inside and directly to the master bathroom. Jack would be back from the gym in about thirty minutes — if that was indeed where he’d gone. I had to do this fast.
My hands still trembled as I locked the bathroom door behind me. The shaking made opening the packaging and reading the instructions almost impossible. I splashed water in my face in an attempt to wash away the anxiety. But I could hardly hold myself up.
I shook my head and lined up the tests on top of the plastic bag I’d laid out on the counter next to the toilet. As quickly as I could, I urinated on each test stick for a couple of seconds, holding in my urine as I changed tests. When all four tests were lined up on top of the plastic bag, I wiped and flushed, then set the five-minute timer on my phone.
I waited with my head resting in my trembling hands. I tried to focus on my breathing as my fingers and toes began to tingle, a sure sign that my body was being flooded with adrenaline and stress hormones. The blood was rushing away from my limbs toward my racing heart. I really hoped those pregnancy tests were negative. If they weren’t, I was fairly certain I would pass out.
Massaging my temples and taking shallow breaths, the tingling in my fingers slowly went away just seconds before the timer went off. The sharp beeping sound sent my heart galloping. I clenched and unclenched my fists, wiggling my fingers to encourage the blood flow. The sound of the garage door opening came to me like a distant sound at the far end of a tunnel as I peeked at the tests.
Four tests. All four positive.
Chapter 2
Jack
Pulling my truck into the garage, I’m glad to see Laurel’s SUV. I had to tell her I was going to the gym. I didn’t want her to know I was going to see Charlie Rangel, the lead detective on the murder case at Hood River Police Department. If Charlie had good news, I didn’t want to worry Laurel for nothing. Unfortunately, the news was not good.
Byron Huxley’s cell records indicated he and Brandon were both in Hood River the night of the murder. And Boise PD now has reason to suspect he — or both he and Brandon — may have also murdered Byron’s wife, Dottie, more than a decade ago. Unfortunately, when police were dispatched to Byron’s house to bring him in for questioning, he was already gone.
Paranoia seized me as I exited the truck. Before I closed the garage door, I checked underneath both vehicles and in the storage closets, where I kept power tools and gardening equipment. Once I was satisfied the garage was devoid of suspicious persons and devices, I pressed the button to close the garage door, watching it slide down until it came to a complete stop.
Turning around, I entered the laundry room as quietly as possible, listening intently for any suspicious noises. The house was quiet as a monastery. Maybe Laurel was taking a nap after yoga.
I closed and locked the door behind me. Exiting the laundry room into the hallway, I still saw and heard no sign of Laurel. Something didn’t feel right.
I turned right, toward the master bedroom, and my heartbeat climbed as I registered the open door. Laurel usually closed the bedroom door when she took a nap. I charged into the bedroom and saw the bathroom door closed. Trying the door handle, my body flooded with adrenaline when I found it locked.
“Laurel? Are you in there?”
Nothing.
“Pixie, are you okay?”
More nothing.
Fuck this nonsense.
I took a step back and landed a hard kick on the door next to the handle. The door buckled and flew inward, almost coming off its hinges, as I rushed inside. Laurel was on the floor, her eyelids fluttering as she awakened.
“Baby, what did you take?” I asked, but she didn’t reply.
My mind immediately zeroed in on the panic and guilt I felt last year, when I found Laurel in bed unresponsive with green vomit dribbling from the corner of her mouth after taking too much ibuprofen. But that was nothing compared to the guilt I felt when I allowed the hospital to keep her for a seventy-two-hour psychiatric hold. Leaving her that evening was the second worst night of my life.
I told myself I let the hospital hold Laurel because she needed to talk to professionals who understood what she was going through. The hard truth was I didn’t know if I could keep her safe anymore. I had lost faith in myself, not her.
I slid my hand under her neck to help her lift her head, my other arm curled around her legs to pick her up off the floor. “What did you take, Laurel?” I asked. But as I stood, I saw the pregnancy tests on the counter.
“Nothing,” she whispered. “I… I fainted.”
I tightened my hold on her as my limbs began to feel weak. “Come on, let’s get you in bed. Did you hit your head?”
As I laid her down, she reached up to feel her forehead and scalp. “I don’t think so. I don’t know. I… I feel a little woozy.” She blinked a few times, as if she was trying to clear something from her eyes. “I’m seeing floaters.”
“Stay right there. I’ll get your purse and we’ll go to the ER.”
“No!” she cried, grabbing my hand. “I’m fine. It’s just the sunlight. I’m better now.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded. “Sit,” she said, patting the edge of the mattress. “Please.”
I helped her sit up carefully, propping up a couple of pillows behind her, before I took a seat on the bed. “Baby, I saw the tests. Are you pregnant?”
I tried to temper my emotions, because the possibility that Laurel was pregnant with our second child felt too fucking good to be true. The idea that we might be parents soon filled me with obscene joy. When she nodded, I thought my heart would burst.
Tears welled up in my eyes and I shook my head, unable to believe I’d been given another chance to get this right. Her hands reached for me and I wrapped my arms around her waist as I buried my face in her chest. She was softer now that she’d been eating regularly, but her skin was cold, probably from passing out. As I inhaled the scent of her skin, I wondered why she had passed out when she found out she was pregnant.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked, sitting up so I could see her face again. That beautiful face, with features so delicate and graceful she looked like royalty. And she was. She ruled me.
She laid her hand over mine as I reached for her face. Closing her eyes, tears streamed down her face as she leaned into my touch.
“No. I’m not okay,” she whispered, her eyelids opening as her gaze found mine. “I am miles away from okay.”
The joy that had lifted me up a moment ago deflated and I suddenly felt heavy and tense, on the verge of an emotion I couldn’t pin down, the threshold between confusion and anger. “Why? What happened?” I asked, pulling my hand away from her face.
She averted her eyes, her gaze cast downward as she cleared her throat. “I slept with Isaac while you were in Idaho.”
The muscles in my face slackened as the ones in my arms and hands tightened like a bow stretched taut and ready to fire. I wanted to rip the lamp off the nightstand and throw it across the room to release some of the tension, but I had to think before I acted. Taking a few deep breaths, I curled my fingers around the comforter to keep my hands occupied.
“Is it his?” I asked, staring at the headboard as I was incapable of looking at her. “Is the baby his?” I shouted.
She flinched and pulled her knees up to her chest. “I don’t know,” she sobbed. “It happened the night of my birt
hday. I was really drunk. I thought it was you. I thought you’d come back to me. That’s why I didn’t believe it was you when you showed up the next day.”
My stomach turned over inside me as I realized she had sex with me mere hours after she’d had sex with him. “No,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “You wouldn’t. You’re fucking with me, right? Please tell me this is a sick joke.”
She buried her face in her hands and shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I hate myself,” she said, her fingers grabbed onto chunks of her hair as her hands tightened into fists. “I’m so stupid. I’m sorry,” she cried as she yanked chunks of hair out of her scalp. “I don’t deserve you,” she said, staring at the fluffy nests of blonde hair in her hands. “I’ll leave. I’m sorry.”
I grabbed her forearm to stop her from getting out of bed. “Where are you going?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
I grit my teeth, clenching my jaw so hard I thought my teeth might shatter from the force. “You’re not going anywhere,” I said, letting go of her arm. “Fuck!”
She flinched again. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she repeated the words over and over like a shaky mantra.
Her body trembled so hard, I could hear her teeth chattering. God help me. I couldn’t leave her like this. She’d ripped my heart out and I couldn’t even bring myself to lash out at her with the news about Byron Huxley.
I could barely stand to look at her, but I couldn’t leave her alone. Not after what I learned today.
I drew in a deep breath. “Stay right there. I’m calling Drea to stay with you.”
She lifted her head to look at me, and I quickly turned away. “Where are you going?” she asked in a voice so small and fragile I almost took her into my arms. Almost.
“Just stay there. I’ll be in the kitchen until Drea gets here.”
She sniffed loudly. “I never wanted to hurt you, Jack. Please believe me.”
I shook my head. “You didn’t hurt me, Laurel. You fucking killed me.”
Chapter 3
Laurel
The anguish in Jack’s face made me sick to my stomach. Knowing I was the cause made me want to die. I reached for him as he stood from the bed, but he didn’t stop. He walked out of the bedroom, possibly out of my life, without a second glance.
I pressed the heels of my palms into my forehead to try to relieve the massive tension headache that was coming on. Maybe I did have a concussion. Maybe the universe would take mercy on me, allowing me to go to sleep and never wake up again.
I even hated my thoughts. So melodramatic and full of undeserved self-pity. It was true that I didn’t know I was having sex with Isaac. I had no memory of the sex other than the moment I came to, with him between my legs. But I remembered the sensation of his erection sliding out. The warmth of his seed spilling from me.
The dull ache in my head morphed into a bolt of skull-splitting agony. I dug my fingernails into my scalp, but the pain only worsened. I sunk my fingernails into the skin on the back of my left hand instead and let out a heavy sigh. The relief was instantaneous.
I sat cross-legged on the bed, changing the position of my fingernails in the back of my hand every couple of minutes, whenever the headache started to return. By the time Drea entered my bedroom, the skin on my left hand was swollen and fiery red, dotted with bloody crescent moons.
“What have you done?” Drea cried, her eyes wide with shock as she stared at my hand. “Stay here. I’ll get some ice.”
I yanked a tissue out of the box on my nightstand and dabbed at the blood as I waited for Drea. When she returned with a blue ice-pack and a kitchen towel, she had unspent tears in her eyes. She wrapped the ice-pack in the towel and sat next to me as she held it against my hand.
“I’m pregnant,” I whispered.
She nodded and a tear fell from her cheek onto the towel. “I know, darling. I’m sorry I was such a jerk about getting you those pills.”
“You were right.”
“No, I wasn’t!” she replied forcefully.
“Yes, you were. I should have been honest with Jack the day he showed up at my mom’s house.”
She sniffed loudly as she lifted the ice-pack to check on the swelling. “Well, I suppose we shouldn’t be crying over spilt milk. We should be trying to figure out how to fix this.”
I couldn’t help myself as I let out a soft chuckle. “Fix what? There’s nothing left to fix.” I pulled my hand back and hugged my knees. “I just have to accept that we tried. We tried really hard to make this work. But he left me behind to pursue justice and I broke us beyond repair.”
She shook her head. “Pardon me, but that is such a load of bollocks.”
I let out a deep sigh. “You know, about half of couples who lose a child break up within six months. We’re lucky we made it more than two years.”
“Would you please stop? You and Jack are not breaking up. I will not allow it.”
I laughed again, despite my abject misery. “I love that you care so much about us. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”
“Yeah, yeah. Save me the flattery,” she said, placing the ice-pack on the nightstand. “I fucked up. I should not have refused to get you those pills. But I am not going to make the mistake of letting you give up on your marriage again. Come on, get up. I know what hotel Jack went to. We’re going there right now to hash this out.”
I shook my head. “It’s a nice thought, that my marriage could be saved by a refereed conversation. But we’ve already tried that, and a whole lot of good that did. It’s over. I broke us. And now I have to go tell Isaac that I may or may not be pregnant with his child. It’s… It’s almost as if I’ve spent the last few months balancing on a knife’s point and, instead of asking for help, I decided to impale myself.”
I let out another heavy sigh, which reminded me of the couple months after Junior died, when I sighed at least a hundred times a day. Sighing is the brain’s way of regulating blood-oxygen levels when dealing with overwhelming emotion, and those were definitely the most emotional months of my life.
“But you did ask for help,” Drea replied. “You asked for my help, and I let you down. I’m so sorry, Laurel. I’m a disloyal twat. You are officially allowed to punch me in my perfect button nose.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “I could never damage your gorgeous twat-face.”
“Not anymore because you just passed up your one and only chance,” she said, scooting up on the bed until we were shoulder-to-shoulder and leaning against the tufted headboard. “So what are you going to do now?”
“I need to pack a bag and head back to my mom’s. Jack shouldn’t have to stay in a hotel.” I covered my face as another wave of emotion slammed into me. “I should pack him a bag, too. In case he chooses to stay in the hotel.”
She wrapped her arm around me and kissed the top of my head. “What’s that saying you once told me? The one your mom used to say? Something about going through hell.”
I sniffed loudly and paused as I recalled the words. “When you’re going through hell, you don’t stop and enjoy the scenery. You keep going. It’s the only way out.” My shoulders slumped as I let out yet another sigh. “I just wish everything could go back to the way it was before.”
Drea shook her head. “I’m fairly certain your mum probably had a saying about idolizing the past.”
I chuckled. “Actually, she did.”
“Of course she did.”
I wiped fresh tears from my face as her words floated to the surface of my consciousness. “Remember the good times fondly, but don’t fall into mourning them. It’s counterproductive.”
“There you go. A veritable font of wisdom she was,” she declared with a soft smile as she squeezed my arm. “I’ll help you pack.”
I went through the motions of packing and chatting with Drea, but my mind was elsewhere. I couldn’t stop thinking about my mother. She was a fountain of wisdom, but it seemed she was also a locked chest of secrets.
>
I wondered if I ever really knew my mother. I wondered if my mother knew her killer. Did he reveal his identity to her in those final terrorizing moments? In the final seconds of her life, did she wish she had done things differently, or did she have no regrets?
Knowing my mother, and I really believed I did know her, she probably accepted her fate with grace. I may not have known all my mother’s secrets, but what I did know was that she died trying to save my son’s life. And that was all I needed to know.
I trusted Drea to deliver Jack’s suitcase to him, and explain everything that happened with Isaac better than I had. I didn’t expect her to save my marriage or to make Jack understand how sorry I was. But I knew Drea would use her charm and her British accent to appeal to Jack’s merciful side. He did have a merciful side.
I hoped he would be merciful enough to take my call when I phoned him later tonight. I knew he had to leave the house in a hurry earlier because he was blindsided by my betrayal, but we still had a very important decision to make. Was I going to keep this baby?
Underneath the anger and determined vengeance, I knew Jack was in unbearable pain. As I exited the highway, I remembered how, a couple of months after we started dating, his grandmother died. He asked me to attend the funeral in Hood River. I’d have to miss two days of classes, and I would be meeting his parents for the first time, under somber circumstances.
But even then, just two months into this new relationship, I could tell the difference between Jack being frustrated over a less-than-perfect grade and the gaping hole in his heart caused by the loss of someone he loved. I knew Jack wouldn’t have asked me to go to the funeral unless he really needed me there. That was when I knew he trusted me with his heart. And I swore to myself I would never do anything to break that trust.
I pulled my SUV into the driveway of my mother’s house in Portland, the house I’d grown up in, for what felt like the millionth time. I was really starting to dread coming here, and that was not at all the way I wanted to feel about the house my mother willed to me. There were just too many painful memories here now: my panic attack caused by Isaac’s car backfiring; Isaac being shot by my bodyguard; and the dozen or so drunken tirades I’d unleashed on myself, which culminated in a sexual encounter with Isaac I could hardly remember.
