by Cassia Leo
“I’ll text him,” Jake says, grabbing his phone off the coffee table.
Since my mom refuses to allow Jake to set up a drum set in her house—the way we used to have it before I went solo—Jake is just here to hang out and watch. Without Tristan here, this practice session is a big fucking waste of time.
Tristan never responds to Jake’s text and finally, after my eighth time quitting at the bridge, Jake groans.
“What the fuck is going on with you?” he asks. “The bridge starts on C7.”
I shake my head as I drop the guitar onto the wood floor and one of the pins pops out. “Fuck this song.”
Rachel glares at me through her icy blue eyes, which are partially obscured by her bangs. “Did something happen with Claire?”
I storm into the kitchen and grab the key for my bike off the hook. “I don’t want a fucking lecture.”
“You’d better not drink if you’re taking the bike. Don’t be a fucking asshole!” she yells as I open the door to the attached garage.
I slam the door behind me then hit the button for the door opener. The garage door rolls open and I’m pleased to see the sun has almost set. I hop onto my bike and kick the stand back. I’m already pulling my bike out of the cul-de-sac by the time Jake makes it out to the driveway.
Chapter Sixteen
Claire
THE BUZZING NOISE BREAKS ME out of my trance and it takes a moment before I realize it’s my phone vibrating on my nightstand. I reach for the phone and see I have four missed calls. I must have been really out of it this time. Until now, I hadn’t meditated since yesterday morning.
All the missed calls are from an unknown number with a Raleigh area code. I debate ignoring the calls to continue my meditation, but the number of missed calls gives me an uneasy feeling.
“Who is it?” Senia asks from where she’s lying on her bed studying for a biochem exam.
I shrug then call the number. Someone picks up right away.
“Claire?”
It’s Jackie and she sounds frantic.
“Jackie? What’s wrong?”
“Oh, my Lord. I left my phone at the shop. I’ve been calling you from Rachel’s phone. I didn’t think you would ever call back.”
“Jackie, what’s happened?”
“Claire, honey, I’m at the hospital. Chris had an accident.”
“An accident? What kind of accident?” My heart pounds as that uneasy feeling transforms into panic.
“Who had an accident?” Senia whispers.
“On his bike,” Jackie replies. “We’re at WakeMed.”
Just hearing the word WakeMed makes me want to vomit. I haven’t been there since I had Abigail five months ago. Jackie doesn’t know anything about Abigail.
“Claire? Are you still there?”
“Yes. I’m here. I’ll… I’ll be there in an hour.”
I’m shaking so hard as I pull on a pair of jeans and a clean shirt.
Senia grabs my hand as I reach for my car keys on the nightstand. “I’ll drive.”
“Drive fast, please.”
The whole forty-minute drive there, I keep imagining all the worst scenarios: he’s missing a leg, he’s in a coma, he’s on life support… or worse. Senia attempts to distract me with music, but I can’t stop my mind from wandering to the darkest places.
She drops me off in front of the emergency entrance then sets off to find parking. I stand outside the sliding doors under the red emergency sign for a moment, unable to move. This is exactly how it happened when I went into labor.
“Are you in labor?” the nurse with the blue cardigan and the straw-colored hair asks.
“Yes. Please put me in a room. Now, please.”
I’m more afraid of running into someone I know than anything else. I just want to get into a delivery room where no one but the doctors and nurses, and Senia, will see me.
“We’ll get you into a room right now, sweetie.”
Another nurse comes up behind me with a wheelchair and I’m hit with another contraction right as I sit down. It’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt and I’ve been suffering through it for the last three hours in Senia’s bedroom while waiting for the contractions to come less than four minutes apart. It’s 2:30 a.m. now and I can hardly keep my eyes open. My eyes roll back in my head and I feel as if I might actually die from the pain.
I’d rather be dead than be here right now.
Finally, the nurse wheels me away and it feels like it takes an hour before she finally arrives at the Women’s Pavilion. They set me up in a spacious room and hook me up to a zillion monitors. Every beat of my baby’s heart is like a hammer driven into my heart, breaking it into a million pieces. I finally ask the nurse to lower the volume on the heart rate monitor and she does it, but not without a judgmental scowl.
“Have you decided on any names?” another dark-haired nurse asks, putting on some gloves as she gets ready to probe my cervix for the third time since I arrived.
Senia throws her a look of disgust before she pulls the nurse outside. I don’t know what Senia says to her, but the dark-haired nurse, Sybil, is overly nice for the rest of my two-night stay. The entire staff is overly nice after that. Sybil must have shared the news about the adoption with everybody. But their kindness doesn’t soothe my anxiety or my guilt. I almost wish they would tell me what an awful person I am. Just confirm what I know they’re all thinking about me.
She’s just a stupid college student who got knocked up by having unprotected sex with some guy who probably wants nothing more to do with her.
If they knew the truth, if they knew that I kept this whole pregnancy a secret from Chris, they wouldn’t be this nice to me.
“Claire?”
Senia places her hand on my back and leads me toward the emergency entrance. The doors whisper accusations as they slide open. Unfit. They slide shut behind me. Liar.
“It’s okay,” Senia whispers.
“Nobody knows what happened. That’s between you and Chris.”
Chris. Oh, God. Where is he?
I break away from Senia and race to the long counter where a woman in a black cardigan watches wide-eyed as I approach.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Chris Knight.”
Her eyebrows knit together as if she has bad news for me, but then she points at a set of double doors. “Go through there and you’ll find the nursing station. They can help you.”
I powerwalk across the lobby to the double doors and shove my way through them. The hospital smell is more intense in here. The woman in the lobby didn’t say they would tell me where Chris is. She didn’t say he’s okay. She just said they would help me at the nursing station. Maybe that’s her standard response after dealing with so many people who come in frantic looking for loved ones who’ve…. I have to stop thinking like this.
The nursing station is a huge L-shaped counter with Plexiglas panels stretching from the counter to the ceiling. A woman with short red hair is standing behind the counter wearing a midnight-blue nursing uniform and staring at the inside of a manila file folder.
“You looking for someone?” she asks as she looks up from the folder.
“Yes. I’m looking for Chris—Christopher Knight.”
Everyone knows him as Chris Knight, not Christopher, but there’s no way she doesn’t know I’m talking about the Chris Knight.
“Are you family?”
I hesitate. Am I family? Technically, Chris was my foster brother, but Jackie never adopted me. And I haven’t lived with her or Chris for more than two years.
“No. I’m….” Senia watches me as she waits to hear exactly what I am to Chris. “I’m his wife.”
Senia’s eyes widen, which doesn’t go unnoticed by the nurse. Senia drops her gaze to my hands as I tuck them behind my back. The nurse cocks an eyebrow before she closes her folder and picks up the phone to dial an extension.
“I have Chris Knight’s… wife here.” She looks up at me. “
What’s your name, honey?”
“Claire.”
“Claire is here to see her husband. What’s his status?” She purses her lips as she listens to Chris’s status then hangs up the phone. “They just moved him out of the trauma unit and into the OR.” She grabs a piece of paper off the desk and hands it to me. It’s a floor plan of the hospital. “You can wait in the Critical Care Waiting Room. They’ll keep you updated on his status and when you’ll be able to see him.”
Senia and I follow the map through a few more corridors.
“Claire Knight,” Senia remarks with a shake of her head. “Nope. I don’t like the way it sounds.”
“How else are they going to let me see him? Everybody knows he’s an only child.”
We reach another quiet lobby where a woman with poufy brown hair is sitting behind yet another counter.
“May I help you?”
“I’m here to see my husband, Christopher Knight,” I reply without hesitation.
“Claire!”
I turn my head at the sound of Rachel’s voice. “Rachel?”
She looks exactly as I remember her, messy brown bangs and clothes that fit too loosely over her tiny frame. Jackie stands from her chair and they both stride toward me. Rachel throws her arms around me first, but I note that her makeup seems untouched as if she hasn’t shed a tear. I look over Rachel’s shoulder at Jackie and her makeup also seems to be intact.
“What happened?” I ask Jackie and she smiles a bit sheepishly.
“They’re resetting his fibula.”
“His fibula? You mean, he broke his leg?”
Rachel lets go of me and Jackie holds her arms out for a hug. I give her a quick hug then look up at her questioningly.
“When I called you I didn’t know his status yet. If I had known it was just a compound fracture I wouldn’t have asked you to come.”
“Just a compound fracture?” Rachel says. “That’s some serious shit.” Typical Rachel, always eager to speak her mind. “Did you just refer to Chris as your husband?”
I’m sensing some hostility from Rachel, but I don’t want to make any incorrect assumptions. “They wouldn’t let me see him otherwise.”
Her lip curls up in disgust. “Don’t let him know you did that. It will kill him.”
Jackie purses her lips at Rachel. “Come now, Rachel. Be nice.”
“It’s true. He’s been miserable the past few weeks. Claire’s the reason he was upset when he got on his bike.”
“What?” Jackie looks confused as she looks back and forth between Rachel and me.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Jackie’s eyes widen at me. “Claire! Watch the language.” She turns back to Rachel. “But, yes, what are you talking about?”
Rachel shakes her head. “Nothing. He was just upset when he left and I know it’s because of everything that’s happening between you two.”
“What’s going on between you?” Jackie asks me.
There’s no way Rachel knows about Abigail. Chris told me he hasn’t spoken to anyone about her and I believe him. She’s probably referring to Adam. I don’t think Chris would tell Rachel about the fight, but I wouldn’t put it past Tristan to blab about it to everybody he knows.
“Nothing. We’re still trying to work things out. We’re just friends.” I whisper the last sentence like it’s a dirty secret because it is, as far as Jackie is concerned.
“Just friends? Did you friend-zone my baby?”
Rachel cackles at this remark and I probably would too if it didn’t make me physically sick.
“No, Jackie. It’s just that a lot has happened since we broke up.” Oh, no. This is not how I wanted her to find out. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”
Jackie looks as if she can’t decide whether she should be confused or disgusted. I want to sink into the floor or disappear. I can’t bear to see the scrutiny and disappointment in her eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” I repeat this mantra a few more times before she pats my shoulder.
“It’s fine. I know you two will work this out. You can’t just throw away four years and an engagement without trying to work things out.”
Engagement? Chris told her we were engaged?
I don’t want to be pissed at him right now. He probably had a good reason to tell her this, though I can’t figure out what that could be. Jackie knew Chris and I were having sex the last two years we were together. She told us to be safe and that was the end of our birds and bees discussion. Why would he tell her that? I was nineteen when we broke up. We did promise to love each other forever, and we talked about getting married many years down the road, but there was definitely never an engagement. I would never have put myself through the pregnancy and adoption alone if we were engaged.
Poor Jackie. Chris and I have kept so many secrets from her and told her so many lies, we should both be hanged.
“You’re right. We’ll try to work it out. I promise.”
She smiles even though I can see it in her eyes that she knows I’m humoring her. “He should be out of the care unit in a couple of hours. I’m sure he’d love to see you when he wakes up.”
I bite my lip as I attempt to stop the tears from spilling over. Of all the lies I’ve told this year, I think I regret the ones I’ve told Jackie the most.
Chapter Seventeen
Adam
WHEN I ARRIVE AT THE guard station at Barking Sands Missile Range, Sam Crowe meets me at the entrance as an escort, since it’s my first time there. She signs a waiver assuming responsibility for me then I follow her truck down the narrow roads to the project trailer on the south side of the base. I pull into the dirt lot and pull my green sedan into an unmarked parking space next to Sam’s old Chevy pickup truck.
“I’ll call the rental company today to see if we can switch out your mom car for something a bit more rugged,” she says with a snort as we climb the steel steps up to the door of the project trailer.
The inside of the trailer is cool and quiet and filled with the rich aroma of fresh coffee and the sweet smell of fresh blueprints. Four desks line the opposite wall of the trailer. On my immediate left is a water cooler and a foldout table topped with a coffee machine and various creamers and coffee supplies. The fourth desk at the end of the trailer is occupied by Larry Cromwell, who is currently on the phone. He nods at me and I salute him even though my dad already told me Larry doesn’t like to be saluted. Larry doesn’t know that I know this about him so I’ll just wait for him to tell me himself.
“That desk on the other end is for Ollie,” Sam says, nodding toward the messier desk at the opposite end of the trailer from Larry. “He had a meeting with the surveyor this morning. He’ll be in soon. These two desks in the middle are for us.”
Great. I’ll be listening to that snort for eight hours a day for the next two months.
After I boot up my laptop, I open my email to find a message from Claire.
Claire: Good morning, babe. I’m on my way to bomb this test on binomial distributions, but I wanted to shoot you a message to tell you how much I miss you. Call me on your lunch break. I should be back in the dorm by then. Love you.
She doesn’t normally send me good morning emails, but then again she doesn’t normally wake up five hours before me on a Monday. I make it through a few more emails from the grading and rebar subcontractors before I get to the last email from my cousin Jamie.
Jamie: Just thought I’d give you a heads up that Lindsay and Nathan are going to be at that competition on Koki Beach. Also, I spoke to Pauline (not about what you told me) and they’re doing okay.
That’s it. Even though we had a nice heart-to-heart discussion about Myles, she’s still a little pissed that I didn’t tell her the specifics of his death. She thinks I should have trusted her not to tell anyone. She doesn’t understand that I still feel like I got away with manslaughter. There’s no way I would have stopped Jamie if she went to the cops because that’s pretty much all
I’ve hoped for these past five years since Myles fell to his death. I wish someone stronger than I would confess on my behalf.
So Nathan and Lindsay are going to the competition and Pauline and the rest of Myles’ family are doing okay. I don’t believe that Pauline is okay, but I have no doubt that Nathan and Lindsay will be at the Koki competition. Lindsay and Nathan are the reason I moved to Wrightsville Beach. On one hand, catching Lindsay cheating on me with Nathan was one of the best things that ever happened to me because it led me to Claire. On the other hand, I really don’t want to see her fucking smirk or the scar on his face from the day I beat the shit out of him. Mostly, I don’t want to be reminded of how out of control I was back then.
After a few hours of phone calls spent trying to work out permits and temporary utilities, Larry invites me to lunch while Sam stays in the trailer to hold down the fort. We each take our own vehicles because Larry has a meeting on the other side of the base after lunch. I follow him to Wrangler’s Steakhouse on Kaumualii Highway just a few blocks away from my rental house. As soon as we’re seated at our table, it only takes one sentence uttered from beneath Larry’s craggily gray mustache to know that I’m going to regret this lunch.
“So how long have you been working for Daddy?”
The waitress arrives and takes our drink order, giving me a moment to think of an appropriate response to this inappropriate question. Larry orders an Arnold Palmer and I order a glass of water.
“I’ve been working with my dad part-time for more than two years and full-time since June.”
I’m tempted to add that I started working at Parker Construction after graduating from Duke with my bachelor’s in architecture, but I doubt it would do anything to convince Larry that I deserve this position. Larry smiles as he sits back in his chair and folds his thick hands over his belly.
