She Gets That from Me

by Robin Wells

  She goes into the dining room to gather more dishes. She’s right. Zack is a good man—a wonderful man, exactly the kind of man I’ve always dreamed of finding.

  Which is why I need to be careful. He’s the kind of man who might think getting involved with the mother of his children is the right thing to do, even if he doesn’t love me. I want to be loved, just for me. I don’t want to repeat my past mistakes; I always wind up in relationships where I’m way more emotionally invested than my partner. Brooke thought it started with my father, and she’s probably right.

  Case in point: tonight. I’m falling in love, and what is Zack doing? Having drinks with his wife.

  Annie comes back into the kitchen carrying more dishes.

  “If he gets back with Jessica, will he move to Seattle, or will he convince her to move back here?” I wonder aloud. I don’t know which option would be worse.

  “Quinn, you’re getting all worked up over things that are unlikely to happen.”

  “Are they? She flew all the way from Seattle to talk to him,” I say. “Whichever way it goes, I need to establish some serious boundaries.”

  Annie hands me another scraped plate. “For his visits, or your feelings?”

  “Both.” But I don’t believe I’ll do it even as I say it.

  * * *

  —

  AFTER EVERYONE LEAVES, I give Lily her bath and get her ready for bed. Because Margaret can’t manage the stairs, we go back down and Lily climbs into Margaret’s bed. Margaret and I get on either side of her, and we both read her two stories.

  Lily wraps her arms around Margaret’s neck. “I’m so glad you’re here, Grams. I’ve missed you!”

  “I’ve missed you, too, sweetheart.” Margaret runs her age-spotted fingers through Lily’s soft hair, then plants a kiss on her forehead.

  My eyes grow misty. I want to take a mental snapshot of this moment, to remember it and treasure it. My heart overflows with love for Lily and Margaret—for what they mean to each other, for what they mean to me. This is what matters, I tell myself, this right here. Instead of worrying about Zack and Jessica and things that are beyond my control, I need to focus on the blessings right in front of me. And I will, I resolve. I will.

  “Margaret, I’m so glad you’re here,” I say, kissing the top of her head. I step back and put my hand on Lily’s shoulder. “Okay, Lily-kins, let’s go upstairs.”

  “You got that from Daddy! That’s what he calls me,” she says as she hops off Margaret’s bed.

  That’s true, I realize with a little pang.

  “I believe I’m going to call it a day,” Margaret says.

  “Do you need any help with anything?”

  “No, Quinn, dear. Annie unpacked my suitcase and showed me where everything is. I can manage all by myself.”

  I nod. “I’m leaving a night-light on in the hall and in your bathroom.”

  “That’s perfect. I’ll be just fine.” She hugs me. “Thank you so much for all you’ve done. You’ve made me feel right at home.”

  “Good, because this is your home.”

  “I feel so blessed to have you and Lily as my family.”

  “Why, thank you, Margaret.” My heart warms with delight. “I feel the same way. And I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a nicer compliment.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever given one,” she says.

  I smile as I go upstairs. The feeling of warmth stays with me as I read yet another story to Lily, hear her prayers, and then go into the master bath to take a shower.

  I have a lot to be grateful for, I think as I take off my shoes and dress. I have a loving family, just as I’ve always wanted: Margaret and Lily and the baby on the way. And whatever happens with Zack, well, he’s a blessing, too.

  I turn on the shower to let the water warm, then take off my bra. And then, as I step out of my undies, I see something that stops my heart and changes everything: a bright red stain.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  Jessica

  I DON’T WANT to be here. The thought forms in my head as I walk up the porch of my husband’s new home, and for a moment, I seriously consider turning around, jumping in my rental car, and driving back to the hotel on Canal Street.

  But if I do, I’ll have to live with the knowledge that I walked out on my marriage without ever sitting down and talking things through. For the rest of my life, I will know that I cut and ran when things got tough. I can spin it in ways that paint me as the wronged party, but deep down, I’ll always know the truth. And there’s another hard truth I’m here to face: Zack is one of the finest men I’ve ever known, and a part of me is still in love with him. I can’t move on unless I know there’s no hope for our marriage.

  I raise my hand and knock before I lose my nerve. The sound reverberates among the evening hum of cicadas and tree frogs.

  Zack opens his door. He’s wearing his inscrutable courtroom face.

  “Hello.” I give him what I hope is a warm smile and step forward to embrace him.

  “Hi, Jess.” He returns my hug, but it’s a distant one. He kisses my cheek, but it’s not particularly warm. It’s certainly not a lover’s kiss. Well, I didn’t expect that or even necessarily want it, but I miss it all the same.

  I step inside and look around, determined to keep my attitude positive and my energy upbeat.

  “Oh, wow—what a great house!”

  “Yeah. It was Brooke’s and Lily’s.”

  I feel a little stab in my heart. Good God, but he’s enmeshed with those women.

  “It’s only a couple of blocks from Quinn’s place,” he says.

  “How convenient.” Even to my ears, the comment sounds snarky.

  “Yeah, it is. What did you want to talk about?”

  “Can we sit down?” We’re standing in the foyer, the front door still open behind us.

  “Sure.” He closes the door and gestures to the living room.

  I sit on the sofa, thinking he’ll sit beside me. Instead, he sits in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace.

  I cross my legs at the ankle and fold my hands in my lap, trying to look contrite and demure. I am contrite, I genuinely am, but my sister says I never really look sorry for anything. “Well, for starters, I want to apologize for how I handled things. I acted unilaterally, and a marriage is supposed to be a partnership. I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted. Is that all?”

  “No, it’s not.” My mouth is dry, the way it gets before a big presentation. “I-I’d like to talk to you about the things we should have discussed.”

  “The property division is fine.”

  He’s been beyond fair, going above and beyond what I’d asked. He’s shipped all our furniture to Seattle, and he’s had the closing company send me a check for half the proceeds from the sale of the condo. He’d owned the place before we married, so he had a lot more invested. All the same, he held nothing back.

  That’s how he was in our relationship: he held nothing back. The thought stabs my heart, because I can’t say the same.

  “I wasn’t talking about property,” I say. “I was talking about whether or not we should split up.”

  He turns his hands palm up. “If you want to divorce me, I don’t see anything left to talk about.”

  “You’d suggested marriage counseling earlier. I was wrong to just dismiss it.”

  He lifts his shoulders. “It’s all water under the bridge.”

  “Zack, I don’t want to walk away from our marriage without feeling like we tried.”

  “Are you willing to move back to New Orleans?”

  “No, but . . .”

  He raises his hand and cuts me off. “I won’t move to Washington. I have Lily and another baby on the way here, and I want to be part of their lives. I’ve worked things out with my old firm and told the Seattl
e law office that I’m staying put.”

  “But you could make it work if you tried. The children could visit us in Seattle, and you could come back and see them here. I’m sure the Seattle firm still wants you.” I angle toward him, and pull out the words I’d formulated on the flight. “You always said that marriage was a sacred vow, and that you didn’t believe in breaking it.”

  “You’re the one who filed for divorce.”

  “Maybe I acted too swiftly. I’ve had time to think, and, well . . .” Tears swell in my eyes. “I miss the way we used to be together. I don’t think I’ll ever be as happy as I was when we were first married. Remember how wonderful those first few months were?”

  “Yeah. I remember.” His gaze meets mine. “But, Jess—things haven’t been wonderful for a long, long while.”

  “They were once.”

  He blows out a long sigh. “A lot of things were wonderful once. I remember getting a puppy on my eighth birthday. I remember turning sixteen and getting my driver’s license. Just because you remember things, Jess, doesn’t mean you can get those moments back.”

  Desperation squeezes my chest. The thing is, I can’t tell if it’s because I truly want to mend my marriage or because I hate to lose. “What would it take for you to want to try again?”

  “Are you willing to live in New Orleans?”

  “I—I can’t.”

  “You mean you won’t.”

  He’s right. It’s not really about my job; I could find another position. What I’m not willing to do is live here and share him with Quinn and the children. “Maybe I’d consider it if you’d agree to try for a baby with a donor egg,” I say.

  He shakes his head. “Having a baby is no way to fix a broken marriage.”

  The word broken sounds like failure to me. I ignore it and push on. “Well, maybe we could try online counseling and see if we can negotiate something.”

  He shakes his head. “Unless you’re willing to move back, there’s nothing to negotiate.”

  “But you agreed to move to Washington with me. That’s why I accepted the job.”

  “That was before I learned I had a child here, and another one on the way.” His gaze is direct and serious and chillingly decisive. “It was also before you said you don’t love me enough to deal with my donor family. As far as I’m concerned, that drove a stake through the heart of this marriage.”

  “I was upset. I was wrong to say that.”

  “If that’s how you feel and that’s what you think, then I needed to know it.”

  I have no response. He’s right. I ask the question that’s burning in my heart. “Is it just the children, or are you involved with Quinn?”

  “She’s carrying my baby, and she’s the guardian—the mom, really—of Lily. But nothing romantic has happened between us, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Are you attracted to her?”

  “I’ve honored my marriage vows to you, Jess.” His expression is unreadable. “I could ask you the same thing about your Realtor-builder guy, but the truth is, I don’t really care.”

  I feel like I’ve been slapped. He doesn’t care if I’m involved with another man?

  His phone buzzes. He looks at the number. “Excuse me. I need to take this.” He stands and strides into the other room, but I can hear him on the phone.

  “Hey, Quinn,” he says. “What’s up?” His voice is warmer, kinder, softer. It’s a jarring shift from the way he just sounded talking to me.

  “A little or a lot?” His tone has changed again. Now he sounds wound up and worried.

  “Is there pain?” He pauses to listen. “Did you call the doctor? Hang tight. I’ll be right over.”

  He strides back into the room. “Sorry, Jess. I’ve got to go.”

  “Is something wrong with Lily?”

  “No.”

  “Margaret?”

  “No. It’s Quinn.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “She’s bleeding.” He drags his hand down his face. “She’s afraid she’s having a miscarriage.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  Jessica

  “OH, GOD!” I whisper.

  Later, I’m proud that my first reaction is sympathy. After all, wouldn’t it be best for me if Quinn were to lose the baby? Surely this is a sign I’m becoming a better person.

  But I’m not thinking of that at the moment. At the moment, the heartbreak of my own miscarriage is crashing in on me all over again, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. “I’m so sorry, Zack,” I murmur. “I hate for anyone to lose a baby.”

  He nods, a brief acknowledgment of my concern. “I need to get over there.”

  “Of course. My rental car is blocking yours in—I’ll drive you.”

  We head out of the house and into the black Maxima. I back out of the driveway. “Go left to the intersection, then take a right,” he tells me.

  “What did her doctor say?”

  “She got the answering service. She’s waiting for a call back.” He points to the lovely two-story house I remember from our aquarium outing. “It’s right here.” He opens the passenger door the moment I brake by the curb. “Thanks.”

  I kill the engine. “I’m coming in with you.”

  “No, I don’t think . . .”

  I raise my hand. “There are no cars, which means everyone’s gone home from the party. Someone needs to stay with Lily and Margaret if you have to take Quinn to the hospital. If I’m not needed, I’ll just leave.”

  “Okay.” He nods. “Thanks.”

  I follow him through a gate into the backyard. He knows where the spare key is hidden—in a magnetic container attached to the garden hose holder. “She said to let myself in,” he says. “Margaret and Lily are already in bed.”

  He fits the key into a door off the brick-paved patio. We step into the large kitchen and cross to the living area. I follow Zack to the staircase, and faintly hear Quinn’s voice from the second floor. It sounds as if she’s on the phone. “I’ll wait down here,” I say.

  Zack nods and bounds upstairs. I stand at the bottom for a bit, trying to make out what Quinn is saying, then decide to climb to the landing, where the staircase takes a turn. I can hear Quinn more clearly from this vantage. I sit on the step just below the turn, out of sight, and listen.

  “Yes, he just got here,” I hear Quinn say. She’s silent a moment. “Okay.” She pauses again. “All right. Thank you.”

  “Was that the doctor?” Zack asks.

  I hear no response, so she must have nodded.

  “What did she say?”

  “She’s out of town—she was calling from Destin.”

  Zack and I took a trip to Destin a couple of years ago. It’s a popular beach spot in Florida, about four hours from New Orleans.

  “She said there’s not a lot to do for an early second trimester miscarriage.” Quinn’s voice quavers. “Bed rest is the only medical treatment that’s recommended.”

  “What about going to the hospital?” Zack asks.

  “She said I can go to the emergency room and get a standard ultrasound, but they don’t send patients to the obstetrics floor unless they’re twenty weeks or more.”

  “I can take you to the ER if that’s what you want to do. Jess came with me so she could stay here with Margaret and Lily.”

  “Oh! That was kind of her.”

  “Yeah, it was. So do you want to go to the ER?”

  “Oh, Zack—I don’t know. Dr. Mercer said the ultrasound would be done by an ER doctor, not an obstetrician, and there’s a chance the machine won’t pick up the heartbeat even if everything is all right. She said I should come into her office first thing on Monday.”

  “I’ll accompany you to that,” Zack says. His voice is so gentle that my heart cracks a little. “Do you want to try the fetal Doppler
again?”

  Oh, so they’ve tried it before—together, apparently. My stomach tenses into a clump of nerves.

  “No. I’m afraid it’s still too early, and I’ll just worry all the more.” Her voice breaks. “I want this baby so much. And Lily’s so excited about being a big sister. She’s had so many losses, and this will break her heart. And Margaret’s.”

  “Mine, too,” Zack says.

  The lump in my stomach tightens and hardens.

  “Really?” Quinn’s voice is soft and surprised and filled with something that sounds like wonder.

  “Yeah.”

  “Your life would have fewer complications without it.”

  “Having fewer complications doesn’t always make life better.”

  “It would help your marriage.”

  “That’s not an issue,” Zack says.

  He might mean our marriage isn’t an issue that affects this problem, but deep down, I know he means more. He means our marriage is dead, over, beyond resuscitation. I’ve known it in my gut for a while now—that’s why I filed for divorce, after all. Our talk tonight confirmed it, but hearing him say it aloud still hits me hard.

  What he says next deals an even harsher blow.

  “I want you to have my baby.”

  The words I’ve longed to hear from him, he’s saying to another woman. I clutch my stomach and rock back and forth.

  There was a time when he felt that way about me. But then, things changed. No, I self-correct; I changed. After the second or third failed IVF procedure, I stopped focusing on creating a family and started obsessing on whether another woman had had his child. I ruined everything loving and good between us with competitiveness and jealousy and bitterness over an imaginary contest.

  Zack doesn’t love me anymore, and it’s all my fault.

  “We’ll do everything we can to save this pregnancy,” he tells Quinn, “but if it’s not meant to be, well, we’ll try again. I’ll help you give Lily a brother or sister.”

  “You will?”

  “Yeah.” I imagine her hugging him, or him hugging her. Hell—it would be reciprocal, wouldn’t it? Whoever started it, the other would respond. I realize I’m clutching my chest with one hand, and the other is over my mouth.