“Brandy, honey? You okay in there?”
I stood and unlocked the door, then sat back down on the side of the tub. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just taking a moment.”
He sat next to me and took my hands from my face where I was cradling my head. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
“It’s nothing. I just felt light-headed and a bit queasy. I need to sit here for a few minutes. Maybe I got too much sun today. I’ll be fine. Stop worrying, West.”
He stood up to leave. “Why don’t I get you something to drink. 7UP?”
“Thanks. That sounds great. I’ll be right down.”
I splashed cool water on my face then slowly walked down the stairs to where he was waiting for me in the front room. We both were aware of what could happen if I lost another child. Any time I didn’t feel a hundred percent, both of us became alarmed. We were marking the days off the calendar hanging on the back of our bedroom door, counting down to early June.
That evening, we had dinner outside at the redwood picnic table. Weston had barbecued chicken and I, being a vegetarian, had fixed my favorite meal—a cheese quesadilla and a salad. Pregnant or not, I always took good care of myself.
Later that evening, we settled down in front of the television, and I leaned my head on his shoulder. We planned to watch one of our favorite movies, The Last Samurai and I’d just put the DVD in when the phone rang.
Weston reached over to answer it with a quick, “Hello.” He paused for a few seconds and I guessed whoever was on the other end of the line must be talking. “Hello? Hello?” He pressed the ‘End’ button and placed the phone back in its cradle. “I guess they didn’t want to talk to me. Geez, my feelings are hurt.”
We both laughed and I pushed ‘Play‘. The movie was one of my top choices to watch again and again. I loved Tom Cruise and Ken Watanabe and those pink-blossomed cherry trees always made me feel mellow when they appeared on the screen.
By the time the ending credits were rolling, both of us were nodding off. The phone rang again. This time, I reached across Weston’s chest. He was snoring lightly and the ringer was on low. He didn’t stir when I said “Hello” into the receiver.
“Brandy? It’s Edward. Can you talk?”
He was kidding, right? Calling me at home? Had he been the one who phoned a while ago and then hung up when Weston answered?
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I whispered. “You can’t call me. Ever. What are you thinking?” I stood up, tiptoed into the kitchen, and closed the door.
“What am I thinking? You know what I’m thinking, Brandy. Am I the child’s father?”
“Don’t you dare ask me such a question!” I hissed between gritted teeth. “Of course the baby’s not yours! What would make you think such a thing?”
“I can do the math, Brandy. If you’re almost seven months pregnant then the baby could be mine and you know it!”
I shut my eyes, trying to think straight. “You’re saying you know the exact date we—”
“August twenty-fourth,” he interrupted.
I opened my eyes, feeling frantic. Could this be true? “How did you get this number?”
“I’m an attorney. I have connections. It was easy.”
“Oh, that’s just great. I guess that’s small town favoritism for you.”
“Don’t make it out to be some big deal. It’s not hard to find anyone in Alameda. Back to the subject. When can I see you?”
“You’re not. I have no intention of seeing you again. Ever.”
“I’d be careful what you say, Brandy. I could just as easily have talked to Weston when he answered the phone before.”
“Oh, so it was you. I thought so. Please don’t do this. Leave me alone.”
“I want to meet with you. I have a right to know if I’m the father. Just tell me when and where, and I’ll stop calling you.”
“All right. All right.” I was so afraid Weston would wake up and hear me on the phone. “Tomorrow. At Peet’s. Three o’clock.” And I hung up the phone.
I was shaking, livid. I was so damn mad. Why would a young single guy with a great career want to be tied down with a child? It didn’t make sense to me. What did he want? Did he plan to take my baby away from me and raise it? Did he want to give me money to help support the child or to start a college fund? He had to have a reason. What did he have to gain by doing this?
And why now? Why the hell was this happening to me now? Everything in our lives was going along so smoothly, and now this had to happen? It took every fiber of my being not to walk outside and scream at the top of my lungs at the unfairness of life. Just when Weston and I were enjoying our renewed relationship. It wasn’t fair.
Chapter 15
It was easy to slip away the next afternoon. Weston wanted to take it easy, just hang out in the yard and putter around the house. I told him I wanted to go for a walk in the fresh air. I often needed quiet time when I was writing a book and running had always been my method of choice for thinking over ideas, enabling me to get through my own particular form of “writer’s block.” At this point in my pregnancy walking as fast as I comfortably could helped me gather my thoughts.
I left the house at two-thirty, wanting to give myself enough time to do deep breathing exercises and power walk my way to Peet’s. When I opened the front door to the coffee house, there sat Edward at one of the tables overlooking Park Street. In all his handsome glory!
No doubt about it, he was one of the most virile men I’d ever met. His movie star looks were like a magnet, of which I’m sure he was aware. No man could look in the mirror every day and not see it. He couldn’t be that oblivious. But I loved my husband. And I wouldn’t let Edward ruin the relationship Weston and I had tried so hard to put back together.
I approached the table and he stood then leaned over to give me a kiss on the cheek. I pulled away as if I’d been slapped. It just seemed such a lie, his reaching out to me for some sort of affection.
“You’re mad, aren’t you?” he asked, a tiny grin on his lips.
“What did you expect? You’re trying to blackmail me and you want me to be happy about it?”
He flopped down in his chair, glanced out the window then looked up at me. “I’m not trying to blackmail you, Brandy,” he said in a low tone. “I just want to know if I’m the father of the baby you’re carrying. I have that right.”
I slowly lowered myself into the seat across from his then squinted at him, filled with rage. “You have no right, Edward. You can’t prove we’ve ever had any type of relationship outside of being friends when we were in high school.”
He shook his head from side to side then engaged my eyes in a serious stare-down. “I can and I will. I know people. The owner of this place? He’ll testify he saw us here. Talking. Having coffee together. It’s the truth, Brandy. We sat at this table, remember? He’ll testify in front of the Alameda Superior Court judge. Who just so happens to be a good friend of mine, who I play racquetball with every weekend.” He leaned back in his chair, holding the mug of coffee in his hands. “Brandy, you’ll lose this fight if you try to go up against me on this. I guarantee it.”
It was fairly obvious, I had no choice. I didn’t know much about the present day Edward but I was quickly finding out. He was an Alameda home boy. With connections. I had nothing to bargain with.
“What do you want me to do?” I muttered.
He slid a white business card across the table toward me. “Here’s the name of a close friend of mine, Dr. Emily Rogers. She’s in San Francisco. An ob/gyn. I’ve already talked with her about this. I have an appointment to see her on Monday so she can get a sample of my DNA. She’s waiting to hear from you so she can get a sample of the fetal DNA.” He paused. “I put my home phone and cell number on the bottom. Call me with the results of your test.”
“You’re pretty damn sure of yourself, aren’t you?” I asked with more than a little sarcasm in my voice. “You went ahead and did all this before talking to
me?”
“You gave me no choice, Brandy. Do this or I go to Weston. It’s the right thing to do.”
“The right thing to do? Are you kidding me?” Realizing I’d raised my voice, I looked around at the other tables but no one seemed to be watching us. I whispered through gritted teeth, “You want to ruin my marriage? Trample all over my life, my husband’s life, my future child’s life? You don’t give a damn about doing the right thing. You’re a hypocrite!”
“No, you’re the hypocrite. I’m not the one who’s married. You are. You’re the one who had an affair behind your husband’s back, not me. I’m not married, remember?” He scraped a hand through his hair then let out a deep sigh. “Look, I never seriously thought about what I’d do if I fathered a child but if I am this baby’s daddy, I want to know because I’d feel responsible.”
“And it doesn’t bother you that you could be ruining my marriage, my family life—”
“Brandy, listen to me, will you?” He laid his hand on my wrist, looked down at the table, then up at me. “You don’t really know me anymore. High school was years ago. I get that. What you don’t know is this. Remember I told everyone my father passed away when I was a little kid? Well, that was a lie. He walked out on my mom and me when I was ten years old. I never saw him again. I loved my father. And I don’t know why he deserted me. I’ll never know. And I won’t abandon any child of mine.”
Wrenching my hand from underneath his, I stood up to leave. I’d heard enough of his sorry story. “I’ll call your doctor friend tomorrow. I’ll be in touch.”
I swung around and walked out the door, walking as fast as I could down Central Avenue toward our house. I had to clear my head, although it wouldn’t do any good even if I ran all the way across the country. I was cornered and had to do what he wanted. Or else.
I walked into the house and acted as if everything was fine. What else could I do? I’d have to call Dr. Rogers and make an appointment for the DNA test. I had no other option. We had a quiet Sunday dinner, watched television, then went to bed.
The next morning, after taking a short walk around the neighborhood and a light breakfast, I found Dr. Rogers’ business card where I’d hidden it in one of the cubby holes of my desk. Her assistant seemed to recognize my name, giving me an appointment for that afternoon at one o’clock.
The procedure went quicker and easier than I’d expected, much like an amniocentesis. She explained there was a slight risk of bleeding or upset to the fetus, though a small one. I had to have it done, so I put my mind at rest, knowing the probability of anything going wrong was small. I was in and out of her office, and back on the freeway by two o’clock. Weston would never find out.
It would take a week before I received the results in the mail. The longest seven days of my life. Physically, I was feeling pretty good. Mentally, I was trying not to lose it and felt like climbing the walls. So I continued my deep breathing exercises, as well as my yoga each morning.
The weather was mild, in the mid-seventies, and I was enjoying being outdoors, continuing my writing each day while sitting in the back yard at the redwood picnic table shaded by the umbrella. I’d almost finished the revisions and was taking one long last look through the manuscript before sending it back to my agent. It kept my mind occupied with something other than the letter I’d be receiving soon.
The following Monday, one week after seeing Dr. Rogers, I went to the mailbox and there it was—with her name and address in the upper left-hand corner. My hands were shaking. Though a fairly warm day, I felt cold all over. I sat down on the couch in the front room, took several deep breaths, then slipped my finger under the glued edge of the envelope, sliding it across.
With trembling hands, I pulled out the single sheet of folded white paper. I shut my eyes, unfolded the letter, and read the few short sentences which graced the page: thanking me for visiting their facility, the name of the laboratory that performed the DNA testing, the ninety-nine point nine-nine percent match with Edward J. Barnes.
Weston was indeed “not the baby’s daddy.” A part of me was expecting this and the other part was stunned that Fate had been so cruel. What I’d been refusing to deal with had to be faced head-on, soon. I hadn’t thought this far ahead, believing there was no need to “go there” without solid proof Edward was the father.
Now that I was aware of the truth, I couldn’t dodge what needed to be done. Weston first, then Edward. I’d deal with it in that order. As soon as possible. I didn’t have much time. Edward would begin calling me soon. That meant I’d have to confront Weston immediately.
I felt doomed. I couldn’t begin to predict what he’d do. I had no clue.
Chapter 16
That evening I got ready for bed and had just leaned back against the down pillows when Weston came out of the bathroom, just showered, looking so handsome. He sat down on the comforter and leaned over to kiss the tip of my nose. I smiled at him, feeling so much like the traitor I was.
“What’s wrong, babe? You look like you’re in another world.”
“I need to talk to you about something.”
“Sure, what’s up?”
I could feel my palms sweating and my tongue stuck to the top of my mouth. After swallowing, I took a deep breath and looked down at my folded hands, then up at him.
“Remember that man we saw in Starbucks the other day?”
“Yeah. Nice guy. Seemed like an interesting person.”
“I lied to you. He’s not Cecilia’s friend. He’s the man I slept with, the one I told you about.”
His face fell, devoid of expression. “Oh-kay,” he strung out the word for several seconds.
“When he found out I was pregnant, he asked if he was the baby’s father. He said if I didn’t have a fetal DNA test, he’d take me to court and force me to be tested. I found out today he’s the baby’s father.”
I didn’t know what to expect. I figured it could go either way—he’d go ballistic or he’d be hurt and emotional. His stare frightened me. He leaned toward me without blinking, without talking, and I pressed myself back against the headboard.
“When did you have sex with him?” he whispered between gritted teeth.
I slid sideways away from him but his arm was propped up against my left side and I couldn’t escape. I dropped my gaze to the edge of the sheet and squeezed my eyes shut, horrified by this blossoming nightmare.
“I didn’t remember the exact date…But he said it was August twenty-fourth.”
I could feel his breath on my face, hot and dry. I waited for him to say something, anything, utter words to make this all go away, change what was happening into a bad dream we’d never have to face.
“Right before I came home for Labor Day?” he shouted, startling me. I covered my face with my hands, squinching my eyes shut, wishing with my whole heart this wasn’t happening.
I could feel the side of the bed rise up, heard him walking away. My hands fell to my sides and I opened my eyes. He grabbed his jeans and shirt and walked out the door. I’d never seen him look that way before. I wanted him to argue or shout or do something to show how he felt about what I’d told him. But perhaps this was the proverbial “straw that broke the camel’s back.”
I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t return that night. I slept fitfully, tossing and turning. When the first rays of dawn sprinkled through the edges of the curtains I resolved to put my best foot forward, go about my daily routine, and wait to hear from him.
At six-thirty a.m. someone knocked at the front door. I couldn’t guess who would be visiting this early and was completely surprised when I found Michael, Weston’s co-worker, standing on the front porch.
“Hi, Brandy! How’re you doing?”
“I’m feeling good these days. Would you like to come in?”
“Sure. Thanks.” He walked into the foyer and glanced down at the rug, then up at me, with an odd look on his face. I didn’t know why he’d come by and could only guess it might have something to
do with Weston’s leaving.
“What brings you here so early in the morning? Shouldn’t you be at the job site?”
“I’m kind of embarrassed. Weston asked if I’d come by and pick up some clothes for him and other small things. I don’t want to be caught in the middle or anything, so I’ll understand if you send me packing.”
I covered my mouth with my hand, tears edging toward my lashes. Did Weston want to move out before we had an opportunity to discuss what happened last night? Had he already made the decision to leave me? If so, he wasn’t thinking straight. And he certainly wasn’t being fair to us, to our marriage, by acting rashly. But he obviously didn’t want to talk to me. Instead he’d sent his lackey to do the job for him.
“No, Michael. It’s okay. I’ll make up a suitcase for him. I’ll be right back.”
I ran upstairs and pulled Weston’s travel case out of the closet. Tears clouded my vision while I packed enough clothes for a week, along with his bath toiletries. For a second I entertained the thought of sticking a note inside; but I didn’t want that to be misconstrued as some sort of cutesy gesture, so I decided against it. I didn’t know what I would have said in a note to touch his heart anyway. I felt totally lost and didn’t know what to do next.
I swiped the tears from my cheeks then brought the bag downstairs where Michael paced in the foyer, looking anxious to leave. I could imagine how awkward he must feel and had no idea how much Weston had told him, which made me even more embarrassed.
“Here you go.” I thrust the suitcase toward him and opened the front door. “I apologize if this made you feel uncomfortable, Michael.” We said our goodbyes and he rushed to his car.
My body felt like a five hundred pound weight. Lying down on the couch, I shut my eyes, hoping to steal a few moments of rest, but awakened with a start when my cell began playing its distinctive ring tone. Someone not on my contact list must be phoning me.
“Hello?”
“Brandy, it’s Edward. Did you get the DNA results yet?”
Moon Over Alcatraz Page 9
