But I spoke to no one. I was too distraught to open my mouth.
King came to my room and sat by my side every day, but the only reason he was there was that I didn’t have the strength to stop him. But though he was there, we didn’t interact. I never even looked at him. He was, after all, the reason that the life had been sucked out of me.
On the day of my release, I finally had to pay some attention to King, since he was the one taking me home. I didn’t say a word to him, though. Not when I was being checked out, not on the ride home, and not when King finally pulled into our driveway.
The moment he stopped the car, I jumped out and didn’t stop moving, even though he called behind me.
“Wait, Heiress. Let me help you.”
Now he wanted to help me?
I ignored him and kept walking, stomped up the stairs, stripped, and curled up in the bed. It wasn’t that I was tired; it was just that I didn’t have a reason to be awake. I just needed to shut out the world.
“Baby, did you need me to get you anything?” King asked from the door.
I curled up into a tighter ball and closed my eyes. All I needed was to have my baby back. Could he get that for me? If not, then all I needed was sleep. Because when I was asleep, I felt no pain. Sleep was my refuge, and I cherished it.
God granted my prayers, and I slept. But finally, He opened my eyes. The sun was going down, so at least I’d gotten through one more day. But my head was throbbing now, and I needed my pain medicine.
Slowly, I pushed up from the bed, then lifted my purse, and as I rummaged through it, I came across a business card. I frowned. What was this?
Leslie Hunter.
The memory of meeting her triggered thoughts of my baby. I was shopping for the rattle that day. The rattle that I’d given to King.
My tears were back. I would never have a chance to meet my baby.
To stop my tears, I went into the bathroom and took my medicine with water from the faucet. I splashed water on my face, hoping the coolness of it would help in some way. But then, right away, I went back to the bed.
I lay there, staring at the card that I’d just found. I knew for a fact that I didn’t want to be bothered. I didn’t want to have anyone in my presence, let alone to talk to them about my problems. Yet every time I put down the card, I picked it back up. There was something tugging at me to make this call. Finally, after thirty minutes of going back and forth, I picked up the phone. I decided to call her cell instead of the office. If I had any luck, she’d be in her office.
But after the first ring, she answered, “Leslie Hunter.”
I froze and remained silent. Why had I made this call? What did I want? What did I want her to do?
“Hello?” she said, as if she knew there was someone on the line.
I cleared my throat. “Hi,” I said, barely able to hear my own voice. “This is Heiress Montgomery. I met you at Babypalooza a little while ago.”
There was a pause, and then she said, “Oh, yes, I remember. How are you?”
“You told me to call if I needed to talk, so . . .” I knew I hadn’t answered her question, and I hadn’t finished my sentence. I was just hoping that she could hear the distress in my voice.
“I have time today,” she said quickly. “Where would you like to meet?”
Whoa. I hadn’t expected that. I wasn’t even sure why I’d called. What did I want from her? Since I wasn’t sure, I remained silent, hoping that this would all go away.
“Listen, take down this address, and if you can, meet me there in an hour,” she said, taking control.
I did what she told me. I wrote down the address, then hung up. It was a struggle getting out of bed, but I put on sweats and then called King’s driver. I wasn’t even sure if King was home, but when Al said he was available, I asked him to drive me to the address in Santa Monica, which wasn’t too far away from where I’d met Leslie for the first time. Only an hour had passed since I’d hung up the phone when Al stopped in front of the town house.
“I’m not sure how long I’m going to be,” I told Al.
“That’s okay. I won’t be too far away.”
I smiled at him but couldn’t look at him for too long. I hated to see the pity in his eyes.
I took my time walking up the steps, then took a deep breath, but before I could ring the bell, Leslie opened the door.
“Heiress, it’s good seeing you again.” She gave me a little hug, and even though she was gentle, I winced in pain. She quickly released me. “I’m sorry,” she said and looked me up and down, then invited me in.
I followed her through the rooms to the back of the house and into an office. Her office looked exactly like a therapist’s office that you’d see in a movie: black leather couch, a desk in the corner, and a big chair. I was sure Leslie occupied the big chair so that she could sit comfortably while hearing the problems of the distressed.
“Welcome to my home office, Heiress. Have a seat,” she said, pointing to the couch exactly the way she would if she were in a movie.
I did as I was told, but I stayed silent.
“I’m glad you called me,” Leslie said as she rolled her chair to her desk. “It’s important for you to have a place to go . . . to talk.”
To talk. Is that why I called her? Is that what I wanted to do? I thought.
“So . . .” she began and then stopped, waiting for me to say something.
I didn’t.
“How have things been since I last saw you?”
I knew I had to say something soon. I didn’t come all the way over here just to have her talk. But what could I say? I stared down at my hands, then lifted my eyes, but I didn’t look at her. I turned my attention to the walls, then back to my hands.
“Is this your first time talking to a therapist?”
I nodded. At least that was a start.
She said, “Well, we can start slow. I can just ask you a few general questions, okay?”
I nodded once again.
“Okay,” she said. “What do you do for a living?”
“I just lost my baby,” I blurted out. And when I said it, I realized it was the first time I’d said it out loud. Just saying it hurt even more than just thinking it.
Leslie might have been a therapist, but she wasn’t able to hide her shock. But then her expression quickly returned to neutral.
It wasn’t until a sob passed through my lips that I realized that tears were falling from my eyes . . . again. Leslie handed me a box of tissues and let me cry. I was glad she did that. I didn’t have enough energy to figure out how not to cry.
“I know that is a lot to handle at the moment,” she observed.
I nodded.
“Besides grief, tell me what else you’re feeling.”
“What other emotion is there?” I said as I wiped my face with a tissue.
“There are several emotions that go along with grief.”
I guess she was right. There was more than grief. There was anger. And grief. Fear. And grief. Heartache. And grief. Grief. And grief.
It was just too much for me. “I can’t do this.” I jumped up from the couch and grabbed my bag. “I’m sorry, Leslie, for wasting your time, but I’m not sure I’m ready for this right now.” I turned toward the door.
“I understand, Heiress. Just know that you can come back anytime,” she said as she followed me down the hall.
I was so glad that Al had kept his promise; he was right there at the curb where he’d dropped me off just ten minutes before, and I jumped into the car.
“Please get me out of here,” I told Al.
“Okay,” he said. Again, there was that pity in his eyes. And I just couldn’t stand it.
“I’m not going home, though.” I gave him Donovan’s address. That was where I wanted to be. If there was one place I could get comfort without talking, it was with Donovan.
I just prayed that he was home.
Chapter 26
Donovan met me with open
arms, even after I showed up at his door unannounced. I sent Al home; I was going to stay with my friend.
I went straight into Donovan’s bedroom, closed my eyes, and had the most peaceful sleep that I’d had in weeks. Then, in the morning, he fixed breakfast, just like he’d done a little more than a week ago. Only this time when I burst into tears, he just held me. The thing that was so wonderful was, Donovan didn’t ask me any questions. Not one question. He just let me breathe.
The next night I asked him to stay with me in his bed. I didn’t even have to say anything else. I didn’t have to explain that all I wanted was for him to hold me. He just did it. I cried through the night, and he held me and rocked me and rubbed my hair. I felt safe in his arms, as if he was protecting me from what I was running from. Again, I was so appreciative that he never asked what was wrong. He just let me live through my process of grieving.
On the second morning Donovan tried to get up to make me breakfast, but I wouldn’t let him move. I needed to feel his arms. I needed that more than I needed food. If there was any way we could stay like this forever, I would make it happen. Donovan understood. He kissed me, and he stayed.
“Is this the plan for today? Because sooner or later someone is going to have to get up to use the bathroom,” he joked.
My response was to hold him tighter and fight to keep new tears from falling. It was amazing to me that I had tears left. Didn’t tear ducts dry up eventually?
“Have I ever told you the story about Sheila?” It was a rhetorical question, because he didn’t wait for me to say yes or no before he continued. “Sheila was my dream girl. I met her when I went up to New York for a little while.”
I had no idea why he was telling this story, but as long as he talked, I didn’t have to. I could just listen.
He continued, “She was fine. I mean, she had it going on. She was tall, about five-seven, had long, black, curly hair, skin that didn’t even need makeup. But I loved her beyond her looks. She was smart, really smart, and when she smiled . . .”
“I get the picture, Donny,” I said, interrupting his trip down memory lane.
“Oh, okay.” He chuckled. “Well, anyway, I really thought I was going to marry that girl, but it turned out that she was already married. Married with children.” He shook his head. “Man, I wish I had never met her.”
He tried to sound so sad, and I laughed. For the first time in a week.
“Why are you laughing at me? That was a sad, sad story.” He chuckled, knowing that he’d just broken my grief.
“Yes, it was, and it was just as sad when Carl Thomas sang about it in his song.”
It was hilarious that Donovan had taken that song and tried to make it into his personal story. But what was sweet was that he’d done that to cheer me up.
“A’ight, A’ight, you caught me, but at least I got a laugh out of you.”
I fell silent again, my eyes focused on the wall.
He said, “I know breaking up is hard, but leaving King Stevens isn’t the end of the world.”
I smirked at his attempt to figure out what was wrong with me. He had no idea.
“What about losing a child?” I whispered. “Is that the end of the world?” Before he could say anything, I added, “Or what about probably never being able to have another one? Is that the end of the world?”
“Heiress,” he said, whispering my name, and held me tighter. And then he said nothing more. We just lay there, wrapped in our embrace.
I wasn’t sure how much time passed before Donovan finally spoke again. “I’m so sorry, Heiress. When did this happen?”
I rolled over to face him and smiled a little when I saw tears in his eyes.
“Last week.”
His expression changed from sadness to anger.
“Last week? You were here with me. And you were pregnant then. So . . .”
I took a breath and gave him a moment to figure it out.
He jumped out of the bed, and his anger filled the room. “What happened, Heiress? Did he do this to you? Did he do this after you left here?”
“He pushed me and—”
Donovan didn’t let me finish. “I’ll kill him,” he yelled, scrambling around, trying to find clothes to put on.
“No, you won’t, Donny. Stop it.” Then I raised my voice a little more. “Please, stop it and sit down.”
It took him a moment before he sat down and grabbed my hands. “I knew I should have gone with you.” He shook his head. “I should have never let you get hurt.”
I raised his hands to my lips and kissed the inside of both of them. “Donny, it’s not your fault. You have done more than enough for me.”
“So what are you going to do?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know yet. I haven’t stopped crying long enough to figure it out.”
He was pensive, as if he was trying to come up with a few ideas. “Maybe,” he began slowly, “it’s time for you to take a break from California. Maybe you should go home for a little while.”
His suggestion shocked me. I hadn’t thought about that at all. What would my mother say if she found out about this situation? What would my father do if he knew what King had done to me?
“I don’t think I can go home right now.”
“It’s just that I want you to have someone to talk to. I mean, besides me. I’ll always be here for you, but I’m a bit biased about the situation.” He paused. “But you need someone to talk to.”
I thought back on how I ran out on Leslie yesterday. It was clear that I wasn’t totally ready to talk about how I was feeling. “I tried to see a therapist yesterday but couldn’t go through with it.”
This time he kissed the insides of my hands, then brushed my hair from my face and tucked it behind my ears. “You should go back,” he said. “I know it’s hard right now, but you should go back to the therapist.”
“I will. As soon as I can, I will.”
Then we lay back down, and he held me again, getting up only to order Chinese food. Inside his bedroom we watched reruns of The Cosby Show, then a marathon of Law & Order. It wasn’t a normal day, but it was as normal as I had felt in quite a while.
By the time I rested my head on Donovan’s pillow that night, I felt like things might just be okay. For the first time, I was heading back toward okay.
And right now okay was a beautiful feeling.
Chapter 27
I had been at Donovan’s for three days now, and even though I tried to convince him not to, he stayed home with me the whole time. Of course, he called the store and was on the phone with his staff for a good part of the day. Even so, his attention was all on me.
I hadn’t brought any clothes with me, so my wardrobe included Donovan’s clothes: his basketball shorts, his T-shirts. And it didn’t matter at all to me.
By the third day Donovan wanted me to go out of the house, and though I tried to fight it, Donovan won. Especially when he lifted me up and carried me out the door.
“Walking will get your endorphins going,” he said, as if he was some kind of medical expert. “Plus, the sun will give you vitamin D, and all of that is good for your healing.”
“When did you go to medical school?” I asked him as we began to walk around the block.
“Yesterday. While you were sleeping.” I laughed, and he nodded. “Yup, didn’t you know I was smart?”
We walked for about thirty minutes, then had lunch.
Right after lunch he said, “Get dressed and take a ride with me.”
“Where are we going?” I really wasn’t in the mood to go anywhere. Walking around the block was one thing, but actually going somewhere with people around . . . I wasn’t feeling that.
“Just riding.” He dried his hands on a dish towel and walked over to kiss me on my forehead. “Come on. I promise it’ll be good for you.”
He pulled me off the couch and pushed me lightly in the direction of his bathroom. As the water ran over my body in the shower, I had to keep thoughts of why
I was even here out of my mind. But it was hard not to think about King, even though he couldn’t be thinking about me. Just like the last time, he hadn’t even tried to reach me. It was as if he didn’t care.
How did it turn out this way? Life with King was supposed to be a fairy tale. Instead, it had turned into a horror movie.
By the time I made my way back into the living room, Donovan was already dressed. He looked me up and down and smiled sweetly before he walked over and wrapped me in his arms. No words were exchanged, but I felt everything he was trying to say to me in that embrace. We finally stepped away from each other and headed down to his car.
The entire ride Donovan was pretty quiet. He asked random questions from time to time, like what I thought I wanted to eat for dinner. Silence was an unusual tactic for Donovan when he was trying to cheer me up. He always talked so that I wouldn’t get too deep in my head. Right now, though, I didn’t mind the silence. I stared out the window as we raced down the freeway. When he exited, I noticed we were close to the mall. Was he going to take me shopping?
But then, after a few more turns, my heart began to pound. I knew exactly where Donovan was taking me.
I watched Donovan dart his eyes back and forth between me and the road, and by the time he stopped the car, I was raving mad.
“Donovan, what are we doing here?” My arms were folded. I felt so betrayed.
“Before you get mad”—he held up his hands—“I think you have to give this another try.”
“How did you even know about her? How did you even know about her office here?” I looked up at the town house that I’d run out of just a few days ago.
“I found the card in your purse yesterday, when I was getting your pain medication, and I decided to make the call.” When I huffed, he said, “Listen, Heiress, I really think talking to this therapist will help you grieve. You’ve been through so much that I’m afraid if it’s not handled, you might crack. And I don’t want that to happen to you.”
My arms were still crossed and my lips were still poked out, but I had to admit that Donovan was probably right.
“Please,” Donovan said. “Go in and give her another try. I’ll be sitting right here when you come out. Even if you want to leave in ten minutes, I’ll be right here.” He grabbed my hand and kissed the top of it.
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