I run to my phone and look at the calendar. Back back back… weeks back. The last time I had my period. It was well over a month ago.
I don’t have the flu. I have a case of the babies.
Pushing down the nausea, I stand and run up the stairs, where I have pregnancy tests. Every woman of a certain age does. You know, just in case. I tear open the wrapper and pee on the stick, and pace the bathroom, back and forth, back and forth, which Candy does too, in tandem. It’s cute. Ten seconds lasts a year, half a minute lasts a decade, and by the time these two minutes are up, I’m convinced I’ll be in assisted living.
I don’t even need to look. I know the results.
And I’m correct.
The first time I got this result, I was a teenager. I felt nothing but panic and dread and immediately thought of how to make it go away. The second time, I considered keeping it for a hot second. But with the jobless loser it belonged to, I knew I’d end up just like my mother if I attempted parenthood before I was stable. I wanted to be stable. Fuck the guy. I needed something concrete.
Third time’s the charm.
The only feeling I have now is hope and love and I’m thinking of bottles and mobiles and my belly popping and how cute it’s going to be. I want it, I want it so bad, and I finally get to have it. My happy ending.
I have to call James!
No. Tell him in person. If I can make it through the day without hiring a skywriter.
I think of how to tell James, and I’m flabbergasted. What do I say? We’ve never really talked about it, especially so soon into our marriage. Aside from having to tell him this, I decide I need to come clean to him about everything, not only because it’s the right thing to do, but because he deserves it. About my upbringing, my past, Drew. My previous terminated pregnancies. Maybe I need therapy. I always have, I just never had a reason to go through with it. If I’m going to be a mom, I want to be a good one. Not like my mother. I contemplate this for hours. The how I tell him is almost as important as the what I’m going to tell him.
After a quick shower, I head out to walk into town. The sun is hot like a skillet, and it rejuvenates me as I feel the vitamin D soaking into my skin. When I pass Gwen’s house, I want to run in and tell her, but her car isn’t in the driveway, and I remember it’s Thursday. She has Caleb’s art class today. While she’s making flowers out of construction paper, I’m, we’re, walking into town to do some shopping, to figure out a fun way to tell James that he’s about to be a dad. My hand hovers over my abdomen. A baby. One that will grow into a toddler, a child. A teenager who I will love, and support, and I’ll never give them a reason to run away.
Almost into town, I’m giddy thinking about painting the nursey. First steps, taking off the training wheels, cheering on the soccer or Little League team. There will be Christmas mornings around the tree, family dinners, helping with homework, and college graduations. James and I will be a little old couple, holding hands and still in love as our child dedicates their valedictorian speech to us.
It’s everything I’ve seen in every romantic comedy, rolled into one.
Turning onto Main Street, before I hit the gift shop, there is a local electronics store and I have an idea. I need to hear myself say it first. The bell on the top of the door rings when I open it, and a salesman approaches me before the door even closes.
“Good morning!” He looks at his watch, a digital one that probably beeps on the hour. “I mean, good afternoon!”
He laughs at himself, self-deprecating. He’s cheery, nerdy, and adorable. Maybe twenty-one, tall, skinny, glasses. Everything you picture for someone who’s trying to sell you stuff you don’t need, but you buy it anyway because they sound so knowledgeable, and their passion for doohickeys is unyielding.
“Good afternoon.” Then I correct myself. I notice you get better service when you address people by their name instead of assuming they’re just workers there to serve you. “Hi, Ralph. My name is Tessa.” I extend my hand for a shake, which he returns, sweaty palm and all. “I’m looking for a small recording device?” I say it like a question, holding my thumb and forefinger a few inches apart, indicating that I need one of the tiny, thin ones I see businessmen talking into all the time, likely taking notes for meetings.
“You don’t have an iPhone?” He looks at me like I hopped right off the wagon in my prairie dress and bonnet.
“No. I reject technology,” I say, with no intention of telling him I use basic burner phones.
“Ah, of course we can help you, Tessa. Follow me.”
The store isn’t very big, and “follow me” really means take two steps to the left. His arms gesture out in a tah-dah! fashion, and I don’t know what I’m staring at. On the wall, there are a bunch of different packages, all devices in thick plastic, hanging from chrome hooks.
“Hmm. What do you suggest?” I ask.
“What’s the purpose?”
To hear myself say over and over and over that I’m pregnant until I find the way that sounds the best. “Practicing a speech. I need to hear myself say it out loud.”
“Of course.” He turns his attention to the wall and fingers through a few models and takes one off its hook. “This one has up to eight hours recording time on one single charge. A bargain at two ninety-nine.”
Yikes. I don’t need eight hours to tell James that I’m pregnant. I don’t think I do.
“That’s a bit above my pay grade,” I say. “Anything a little more cost effective?”
“Hmm.” His eyes scan up and down, and he grabs another one. Smaller. Thinner. “This one’ll get you about four and a half hours on a single charge and automatically uploads it in real time to the cloud. Sort of like the iPhone iCloud, but they call it ‘the Moon.’” He points to a little button on the bottom. “See here? That’s the delete button. It’s a design flaw, too close to the thumb when people hold it and speak into it. Some people delete their speeches before they’ve had a chance to save them. The cloud feature eliminates that risk.” He flips the package over and there’s a picture of the moon on the back insert, and he taps it. “Brilliant, right?”
Ralph is so excited that he’s educating me, and I know this kid likely works on commission, so I want to give him a sale. “How much?”
“This one is one nineteen. And the Moon subscription is included for a full year. After that, if you want to continue using the service it’s only like five bucks a year. A bargain, really.”
He’s smiling now, and I see that he has braces on his lower teeth.
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
“Excellent!” He says it too loud and I see someone who’s probably his boss, an older man wearing a tie, give a thumbs up. “Let’s ring you up.”
This time, we both take about ten steps to the right where the register is. The man behind him looks over Ralph’s shoulder as he punches buttons on the screen. Ralph is smiling as he fumbles with the opening of the bag and places my new device inside.
“Thanks for the help, Ralph,” I say.
“No problem. Thanks for stopping in, and remember us for all of your electric needs!”
“I will.” I wink and smile at him, then lightly wave to his boss before I exit the store.
About a block down is the baby store. The baby store. Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m going in with a purpose. Inside, music is playing in the background, softly—something you’d hear in a movie. “Hush little baby, don’t say a word, momma’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.” It fills me with hope, because I was raised on the likes of Alice Cooper and Tupac, depending on who my mother was screwing at the time.
Another small store, as most of the mom-and-pops on Main Street are, there are only a handful of people inside. A quick scan tells me that the left-hand side has toys for toddlers, the right-hand side has toys for small children under ten, and the back is a bliss world of soft blankets and baby lamb stuffed toys and onesies and mobiles. Tears rush to my eyes.
“Can I help you?” A tall, sl
im lady approaches me. “Looking for a gift or for yourself?”
“Oh. Hi.” Despite my first instinct of wanting to run up Gwen’s driveway to spill the news, James needs to be first. “A gift. For a coworker.”
“Oh, fantastic. How old is the little one?”
“Brand new. Less than a month,” I say, thinking about my bun in the oven.
“All of our infant stuff is back here.” She turns and makes a gesture toward the other end of the store. “Let me know if you need help narrowing anything down.”
“Will do. Thank you.”
I walk to the back of the store when a familiar scent hits me. I must look like a dog, sniffing with my nose in the air, and I realize it’s baby lotion. Between fifteen and twenty years of age, a lot of my friends kept their pregnancies, so I’ve been around babies. And Gwen still treats Caleb like an infant, so I’ve seen her slathering lotion on his butt before.
I finger through the soft blankets and the kits to make molds of baby handprints and footprints. There’s so much to look forward to! Then I see the most perfect present. It’s not even for the baby.
It’s just a mug. But it says World’s Greatest Dad.
I snatch it off the shelf and practically run to the front of the store. The same slim lady wraps it in five sheets of blue tissue paper and closes the top with blue ribbon, then places it gently in a small, sturdy brown bag.
Happy with today’s bounty, I pass Romano’s and decide to stop in and see if the new tablecloths came in yet. To my surprise, Evan is ordering at the counter.
“Hey!” I say excitedly.
He turns and smiles. “Tessa. What are you up to?”
My smile is probably goofy. Should I tell him? I have to tell someone! No, I could never do that to James. He has to be first. “Just passing through. Had to grab a few things.” My fingers tighten against the brown bag and I turn it inward, so he doesn’t see the logo. I don’t want him to know that it’s from the baby store.
“I’m just getting a quick slice, I’m in the middle of a nutty case. Hey, let’s grab a picture, I’ll send it to James. He’d get a kick out of this.”
Evan’s arm wraps around my shoulder, and I smile—wide. Because I know a secret. I have the new-mother glow.
He takes his pizza to go, and I tell him to come for dinner this weekend and he agrees before he leaves.
After checking on the design progress, I head home in the warm weather, and only then do I realize that I definitely have to tell James about my past. We’ll need to get a lawyer—I should call Evan, because I’ll need to do it right. I’ll need to dissolve my marriage to Drew, and I need to make the one with James legal, with my real information. I’m mad at myself as I think about how I’ve deceived him. He’s my child’s father. And I need this all done correctly, and soon, because I’ll need to get a driver’s license. I certainly can’t plan to tote a baby around on foot all the time. There will be doctor’s appointments. And what if, God forbid, there’s an emergency?
I’ll be waiting up for James when he gets home from his client shindig tonight, and I’m going to tell him everything.
I welcome the night alone to practice. It used to bother me being left alone, knowing what Drew was doing behind my back. But what was my recourse? Bitching about it and getting a black eye? Or worse, like the time Drew broke one of my ribs when I questioned his whereabouts. While I was on the floor, screaming in searing pain, he told me not to move and he’d be right back, like I could even go anywhere. He’d taken my cell phone and zip-tied my wrists around a load bearing pole in the living room and stormed out. Came back twenty minutes later, and I heard the car still running in the garage.
“Get up,” he said, and cut the zip tie. Yanked me by my hair and dragged me to the garage, where his car was smashed on the passenger side. He opened the door and threw me in, not caring that the pain was worse each time I moved. “We’re going to the hospital. We were just in an accident. On Northwest Vine Street. The car came out of nowhere, hit us, and took off. It was a white SUV. Do you understand?”
The ache in my midsection blinded me, but I nodded yes, happy to at least be taken somewhere that would pump me full of painkillers and make sure, through an X-ray, that the broken bone didn’t pierce any organs, which if I was being honest, I thought might’ve happened. I wanted to be fixed, and Drew was taking me to be fixed.
At the time, that’s all I cared about.
Drew knew everyone, everywhere, and I was sure his hedge fund was laundering money for corporate bigwigs and politicians—he spent entirely too much time in DC. He’d be able to make the trip in less than ninety minutes from where we lived in Delaware. At the very least, he was trading inside information. Too many people kissed his ass.
He was able to cover his tracks too well.
So, nights alone usually left me with fear and paranoia. Now, safe with James, I know he’s just doing what he has to do for work, and he’ll rush home to see me, his wife, and Candy, his dog. We have such a great life, and I’ve changed everything about my outlook on the future, and I can’t wait to tell him why.
“Come here, Candy,” I say, and she ambles toward me, looking up at me with her huge brown eyes, so loving, so trusting. I pet her head and she purrs like a cat again, so cute. “Let’s go into the office.”
I stand and she follows me as I walk, knowing the routine. The heavy leather chair rolls back on the tile floor, and she plunks herself into the soft bed right next to the desk. I turn on the computer and do research for modernizing Romano’s. I’m deep into ideas when I look down at my wedding ring, and I see that it needs a cleaning. In the upstairs bathroom, I have a jewelry cleaner, so I place it in the container and shake it up until it foams, then scrub it with the provided brush. It glows, and it looks perfect. I want it flawless and shiny for when I tell James, so I place it in my jewelry box. I’ll put it on right before he gets home and break the news.
I have to practice my speech to James about the pregnancy.
I head back to the kitchen and get the bag with the recording device. After reading the instructions, I connect it to the WiFi and set up the account online. I put the receipt in James’s monthly folder, where he stores all his expenses. He’ll want this for the end of the year, I’m sure, to write it off as part of my business needs. Which it will be good for, too. I can take ideas in real time as I’m walking through a space. Certainly beats a notepad and pen, or being impersonal by typing notes into a phone the whole time.
I locate the record button, which turns it on and off, and yes, holding it in my hand I see what Ralph at the store meant, how the notes can be erased with the button right next to it. A design flaw indeed.
I push the button and speak.
“James, we made a baby!”
No. I stop the recording but don’t erase it. I want to hear how they all sound out loud at once, but even I heard how silly that sounded as the words escaped my mouth. I press the button again.
I try every variation of James, I’m pregnant, even once using the term “with child.” I roll my eyes at how it all sounds, and I thank God that I came up with this idea first. This is supposed to be a good thing and I’m already dumbing it down. My eyes drift to my flat stomach—there’s a baby in there!—and I speak again.
“James, I think I’ve loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you, and you’ve made me happier than I’ve ever been.” I pause, choking up, because I want to tell him everything, and it spills out. “I’m so sorry that I lied to you. My Social Security number is fake, and my last name is a variation to say the least. I’ve been running from my ex-husband, my past, my foster homes, my abuse, my addictions—but I don’t want to run anymore. I want to come clean about my lies.” Whatever, I can erase it later. “I want to, because I want my life with you to go forward without complications. It has to be this way, because it’s not just me and you anymore.” Dramatic pause, of course. “James, I’m pregnant. I can’t wait for this new step in our lives, and I can’t
wait to hold our baby. And I want you to know that you’ve made me the happiest person who’s ever walked the earth. You need to know that. I love you, and I’m already counting the seconds toward the amazing future we’re going to have together. We’re a family.”
I play it back, and it sounds heartfelt, not rehearsed. But I continue speaking into it over and over. In some versions, I mention Maribel’s help with Drew. In others, I say I want Evan to fix this for me legally. Others still, I say how happy I am that Trey gave him the promotion because the timing was perfect. I even say I’m thankful for Damon, because it led me to him. I go over it a few more times, listening to them all until the doorbell rings, and Candy stirs, lifting her head curiously, but not barking. I look at my watch, only six-thirty, and assume it’s Gwen stopping over with Caleb, for one of our talk sessions. I place the device on the counter and head to the foyer. When I open the door, I’m floored at the coincidence of the person on the stoop.
I was just talking about you.
34
James
James was happy to leave the house. Robert secured permission from the courts for James to leave, so long as he went directly to Robert’s office. Strange, leaving the house, since James had been quarantined via ankle bracelet for the last few days, but he got in his car and drove a few towns away. It felt good leaving, since the house had been the target for the prying eyes of Valley Lake. He didn’t even go to his curb to collect the mail, for fear of having neighbors look at him like someone who committed a double homicide. As far as everyone in town knew, he was a dead man walking, his time of freedom winding down. On his ride, he didn’t stop for coffee on the route in the off chance that someone recognized him from his picture online, his mug shot, and then the pitchforks would come out.
Plus, with what he was paying Robert, they should offer him coffee on arrival at the very least. Thank god for credit cards. If the truth wasn’t cleared up soon, James feared he would have to take out a second mortgage. Which he wouldn’t get. Being an industry professional, he knew he didn’t have equity in the house to pull money out. Even worse, he had no strings to pull. Was his own bank going to help him? Trey? No way. Trey fired him. Well, Trey was going to have to answer if James’s freedom was on the line.
Finding Tessa Page 22
