Grabbing my phone is the first thing I do, but there still isn’t any word from John. I send him another text, and then an email, in case there’s some problem with his phone (even though I don’t that’s not a possibility.)
I decide I’ve got to go to work after all, despite everything’s that’s happened, and I gather up my things.
The day is horrible. Still no word from John. This is the worst day ever. A horrible hazy depression hangs over me and I make a billion mistakes at work that I cant’ avoid at all.
“Are you OK, Sarah?” asks one of my coworkers, when I almost give a guy the wrong amount of money.
I shake my head. “I don’t think so,” I say.
“You poor girl,” she says. She starts telling me how she’s been in a similar situation and everything turned out all right.
“Thanks,” I say. “It’s really nice to have people to talk to.”
In the end, though, she just was talking to me because she needed to borrow money. She figured that since I was dating a billionaire and all, I’d have a couple extra dollars to throw out to a sympathetic coworker.
“Sorry,” I tell her. “I’m barely paying rent as it is and my billionaire boyfriend won’t call me back.”
John
A few weeks go by and I try not to think about Sarah. I don’t know what’s come over me but I just don’t want to talk to her. I don’t want to feel that hurt that she made me feel. I figure that if I just kind of ignore the situation and pretend nothing’s going on I can stay in this numb state for a long time.
Anyway, the business demands a lot of my attention so I’ve at least got something to occupy my time.
“So what are you going to do?” says Jeff to me, after one meeting.
“About the stocks?” I say, annoyed. “What the hell do you think we just had that whole meeting about? Were you drunk or asleep or something?”
“No,” says Jeff, calmly. “I mean about Sarah… You haven’t mentioned her at all this last week. Or maybe it’s been two weeks. And you seem… I don’t know, I’m just worried about you.”
“Well don’t concern yourself with me,” I say. “I’m fine. I’ve been through worse.”
“That’s all fine and well,” says Jeff, leaning in closer to me. “But she’s pregnant, right?”
I nod stiffly. Doesn’t he know that? Is he some kind of idiot or is he a hermit who hasn’t seen the news in years? “Yeah,” I say. “She’s pregnant and if you haven’t noticed that’s the whole problem.”
“OK,” says Jeff, still talking to me calmly even though I’m being an asshole to him. “I get that. And whatever you decide to do with your relationship is up to you. I don’t want to get in the middle of that. Believe me. I just want to make sure you’re thinking this thing through.”
“What do you mean thinking it through?” I say, growing angrier by the second. Why the fuck does he think it’s any of his business? I’m speaking to him now through obviously gritted teeth.
“It’s just that you’ve got to think of the baby, man,” says Jeff. “You’ve got to find out if it’s yours because if it is don’t you think you have like a moral responsibility or something to help raise it?”
I’m silent and in shock. Yeah, I guess I hadn’t even thought about it.
“You OK?” says Jeff. “You look like you’re going to pass out.
My face feels completely drained. I feel like I’m going to faint. But billionaire CEOs don’t faint, so I don’t. I take a couple more deep breaths.
How had I not thought about that? About the kid? Am I really that selfish? I’ve just been thinking about my own hurt feelings?
“I’m OK,” I finally say. “I think you’re right, Jeff. I should see about the kid.”
I walk back to my office and shut the door behind me. I still have on the heavy metal music that I was listening to before.
I try to clear my head by doing some meditation. That is, I try to clear my head, because I know that I’m going to have to call her soon. I’m going to have to call Sarah.
But the meditation isn’t working. Maybe I need to take a ride through Manhattan on one of my motorcycles.
I don’t have any of my motorcycle gear with me though.
Maybe that’s not such a good idea though. I can see how it would play out now: I’m frustrated, and I weave through the traffic as fast as I can. I’m being more careless than usual, and I get in an accident. They rush me to the hospital where they at least attend to me because I’m rich and have good insurance—the hospital knows I’m good for the treatment essentially and they’re not going to throw me out on the street like they might… Anyway, then Sarah comes rushing to my side, but at that point I’ve already slipped into a coma and then a couple weeks later I die. She gives birth to a beautiful baby and I’m not around to see it.
I shake my head, trying to get the fantasy out of here. No, that’s not what I want to happen. After all, I might be a father. I might be a father. The words ring through my head. Doesn’t that mean I’ve got to act responsible now? Hell, if I really am a father I might have to sell all the motorcycles or only ride them in safer conditions. And New York City certainly isn’t what I would call safe conditions.
OK. Time to call her. Time to call Sarah.
Just thinking her name gets my mind going off onto a fantasy. It’s been so long that I’ve thought about her that now that I do, well, my body reacts. My cock is swelling up as I picture her naked body in my mind’s eye. There’s no one else like her in the world. I realize now that it’s not just lust though that I feel for. It’s something much, much more. I’ve just never told her. Why not? Maybe this is all my fault. Maybe if I hadn’t been so closed off from her, maybe if I’d told her my feelings, then maybe she wouldn’t have felt the need to keep this a secret from me for so long?
OK. Fuck it. I’ve got to call her. Something’s holding me back. I manage to press the call button next to her name.
But I hang up before the first ring even sounds.
I almost put the phone back on my desk, but to my surprise it rings. Is it Sarah?
Maybe. It’s an unknown number.
“Hello?” I say, my voice shaking since I’m half expecting it to be Sarah calling me back.
“Hi, John Clark?” says a voice that sounds a little familiar.”
“Speaking,” I say.
“Hi,” says the female voice. “This is Janet, Sarah’s friend.”
“Oh,” I say. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” says Janet. I can’t read the tone of her voice. “Listen, Sarah wanted me to call you. I’m not sure if you got her message, but…”
Her message?
“No,” I say. “I didn’t get a message from her.”
“Oh,” says Janet. “Well, I shouldn’t be the one to tell you this. But I’ll tell you anyway. This kid is yours.”
That almost floors me.
I don’t know whether to cry or smile. I don’t know how to react.
“That’s not what I called to tell you, though,” says Janet. “That’s just the prelude to the next part.”
“OK,” I manage to say. “Just tell me. Is it bad news?”
“We’re not sure yet,” says Janet. “What I’m supposed to tell you is that Sarah’s having some potential complications with the pregnancy. And she thought you should know.”
“Of course,” I say. “Of course I should know. I’m glad you called, Janet.”
“OK,” says Janet, not sounding the least bit pleased. I can tell she still heartily disapproves of me.
“What kind of complications?” I say.
“She’s not feeling well,” says Janet. “Some stomach pains and… A slight fever. We’re not sure what it is. So we’re in the emergency room now.”
“OK,” I say. “I’ll be right over.”
“Good,” says Janet.
She tersely tells me which hospital she’s in and then hangs up the phone without even saying goodbye.
; Holy shit I’m a father.
I’m a father. I’m going to be a father.
The words run through my head over and over as I sit in a stunned daze at my office desk, the heavy metal music still playing loudly around me.
But there’s not much time to dwell on this amazing fact. Sarah could be in trouble. I just hope she hasn’t gotten some butcher for a doctor. I need to get over there and see if I can use my connections and money to get her the best doctor that they have.
“I’m headed out,” I say to one of the secretaries on the way out, brushing past everyone who tries to talk to me.
I don’t even put on my jacket before stepping into the cold garage below.
There are a couple of my cars here, as well as a few of my motorcycles.
Looking at the cars, I realize that at this time of day, it’s going to take me forever to get over to the hospital during this traffic. The motorcycle might not be the safest, but it’s going to be the fastest, and I need to be responsible…but does being responsible always mean doing the safest thing? I don’t think so, and I walk over to the bike.
I start the bike, not even bothering to put on a helmet, since I don’t have one down here with me. I’m not wearing any protective gear at all, and as I exit the garage, the wind is already cold and I’m not even moving fast yet.
This might be a bad idea, I think to myself, as I shift gears and merge into traffic.
But the cold wind and the potential danger of a crash isn’t enough to deter me from keeping Sarah safe, from making sure our baby is safe.
The thought that Sarah and I aren’t really talking really doesn’t enter my head yet…
Sarah
“It’s going to be OK, Sarah,” says Janet, holding my hand.
“But we haven’t even gotten in to sea the doctor yet,” I say, the annoyance and worry probably unmistakable in my voice.
“I’ll go talk to the secretary,” says Janet, getting up from the uncomfortable emergency room waiting chairs and walking over to the secretary.
I watch as the conversation progresses, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. Since I know Janet, I just hope she’s being vaguely polite.
Janet walks back with her hands in her pockets. “No luck,” she says.
“Did you explain that I’m pregnant?” I say. I always thought emergency rooms would give special preference to pregnant women.
Janet nods her head.
“So John said he was coming?” I say. I realize that I’m holding out hope that John will fix everything, even though we haven’t been talking much. Well, not at all, really. With each passing day since I left that message, I’ve gotten angrier and angrier with him. I still feel angry with him today, but I don’t know what else to go or who to turn to. I’m terrified of losing the baby right now and the hospital staff doesn’t seem to care.
I have every right to be angry with him. He refused to take my calls even when I left him that message telling him that I’m carrying his very own baby. Who the hell does that? It doesn’t sound like John, that’s for sure.
Then I start blaming myself. I start telling myself that it’s all my fault for keeping this a secret from him for so long. But there’s only so much you can beat yourself up before you start looking for other people to blame.
“He said he didn’t get your message about him being the father,” says Janet.
“What?” I say, completely taken aback with surprise.
“You heard me. He didn’t get your message about being the father.”
“Are you sure?” I say.
Janet shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know,” she says. “That’s what he told me anyway.”
Unlike me, I’ve never known John to lie. Not ever. Not even when it’s to his great advantage. So I guess he’s telling the truth.
“So he’s coming over?” I say.
“Yeah,” says Janet.
But an hour goes by and John still isn’t here. I start having all sorts of worries and feeling sick on top of the worries isn’t helping at all. What if John has decided to abandon me and the baby after all? What if he’s had enough of me and just decided to leave me here to rot in the hospital?
Or, even worse (or is it worse, since what’s worse than being abandoned like that?) he’s had some kind of terrible accident on his way here to the hospital. I know how he likes to ride his motorcycles and he fancies himself quite the racer. He actually was a racer, and in his younger years, he actually did compete as a semi pro motorcycle racer. But those days are long behind him and he never talks about them. I wonder if his reflexes are still up to what he now thinks his skill level is.
“This is taking forever,” says Janet, giving me a worried look.
“Hey,” I say. “At least you’re not the one that’s sick.”
“Yeah…” Janet starts speaking but I don’t give her a chance to finish.
Instead, I start vomiting all over the place.
“I’m sorry,” I manage to say, starting to choke a little on my own vomit. I’m gagging and I’ve now got vomit all over my face and the front of my shirt.
Is this my lowest point? In the hospital emergency room, covered in vomit, sick as a stray dog.
If it is, then John picks a hell of a time to show up.
He rushes into the emergency room through the main doors, looking around wildly. He’s wearing a t-shirt that’s torn across the back, as if he was sliced with a large knife. His hair is wild and his eyes shine with fury or worry.
“There you are!” he says, crying out as he sees me.
He rushes up to me and gives me a huge hug before I can do anything.
His strong arms wrap around me and for a moment I completely forget that I’m covered in vomit and that I’m sick and that I don’t know what’s happening with the baby.
“She’s covered in vomit,” cuts in Janet’s voice, and John look surprised and I think for a moment that he’s going to pull away but in the end he just shrugs his shoulders and goes back to hugging me.
“I don’t care that I’m not covered in vomit,” he says. “I didn’t get your message ever. I just heard it from Janet. Honest. I thought it was someone else’s kid. I didn’t know it was mine… You didn’t have to hide it from me. I’m so sorry, baby.”
“I’m the one who’s so sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have ever done that to you, no matter what. I should never have lied to you.”
The last thing I remember is John hugging me tightly and feeling the happiest I’ve felt in a long time. Then I remember feeling very, very sick despite feeling happy. Then my vision went black and I suppose I passed out because the next thing I know I’m lying in a hospital bed with some people in the corner of the room.
“She’s awake,” says someone.
It’s John.
“Hey, baby,” he says, leaning over me and taking my hand. “Don’t worry. You’re going to be all right.”
“I can’t…” but I’m too weak to talk. I can’t even think of what it is I wanted to say.
“Don’t worry, Sarah,” says John, in a soothing voice. “I’ve got one of the best obstetricians in the entire city. He’s going to make sure everything’s OK.”
I squeeze John’s hand as tight as I can but my hand feels too weak to grip it hard. He does the squeezing for me, and squeezes back.
The doctor comes over, his white lab coat flapping as he walks. He’s in his late sixties and has a dignified look about him.
He consults his tablet computer, which I guess is the new clipboard (it’s been a while since I’ve been in a hospital) and nods at me gravely. At this point, because of his demeanor, I’m expecting the absolute worst.
“Good news,” he says. “We’ve run all the lab tests and everything came back normal…”
“Then what’s wrong with me?” I say, growing so frantic that I suddenly have the energy to talk again. But this sentence takes all the energy out of me again and I lie back against the pillow, completely exhausted.
> I see Janet in the corner of the room, looking on with a concerned look on her face. She’s on her phone, tapping away, and I know she’s probably relaying the whole thing to my mother, who must be beside herself with worry.
“Yeah,” says John, his voice showing an unusual amount of concern. Normally he sounds so calm no matter what the situation. “What’s going on, doc?”
“The one thing that came back abnormal was her blood sugar,” says the doctor, who’s name, if it was said to me, I’ve already forgotten. “This can be quite common with pregnant women. Especially if they’re working…” He gives me the once over, and I figure he determines quite accurately that I’m a working girl and not some rich girl with an inheritance to live on. “We just have to do one final test to see if that’s the source of the problem.”
“And what’s that going to be?” I say, gathering the strength to speak again. “Is it going to hurt? Is there a cure?”
“Here,” says the doctor, in the gentlest voice imaginable. He holds out a regular banana, already partially peeled.
“What’s this?” says John.
“It’s the test,” says the doctor. “Here, eat the banana, Sara.”
John helps me put the banana to my mouth. Seconds after I’ve taken the first bite, I feel better. My strength is returning!
“Wow,” I say, feeling like I can now talk without a horrendous effort. “Here, give me the rest of that.”
I gobble down the rest of the banana, completely forgetting about any attempt at modesty.
“There’s more where that came from,” says a nurse from the other side of the room. I hadn’t even noticed that she was here in the room with us. She holds out a glass of orange juice and another banana.
“It’d be wise to eat up,” says the doctor. “Babies brains need a lot of glucose when they’re growing. It can sometimes cause the mother’s blood sugar to drop dramatically, causing all sorts of problems like weakness and even temporary blindness. If you eat you may be able to restore your liver’s glycogen stores.”
“You mean like carb loading for a marathon?” I say, having heard the term before, even though I doubt I’ll get within a mile of a marathon race.
Running Back's Baby: A Secret Baby Romance Page 29
