by June Gray
“Say it again,” he said through his teeth.
“I’m yours.” I grabbed the back of his head and fit my mouth to his, kissing him long and hard before saying, “Of course I’m yours.”
—
Afterward, he carried me upstairs and laid me on the bed like a gallant knight. He lay on his back and pulled me into the crook of his arm, holding my head against his chest.
“Did you listen to my tape?” he asked just as the sun was beginning to rise.
I nodded, enjoying the sensation of his chest hair tickling my cheek. “Thank you. For trying.”
“It was . . . it’s the best I could do.”
“And for telling me about what happened in Korea.” I traced my finger along the two scars on his side, hating the thought that he had almost died and I hadn’t even known about it. Tears stung my eyes at the realization that he might have died and I would only have found out about it through mutual friends. I hugged him tighter, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
His voice was thick with emotion when he said, “That’s never going to happen again, okay?”
I didn’t know if he meant getting hurt or wishing he’d die.
“The giving up part,” he added, reading my mind.
“Henry,” I said after some time. “I need to tell you something.”
His fingers stroked my bare back absently. “Tell me.”
I closed my eyes, gathering courage. I’d held back this kind of information once and it had blown up in my face and set into motion our separation. This time, I was determined to tell him the truth as soon as possible. “Conor tried to kiss me.”
His muscles turned to granite beneath me but he said nothing.
I kept my cheek pressed to his chest, afraid to look up at his face. “But it was a misunderstanding. Nothing more.”
His fist clenched against my spine. “What else?”
“That’s all.” I sat up, buoyed by relief. “Nothing else. I hope you believe me.”
His face was taut, his lips pulled into a thin line, but instead of spewing angry words, he simply nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
He pulled me back down onto his chest. I felt his heart thumping angrily beneath my cheek, his chest rising and falling as he tried to calm himself. “I believe you.”
“There’s something else.”
He tilted his head up and fixed his eyes on the ceiling, clearly still trying to rein in his anger. “I thought you said that was—”
“I’m pregnant.”
“What?” he asked, the breath whooshing out of him.
I leaned up on my elbow and nodded, searching for any clues on his face.
“Is it mine?”
I smacked him on the chest. “Of course it is, you dickhead.”
A tentative smile tugged on the edges of his lips and then bloomed all over his face. “I thought it wasn’t possible, what with the scarring . . .”
I bit my lip to keep it from trembling. “I know. I thought so too. But I took a test and it came out positive.” I remembered the other test in my bag. “I can take it again, if you want?”
“Let’s do it.”
I grabbed the test out of my purse and met him in the bathroom. I ripped open the package and uncapped the stick while Henry leaned against the sink and studied the box.
I looked at him expectantly. “Um, hello.”
He looked up. “Already done?”
I flicked my eyes toward the door. “No. I need to pee on it first, and I’d appreciate it if you weren’t in the room with me.”
“Come on,” he said, grinning. “I wouldn’t mind a little golden-shower action.”
“Oh my God!” I cried, pushing and ushering him out of the bathroom. “You’re so gross!”
His laughter echoed through the room and could be heard through the door.
—
I opened the door a few minutes later and allowed him back inside. We stood side by side and stared at the stick on the counter with our breath held.
“Thank you,” he said, taking my hand in his.
I looked up at him, instinctively knowing what he was so grateful for. That I was taking the test again, that I was including him in the momentous event. It didn’t matter that we already knew the outcome, what mattered was that we were experiencing it together.
When that plus sign appeared in the window, he pressed my hand up to his chest and held it there. “There it is,” he said, staring at the plastic stick.
“I’m scared,” I whispered.
He turned to me. “I know. But just for tonight, let’s not think about the what-ifs. For now, let’s just stand here and celebrate that little thing inside you.” He pressed a large hand on my stomach.
I couldn’t fathom how he could be so optimistic.
“You know how I know this baby will survive?” he asked.
I looked up at him with trembling lips and shook my head. “How?”
“Because despite the scarring, this baby found a way to beat the odds,” he said. “She’s a fighter, just like her mom.”
Tears pooled in my eyes, and for the first time I allowed myself to hope.
Henry flashed me a smile so contagious, I had no choice but to reciprocate.
4
I couldn’t tell you what changed after that night, what clicked between Henry and me, but we came to an unspoken understanding. He started coming home immediately after his shifts, and even bought some weights in order to do his workouts at home. I tried my best not to hound him about communication, about wanting to know every single thought going through his head. He was right in saying I wouldn’t want to know the real ugliness of the world, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to know how it affected him. But he was trying, and I knew that what he couldn’t say to my face, he could always say in the tape recorder.
Sometimes, I wondered where we’d be without that tape recorder, but I thank Henry’s therapist in California for introducing it to our lives. It wasn’t a perfect method of communication, but to make a marriage work, you have to take what you are given and make the most of it. Sometimes, an antiquated electronic device is all you have between success and ruin.
—
“When are supposed to see Dr. Harmon?” Henry asked one day, looking through the calendar on his phone as we stood in Home Depot.
“Tomorrow at three,” I said, holding up three paint swatches. “Okay, which one: Lilac Whisper, Lavender Escape, or Morning Chill?”
Henry gave me an incredulous look. “Aren’t they all purple?”
I smacked his arm with the fan of swatches. “Yes, but which one will look the best in the nursery? Which one will look best with the mural?”
He put his phone away and finally gave the colors his attention. “Something light but with gray undertones,” he said then pulled out a swatch. “This one, the purple.”
I laughed as I handed the swatch over to the employee behind the counter in the paint department. “You’d make a terrible paint namer.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you kidding? I’d be awesome.” He grabbed a light green swatch off the rack. “I’d call this Snot Whisper.” Fueled by my amusement, he grabbed another in a brown shade. “And this is Shart Mist.”
As I chuckled, Henry wrapped an arm around my shoulders and kissed my cheek. “I think we just found the name for our baby,” he whispered, and I lost it, doubling over with laughter.
Several more ridiculous names were made up before the paint was ready. The employee handed us the two cans, looking none too amused by our banter.
I grabbed a can, allowing Henry to take the other, and was about to head to the cash register when he cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”
I stopped and gave him a questioning look. “Um, walking?”
“Hand
it over,” he said, reaching for the paint can in my hand.
I held it out of his reach. “You can’t be serious!”
“Come on. I don’t want you carrying heavy things.”
“I’m pregnant, not an invalid.”
“I’d rather be safe than sorry.” He held his hand out as he waited.
I rolled my eyes and handed the can over. “God, you’re infuriating.”
“You’re already carrying our child. The least I can do is carry the paint.”
And just like that—right when I’d decided I was going to cash in a hormone card and be mad—he was back on my good side.
“If you were a color,” I said as we made our way back to the car, “you’d be called Bossy Blue.”
—
Henry had the swing shift for the next week and was able to come to the doctor’s appointment with me. He was quiet during the internal ultrasound, watching the monitor closely for the kidney-shaped blot to appear, then focusing even more intently for the little flickering that indicated a heartbeat.
“There it is,” Dr. Harmon said. “Strong heartbeat.”
Henry’s fingers tangled in my hair, rubbing my scalp reassuringly.
“So give it to us straight, Doc,” Henry said. “What are the chances of our baby surviving?”
Dr. Harmon disposed of the condom from the wand and took her time removing her rubber gloves. She gave us each a meaningful look. “Well, you could have an uneventful pregnancy and carry the baby to full term. Or you could suffer a repeat miscarriage.”
I sucked in a breath.
“Is there a way to predict that?” Henry asked.
“Unfortunately, no. The best we can do at this point is monitor the pregnancy closely.”
Later, as we drove home, I asked, “What should we tell people?”
Henry placed a hand on my thigh and squeezed. “We don’t have to tell anyone until you’re ready.”
“What about you?”
“Me? I want to get on a loudspeaker and shout it at anyone I run across,” he said with a grin.
“You heard the doc, there’s a good chance I can miscarry again.”
“I don’t care. This baby will survive.”
I didn’t know if it was possible to will a baby into existence, but if anyone could do it by sheer stubbornness alone, Henry probably could.
—
“Happy birthday,” I said to Kari, giving her a hug. I looked around the table, at the collection of people here to celebrate, waving to those I recognized from work. Thankfully, Conor was not one of them.
“Thank you,” Kari said when I handed her a gift bag.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I said, searching for two empty spots at the table.
“No big deal. You got held up having a quickie with your hot husband. I understand,” she said, winking at me across the table.
“Actually, he’s at work.” I looked at my watch. “He said he’d meet us here.”
Kari turned to the person at her left, a Middle Eastern woman with long black hair and big brown eyes. “Her husband is a hot cop. And I’m pretty sure he’s going to do a strip for me for my birthday.” She flashed me another wink. “Right?”
I laughed and, noticing her half-empty cocktail glass, guessed that she’d already had a few and had arrived at the winking stage of inebriation.
I let the conversations wash over me as I looked over the menu. My ears caught the tail end of a conversation between Jerrod, a designer from Shake, and the person beside him. “Yeah, he’s a good boss. He used to come out with us every now and then, but he doesn’t anymore. I think the new account is keeping him really busy.”
I hid my flushing face behind the menu, afraid to give myself away. Nobody knew about what happened in that hotel room in Atlanta, nobody but the three people it affected. I hated to think anyone would even suspect that Conor’s sudden social detachment was because of me.
Kari joined in the conversation. “I asked him to come tonight, but he said he had other plans.”
“It’s probably for the best though, don’t you think?” I said, unable to keep my big mouth shut. “In the military, officers and enlisted are not supposed to fraternize.”
“We’re not in the military, Sherman Tank,” Kari said.
“Yes, but the rules of leadership should still somewhat apply.”
“So you’re saying we can’t be friends with our superiors?” Jerrod asked.
“I don’t believe anyone is superior over me,” someone else piped in from the other end of the table. I fought hard to keep from rolling my eyes.
“I’m saying a boss needs to keep his distance to be a good leader, that’s all. He needs to command respect from his employees and he can’t do that if they’ve all seen him puking his guts out at a bar,” I said, thinking of my dad, who’d retired as a lieutenant colonel in the Air Force. My dad had been a stickler for the rules and, as such, had been a highly respected leader.
“Not necessarily true. I’d feel more of a kinship with someone I’ve seen act human,” Jerrod said.
The conversation continued, people arguing the difference between kinship and leadership and how it related to Conor, when I felt fingers slide into my hair.
“Hey,” Henry said, bending down to give me a lingering kiss on the lips. He took the empty seat next to mine and gave everyone a wave. “Sorry I’m late.”
Kari winked at him then acted put out that he was wearing a fitted long-sleeved Henley and jeans. “Where is the uniform?”
“I’m off duty now,” he said, though I noticed him surreptitiously assessing the room. “Happy birthday though. I think you might like what Elsie and I got you.”
Kari’s eyes widened and she reached for the bag beside her. She pulled out a wad of blue tissue paper and started choking when she unwrapped a high-quality pair of handcuffs.
“You okay?” I asked.
Kari’s choke-laugh continued for a few more seconds. “Oh my God, this is awesome.”
“For when you find your Fifty,” I said, giving her an exaggerated wink.
“Her fifty what?” Henry asked, giving us a confused look.
Kari and I shared a knowing smile. “Nothing,” she said. “You wouldn’t understand.”
The celebration continued until well past dinner, even after the little slice of cheesecake with sparklers on it was brought out. By then a few people had gone home, but most of us remained to carry on.
Henry sat back in his seat, nursing his second beer, and rested an arm on the back of my chair. He leaned over and whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”
“You tired already?”
“No,” he rasped against my ear. “I just want to get you home, tie you spread-eagled onto the bed, and have my way with you.”
I groaned inwardly. “Then what would you do?”
He grinned. “Anything the hell I want.” His eyes traveled down my body, caressing every dip and curve. His fingers traced circles along my arm, sending tingles straight down to my crotch.
Careful to keep my hand out of sight, I touched his leg, skimming my hand up his inner thigh as I kept up the eye contact. “Would you put anything in my mouth?” I asked, biting my lip.
He touched a finger to my lip. “If that’s what you want, sweetheart.”
“My God, would you guys stop eye-fucking each other and just get a room already?” Kari shouted across the table.
Henry and I looked up to find the entire table smirking at us, with a few other restaurant patrons glancing over in amusement. He squeezed my shoulder and shrugged. “Sorry. Haven’t seen my wife all day.”
We looked at each other, sharing a laugh, when the smile froze on his face.
I turned my head and found Conor standing behind us, looking a little taken aback himself.
“Uh, hi
,” he said, walking over to Kari’s side of the table and handing her a small gift-wrapped box. “Happy birthday.”
Kari jumped up and hugged him around the neck. “Thanks, boss.”
Conor patted her back awkwardly and stepped out of the embrace. “I was just stopping by to greet you.” He didn’t even so much as look my way, which was telling in itself. I willed him to look at us, to acknowledge my presence, knowing that my coworkers were not so drunk that they wouldn’t notice.
I watched Henry out of the corner of my eye and saw his jaw muscles working, his eyebrows lowering together. I squeezed his thigh. “Please don’t do anything in front of these people,” I whispered.
Henry turned to me with a stony look. “I’m out of here.” He stood up, the chair scraping on the floor unpleasantly, and drew the gaze of everyone at the table, including Conor.
“Oh, hi,” Conor said, pretending he hadn’t seen us until now. He extended a hand to Henry.
Henry paused a beat before taking Conor’s hand. “Good to see you,” Henry said in an affable tone, the menacing undercurrent evident only to Conor and me.
“You should be proud of Elsie,” Conor said, flicking a quick glance at me. “Winning the Lombart account.”
Henry’s grip tightened around Conor’s hand as he forced a smile. “Yes, my wife is amazing.”
The animosity flying across the table was starting to become too obvious, so I stood up and grabbed everyone’s attention by making a spectacle of hugging Kari good night. “I hope you enjoy your present,” I said loudly, wagging my eyebrows. “Who are you going to try it out on first?”
Kari played coy as she twirled the handcuffs around her finger. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll have to see.” She waved her eyebrows at me, casting a rapid glance at Conor.
“Good luck with that,” I laughed, louder than was necessary. I grabbed Henry’s hand and led him out.
Once outside, Henry let go and just glared at me, his chest heaving.
I stood away from the restaurant’s large windows, away from curious eyes. “Henry, calm down.”
“I don’t want to calm down.” He pinned me with livid eyes. “I want to punch someone’s pretty-boy face in.”
