“Know what?”
“Know what you’re thinking.”
“I charge by the hour. Don’t bother worrying about what I think. A dick feels better in a moist pussy than covered in latex.” She says it nonchalantly, tapping her pen on the desk.
“Is there a way to establish paternity before the baby’s born?” I ask.
“Yes, there have been a lot of advancements in DNA testing. There’re a couple of options. I’d recommend a NIPP test. It’s a non-invasive prenatal paternity test. You can do this before the baby’s born, get it out of the way. It’s a simple blood test for both parents. How far along is she?”
“I ordered one online from a drugstore.” I interrupt. “I picked it up over the weekend.”
“Great, but we have to have one that’s court-approved. How far along is she?”
“Around four I think?” The date of the conference is on my calendar. It should be tattooed on my brain, but I’ve tried to push it out of my memory as if I can force it not to exist.
“This is doable after eight weeks, so you should be good on that. Others options include an ultrasound and a thin needle. It’s invasive, and I’m no doctor, but I’d go with a simple blood draw.”
“Okay.” I rub my hands together preparing for the worst.
She cautions me. “Some of the tests you can order online, but many are what they consider a ‘curiosity test.’ Court-approved tests are more expensive, but if we end up in court, the point is moot. We’d need it anyway.”
“Do I get a say in what happens to the baby?”
“If she keeps it? No. If she’s planning to raise it, prepare yourself for child support.” She looks at me taking in my disheveled appearance and bloodshot eyes. “Have you told your wife about the baby?”
I rub my sweaty palms on the knees of my dress pants. “Only the affair.”
“Has the woman threatened you in any way?”
“Yeah, now she wants to tell my wife, my daughter, and move in together.”
Her face hardens, a frown twisting her face. “What can you tell me about the woman?”
“She’s mid-twenties. I know her first name, not her last.” A blush creeps down my neck. “That’s about all I know. She did work at an interior design firm, or so she said.”
“Do you know her address or phone number?”
Again, I cringe. “No, just email.”
“I’m going to want to have a P.I. take a look at this if the DNA test comes back as you being the father.” She stands. “We need to know what we’re dealing with.”
“But only then?”
“Yes, if your wife knows, and she’s not pregnant, or the baby’s not yours, then all of this added pain will be eliminated regarding the child.” She continues. “If she is pregnant, we need to find out if there is an additional motive on her part.”
“Does it matter?” I motion to my pockets. “I’ll still have to take care of the baby.”
“Yes, that’s correct. However, we should have a clear picture of what we’re dealing with, especially if she’s threatening you or has a couple of screws loose. You said she’s asked about moving in together. Has there been communication regarding that? Was she strung along at all or promised that?”
“Not at all.” I grit my teeth. “Look, I fucked up, but she contacted me out of the blue. When I didn’t give her what she wanted, a second meeting, she came unglued. The only time I’ve seen her since is at a coffee shop in public where she told me she’s pregnant and keeping it.”
“Are you worried she’ll tell your wife, especially if they work together?”
I nod. “Or that I’ll have to.” I give her the information I know on Veronica/Brynn, my face burning. I’ve never felt more foolish in my life.
21
After I leave her office, I go to a coffee shop and sit trying to clear my head and think of what to do next. I get online and look at paternity tests and information on administering them. I shoot Brynn an email. I ask her if she’d be willing to take a blood test to establish paternity.
She’s offended, her response immediate, the tone hostile.
I haven’t been with anyone but you. I should’ve known you’d be a coward! You better tell your wife we have a baby on the way… or I will.
My phone rings, unknown Caller ID. I almost silence it, but I don’t.
“Hello.”
“Hi, it’s Kauffman.”
“Hi there.”
“Her name’s Brynn or Veronica?” she asks. “Are you sure?”
I bite my lip. “No idea why’d she give me a fake name unless she goes by a different name?”
“I can’t find anyone by that name, except in Florida, and she’s not what you described.” She taps a pen against the phone. “Not even the right age range.”
“Great,” I mutter. I think about her emails. “She did say her middle name is Mara, hence the email.”
“The two of you will have to be in contact about the test,” she says. “Any way you can send me a pic of her or get her last name? Cell?” If she works with your wife, she’s gotta have a number on file.”
“I don’t want her having my cell.” I cringe at the thought. “My wife will flip.”
“Understandable. Get a burner phone,” she says. “Let me know if you find out any background on her.”
Shooting an email to Veronica/Brynn, I try another tactic.
Brynn,
It’s clear to me after some thinking that we both need to compromise. I don’t want this to turn into a fight. I know the pregnancy was a shock, it is to both of us. I’ve had time to process it, and I’d like to see you again. To talk about our options and how to blend families.
I feel selfish, wanting this issue to disappear, her and the baby, but I can’t help it. I don’t want my wife or daughter anywhere near this lunatic. Can I file for full custody and prove she’s an unfit parent? Yeah, Alastair’s going to jump right on that idea. I’m glum considering her face when I’m forced to tell her this.
Alastair tried to get pregnant with a second baby and had miscarriage after miscarriage, giving up hope of Livvie ever having a sibling.
Or maybe not…
There’s still hope it’s not mine. Maybe this is a game to see which one will stick. Could I tell her I had a vasectomy and test her?
We agree to meet again, the next morning. I toss and turn dreading the meeting and her look of revulsion, the look she gave me before sending shivers down my spine. She looked at me with pure hatred.
I snap at both Livvie and Alastair the next morning. My temper is short, the looks they give me remind me I need to take a couple of deep breaths. They aren’t the root of the problem. I am.
We agree to meet at another coffee shop, this one not a chain, a local one situated in a strip mall that boasts a $200 divorce and a nail salon. What’s the going rate to get rid of a one-night stand? I wonder hatefully. I rub a hand over my face.
When I see Brynn this time, she’s transformed back into the one I first met. I almost feel bad. She had a right to react the way she did. This is a big blow to both of us and our lifestyles. I’m regretful. I think of myself in my mid-twenties. She must be scared as shit. I resolve to be helpful and charming. She looks pretty this time, put together, her strawberry blonde hair smooth, makeup applied, her face beaming. She’s happy to see me. I’m relieved. “Hey, I ordered you a coffee. Hope that’s okay.” She motions to the scratched oak table between us. I look around, the seating mismatched, sofas with various floral patterns, chairs that have been removed from movie theatres or estate sales, eclectic. The crowd is mostly senior citizens playing bridge and a younger lady chewing on a bagel.
“That’s perfect,” I say, sliding into a leather chair across from her. “How’re you feeling?”
“Tired, but good.” She laughs. “The baby’s already trying to squash my bladder, so I feel like I’m running to the bathroom every five minutes.” She motions to her belly. “You wanna feel?”
I want nothing less than to touch her again, feel a baby I don’t want. “Sure.” I tentatively reach my hand out and feel her belly, the loose fabric she’s wearing hiding a small watermelon. She’s definitely pregnant. So much for hoping she’s lying. I sigh.
“It’s a great feeling.” She leans back, resting her hands on her small bump. “The creation of life. Carrying a baby. I can’t believe we did this.” She searches my face. I freeze, the notion of fatherhood with this woman less than ideal.
“Is your family here?” I ask. She narrows her eyes. “Will they be able to help us with the baby? I emphasize the word ‘us,’ her jaw relaxing. “Are you on board?” she whispers. I nod, choking on the words, unable to even say yes out loud. The coffee is burning my throat as I swallow a sip.
“When’s the next doctor’s appointment?” I ask. “I want to be a part of this. Not just after, but now.”
“It’s next week.”
“I’d like to be there. Can you shoot me a text with the address?” I shrug. “Also, I realized you don’t have my cell in case you need something, and I’m not always on my email. I think we should exchange info.”
She giggles. “Yeah, if we’re having a baby, we probably should.” A woman stops us, hand on her hip. “Well look at you two. You’re positively glowing!” she says to Brynn who blushes, red creeping up her cheeks. “Sorry, I overheard you say ‘baby.’ You’re pregnant?”
“Yes, we’re a couple of months along.” Brynn leans forward and grabs my hand. It’s awkward, her touch, dainty fingers in my palm. I try not to pull my hand away.
“Congratulations.” The woman sips her coffee. “Enjoy it. The years pass by so fast. Before you know it, they’re twenty-five and married.” Brynn nods as if she has any idea. The woman walks off, and Brynn turns to me. “So, what should we do about your situation?”
I pause, wanting to snatch my hand back. She’s still holding it tightly.
“What situation?”
“You’re marriage, silly.” She gives me a small smile. “How did Alastair react?”
I play coy. “I’m still waiting to tell her.”
Brynn yanks her hand away like I’d slapped her. “What?” Her tone is icy. “What do you mean?”
“She doesn’t need to know about the baby just yet.”
Brynn shakes her head repeatedly, reminding me of The Exorcist as if it might fly off her head, the jerky motions as she disagrees.
“Brynn.” I use the same soothing tone I use on Livvie when I need to persuade her that I’m right. “I have a daughter, and I have to think how this is going to affect her as well.” I raise my brows. “It’s going to be a big change for all of us.”
“I thought you were leaving her.” She looks down at her fingertips examining a hangnail.
“Look, Brynn. I don’t want to lead you on. I’ve tried to be honest with you.” I lean forward. “I know you want to keep this baby…”
“And you don’t,” she finishes for me.
I hold up a hand. “Let me finish.” She seethes as she stares waiting for me to continue.
“There’s a lot of moving pieces. I’ve been married a long time, have a child that needs me and is going to have a lot of questions. This is going to be news for everyone.” I run a hand through my hair. It stands up on end. “I’m sure if you picture our child, you can understand that you wouldn’t want to intentionally hurt them.”
Her face softens. I think I’ve gotten through to her if that’s possible.
“I want to know more about you,” I say quietly. “You ask about leaving my wife, but I don’t know you.” I point to my chest. “Who you are as a person. Your likes? What’re your pet peeves? Any childhood animals?” She considers my questions, her head tilting, a strand of blonde covering her face.
“I like older men. Strawberries. And anything strawberry-flavored. Starbursts. Tea. Pet peeves are indecisiveness and people who cheat.” She looks thoughtful, her eyes glancing at the ceiling. “I also hate when people don’t use their turn signal.”
“Fair enough.” I decide to add my own answers. “I love dark chocolate, ice cream, and strong cups of coffee in the morning.” I hold my cup up. “Dog or cat person?”
“I had a mutt named Buster. He was chocolate and white, a mix between a Bassett Hound and some kind of terrier.”
“Do your parents live here?”
“My parents’ aren’t alive. I told you that. They died when I was a kid. Same with my older sis.” She bites her lip. “That’s the hardest thing about this pregnancy. Being alone.”
I’m shocked. “I’m sorry, Brynn. That’s awful.”
“Are your parents alive?”
“Yes.”
“It’s rough when I have no one to talk to about this.”
“Friends?” I offer.
“I don’t want to be judged.” I can relate to that feeling. “You’re married, I’m a lot younger.”
“If you don’t mind, what happened to your family?”
She takes a deep breath, her eyes vacant as she stares through me. “It was my fault they died. It was an accident.”
22
I gasp, my mouth dropping. The bottom of my stomach falls out. I wish I had a roll of antacids to chew. “What kind of an accident?”
“I had a candle burning in my room.” She chews her lips. “I was making a fort, hanging blankets over my lamp. It was next to the candle. The sheet caught fire.”
“Smoke detectors?”
“We were renting, and batteries weren’t in them.”
I hear a sharp intake of air, unsure if it’s her or me. “That’s tragic.”
“My sister and I shared a room. She was asleep, and my parents were in the room next to us. We were upstairs and only had one window in our room. I managed to get out, but she was passed out from smoke inhalation.” Brynn’s eyes fill with tears. “Them missing such a huge milestone, it’s… hard. I just want the baby to have a support system. I don’t want to do it alone.” She starts to wail, her body heaving as she sobs.
I reach out a hand patting her knee. Still uncomfortable, I pull it away slowly.
“We will get through this,” I say. “The baby has a support system.”
Pulling out my phone, I glance at the screen. I hear a chime, probably my wife. The guilt threatens to choke me. I ignore the message. “What’s your number so I can text you?” Or wait, what’s your last name?”
“Bard.”
“Okay, let me shoot you a text, so you have my number in case you need anything.” I type in Brynn Bard. “B-A-R-D?”
“Yeah.” I send her a message. “Now you have my number. Let me know when the doctor’s appointment is, and I’ll be there.”
“Won’t you have class?”
I forgot she knew what I did and where I worked. “Yeah, but moving forward, maybe we can work together to schedule the appointments.” She scrunches her face. “It shouldn’t be as difficult since you work with my wife.”
“Why did you say you worked at an interior design firm?” I question.
Her face falls. “Because I used to work at an interior design firm. I got laid off.”
“That sucks. Which one?”
She looks at me, a glimmer of fear in her blue eyes. “Um… it was just for a woman. It’s her firm.”
I nod, opening my mouth to ask another question. She cuts me off. “I’ve gotta get to work. We don’t want your wife to know we’re together. Are you done with your coffee?” She reaches for my Styrofoam cup, and I help her stand. We walk outside. She wants something from me—affection—I can tell by how she tries to hold on to my hand. I kiss her gingerly on the cheek and shuffle to my truck, heavy-hearted. The parking lot is small, but I notice she doesn’t get in a car in the lot. I decide to wait and see what she does. She walks around the side of the brick building, her steps a slow shuffle. I pull my other phone out of my pocket, my usual cell, it’s Alastair. She wants to talk.
This can’t be good. I open my truck and se
t the phone in the console, eyeing the rearview mirror. I decide to drive around the building, memorize Brynn’s license plate. I pull out, slowly maneuvering around the faded brick building, Brynn’s blonde hair disappearing into a white car. WGT657 I repeat in my head over and over. I don’t want to stop. I silently mouth the number as I drive away. When it’s safe to pull over, I shoot it in an email to Kauffman with the info and ask when she can meet.
Brynn texts me the appointment time later.
When I reach in my console for a tissue to blow my nose, I pull out Alastair’s tube of lipstick, and I let myself feel pain and loss, everything I’m about to lose. I drive to work, and the day passes in a blur of pop quizzes and confused looks, my answers trailing off with half-formed sentences that amount to gibberish. During lunch, I picture her face, twisted, replaying itself in my mind, the hatred, as if I forced her into this position to have a baby. I grimace, burying my head in my hands. Brynn texts me another fifty times about names for the baby, ideas for the nursery, and asks when we can go shopping for baby items.
Kauffman emails me she will let me know a time to meet the next day but it will be late notice as she has an appointment.
23
Kauffman picks a bar centrally located, not a speak-easy, but a dilapidated old furniture store they decided would look better with outdated furniture they weren’t trying to sell and a liquor license. It feels like my great grandma’s parlor room, hence the name the Parlor.
It’s hard for me to get there on time with traffic. Alastair’s slated to pick up Livvie since I feigned a teacher’s meeting in the afternoon. I’ve used more vacation then I had planned in these last few months. I’m waiting for Alastair to notice. She might not, considering a vacation was nixed immediately. I guess the idea of traveling with your cheating husband who has a pregnant one-night stand that’s seventeen years your junior is not a cause for celebration.
Kauffman’s already arrived. She doesn’t bother to stand when she greets me. She’s wearing a black dress, her hair piled on top of her hand, red lipstick and minimal shadow, a small smile as I sit down. We make ourselves comfy in a booth, the dim lighting easing the tension I feel, the lack of illumination makes me feel less judged. We look like mere shadows on the walls, an old Tiffany lamp on the table between us, the stained glass casting rays of color. Dearly beloved and former movie stars and random memorabilia from various time periods clutter ledges and built-in shelving.
The Ruined Wife: Psychological Thriller Page 18
