by Liz Durano
At six weeks, though she’s only the size of a pea, there’s a heart that’s already beating furiously, at about 100 to 140 beats per minute. And if she’s like her father, it’s a strong and resilient heart—a heart that I pray hasn’t yet given up on me.
*
“You want to get something to eat?”
I look up from my laptop screen to see Kathy standing by the door to my office. It’s one o’clock, which means I’ve been hunched over my laptop for the last four hours. Behind her, the staff is getting ready to break for lunch, deciding between pizza or Greek food. “I don’t know, Kathy. I need to get this paper finished before my patients come in at three.”
“But you also need to eat, Dr. James. You haven’t been yourself lately, and I’m worried about you.”
I close my word processing program and log out. “You’re always worried about me, Kathy.”
“I thought we could check out a new restaurant that opened up down the street. Maybe it’ll cheer you up. Come on. My treat.”
“Twist my arm now, why don’t you?” The moment the words emerge from my mouth, the memories come. Dax had said those exact words to me first when I told him he could stay at the Pearl on the condition that he stay on his side, and I stay on mine. Of course, none of us followed that rule, choosing instead to use that king-sized bed as neutral ground.
I sigh. Oh, the perks of being pregnant, being melancholic and emotional which is exactly how I’m feeling at the thought of Dax and my pregnancy. I promised to tell him if I was pregnant and now I am. So why haven’t I picked up the phone? Because I’m afraid, that’s why. What if, like the first pregnancies before Marcus, I miscarry?
“Are you okay?” Kathy’s worried face looms in front of me. “You’re white as a sheet. Did you even eat anything today other than the banana nut muffin I brought in?”
Clearing my throat, I power down my laptop and get up from my chair. I need some fresh air. And no, I am not losing this baby. Her heart is strong, just like her father’s.
“I’m just hungry, Kathy, that’s all,” I say as I grab my purse. “You ready?”
*
“So tell me about this Dax Drexel guy that Dr. Gardner can’t stop harping about. You never talk about him,” Kathy says halfway through our lunch at Santa Rosa Restaurant. The restaurant is only two months old, and already it’s packed with millennials wanting their taste of chilaquiles and lunchtime margaritas. Or in my case, chorizos con huevos y papas. And after eating most of it and hoping pregnancy heartburn won’t creep up on me while I’m seeing a patient, I’m in heaven. Well, almost. Heaven would be Anita Anaya’s cooking and everyone sitting around that love-edge table laughing at something Dyami is saying.
“What do you want to know?” I try not to look too defensive, but at the same time, I’m not. Kathy has been there for me since I got back, and other than casual friends who call to say hello and find out how I’m doing, she’s the only one I’ve allowed into my personal space. Heck, she got me my personal space.
Kathy shrugs. “Is it true that you were with him like Dr. Gardner says?”
“I was only with him for five days. Seven days, tops. Not six months. I spent a month in Albuquerque with Dr. Martin, remember?”
“Did you like him?” Kathy looks at me, her brow furrowed. “Do you like him still?”
I sigh. “I did like him… a lot. But it wasn’t going to work out, not with my divorce still pending. The last thing I needed was another drama between Jeff and me.”
“Drama came anyway, didn’t it? Dr. Gardner made sure of it by telling lies about you and this Dax guy. But your divorce is almost final. You told me it’s now with the judge. So, what I want to know is, if Dax comes back, like if he were to be in town, would you have him? Would you see him again? Or is it all over between you two?”
This time, I’m starting to feel defensive. Kathy has always been blunt, and while I know she and everyone at the office have been dying to know if all the talk about Dax and me are true, she’s held off asking. Until now. “Why are you suddenly so interested?”
“Dr. Gardner obviously feels threatened by him, and I don’t blame the guy. Serves him right after the way he treated you. I looked up Dax Drexel, and he’s a catch. He has a showroom on Seventh Avenue. Expensive stuff, too. Really expensive stuff, and I hear he designs them all.” She arches her right eyebrow suspiciously. “You’re also glowing.”
I stare at her. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve got a glow about you that I’ve never seen before,” Kathy says, leaning back in her chair. “You’d have gone ballistic with all this talk about Dax and you going at it like bunnies. You’d have sued Dr. Gardner for libel. But you haven’t. You’re calm. Too calm, for that matter. And the only times you’ve been this way were when you were…” Her voice fades, but I can feel her studying me. She can’t say the word, and why would she? Every one of them didn’t make it.
But I’ll say it for her. ”Pregnant?”
She nods. “You were always more careful with your emotions every time you were pregnant. Only this time, there’s one more difference and this, you never did then.”
“And what’s that?”
“For the first time, you’re pulling away from your career. You’re cutting back on your schedule, and you’re no longer putting so many things on your plate like you always did. No more research papers or rotations in other hospitals. You’re also spending more time at home than you did back then. You’re nesting.”
I feel my face color. “It could also be your imagination, Kathy. All Jeff’s talk about my sex-capades in Taos is getting to you.”
She reaches for her purse and hands me an envelope. “This arrived this morning. I managed to sort it before anyone else did so no one has seen it but me.”
I take the envelope from her hand, hating that I’d absently written down the office address when I blanked out and couldn’t remember the simple details of my sublet. It’s from Dr. Teves, my obstetrician, the same woman I’ve gone to for all my earlier pregnancies.
“How far along are you?” Kathy asks as she studies me carefully.
This time, there’s no beating around the bush. Kathy knows. “Six weeks.”
“Does he know?”
I don’t answer right away, tearing open the envelope and taking out the slip of paper that will tell me what I already know. And it does, along with numbers that I don’t expect at all. They make me do a double take as Kathy signals for the check. It can’t be. I fold the paper and slip it back into its envelope.
“Are you going to tell him?” Kathy asks as I tuck the letter into my purse.
For a moment, I forget her question. “Um, of course, I will. But I think I want to wait until after the first trimester. You know how—“
“So he waits? Do you think that’s fair?”
I frown. “This is none of your business anymore, Kathy.”
Kathy rummages through her purse, retrieves a thick envelope that looks like a formal invitation and hands it to me. “This arrived for you while you were in your office. He hand-delivered it, but he knew better than to ask to see you. So he asked me to make sure that you received it. He seems like a nice man. Damn good-looking, too.”
My hand shakes when I take the invitation from Kathy’s hand. The envelope bears the name Takeshi-Drexel Woodworking & Design in gold-leafed lettering. My name is hand-written in the middle of the envelope along with a drawing of the sun and the moon, much like the drawing that he carved in relief on the box lid. As I open the envelope and pull out an invitation to a private event for tonight, I read the same message he wood-burned onto the back of the lid.
You are the moon and the stars to my sky, my lovely Harlow. And my world is dark without you.
I bring my hand to my mouth, fighting back the tears. I can see him writing the words. So intent, so focused, just like he always was with me, whether it was having a simple dinner of homemade pizza from across the table or making love to me. He looked a
t me like I was the only thing that mattered to him then. And maybe I still do, even after six weeks where I couldn’t even honor him with a simple phone call.
“But what if I have a miscarriage like the others, Kathy? I’ll just be telling him for nothing. It will just hurt him.” The dreaded words spill from my lips before I can stop it and Kathy sighs. She reaches for my hand and squeezes it.
“He still deserves to know, Dr. James. The sooner, the better.”
Chapter 28
Dax
“I wish you’d just wait until after her divorce is officially final before you do anything stupid.”
Dad’s words break through my thoughts as I sit on one of the benches at the Garden of St. Luke in the Fields. It’s a tiny park in the heart of Greenwich Village, and right now, I’m trying to calm myself down after being mere feet away from Harlow. Knowing she was in her office was enough to make me throw caution to the wind and ask Kathy—beg her—if I could talk to Harlow right there and then.
But no, I could not do that. Just drop off the invitation, Dax, and walk out that door. Kathy said as much that it was all you could do. It’s exactly why she asked you to come over and drop the invitation at a specific time.
Some days I wonder if I’m just being a fool, falling for a woman so hard after spending only five days with her. Every moment is stamped in my memory—every smile, every laugh, and even every single tear that I wiped from her beautiful face. But I threw all that away in a moment of anger, and here I am, lost in a secret garden in the middle of Manhattan. But I’m not really lost. Dad’s driver knew exactly where I was going, and he must have called his boss to tell him where his son was.
“I didn’t do anything stupid if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Sophie was quite disappointed that you left early last night. She was looking forward to spending more time with you,” Dad says as he sits on the bench next to me. He’s a regal looking man in his suit and glasses, and one day, I’ll probably end up just like him if I didn’t have too much of Mama in me. The artist, more comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt than what I’m wearing now, a suit that’s slowly growing on me. I don’t need to wear one, but I still do. It’s the least I can do to look like a man whose skill is worth investing thousands of dollars on.
“Is this your idea of making sure I don’t sneak out of your sight and find Harlow? By distracting me with booze and women?”
Dad laughs. “Distract you? Dax, this is no different to the last time you were here, and the time before that. And it didn’t have to be me doing the plying. You did fine by yourself with your buddies. So no, I’m not doing all this so that you’ll forget the lovely doctor.”
“I told you this trip isn’t like all the others, Dad, and I meant it.”
“Doesn’t mean we ignore the fact that everything’s been planned for months. Other than the PR, the parties, the meetings, and the one-on-one consultations for new orders have all bee on the calendar since the beginning of last quarter.” Dad pauses. “But even with this self-imposed vow of celibacy that you seem to be taking, what if she says no?”
I shrug. “So she says no.”
“It’s been six weeks, Dax. Thank God, she’s smart enough to stay away from you. It’s not like her husband hasn’t dragged your name through the whole mess as it is, and she’s already been described as emotionally unbalanced. They say she lost it when her baby died at childbirth and drove off without telling anyone. They also say that she’s frigid—”
“Would you want me to inform the press that they’re wrong? That she’s far from frigid, Dad? I’m sure someone will pay me five grand to say something, wouldn’t they?”
Dad turns to look at me, looking not at all pleased. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t, but that doesn’t mean I’m letting the tabloids tell me what to think about Harlow. They know nothing about her.”
“And you do? Dax, this is ridiculous and you know it. You only knew her for five days.”
“I know more about her in five days than I know about the very people I’ve known all my life, Dad, and right now, you’re one of them. And it’s not like you didn’t fall head over heels over Mama when you first met her. You told me once that you would have proposed to her less than a month after you met her. So why are you giving me such a hard time?”
We don’t speak for the next few minutes. We watch couples walk past us, hand in hand and lost in each other’s eyes. I wonder if they’re stealing moments together during lunch or maybe just spending the day together. After all, this little garden hidden behind brick walls is the perfect place to escape from the humdrum of Manhattan, although right now, Dad is ruining the experience. I just don’t understand why he dislikes Harlow so much. So she’s older than me. So what? It’s not like I’m a kid and don’t know what I want. I’m old enough to think for myself and up until Harlow, Dad’s had no problems with the women I’ve chosen to share my bed.
But none of those women have my heart the way Harlow does. And maybe, until she says no and that we can’t be together, my heart will finally get the memo, and I’ll move on. But only until then.
“I don’t hate her, Dax, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Dad says slowly. “I just hate seeing you dragged into this whole mess that has nothing to do with you. Too bad Gardner thinks he can use you to destroy his wife’s reputation.”
“I can take care of myself, Dad. And I’m sure Harlow can, too.”
“I also don’t want you to get hurt. You care too much, Dax. You love too much, just like your mother.”
“Call it a character flaw then, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“It wasn’t a character flaw with her, and it sure isn’t with you,” Dad says. “Look, I know you’re not the same kid who punched the guy Claudia fooled around with in that bathroom. And God help me, but I’m just glad you handled meeting Gardner at the Pearl with grace. You didn’t punch his lights out.”
There’s a hint of a smile on his face even though I glare at him. My temper can’t be that bad. I may have almost killed a man in some bathroom because he told me he’d just fucked my girl, and she loved it, but I went through the court-mandated anger management courses and God knows, these days, I’ve spent at the gym channeling my anger into a punching bag.
“Like I said, Dad, I can take care of myself.”
“Good,” Dad says, getting up from the bench. “Alright, anniversary man, I’m heading to the venue to make sure your party’s going to be a hell of a success. I’ll see you there at eight, then. Oh, and before I forget. Sophie’s manager is bringing her over to the showroom, so you both can walk the press line together.”
I watch Dad make his way past the flowering irises towards the gate. Of course, I’ll be there. I may be just some carpenter lovesick over Harlow, but I’m still a businessman.
*
Two hours after the party officially starts, even I can say it’s a success. Dad sure knows how to throw a party in the city. Only he knows how to snag one of the best venues in Manhattan and right now, we’re on a rooftop garden overlooking St. Patrick’s Cathedral and Saks Fifth Avenue. Who knew that this week marks the third year I won my first award out of the blue, for a stair design I made for a Montauk investor. It put my company on the map, and I’ve been swamped with orders ever since.
I’m glad Dad keeps track of these things. The PR company even notified the press, and there was even a press line at the entrance where guests posed for pictures that’ll go on social media and local Lifestyle pages. Dad believes that an event like this will guarantee that my name is in the press, and for good reason, this time, not attached to some scandal about me being a dick for hire for some frigid doctor.
I just wish Dad’s idea of a party didn’t include inviting every eligible woman under twenty-five within a five-mile radius. And right now, they’re everywhere, and I can’t even take a leak without someone following me to the bathroom and waiting till
I come out. It’s not like they don’t know I’ve been tabloid fodder the last few weeks—or maybe that’s why they’re here. Maybe I’m more interesting that way.
Dad pulls me to meet more of his friends, and I busy myself with talk about bathtubs, and live-edge tables, much like the one I built for Nana in Taos. I have two on order, and today, there’s one set up inside so guests can ask me how I construct them; how I start with a live tree, usually some hundred-year-old tree that’s about to be cut down probably due to disease or the rise of some new development on the property, and then the cutting of the wood into long vertical slabs that showcase the beautiful grain. But first, I have to age the wood and for that, I have a few places where they’re kept safe until I’m ready to use them.
Their eyes usually glaze over when I tell them those things, but it’s the one or two guests who listen, enraptured till the very end, that matters to me. They’re the ones who, in most cases, become lifetime customers. They’re the ones I’m really here for, dressed in a Tom Ford suit so they don’t think of me as just some carpenter lucky enough to have a father who knows all the rich people in the city.
As I excuse myself from Dad’s company, I spot a few celebrities among the guests, and it doesn’t surprise me. Like most of the guests, they started out as Dad’s clients before becoming my customers. Unfortunately for them, I know them only through the pieces they order from me more than their movies or shows.
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
The woman asking the question is gorgeous with wide hazel eyes and high cheekbones. A runner-up in some modeling reality show that heavily featured my products in a media tie-in, Sophie Marsden was my prearranged companion last night at the dinner the PR firm organized at the Top of the Standard. It continued into the Boom Boom Room just before midnight, but that’s when I begged off, telling Sophie that I had an early start in the morning. With the official pictures already taken at the press line and others that the guests were posting all over social media, my job was done.
