Love Lies

by MaryJanice Davidson

  It would be perfect if you and Victor were together, planning for the baby, her stupidly sentimental side whispered, but she had to admit that there was some truth to the thought. Maybe that’s why she felt so sad and kind of achy-empty—because there was a big hole in her life that Victor had occupied, however briefly. Instead of sharing the news with him and watching his eyes light up. Instead of discussing birth plans and the merits of colored mobiles versus black and white, she was scuttling around town, desperate to avoid him. Terrified he would find out her news and force himself further into her life, as he had forced himself into her body not quite a month ago.

  That was her big fear, and she knew it was legitimate. Because if someone had her child, nothing would stop her from being part of the baby’s life. How could Victor feel any differently?

  She let herself in and was surprised to see Jean waiting for her. Must have signed herself out a day early, she thought, pleased. It beat hanging out here by herself all night.

  Across from Jeannie, standing with his back to the living room window, was Victor. She stared at him in shock—had he ignored her wishes again?—and tightened her grip on her purse, in which were several brochures on pregnancy.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, not bothering to hide her anger. She glared accusingly at Jeannie, who looked entirely too guilty. “Both of you?”

  “You weren’t supposed to be back so soon,” Jean said by explanation. That was, Ashley knew, the closest thing to an apology she was going to get. “He wanted to meet with me and I agreed. That’s all. No big conspiracy.”

  She turned to go, already groping for the doorknob, but Victor was already moving forward.

  “Not yet, Ash,” he said, catching her by the elbow and pulling her gently into the room. “Jean’s right, this wasn’t planned, but I am glad to see you.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you,” she said abruptly. Especially not now. Not when she’d just gotten back from trying to find an OB to deliver his baby. Not after running into Derik and trying to ignore his pleas that she talk to Victor. Not after feeling so lonely and wretched, after wishing things could be different…no. “I told you to go away.”

  “Stop acting like a child,” Jean said sharply, and Ashley’s mouth dropped open in wounded surprise. “You’re smart enough to know that running away only makes everything worse.”

  “This, from your therapy group’s biggest procrastinator,” she snapped.

  “Exactly, so I know what I’m talking about.” Jean flashed her a look: Tell him.

  Stay out of this, Ashley flashed back. She turned to Victor. “I am getting sick and tired of everybody telling me that I’m behaving badly, that you’re hurting, that you’re devastated, that I have to grow up and get over it!”

  Victor looked surprised. “I’m not telling you that. I don’t think that’s true at all.”

  “Ah-ha! See?” she said triumphantly to Jeannie. Then, confused, she turned back to Victor. “Uh, what?”

  He nodded seriously. “I think you’ve been through a terrible ordeal, and it will take more than four weeks to ‘get over it’.” He turned to frown at Jean. “And anyone who indicates otherwise is an insensitive idiot.”

  “Well! I like that.”

  Ashley snorted back a laugh, and Victor almost smiled at the sound. “What did you mean by everybody?” he asked while she worked on frowning again.

  “What?”

  “You said, ‘I am getting sick and tired of everybody telling me that I’m behaving badly.’ Who’s everybody?”

  Ashley waved a hand in dismissal. “Oh, I ran into Derik today.”

  Victor’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Where?”

  Suddenly very uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, Ashley shook her head. Well, I ran into your best friend after talking to another woman about delivering your baby. Triscuit? “It doesn’t—I was in the neighborhood—he walked me to my—it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to talk about it. And you can’t make me!” She shook a finger under his nose, then backed up a step.

  “All right.” She was clearly tensing up and he had no idea why. Best not to push his luck. He truly hadn’t come to see her, but to talk to Jeannie about how Ashley was doing. Ashley walking in on them had been a bonus. “I’m hoping I can talk to you later.”

  “You’re leaving?” She looked so hopeful it made his chest tight, drew his mouth down in a sorrowful bow. If she wasn’t afraid of him, she was at best extremely tense around him. The thought was enough to break his heart. “Goodbye, then.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Goodbye.”

  As soon as the door had shut behind him Jeannie had her hands up. “Don’t even start with me. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “You know I don’t want to see him! So you invited him to where I live?”

  “I live here too, sometimes,” she amended. “And you’re over an hour early. I didn’t plan on running into you, and neither did he.”

  “I didn’t feel like interviewing the last OB,” she admitted sulkily.

  “And another thing. You’ve got no business keeping that to yourself. You had a golden opportunity to tell him and you kept your mouth shut.”

  “I’m not telling him, ever, so get over it.”

  “Oh? And if he accidentally runs into you when you’re in your eighth month, how are you going to explain that? Too many eclairs?”

  Ashley swallowed her angry retort. Incredibly, this hadn’t occurred to her. She had counted on Victor being so ashamed and embarrassed by what he had done, he’d gladly agree never to see her again. Well, he might very well be ashamed and embarrassed, but he wasn’t letting that stop him from trying to make things right, dammit.

  “I don’t know,” she said, tossing her purse on the couch. “I haven’t had a lot of time to think this out. Three months ago I hadn’t even met the man, and now…”

  Jean softened. “I know. I’m sorry to be so hard on you. Let’s forget about all this for now and just stay in tonight, okay? We’ll go rent a couple of truly awful movies. I’ll even let you pick them out.”

  “Oooooh, tempting,” she said through a yawn. Then, with studied casualness, asked, “Why did Victor want to meet with you?”

  “The usual.” Jean matched her friend’s casual tone. “Would I tell you he’s sorry? Would I tell you he wants to see you? Are you okay? Would I tell you he thinks about you all the time? Would I tell you he’ll meet with you whenever you say, for as long as you say? Would I tell you he feels terrible and wants to make it up to you? Blah-blah-blah.”

  “How awful for you,” she said tartly, but she could feel herself weakening, just a little. She was frightened and lonely and she loved him. She was having his baby and she knew it was wrong to keep that knowledge from him. And yet, she was having so much trouble getting past the reason she was having his baby. Was there a way to get through this? Would her pride allow her to let him back into her life? “I don’t know how you managed it.”

  Jean threw a couch pillow at her, breaking her train of thought. No matter how mixed up and sad you are, she thought grimly, groping for a pillow of her own, no way are you letting her get away with that.

  Their neighbors, long used to volleys of shrieks and screams coming from their apartment, didn’t even bother to hammer on the walls. Just turned up the TV and waited for the pillow fight to be over.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A week passed with no word from Victor. Ashley was surprised at the strength of her disappointment. He was doing as she asked, wasn’t he? With this thought firmly in the front of her mind, she used the time to catch up at work, pack her things at the apartment, and do some discreet checking on the newspaper’s maternity leave policy. Unfortunately, while by law they had to offer time off, they didn’t have to pay her. And they wouldn’t. She could take up to twelve weeks off without losing her job, all of it without pay.

  “So?” Jean asked, expertly taping shut a box full of back issues of Psychology Today. />
  “So, I can’t afford not to make any money for three months,” Ashley explained patiently. Most of her packing was done, so she was content to watch Jean. “I don’t have any savings, and I’ve got a gigantic credit card bill. I can try to build my savings over the next seven or eight months, but I won’t be able to save enough to take three months off.” She frowned. Oh, goody, another big problem. Just what she needed. “I guess I’ll see how much I can put into savings, and as soon as the money’s gone, I’ll go back to work.”

  “What about an advance on your credit card?” Jean suggested.

  Ashley grimaced. “That’s how I got in this mess. I make enough to live on—barely. When things get low, I dip into my credit line. Bad idea.”

  Jean kept her mouth shut, knowing better than to try to offer Ashley money.

  “Um…Ashley…how are you going to afford daycare if you’re living paycheck to paycheck as it is?”

  “I’ll think of something,” she replied with a sigh.

  “I know!” Jean said brightly. “Tell Victor he’s the father of your child, and ask him to pay for daycare. He might even give you a loan. At a reasonable rate of interest, of course.”

  “You’re as funny as a plane crash.”

  “And you’re being silly and prideful…and for what? So you can scrimp and save for the next eight months? So you can do without the very few pleasures you allow yourself? So you can work until the day the baby comes, stay home with her for a few days, and then back to work? So you can dump her in substandard daycare because that’s the best you can afford?”

  “Shut up!” Ashley shouted, then burst into angry tears. “I’m doing the best I can, all right? It’s hard enough without you always telling me what a dumbshit you think I am.”

  “I don’t think you’re a dumbshit,” Jean protested. “I think you’re a very smart shit.”

  Ashley started laughing even as the tears were running down her cheeks, and Jean closed her eyes in relief. Getting Ashley mad used to be quite a trick…but not anymore.

  After a minute Ashley wiped her eyes, stood up, and said brightly, “So! What’s for dinner?”

  “What the hell was that?”

  “Technically? I think that’s what they call your basic mood swing.” She wiped her tear-stained face and smiled. “Don’t look so appalled, Jean. It’s not the last one you’re going to see.”

  “As long as you’re so chipper, why don’t we give ole Vickie-Vic a call and share the happy news of his impending papa-hood?”

  “Leave it alone for now, Jean,” Ashley said, kindly enough, and Jean nodded, thinking, Okay. For now.

  She pretended to change the subject. “Did you know Victor’s putting his condo up for sale?”

  Ashley stopped short on the way to the kitchen and slowly turned. “Why?”

  “Why do you think?” Jean retorted. “The place has terrible connotations for him. He doesn’t want to keep a tangible reminder like that around. He told me that even though he doesn’t remember what happened, he can’t stand to sleep in the bed.”

  He didn't remember. She'd been shocked when Jean had told her. But, in the end, she decided it changed nothing. He had done it. He had that capacity within him. He was dangerous and to be avoided at all costs. “It doesn’t matter if he sells the place or not, because I won’t be setting foot there again. So if he’s doing it on my account—”

  “Not everything is about you, Ash. Most things are about me. A very, very few are about you.”

  “Right, sorry I forgot. And this is—he’s selling his home because it’s a reminder of what he did to me, yes? What if he knew about the child?”

  “That’s what I was wondering,” Jean admitted. The temptation to tell Victor was growing daily. Only her fear of creating a permanent break in her friendship with Ashley dissuaded her.

  Ashley’s good mood evaporated as quickly as it had appeared. That really said it all, didn’t it? He didn’t want any reminders, so he was selling the condo. She didn’t want any reminders, so she refused to see him. But what about the baby? Were she and Victor just fooling themselves? Was it possible to jettison belongings like so much bad cargo, all in an effort to put the past behind them? Was it even worth it, with their baby on the way?

  * * * * *

  “Jeannie, I can’t,” Ashley said regretfully. They were doing a walk-through of the apartment Jeannie had picked for them. It was, to use a one-word description, splendid. “It’s too expensive.”

  “No, it’s quite reasonable,” Jean said seriously. “Your share is only two hundred dollars.”

  Ashley raised an eyebrow. “Two hundred? For a three-bedroom-plus-den, sixth floor, ocean-view, two-deck, hardwood floor, gourmet kitchen, two bathroom apartment? With a walk-in closet for each bedroom?”

  “And that includes utilities!” Jean said enthusiastically. “What a bargain, eh?”

  “Stop. Even for you, this is—”

  “Crudely obvious? Nuh-uh, Ash! You’ve got it all wrong,” she said earnestly. “You’re doing me the favor, it’s not the other way around.”

  “Oh, puh-leeze!”

  Jeannie, well into lawyer-mode, started pacing back and forth, punctuating each point with a fist in her palm. “Who hates to live alone? Me. Who makes sure I take my medication? You. Who cheers me up when all I can think about is jumping off the roof? You. Who cooks for me when it hasn’t occurred to me to eat in thirty-six hours? You. I should pay you to live with me.”

  She started to protest. “That isn’t—”

  “It is true, and you know it. You’re just too nice to look at it that way. The fact is, I can’t live by myself. So either we share a place, or I take up permanent residence at Carlson-Musch.”

  “Yuck.”

  “Exactamente. So enough with the protests, okay? You like it? You think you can live here and not hate it?”

  “The place is gorgeous and you know it.” Abruptly, she wished she could sit down. She’d been feeling a bit light-headed all day—was this morning sickness? Just as quickly, the feeling passed. “What can I say? It’s beyond great.”

  “So quit saying you can’t afford it. You can afford it. And there’s room for the baby, too. And there are a couple of women in the building who do daycare out of their apartments. I got their names and numbers for you.”

  “For heaven’s sake!” Ashley said, very surprised. “When did you find time to do all this?”

  Jean smiled crookedly. “Story of my life, dear. I’m much better at running other people’s lives than tending to my own. I’m going to check out the den, see how I can convert it into my writing-slash-sewing room. You want to run down to the manager’s office and tell her we definitely want it?”

  “Sure.”

  “I already put the deposit down, but I told them you had to see it before we could figure out a move-in date. Does next Saturday suit you?”

  “Very well, thank you.” She blew Jean a kiss and walked out, taking the elevator to the ground floor. She held the railing as dizziness again swept over her. She fought it off grimly; she had never in her life fainted and she wasn’t going to start now. How embarrassing for anyone in the manager’s office trying to show an apartment: “And here’s the lobby, and the elevators. And the unconscious woman who lives in 5A, who likes to sleep in the elevators.”

  Luckily, with reassuring quickness, the feeling passed and she was able to give some thought to the new place. She would eventually have to figure out a way to pay her fair share of the apartment and incurring expenses, but for now it appeared to be set. And what a lovely apartment! By far the largest place she had lived in, and the nicest.

  Her pleasant musings were interrupted when she saw Victor standing in the management office, nodding at something the manager was saying. At first she thought it was her eyes playing tricks again, so she took a tentative step forward, but her bravery fled as soon as she got a look at his profile. It was him. No mistake.

  Feeling like the star of The Fugitive,
she very quietly turned and walked out, letting her breath out in a relieved whoosh as soon as the door closed behind her. What was he doing here? Could he be looking for an apartment? That would be a horrid irony—he sells the penthouse to forget about the rape, and ends up being her next-door neighbor. She could see it now: “Hi, Vic, can I borrow a cup of sugar? Don’t mind my belly…I’m not pregnant, I just really like drinking chocolate sauce by the gallon.”

  Rattled as she was, that was enough to get a shaky laugh out of her, which cut off as soon as the office door opened behind her.

  “I thought it was you.”

  She jumped, though she’d been half-expecting him to come after her. Her luck just wasn’t running well these days, and soon she’d have the stomach to prove it. She turned, resigned. “Hello and goodbye, Victor.”

  “Wait.” He didn’t touch her, but she couldn’t turn away and leave him. Her feet were rooted in place as firmly as if he had planted her like a tree, and she stared at him as he looked at her so intently, it was as if he was searching for something. He didn’t appear to find what he was looking for, because he said, with just a touch of impatience, “Well?”

  “What?”

  “When were you planning to tell me?”

  “I—” That I was moving here? That I miss you and I hate missing you? “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He stepped forward and put one hand on her back, holding her in place, and then rested his other hand on her stomach. His black gaze bored into her. “The baby,” he said quietly. “When were you going to tell me about the baby?”

  She felt the color drain from her face, felt the dizziness rush back. “Oh no,” she whispered, unable to look away from him. “No, it—you can’t know, you can’t, you can’t…” The thought, the denial, followed her down into darkness as the room tilted away from her, as she felt herself pitch forward. His arms came around her to catch her, and she knew no more.