Infinite Possibilities tsloab-2

by Lisa Renee Jones

  His eyes blaze blue-green with a hint of amber lifted from the sunlight and water behind him. He is magnificently male in that moment, absolutely, devastatingly, a work of art. He motions to the pancakes. “Try the gingerbread. I want to see what you think.”

  Remarkably relaxed considering I charged in here for a confrontation, I dig in. “Hmm. Yes. Wonderful. I see why you like them.”

  Obviously pleased, he takes a bite. “Evans is one of two restaurants next door. There are also several high-end clothing stores, and a hair salon, as well as several medical offices, most of which have been there since I first met Alex.”

  “How old where you when you moved in with him?”

  “My mother died when I was fifteen.”

  “And your father--”

  “Long gone.” His tone is short in a way that says he’s done with the topic and he reaches for a glass of orange juice I think must be as bitter as the topic clearly is, from the sugary pancakes, but he gulps it down just fine. The same way he has every sour note life has thrown him and not for the first time I envy him that control.

  An odd sensation churns in my belly, and I’m not sure if it’s about food, or how poorly I’ve handled my life. “Any chance you have something carbonated?”

  He stands up and walks to the fridge and returns with Ginger Ale and a glass of ice. “My mother’s cure for all stomachaches. I had Evans bring you a bottle.”

  I tilt the can to fill my glass. “They had Ginger Ale in stock?”

  “They do now.”

  He had them stock it for me and I soften inside with this knowledge. For all the hardness on Liam’s outside, he is capable of such tenderness. I take a sip of the soda and it is soothing to my stomach.

  He claims his seat again, watching me. “Good?”

  I nod. “It’s perfect. I thought rest would make me a hundred percent but I’m still not quite right.”

  “You’ve been through hell. Give yourself time. When we get done eating, I thought I’d show you the rest of Alex’s dagger collection. There are some unique pieces that might interest the history lover in you.”

  The idea intrigues me. “I’d like that very much. Do you collect as well?”

  He leans back in his chair. “Not my thing, but Alex spent a lot of time in Asia and developed the interest, and about seventy-five percent of his collection, while living there.”

  “What drew him to Asia?”

  “Architecture. They like tall buildings. He wanted to be able to master that craft.”

  “Like you have. Did you study in Asia as well?”

  He nods and I feel relief at the confirmation it gives me. “Alex insisted I spend time there. He wanted me to learn from the best and he never considered himself that, even when everyone else did.” He leans forward. “I spent a lot of time in Asia, Amy. I never went to Egypt until a few years ago and I can prove it through my passport records.”

  I reach for his hand and cover it. “I didn’t ask.”

  “But you should. Knowing what you’ve been through, you have to suspect everyone. Just like you had to run when you heard that conversation between me and Derek. I don’t want you to ever doubt me like that again.”

  I inhale and decide to embrace more of that honesty I’ve so rarely been allowed. “You have no idea how much the idea of you being the enemy crushed me.”

  “I’m not the enemy and I want to be able to talk to you about Egypt and the pyramids and anything you want or need to talk about without creating fear and doubt in you.”

  “It won’t. And I’d like that. I tried to block them out. I tried to block all of it out and I think that’s what led to my blackouts. I need to reconnect with my past.” And so I do. “They were my everything. We all traveled together until I was in high school, mostly through Egypt and Africa. I did my school work from dig sites. Working with my father, who was passionate and absolutely brilliant, represents the most amazing experiences of my life.”

  His expression softens. “I felt the same way with Alex and with the many talented people he connected me with.”

  “Did you travel while you were in school like I did?”

  “Some, but I spent the bulk of my time in Asia right after I graduated from college.”

  A sad smile touches my lips. “My mom said I was a great student. I got my work done fast and right so we could both get back in the dirt.”

  “If it worked so well, what happened to change it all?”

  “My father said he wanted me to have some kind of normal childhood, with a prom and all that fluffy stuff I was supposed to want. So my mother and I stayed behind and he and my brother conquered the world beyond.”

  “Did you at least enjoy a period of being a normal teenager?”

  “I tried, but I always felt like a castaway. There wasn’t even a museum in Jasmine Heights that my mother and I could volunteer at to stay somewhat involved in that life.” Unbidden, a memory of overhearing my father talking to my mother comes to me. You and Lara staying here is what is best, and with it the tingling in my scalp begins.

  Liam's hand goes to my bare leg under the table. “What is it?”

  I look at him, unaware until this moment that my elbows are on the table and I’ve pressed my fingers to my forehead. “Nothing, I just...” The memory stirs again, my parents’ voices in my head, surprisingly clear. “Remembering something.”

  “Something important?”

  “My parents arguing over us staying behind.”

  “Your mother wasn’t happy about it either?”

  “It was hard having the family separated.” I shove my plate aside.

  Liam inspects my half-eaten pancakes. “You should try and eat more.”

  “I’m not a six-foot-two man,” I remind him. “I ate plenty.”

  He doesn’t look convinced but I’m saved when the doorbell goes off and Liam’s hand slides away from my leg. “That will be Derek coming in the security exit. He’s going to have his sister go shop and buy you whatever you need. You want to make a list?”

  I shake my head. “I’ve been living in rat trap motels and hitchhiking. I’m good with whatever.”

  “You’re not there anymore, baby, and you never will be again. But you’re right. Don’t make a list. I’ll tell her to spend freely and frivolously.”

  “Oh, good grief, Liam. I’ll make a list.”

  He stands up. “No list. I’ll handle it.” He heads through the kitchen and I stand up to follow him when spots dot my vision. I’m going down, and I’m going down soon, and I don’t want to do it with Liam and Derek standing over the top of me.

  All too aware that speed is of importance, I stumble my way back into the bedroom and head to the bathroom. I tug at the door and pull it shut, and practiced at this as I am, I slide to the sitting position by the wall to ensure I don’t fall. Memories surface. I shove my fingers in my hair, rubbing my tingling scalp but I don’t will away the memory. I want to remember. It’s time. It’s time and to my surprise instead of blacking out, my mind travels back to the fight I’d overheard with my parents. It had been my junior year of high school. I know because my father had spoken at my school when he was home. I’d been supposed to stay late at school but didn’t. I’d headed to the kitchen for a snack when I’d stopped dead in my tracks.

  You can’t leave again this soon, my mother had said and I don’t remember what my father said. I’m not sure I heard. My mother sobbed. I remember that, oh so well. Is it another woman? she’d demanded. Is that it? You have another woman. Is that why you won’t take us with you now?

  There was movement and I couldn’t tell what happened and then I heard my father’s harsh whisper, No. My God, woman. How can you think that? There is no other woman. It’s not safe for you and Lara. I’m just protecting you. Just know I’m protecting you.

  What does that even mean? my mother had screamed. What does that mean?

  The less you know the better.

  A wave of sickness overcomes me and I crawl
to the toilet, certain I’m going to be ill. A knock on the door sounds. “Amy? Are you okay?”

  Surprisingly, I am. Okay, I’m not. I get sick. The door jerks open. “Holy hell,” Liam murmurs, squatting beside me.

  “Go away. Go away, Liam.”

  “You keep saying that and I keep giving you the same answer. Not a chance.” He strokes my hair from my face and hands me a towel. “Do you want some more Ginger Ale?”

  My parched throat screams in reply. “Yes. Yes, please.”

  “I’ll be right back.” He disappears and I sink to the floor and lay on my back, staring at the ceiling. I didn’t black out. My lips curve through the nausea. I didn’t black out.

  Liam curses and sets the drink on the counter, squatting down to pick me up. “No,” I object. “I need to stay here until the sickness passes.”

  He looks absolutely appalled and I touch his cheek. “I’m okay.” I look at the glass on the counter. “Ginger ale?”

  “Right. Yes.” He hands it to me and I sip and then gulp.

  He grabs the glass. “Easy. You’re going to make yourself sick again.”

  I start to lay back again and Liam grabs a huge, fluffy towel and shoves it under me just in time for it to absorb my body. Then to my shock, he lays another towel down beside me and flattens on his back as well. “What are we looking at?” he asks, staring at the ceiling.

  I surprise myself by managing a laugh. “You do have a very nice ceiling.”

  He takes my hand and turns his head to look at me. “Any better?”

  I nod. “Yes. I’m improving.”

  “We need to talk about this.”

  “It’s just stress.”

  “We didn’t use a condom.”

  “I took a test and it was negative.”

  “When?”

  I sit up. “A few weeks ago.”

  He moves to squat in front of me, his hands on my knees. “I’m going to have a doctor come over and see you.”

  “No. No more people involved with me or us, Liam. I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

  “I’ll take precautions.”

  “We’re gambling with someone’s life by involving them in mine.”

  “We’re not gambling with your life and potentially our unborn child’s.”

  Our unborn child’s. Unbidden, tears well in my eyes and I look away, struggling with the idea that I am about to bring a baby into this hell. His finger slides under my chin and he forces my gaze to his, using his thumb to stroke away a tear. “Is the idea of having my child that horrific?”

  I grab his hand. “No. That’s not it. You...we...I...” I squeeze my eyes shut. “We...”

  “Have a lot to figure out,” he supplies. “I know. And we will, but let’s start with making sure you’re healthy. Can you make it to the bed?”

  “I’m fine now. Whatever it was, it’s over.” He helps me to my feet and then picks me up.

  “I can walk.”

  “So can I.” I grimace at the remark as he sets me on the bed and says, “You need to rest.”

  “I don’t want to rest. I want my computer back from the hotel room with all of my research on it.”

  “Tellar’s man got your things from the room. They should be here this afternoon.”

  Relief washes over me. “Oh thank goodness. I put weeks into that work.”

  “I have stacks of research we did as well. It’s all yours to look at. I’ll show it all to you and we’ll talk all of this out. We’ll get a plan together. After,” he adds, stroking hair from my brow and flattens his hand on my cheek, “the doctor comes and checks you out.”

  I grab his hand, and I can’t keep the quaver from my voice. “Everyone close to me dies, Liam. I can’t have a child and lose it.”

  “Don’t do this to yourself. We’re going to get through this. Nothing is going to happen to you or the baby. You have my word.”

  There is a fierceness to the way he delivers his promise, an absoluteness, and I wonder if he’s trying to convince me or himself, or maybe both of us. He leans in and kisses my forehead, his lips lingering on my skin. My fingers wrap around his wrist a little too tightly I suspect, but I can’t seem to help it. I have this sense he might be gone at any moment.

  He molds me close, flattening his hand in the center of my back, burying his face in my neck and I know he feels what I do. He is afraid I will soon be gone. He draws in a breath, inhaling my scent I think, and I do the same to him. I drink in that earthly, raw male scent of him, feeding off of it like it, he, is my lifeline, and in that moment, we are those two lost souls I’ve thought us to be on many occasions, someone so right for each other and so devastatingly bad at the same time.

  Reluctantly, it seems, he leans back and says, “I’m calling for the doctor.”

  I nod. “Yes. Okay.”

  He reaches for his phone on the nightstand and walks to the window. My attention is riveted on him, this man who could very well be the father of my child. I study him, his strong profile, the way he moves with grace and confidence, the way he makes everything seem easy. Except us. We are not easy any more than we are the calm water of the Hudson River just beyond the windows. We are caught in the hurricane of turbulence, passion, and a past I can’t even remember.

  Chapter Nine

  In less than an hour from the time Liam places the call, Dr. Murphy, an attractive forty-something woman, has arrived, and according to Liam, she makes a living catering to the rich and famous. Translation, she gets paid the big bucks for keeping her mouth shut. I pray the opposite doesn’t apply as well.

  She and I take a seat at the window in Liam’s bedroom and I am acutely aware of Liam hovering nearby. I’m also aware of Dr. Murphy’s perfectly fitted navy blue suit, and her red hair braided at her nape, while I am a blonde, frizzy, just showered mess, who managed a few dabs of makeup from the stash I had in my backpack that made it to New York with me. I am also braless, thanks to Liam’s overzealous dagger action, and dressed in an oversized T-shirt, tennis shoes, and Liam’s sweats that I’ve had to pin up.

  Dr. Murphy admires the water for a moment. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen this view.” Her lips curve. “Alex and I went way back. I actually live next door but there is something about the view from his room.”

  “Oh,” I say, and my mind can go all kinds of places with that one.

  “Oh,” she repeats, looking amused. “And yes to whatever you are thinking. I knew Alex quite well.” She pulls a blood pressure machine from her bag. “Let’s start with some basic vitals, shall we?”

  She pumps the cuff up. Liam paces behind us. Back and forth. Back and forth. Dr. Murphy unclamps my arm. “Blood pressure is good.” She stands to eye Liam. “But mine won’t be if you keep pacing behind me.” She points to the door. “Out.”

  “I’m staying,” he insists.

  She crosses her arms over her chest and gives him a steely stare that impressively rivals the one he returns. “You leave,” she warns, “or I leave.”

  Liam, who has changed into jeans and a teal blue pullover that matches his now stormy eyes, gives her a fierce look. “I don’t like being strong-armed, Dr. Murphy.”

  She doesn’t even try to deny that’s exactly what she’s doing. “You don’t have to like it. I’m the doctor and I insist all of my patients have privacy.”

  Liam eyes me and I quickly tell him, “I’m perfectly fine.”

  He doesn’t look convinced, but says, “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

  Once we’re alone, the doctor pulls out her stethoscope and checks my heart, then listens to my lungs and takes my temperature. “Liam tells me you’re having blackouts.”

  “For six years off and on. There are triggers I’m aware of and acupuncture helps.”

  “Describe the blackouts.”

  “It’s more flashbacks to a terrible time in my life. I see spots and get pressure in my head and then everything just goes black.”

  “How often?”
/>   “I went years without any at all, but now...a couple a day.”

  She whistles. “That’s not good, especially if you think you’re pregnant. It limits our testing abilities and medications.”

  “I’ve had MRIs and CAT scans. They showed nothing.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Years.”

  “That’s too long ago.” She purses her lips. “You said they went away and came back?”

  “Yes. A stress trigger set me off again. Really. I know what is wrong. I just...I need to know if I’m pregnant and if the blackouts can hurt the baby.”

  “What was the diagnosis?”

  “I don’t know. The doctors just tried to shove drugs down my throat.”

  “Did you try medications?”

  “No, and I won’t.”

  “Why?”

  Because I can’t risk my thinking process being impaired, but instead I say, “I just won’t.”

  She reaches in her bag and pulls out a blood drawing kit. “Let’s take blood and run a full panel, as well as a pregnancy test.”

  “I need to know about the baby now.”

  Digging in her bag, she produces a little plastic cup and hands it to me. “Fill it and I have a strip test for immediate results. Let me do the blood draw first. It’s Friday and I want to get them to the lab so we have them back on Monday.”

  Lab. My name. “No. No test results. No lab.”

  “Nothing is done in your name,” she says, reading my worries. “Discretion all the way.”

  Reluctantly, I stretch my arm out and she wraps a rubber tube around it. “Have you seen a counselor?” she asks, readying the syringe. “In cases of post traumatic syndrome, which I suspect is what you’re dealing with, talking to someone and dealing with whatever happened to you can be helpful.” She glances at my arm. “Ready?”

  I nod and she pokes my vein. “I’ll think about it,” I promise, and it’s not a lie. I plan to talk to whoever I have to, to get at the truth, just not a counselor who could be put in danger with me.