This was not good. Not good at all. Nothing his grandmother said to him prepared him for what he had to do. She said, “You need to go and admit why you behaved so poorly to her. And after that, you apologize. And, you apologize every day after that until she believes you.”
“Why do I always have to be the one that apologizes,” he argued. He knew why. What he really wanted to know was when was it going to be Becca’s turn to mess up? It was like the woman was always one step ahead of him. “Son, love is being brave enough to make mistakes and trusting that the other person will forgive you. It grows when you’ve watered the seed by admitting your faults. If you had listened to your heart years ago, you’d have married Becca because you loved her. This is life’s way of teaching you to listen to love and not your fears.”
And she was right. He feared that she’d realize that someone out there was better than him. That this stranger would not only admit that he loved her, but he'd also tell her that he loved her without provocation from an inheritance. It only took the pressure of a child to push Donovan to admit his fears in the form of accusations.
The room of women and the chef stared at Donovan as he watched Becca run. In her absence their eyes accused him. “You did this to her.” Then they challenged him, “How are you going to fix this?”
Donovan stood outside the bathroom door and mentally rehearsed his first apology. Before she had time to say anything he’d say, “I came to say I’m sorry. This way she’d know he wasn’t angry with her.”
However, when Becca opened the door, his mind blanked. Dark circles had formed around her eyes, and her skin tone went from pink to a pale white, and then a shade of green in a matter of seconds.
Becca’s parting words, “Maybe the ranch dressing wasn’t such a good idea after all,” was his first hint that perhaps her silence wasn’t anger as much as a retreat.
Some Sort Of Flu
Becca had never felt this bad ever. Her stomach felt worse than that time she drank an entire bottle of champagne at her cousin’s wedding. At twenty-five, she should have known better than to drink on an empty stomach. The next day her stomach and head gave her a reminder that she always remembered. Apparently, now it felt the same about something she had eaten for lunch. She hoped to heaven it wasn’t the ranch dressing. She silently prayed, Let it be the carrots. I can live without those.
The sound of water rushing from the faucet alerted her to the fact that someone else was in the bathroom. Becca grimaced with the light from the stall door opening. In her haste to get to the bowl, she forgot to lock the door behind her.
“Maybe a cool paper towel on the back of your neck will help with the nausea.” Donovan’s voice had a level of tenderness that was the stark contrast of the vitriol he had given her a taste of three days prior.
“I’ll be okay,” she flushed the bowl and turned to take the towel. Instead of wrapping it around her neck, she washed her face. It felt hot and sweaty like she’d spent a couple hours in the gym and not five minutes in the bathroom. She waited for the “I told you so,” or the “we need to talk,” that she knew was coming. Maybe confronting the truth would release the tightness in her stomach.
“Look, about what happened the other night,” Donovan began.
Becca held up her hand to stop him. “You don’t have to say it. I get it. I just can’t believe you came into the women’s bathroom to tell me.”
“No, this needs to be said, so things are clear between us,” Donovan continued.
There was no way to stop him, and she knew it. It was one of the steps he had missed on Thursday. “Do it with kindness. Treat the person with just enough dignity to reduce the sting, but make sure your words are clear.”
Becca rested her forehead in her hands and held her breath. If her air was thin, she’d at least have the dignity of not crying when Donovan tried to kindly tell her that he wanted a divorce.
“I could have handled the information better. For that I’m sorry.” There was the kindness she never wanted to hear from, of all people, Donovan Garrison.
Becca nodded to let him know she heard him but remained silent. They sat there in an awkward quietness that was probably only a couple of seconds but seemed like a year's amount of time.
His coaching broke the silence. “This is the part where you say something like, ‘I get what you’re saying, Donovan.’ Or ‘I agree with you.’”
She kept her hands on her forehead, purely out of self-preservation. If she moved, the waves might take over again. “Okay, I get what you’re saying."
A woman’s voice came through the door. “Is everything okay in there?”
“Yes, April May.” Donovan replied, “Becca’s just having a rough patch of morning sickness.”
“Morning sickness?” April May confirmed what she had heard and yelled back to what Becca imagined to be the class. “It’s morning sickness.” Her voice lowered to a normal register, “We’re glad it’s just that. All of us were worried that she had some sort of a flu virus.”
“Thank you for checking,” Donovan replied.
The hinges on the door creaked, and the sound of April May’s footsteps entering the room changed the atmosphere. “Here’s a piece of gum. It’s not as good as mint tea, but it’ll help settle her stomach a little.”
“Thank you,” Donovan passed the gum to Becca.
“You’re a good husband to come in here with her. If your mama was here with us, she’d be so proud of you.”
Stuck in the stall, Becca followed through with her only choice. She popped the piece of gum in her mouth and waited for the conversation between Donovan and April to reach a natural conclusion.
“Thank you for saying so, but I do mess up on occasion,” Donovan crossed his arms in front of him.
When Becca saw his signature long conversation with a friend posture, she began planning a way to gracefully leave while allowing the two of them to go on with their talk.
“All of us do on occasion. How we make up is what matters,” she said.
“I have a question,” Donovan said. “Do all women’s bathrooms have flowers and smell like potpourri?”
“The nice ones do,” April answered. “Why?”
“Our bathroom at the house doesn’t look like this. I kind of balked at the idea of Becca changing the decorations, but after being in here for as much as I have, I’m beginning to change my mind on the matter.”
Becca had had enough. She stood to leave. “I think I’m good now.”
April crowed, “It’s the gum. I knew it would help.”
“I appreciate it.” Becca offered a weak smile. She wanted to go home and sleep.
“That’s my signal,” Donovan began his goodbye. “It’s been good talking with you.”
Becca hadn’t made it to the door when the chef announced, “I hear congratulations are in order.”
As if Donovan’s presence wasn’t making her uncomfortable enough, he had to bring attention to the fact she was pregnant. He was ambitious and driven, but she had no idea he could be vicious too. She already heard the chatter that was sure to follow when people learned of their breakup.
“I’m sure she’ll feel better after her stomach gets used to the workload of nourishing two people.” Donovan almost sounded proud of their situation.
The chef held up a small white ceramic bowl. “This won’t be as good as the beef bourguignon, but it will help settle her stomach.”
“Look at that,” Donovan spoke to Becca, “the chef made something to help your stomach.” He didn’t give her a chance to decline the offer. Donovan placed his hand on her lower back and gently guided her back in the direction of the class.
But it didn’t make sense to her. Donovan hated cooking classes. His specialty recipe was crunchy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with barbecue chips in the middle. What had happened to her husband in the time they were apart? The answer hit Becca like a fluorescent yellow ball that should have made it into the hole in one putt. Donovan wasn’t ther
e to break up with her; he was there for another eighteen holes.
Eighteen Holes
“You aren’t here to break up with me?” Becca half asked half spoke.
Except for one person, the amused grins the women in the class had been wearing fell, and curious stares took their place. Jadine, who had helped Donovan get Becca to the class, nudged the woman next to her. “This is where it gets good. Look at his face. He never saw that one coming.”
And she was right. All this time, Donovan thought Becca’s distance was anger with his harsh words. After several rounds of beer with three other extension agents that knew Becca, and threats from Lloyd to sabotage their marriage so he could have Becca for himself, Donovan texted his wife. “I’m a jerk. Call me.” But she never called. He assumed her silence was the way women punish men. The “don’t talk to him, and he’ll miss me” strategy. He pleaded his case to the women. “I never said anything like that.”
“You accused me of sleeping with another man,” Becca quickly responded. "You said that we were done."
He felt the blood rush to his face. "I may have been hasty with my words.”
Becca’s mouth fell open, and she raised her eyebrows in confusion. "You think I'm supposed to come running back to you because you changed your mind. I may be wider than your past girlfriends, but I am not a yo-yo."
One of the women said, “This would be a good time for some popcorn or something,”
Donovan took Becca by the elbow while glancing at the room of eager observers. “Can we talk about this in private?”
She followed without argument while he guided her back toward the corridor that led to the bathroom. She opened her mouth to speak, and he interrupted her, “I know I’m the father.”
Her mouth closed, and she eyed him suspiciously.
“Vasectomies can reverse themselves.” His tone was matter of fact mixed with “I’m surprised you didn’t know it too.” They had something more pressing to discuss. “And while we’re getting everything out in the open, why didn’t you call me back?”
“I replied to the text messages I received.” She showed him her phone. There were a couple of texts from Abigail, her mother, and her brother. In there was the one from Saturday evening that asked if she was okay. It was followed by her response that she was fine. All the other texts he sent weren’t there.
“I swear I called you Friday night and several times Saturday. It went straight to voice mail.”
It was her turn to point out the obvious. However, her attitude lacked the zeal of defense. She sounded exhausted. Not angry. “You realize the network booster is at your house. I don’t have a cell signal when I’m at my house.”
As soon as she said it, he remembered it was true. One of the necessary evils of living in rural Montana was the dodgy cell service. Donovan helped her set up the booster years ago. Since hers was stronger than the one he had at the house, they brought it with her when she moved in.
“You weren’t avoiding me?”
“I’ve been making myself busy, so I wouldn’t be lonely.”
“You’ve been lonely?” he perked. He thought for sure in the absence of his presence she would have created a list of reasons of why she’d be better off without him. It was what he taught her to do after every breakup.
A hesitant voice joined the conversation. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but a couple of us needed to use the restroom. We were wondering if you were going to be done arguing soon.”
“As a matter of fact, we are.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded envelope. “This. This right here will fix everything.”
The older woman rolled her eyes and went to the end of the corridor. “It’s going to be a while. Maybe we can use the bathroom at the senior center across the street.”
Donovan unfolded the envelope and ran it across his thigh to straighten the crease. He held it out for Becca to take. When she refused to touch it, he waved it toward her. “It isn’t going to bite you.”
Becca accepted the card. When she pulled the card out of the envelope the wrinkle in her brow deepened.
To emphasize the significance, Donovan said, “I got a new envelope. The one that came with the card had a cute picture on it.”
Her fingers traced the lettering on the front of the card. She felt herself grin in recognition at the picture of a cat holding a balloon. The text inside the balloon read, "Get Well Soon."
“That was the day I knew I was in love with you. I didn’t do anything about it because I didn’t think I had a chance.”
She made a face that said she didn’t believe him. To which he responded, “Okay. I was afraid your father was going to kill me.”
Her slight grin was the first sign of the possibility of the evening ending with three people in the Garrison household.
“Open it. See what it says inside.” Donovan knew what it said. On the bottom of the card was a note from Becca that read, “I can help you with whatever you need until you have recovered. Just let me know what I can do to help you. Get well soon.” On the side of the card, Donovan wrote, “I'm sorry about the morning sickness. I know it is my fault. I'm sorry about not trusting you. The idea of you being with another man made me crazy. Please come home so I can heal what I have broken."
Tears welled in Becca’s eyes. Donovan knew what she was going to say next.
"It's a beautiful card Donovan, but I cannot be with you. You'll end up resenting both me and the baby. I don't like the way it happened, but us separating is probably for the best."
That was not what he expected. His fear that she figured out that life was better without him came to confront him.
He stammered. "Why? I'd never resent."
Becca's arched eyebrow challenged him. She would accept nothing less than the truth.
He couldn't look her in the eye as he admitted the truth. "I resented the baby.” His grandmother said the truth would forge the cracks he made in the foundation of their relationship. Donovan hoped beyond hope she was right.
Becca’s voice contained the softness of understanding. “I get it. Which is why it’s better for all three of us if we weren’t together.”
He had to interrupt her before she got too attached to the idea of them living apart. “Because it was a baby’s fault I never had a mother.” The words left a bitter taste in his mouth.
“What?”
“My mother died in childbirth.”
“No, she died in a car crash when you were ten,” Becca corrected.
“That was my step mother. She adopted me when I was four. My real mother died in child birth.”
Becca’s mouth fell open.
Donovan didn’t want her pity. He wanted her to understand his hesitance was a result of his issues. He continued, “I didn’t want to be like my father—stuck raising the child that killed his wife. I still don’t know how he did it.”
“How did I not know this?” She had her hand pressed against her heart, and her eyes darted back and forth like they were trying to find a lost memory.
“It isn’t like people go around telling sad stories from their childhood.” He shrugged, “Unless they’re drunk.”
Becca wrapped her arms around his waist and nuzzled her forehead into his chest. He inhaled the fragrance of her shampoo and exhaled in relief. Even though she hadn't said it, Donovan sensed it was a matter of time until he brought his wife and son back into his house where they belonged.
He pulled her toward him. "Best friends forgive each other."
She replied, "Best friends trust each other."
“I will from now on.” Not wanting the hug to end, he held her tightly.
When she pulled out of the hug Donovan held out his hand for Becca to accept. “Are you ready to come home?”
He felt like the king of the world when she gave it a little squeeze and said, “Let me tell the chef.”
Donovan waited by the door for Becca to join him. When he saw how tired she was, he made a silent promise to do every
thing in his power to make her feel better. He’d make her some peanut butter toast and a cup of tea when they got home.
With her key fob in her extended hand, she stepped outside the door. Becca pressed the button, but no sound followed. Unfazed by the lack of response she said, “The battery must be dying,” and walked in the direction of where she last parked her pickup.
She stopped short when she found Donovan’s Chevy in its place. “I could have sworn I parked here.”
The grin on his face grew wider. “You did.”
“Where is it now?”
“At our house. Kent drove it home for you.”
As if she didn’t believe Donovan, she backed away from the parking space and searched the parking lot. “You didn’t know I was coming home with you.”
Donovan looked down and covered his mouth to hide his smile. If things hadn’t gone as he planned, he would have driven her to her house. His heart told him that the suggestion wouldn’t be necessary.
Epilogue
BECCA WOKE FEELING refreshed for the first time in a long time. Her mother warned her that things were going to be different with her pregnancy. Knowing lack of sleep and experiencing it were two different realities. A smile warmed her heart. Parker had slept through the night. She turned to tell Donovan only to find his side of the bed empty. Maybe he had gone to the bathroom.
She stepped into her slippers to go to the crib and check on their son. Thinking twice, she grabbed the cell phone on the side of her bed. She’d take a picture to memorialize the milestone. Becca shuffled down the hall to Parker’s room to pause. Something in the living room had caught her attention. She altered her course to see something even more heartwarming than their son sleeping through the night. Donovan was in the recliner with Parker sprawled out on his chest. The baby blanket was bunched on Donovan’s waist, and his hand was on Parker’s back.
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