by Holly Rayner
I nod. “Thanks,” I say. “I think that’s what I needed to hear.”
“Who is the father?” Nikki asks.
I hesitate and allow myself to think of Luca as the father of my child for the first time. How is he going to handle the news?
“Remember how I told you I met a guy when I went to Europe?” I say.
“Of course,” Nikki says. “And I’ve seen the way you daydream about him. You’ve been on cloud nine ever since you got back—always with that same dreamy look in your eyes.”
I bite my lip. “It’s him. He’s the father. There’s been no one else.”
“Do you want to tell him?” Nikki asks. “Do you know his name?”
I take a deep breath and then nod. “I have to tell him, Nikki. I owe him that. I know his name, and I have his phone number. But…”
“But what?” she asks.
“But… with everything that’s going on, I don’t want to tell him over the phone. I want to tell him in person.”
Nikki squeezes my hand. “You’re sure?” she asks.
I nod. “I’m positive.” As I voice my answer, I feel my certainty reverberate in my heart. I need to tell this to Luca face-to-face. I need to see him.
“His number is in my phone, under Luca,” I tell my sister. “That’s his name. My phone is at my workstation, at Marla’s office. Can you call him? Please?”
Nikki releases my hand. “I’ll head over there now,” she says. She meets my eye. “Phoebe, I know this is a lot, but we’re going to get through this. You believe me, right?”
I look deep into my sister’s eyes and see her fierce strength there. I meet her gaze and nod. “I’ll try,” I say.
With that, she departs.
Will she be able to get through to Luca? Will he be open to coming to the States, to meet with me?
I have no idea, but I can only hope that Nikki will be successful, and Luca will make the trip.
With hope in my heart, I make my way back to the hard bench and take a seat.
I place my head in my hands and close my eyes. This time, I have even more on my mind which I need to process.
I’m pregnant, and the father may soon be on his way to see me.
How am I going to tell Luca that he’ll soon be the father of my child?
Chapter 10
Luca
I stare down at the blueprints that the architect handed me just the day before. The new youth center will be on the outskirts of the city. Because we didn’t have as many constraints on space, we were able to design a large outdoor area adjacent to the building.
I lift a pencil and make a quick note next to one of the open spaces. “Soccer nets?” I write. Then I make a few “X” marks where I feel trees should go.
I’ve always loved nature, and I feel that the teens who use the new center will appreciate trees and greenery as much as I do. I’m about to make another note when my assistant opens my office door.
“Luca?” he says.
“Hey, Erik. Come on in,” I say, beckoning him forward. “Check out what I’m thinking for the exterior spaces. What if we had some sort of sports fields? Maybe soccer and lacrosse?”
Erik joins me at the desk but doesn’t look down at the blueprints. Instead he says, “Sounds great, Luca. Hey, I have a phone message for you, and it sounds pretty urgent.”
I straighten up immediately. Our center has had several extremely unsettled teens come through the doors recently, and the look of concern on Erik’s face makes me wonder if one of them is in trouble with the law—or worse.
“What is it?” I say, putting my pencil down and reaching for the slip of paper that Erik holds out to me.
On it, I see a name: Phoebe Miller. Next I see the name of an airport in Philadelphia.
Erik speaks as I read the cryptic message. “It was a woman,” he says, “She wouldn’t say much over the phone. It was an odd message, to tell you the truth.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Sorry I couldn’t get more details for you. All she said was that Phoebe Miller needs to see you. She gave me an airport name and asked that you fly to the States immediately. She said that Phoebe would tell you more once you meet her face-to-face.”
“Phoebe Miller,” I say under my breath.
“You know her?” Erik asks.
I shake my head, puzzled. “I met a woman by the name of Phoebe several weeks ago. I never did catch her last name, but…” I stare down at the message and feel my heartbeat speed up in my chest. I’ve thought of Phoebe so many times over the last six weeks. After a few weeks of checking my phone for messages from her, I gave up hope that I’d ever see her again.
Could this be the Phoebe from the cafe? Could this be the beautiful American that I spent the night with?
I stand up and smile at Erik. “Looks like I’m flying to Philadelphia,” I tell him, excitement welling up inside of me.
I tap the blueprint on my desk. “Could you do me a favor and look over the exterior space on these plans? I have a meeting with a landscaping crew and the architects tomorrow at nine. Think you could cover it for me?”
Erik nods. “Sure thing. Do you want to join on a video chat?”
I shake my head. “I’d better not. I might be in the air.” I place a hand on his shoulder. “I completely trust your judgment, Erik. You’ve always shared the vision with me, so whatever you feel is right for the new center will be perfect. I trust you to handle things while I’m gone.”
Erik beams. “Thanks, Luca,” he says. “Safe travels. I hope it’s a good trip.”
“Me too,” I say. “Me, too.”
Some twenty hours later, I step off a plane and walk down the long, narrow passageway that will lead me to the airport terminal. The excitement that I sensed when reading Erik’s phone message has only grown stronger over the course of my travels.
I gave Phoebe the number to my private cell when we parted ways all those weeks ago. For the past few days, though, I’ve been forwarding all calls to my cell phone to Erik. It makes sense that if Phoebe tried my cell, she would have reached Erik.
Why did she leave such a mysterious message? And why did she wait so long to contact me, anyway?
I find that I don’t care. All that matters is that she wants to see me. She hasn’t forgotten about me, just as I haven’t forgotten about her.
On the contrary, I’ve thought about her so many times that it’s become almost comical. I’ve visited the cafe where we met just so that I could sit at the same table that we sat at, in the hopes that it would make my memories stronger. I visited the same club. I walked by the hotel where we spent the night and spent far too long just looking up at that little window on the second story, with the white lacy curtains.
I can’t wait to see her. I can’t wait to tell her how much I’ve missed her.
Will that sound absurd?
I find that I don’t care. I have been missing her. I’m going to tell her that. I’m going to be honest.
I hurry through the busy terminal. Once I pass through a security checkpoint and enter the main terminal, I see a crowd of people waiting for travelers to arrive. Some hold signs, others hold balloons.
I search the crowd for Phoebe.
I remember her vividly—her slender figure, and her long, wavy hair. I remember her golden eyes, and her bright smile that made me feel as though my heart might burst open.
I don’t see her, but I do spot a woman that looks quite a lot like her. She’s a few inches shorter than Phoebe and not quite as slender, but she has the same wavy brown hair and pretty, wide-spaced eyes. As I approach, the woman flashes a smile so similar to Phoebe’s that I know they must be related.
“Excuse me,” I say as I approach her. “Are you a relative of Phoebe Miller, by any chance?”
“Oh, thank goodness!” the woman says as she sticks out her hand. “You must be Luca. Holy smokes, you are handsome, aren’t you? I can see what—never mind. I’m babbling. I’m just excited to find you. I was beginning to think this
was a really bad idea.”
I shake her hand and grin. “You mean trying to find someone you’ve never met in an airport terminal filled with thousands of people?”
She laughs. “Yeah, that,” she says. “I’m Nicole, Phoebe’s sister. She did describe you, and I have to admit, it’s been a nice assignment to stand here and look out at all of the tall, handsome men that walk by. I also had your flight information. I called your assistant back, and he gave it to me.”
“So it’s you who’s been speaking to Erik?” I say, puzzled. “I thought Phoebe called and asked me to come to the States.”
Nicole shakes her head. “Nope, that was me. Phoebe’s… a bit tied up right now. She can’t make phone calls from her cell phone, so she asked me to do it. I called Erik. I asked you to come here. It was Phoebe’s idea, though. She wants to see you.”
“I want to see her, too,” I say, still trying to put the pieces together. Why would Phoebe ask her sister to make phone calls for her? Why is Nicole here, instead of Phoebe?
Maybe Phoebe’s being shy. Maybe she’s here, but she stepped away, to go get coffee or one of those sweets she was so keen on when she visited Westegaard. I begin looking around at the little cafes and restaurants scattered around the main terminal.
“She’s not here,” Nicole says as she watches me.
I return my gaze to Nicole. “Where is she?”
“She’s…” Nicole swallows and looks away from me. Then she pushes her hair behind her ear, lifts her chin, and looks me in the eye. “Phoebe is in jail,” she says.
She leaves it at that. No excuses. No apologies.
I nod. “Okay,” I say. “Will you take me to her?”
Nicole smiles with relief. “I was really hoping you’d say that,” she says. “Right this way. Follow me.”
Chapter 11
Phoebe
The room is small. Two of the four ceiling light bulbs are out, which gives the white walls a grayish tinge.
Marla sits across the table from me. As always, she carries herself with confidence and composure.
I, on the other hand, am a mess.
It’s been twenty-four hours since I saw Nikki, and I haven’t heard from her since. I have no way of knowing if she was able to get in touch with Luca, but I’m beginning to fear the worst. What if she called, and he said that he wanted nothing to do with me?
Why would he drop everything to come to Philly and see me—a woman he barely knows?
The fact that I got very little sleep last night—just a few hours curled up on the hard bench—is doing nothing to help my state of mind. Nor is the fact that my morning sickness returned as the sun came up, and I’ve been riding waves of nausea ever since.
Now that it’s afternoon, my stomach does feel a little bit better, but all in all I’m in rough shape. What I’d give for a shower, a hot cup of tea, and my soft bed.
What I’d give to see Luca…
Marla clears her throat, bringing me back to our present conversation.
“I don’t understand,” I say. “Can you say that again?”
Marla nods. “Sorry. Let me put it this way: with the way the court system has been around here for the past year or so, since Mayor Sheer initiated those ridiculous budget cuts, I think we’re looking at a minimum of a few weeks before the trial date is set.”
“But isn’t that what we just met with the judge about?” I ask. The brief time that we just spent in the courtroom is a blur to me. Standing in front of the judge, hearing my name in association with crimes I didn’t commit, felt like a nightmare.
Marla shakes her head. “Nope. That was your arraignment—that’s just a formal way of getting your charges documented. And we learned that you’re being held on bail.” She frowns. “I can’t believe this, really. Judge Halverstock is known for being strict, but in my opinion, five hundred thousand is extremely high, given your circumstances. You’re not dangerous.”
I’m trying to concentrate on Marla’s words, but it feels impossible. This is all just so much to try to wrap my head around.
“What does that mean—that I’m held on bail?” I ask. “That means I have to stay here, right? I have to stay in jail for a few more nights… until they set the date of my trial?”
Marla purses her lips. “Unfortunately, Phoebe, it means you’ll stay here until your trial actually happens. You’re entitled to get a trial date within thirty days of your arrest. In all of my cases for the past year, since the budget cuts, the courts have pushed that to the limits—they’re swamped with cases and understaffed. I’ve seen many of my pro bono clients receive trial dates on day thirty.”
“So you’re saying I have to wait here—”
“Or another detention center,” Marla interjects.
“Or another detention center… for a whole month, and that’s just to get my trial date. What happens then?”
“Then you might wait months for your trial to occur,” she says. “Like I said, the courts are backed up.”
My shoulders slump. I let my head fall into my hands. Months. I might spend months in jail, becoming more and more pregnant with each passing day.
Marla reaches across the table. She places a hand gently on my forearm. “Phoebe,” she says. “Look at me.”
I lift my head and look up at her.
“This is just the beginning,” she says. “I need you to be strong, okay? We have a long road ahead. Now stick with me. Your bail is set at half a million dollars. Any chance you have that in savings?” She releases my arm and waits for my response.
I shake my head.
Marla nods somberly. “I didn’t think so. There is another option, though—you can put up collateral. Do you or one of your family members or friends have possessions that might work as collateral?”
I shake my head again.
She blows out an exhale and then shifts through some of her papers. “Okay. Not to worry. Like I said, this is just the beginning, and we have to stay positive. I’m going to go see if I can ruffle some feathers out there. You’re pregnant. If they insist on setting such an absurdly high bail to keep you here, they at least need to give you protective custody.”
Her words mean little to me. My head is swimming with doubts and fears. For what feels like the hundredth time that day, I feel like I might burst into tears.
Marla pushes her metal folding chair back and it makes a squeaking sound against the linoleum floor. “Have you eaten today?” she asks.
I think back to the rubbery scrambled eggs and soggy toast that was issued to me that morning. Just the thought of it makes me feel like I might vomit.
“I had a cup of applesauce at lunchtime,” I say. It was the only thing I ate off of the lunch tray, which also contained a pasty lump of macaroni and cheese, and a spongy disc of something that may have been ham.
“That’s it? An applesauce? Phoebe, you need to eat. You have to stay healthy. Think about your child, okay?”
Her words strike a chord within me. I know she’s right. I can no longer afford to think of only myself. I’m going to be a mother soon.
Thinking of the life in my womb gives me a burst of energy. “You’re right,” I say.
“Of course I am,” Marla says, giving me a smile. “I want you to drink plenty of water, too. I’m going to speak to the sheriff about getting you a meal. Promise me you’ll eat some of it?”
“I will,” I promise.
Marla opens the door to the small room and looks out into the hallway. Within seconds, a sheriff appears. He points the way to the exit for Marla, and then he escorts me to a new jail cell.
It’s nicer than the holding cell, but not by much. I can’t imagine living in a space like this for the next few months—or longer.
I sit on the edge of the bed and try not to get sucked back into negative thoughts, but it’s nearly impossible.
A downward spiral of negativity looms in my consciousness.
How am I going to survive this?
What if I’m fou
nd guilty?
At my arraignment, Marla entered my plea into the books: innocent. But the officers that arrested me yesterday said that the evidence pointed to me.
What if the jury believes the evidence that Derek has conjured up? What if it appears that I’m a thief, and the jury finds me guilty?
What if I go to jail for years?
I hug my belly, thinking of the life within. If I’m found guilty, my child will spend his or her first few years without a mother. That is not the life I want to give my child. I want my baby to experience the love and care of a nurturing environment. I know Nikki can’t handle a second child; she has her hands full with Andy.
Maybe it would be best, if I’m found guilty, for me to give my baby up for adoption. That would mean it could experience a safe, secure and loving environment in his or her formative years.
The thought of giving up my child brings tears to my eyes.
I fight them off.
Marla said I had to stay positive. I can’t think like this. It’s going to be the end of me.
Maybe, instead of nightmarish possibilities, I should daydream about something good happening.
I close my eyes and think of Luca.
Please, I say mentally. Please, Luca, come save us. Save me and our child. We need you.
I feel these words deep within my core. Energy sweeps through me, almost as though I’m praying.
I let my desire fill me up. I keep my eyes closed and feel hope stir in my heart.
I don’t know how long I sit there, calling out in my mind to Luca. My meditation is interrupted by the sound of my cell opening.
An officer steps into the space and holds out a tray. “Your lawyer said you needed a meal,” he says flatly.
I nod and then stand. “Thank you,” I say.
Though eating is really the last thing I want to do, I sit down and open up a bag of pretzels. I eat them, imagining the carbohydrates from the food entering my cells, and giving me new energy. I eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a small apple, and as I eat, my appetite grows. I feel thankful that Marla reminded me to keep my strength up. I drink both of the small bottles of water on the tray, and a little cup of orange juice.
