A sharp pain shot from her fingertip to her entire body. The envelope had made an almost invisible cut on her fingertip. From that invisible cut, a blood drop began to form.
“Jules.”
“Hold on,” Julie answered. “I just cut myself opening the letter.”
Julie reached into the kitchen drawer beside her bed and pulled out some spare take-out food napkins she’d kept. The red seeped through the napkins for a moment, spreading as she continued to bleed. Then the bleeding stopped. She kept the napkins pressed to the cut and turned her attention back to the envelope.
As she touched the edge of it with her non-bloodied finger, the feeling was unmistakable. It was definitely a photograph, a Polaroid by the square shape of it. Why would Peter send her a photograph? She wondered as she turned the photo over to see a picture of her, eating dinner that night. Across from her was Paul. They were talking and smiling. Staring at the photograph from the viewpoint of someone standing outside of the restaurant felt similar to an out of body experience.
“It’s…me,” Julie mumbled.
“What? What’s you?” Minty demanded.
“It’s a photograph of me. And Paul. From tonight.” Her words came out choppy just like her thoughts. “Peter saw us. He was. There.”
On the bottom was a small, handwritten note she’d hadn’t noticed before. Does Paul know who the father is?
Chapter 6
Minty had come over to spend the night despite Julie’s fervent request not to. She bargained like a real lawyer. “Police or me,” she’d said. Julie had taken the bargain because she’d watched enough Law and Order to know better than to involve the police. They wouldn’t arrest him for sending creepy notes. They would tell her to file a restraining order. That was just another way of saying, “File a tick-off-your-ex-order.”
The strange thing about it all was that Julie wasn’t afraid of Peter. Not really. He had never hurt her. He’d never hit her. She knew how conniving he could be and that was worrisome. Still, she hadn’t felt any fear for him. If she would’ve bumped into him on the street, she would’ve nodded or pretended not to see him. She wouldn’t have felt the need to run away or scream. It wasn’t that kind of fear.
The kind of fear she had now was the same kind she’d had back when she realized who Peter truly was. Only now it was much more debilitating. It was the fear that he would take something from her. He would take her baby from her. She feared that he could read her thoughts (as he’d always been able to do) and knew how she really felt. She hadn’t wanted this baby. Could he see that, when he’d been watching her through the window of the restaurant? Did he see that she didn’t want to be pregnant?
Julie was afraid of her own feelings, but they were easier to ignore than the letters Peter was sending. She took a deep breath and stashed the letter into the only kitchen drawer she had. Every fiber inside of her wanted to throw the letter away. Those words sickened her.
Does Paul know who the father is?
Julie reminded herself that it was just a piece of paper written on by ink. It couldn’t hurt her. She needed to keep it as evidence…in case.
***
When Julie rolled over on her side, she almost screamed at the sight of the body laying on her floor. It was Minty, she remembered quickly. The only evidence that Minty was still tucked away inside of the pile of blankets was Minty’s raven black hair. It had crept its way out of the cocoon-like, a spider making its way across the floor.
Julie sat up, swinging her legs over the bed simultaneously in one swift movement. Stretching out her foot, she tapped the blanket gently with her big toe. She needed to paint them again soon. The pink was chipping and growing out. She tapped again. The body under the blankets moved and groaned.
“Hey,” Julie whispered. “It’s at seven a.m. We overslept a little. Get up.”
Minty moaned in response. It’d been a very long time since they’d had a sleepover and Julie had forgotten in that subsequent time how difficult it was to wake her friend. It was more like resurrecting than waking.
“Minty,” Julie said louder. “Wake up. You have to go to work.”
Minty rolled, or rather the tumbling of the blankets indicated that she rolled, onto her side. Julie stood and knelt on the floor beside her dead friend. Like old times, back when they were in college, Julie laid beside her. The floor was cold and hard. How had she slept down here, Julie wondered.
“Sleepyhead,” Julie said an inch away from Minty’s actual sleepy head. “Wake up on three or I’ll pull the covers. One…Two…Two and a half…Okay. I warned you.”
With a swift yank, the covers were off. Minty’s tiny body rolled up into the fetal position like a hedgehog going on defense. Her eyes remained closed. The only evidence of life came in the form of a low growl.
“I hate you,” Minty said.
“I hate you too. Get up.”
“I can’t.”
“Fine. Miss work. I’m not your…Mom.”
For the first time in her life, Julie felt strange saying the word mom. As if the meaning had changed. It had changed. It no longer referred to those grown women that had raised her and her friends. It no longer belonged only to the elite women that baked cakes and wore aprons. It belonged to her.
Minty had sat up without Julie noticing her slow movement. She was too deep in thought. So when she went to tap her again, she was surprised to see the body had risen from the dead and was alive once again.
“How do you feel?” Minty asked. “About the situation with—”
“Peter. You can say his name. I don’t feel anything,” Julie lied. “I’m fine.”
“You can’t ignore these messages. You don’t know what he’s capable of, Julie. I’m serious. Don’t roll your eyes.”
Julie stopped rolling her eyes obediently. It had been a childish thing to do and she knew better. Minty opened her mouth to say something when a thud came from the room beside Julie’s.
“You said you haven’t met your new neighbor?” Minty asked.
Her question seemed to be leading somewhere, but Julie obliged. “Yeah. He’s a businessman and has a busy schedule. Seems to be a bit of a recluse to me.”
Minty screwed her eyebrows upward. “And he’s young?”
“According to my landlord.” Julie watched Minty for a moment. She could see the gears turning behind Minty’s dark eyes. “Minty?”
“I’m just thinking. What if—it’s crazy.”
“You can’t do that to me,” Julie said, pushing her friend’s shoulder playfully. It was the first time she’d felt like being playful in a while. “Tell me.”
“What if he is…you know who.”
Julie played her words back. What if he is…you know— “No! That’s crazy, Minty.”
“Is it?”
Julie started to argue that yes, it was crazy. Those two words had sucked up all of her thick-as-mud conviction and left only a watery puddle behind. Is it crazy to think that Peter had weaseled his way into her apartment? He’d followed her to the restaurant. He’d taken a picture and mailed it to her. He’d sent her a basket, letting her know that he knew she was pregnant. Why wouldn’t he have found a way to be closer to her? Because it was crazy. He was crazy though.
***
“He doesn’t tell me I’m pretty, even when I do my makeup and hair. In fact, last week he told me that I was wearing too much makeup. See, I’d tried to wear a red lip and smokey eye since he hadn’t seemed to notice my more natural look. Instead of complimenting me, he said that I looked like a clown and laughed.” Harper’s shoulder shook. Julie passed her the tissue box. She blew into the tissue, making a trumpet sound. “What kind of husband says that to his wife! When I told him that he’d hurt my feelings like you told me to do (you know, be honest and open about my feelings and use I statements), he told me that therapy was making me soft. Am I crazy for wanting my husband to not say I look like a clown?!”
She sobbed into the tissue, then yanked out two more and
soaked through them. Two more and two more again.
“You aren’t crazy for wanting your husband to compliment you. That is a perfectly normal desire. But Harper, you cannot do something for someone else with expectations. A gift must be given freely.”
“So, you’re saying I shouldn’t do my makeup for him and want a compliment in return?” Harper croaked out from behind the curtain of tissues.
“In a sense, yes. I’m saying that when you do your makeup for someone else, you cannot hold onto any expectations. You can’t control how someone will react to your gift. You can only control your own actions. If you cannot give the gift without expectations, don’t give it at all.”
“So…” Another trumpet sound escaped from the curtain. “I am crazy to expect compliments from my husband!”
Julie shook her head and smiled sympathetically. It was a gesture she’d perfected over the years. “Not at all. It is human to want love. That is natural.”
“Then, why can’t I expect him to give me compliments?”
“You can. You can express to your husband that you need more compliments. You need to hear how he feels about you. Once you have expressed that, you cannot control what he does with that information.”
“I can’t,” Harper sobbed, her pale face changing from a shade of pink to a shade of red. Julie reminded her to breathe. “If I tell him and he doesn’t do it, I will be even more hurt.”
Julie nodded. “That is your fear of making yourself vulnerable talking. It’s like giving someone your heart without knowing if they will keep it safe or stab it. It’s part of life though. If you keep your heart locked up, you’ll never get the chance to let someone else make you happy. Happiness is a risk-taking business sometimes. It requires letting go of control.”
Julie was surprised she’d talked so much. Usually, her job was to listen, nod, and offer some vague advice. Where had all of that come from about vulnerability and risks? She nodded as Harper croaked, but her thoughts drifted to Paul. She’d been telling that stuff to herself about Paul.
“Can I bring my husband with me to my next session?” Harper asked, pulling Julie back into her office.
“Of course. Just remember, you can ask him to come, but he might not be ready to. Lots of people are afraid of therapists.”
“He says you’re a quack.”
Julie laughed.
“Was that rude of me to say?” Harper asked, red eyes widening. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”
Julie started to answer when her cell phone began to ring. She glanced at it wondering how she’d forgotten to turn off the ringer.
“I’m sorry,” she said, fumbling for her phone in her purse. “Let me put that on silent.”
The caller ID showed that her father was calling. She forwarded his call to voicemail and set the phone on silent. Turning her attention back to Harper, she forced her lips into a smile, but her thoughts stayed on the phone call. Her father hadn’t called since their last conversation when she told him about the baby and he suggested she give it up for adoption. She’d hung up the phone. He hadn’t tried to call back. Probably because he knew she wouldn’t answer. Why was he calling now?
In her peripheral vision, she noticed something pop up on her phone’s screen. She glanced down quickly to see the voicemail icon. He’d left a message.
Chapter 7
Julie played the message again.
“Jules, it’s me, Dad. Look, you need to call me back. It’s important. I know you’re mad at me. I’m sorry for what I said. Just—call me back.”
Again. “Jules, it’s me…”
Again.
She could hear the desperation in his voice. Was the desperation simply because he wanted to talk to her? Or was it more? Was something really wrong? He should’ve just said in the message. This was his way of making sure she called. It was his way of controlling her. She listened again. Not calling back would be purely to make a point. What if he was sick?
Julie squeezed the bridge of her nose and sat on the edge of her bed. She stood and paced, playing the message one more time. He apologized for what he’d said, but he didn’t say he was wrong. That was a simple psychology move. A person says they are sorry, not for what they did, but for how it made the person feel. Cheaters did it all the time. They weren’t sorry for cheating. They were sorry for getting caught. They were sorry for hurting their partner. Was that what her father had meant? He was sorry for hurting her, but he still felt that she should give the baby up for adoption?
Her finger had clicked the call button before she could stop herself. The phone rang once before her father answered.
“Jules!” he said, sounding shocked. Then calmly, “How are you, Sweetie?”
The ice on her heart melted a little. “Do you still think I should give the baby away?” she asked.
He coughed like he was gagging on her blunt words. “I—uh. I think you should be the one to make that decision.”
“I guess that answers my question.”
“I just worry that it’ll be too hard for you.”
Julie hovered her finger over the red end call button. Hang up, she told herself. Just hang up. “Dad, I’m not giving this baby away. It is not the baby’s fault that her father was a nut-job.”
“Of course it’s not, but it’s not yours either,” her father said softly.
“Yes. It is. I married him. I slept with him, Dad. It is my fault that I’m pregnant.”
“Jules—”
“Don’t Jules me. Please, Dad. I just need you to support my decision. This baby is mine. He’s my responsibility.”
Her father was silent before saying, “He?”
Julie sighed. “Yes. It’s a boy. I found out at my last appointment a couple of weeks ago. The doctor missed his…boy parts on the ultrasound the first time.”
The line was quiet. Neither of them seemed to know what to say next. Julie wondered if the thought of having a grandson was occupying her father’s mind. The thought made her blood boil for some reason.
“Why did you want me to call?” she asked cooly.
“I needed to tell you something. I received a letter from…Peter.” During his pause, Julie’s heart flipped and pounded inside of her chest. The flood of emotions must’ve rushed to the baby as well. The kicks of tiny feet matched with the punches of her heartbeat. “His letter said that he would be ten times the father I ever was. That was it.” He paused and sighed. “Julie, have you been talking to Peter again? Did you tell him about—”
“Oh, God no! I don’t know how he knows.”
There was a hush before her father spoke again.
“Julie, his letter was very odd. It felt like a threat or something. Has he contacted you at all?”
Julie thought about saying no. “He’s sent me a couple of letters. I think he wants me to let him be the baby’s father. I don’t think he’s going to do anything dangerous.”
“Oh, Jules,” her father said. “You always see the good in people. Peter doesn’t have good in him. You should’ve told me that he’d been contacting you. You need to give those letters to the police—”
“—And tick him off?” Julie interrupted. “What could the police do about it? Letters aren’t a crime.”
“They could keep them on file so that if anything happens—”
“—if anything happens, it’ll be too late.”
Julie sighed audibly. “Dad, I gotta go.”
***
The calls that followed that conversation went the same way. Her mother expressed concern and offered to let her move in again. The offer was sweet even if it wasn’t real. Julie knew that her mother had hardly handled living with her when she was a minor. There was no way she’d be able to handle it now that Julie was an adult. That was part of being bipolar though. Admittedly, Julie wasn’t up to it either.
Anne and Minty also pleaded with her to move in with them. To call the police. To get security cameras.
It all seemed a bit extreme to Julie, but she
did agree that something needed to be done. Peter could keep stalking her or sending letters to her and her family. That sort of behavior was unacceptable. She would think of something.
Only one call hadn’t been about the ‘Peter situation’. It was from Paul. Julie had answered while laying down on her bed but had sat up quickly in fear that he would be able to hear that she wasn’t sitting up.
“Did I catch you at a good time?” Paul asked after a groan slipped from Julie’s lips.
Oh, the joys of pregnancy. She couldn’t even sit up without sounding like a whale.
“Yes. Perfect timing,” she said.
“Good. I couldn’t stop thinking about you since the other night,” he said.
The words slid off his tongue as if they were easy for him to say. As if he’d dated a lot. Julie physically shook her head and fought back the laughter bubbling up in her throat. What had Minty been thinking? She couldn’t keep a man like this interested. He obviously had game, and she had…a child on the way. That was the exact opposite of game.
“Julie? Are you still there? I didn’t scare you away, did I?”
Julie chuckled. “No. I’ve just forgotten how to respond when a man flirts with me.”
“Flirts!” he said, sounding offended. “I’m a gentleman, I’ll have you know. I wasn’t flirting. I was complimenting.”
“Oooooh,” Julie said with five extra o’s in it. “I see. My bad.”
They were flirting. Julie knew because her body was starting to flush with warmth. Her heart was beating faster than normal because she was talking to a man with an amazing voice that happened to have an amazing face to match it. But even more than that, because they were flirting.
“At dinner the other night,” he said as if she needed to be reminded. “I said I wanted to see you again. That’s why I’m calling. I want to take you out to Patisserie Fouet next week.”
At the words next week, Julie’s heart sank a little. A whole week from now. “Actually, Paul, I hate to be picky, but the more boring the place is, the better. My stomach hasn’t been able to handle exotic foods lately. I’m assuming that Patisserie’s place is exotic.”
The Offspring Page 5
