Three to Get Ready, page 9
“She should know how it feels to watch the man you love waste away to nothing.”
“Geneva!” My father comes in through the door, wearing his pajamas, his hair askew. He looks like a tired, faded version of himself, except for the eyes. In his eyes there’s only delight. He recognizes her. Fuck, he recognizes her. There was only a fifty-percent chance of that happening. And why is he even wandering around the house? “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
To her credit, she doesn’t miss a beat. She kisses Dad’s cheek and gives him a quick, gentle hug. She could have come home from one of her old spa days. “Hello, Daniel. I’m right here.”
“And looking absolutely radiant. Where have you been?”
“Oh, out and about.” She manages a breezy smile, but I can sense the strain. I see the pain underneath. The same way Hemingway saw the pain beneath my playboy façade. The Hughes aren’t that great at hiding it. “A little bit of shopping. I visited a friend. Am I in time for dinner?”
I clear my throat. I never expected to see both of my parents in the same room again. It’s bittersweet, this moment. Because it can’t last. “It should be ready now, actually.”
“Let’s not keep it waiting.” Dad escorts Mom out of the den. “I’m starving.”
She smiles at him, though I can see the sorrow in her eyes. “How was your day?”
“Busy. Very busy. It’s going to be one of our best quarters ever.” He grins at her, a ghost of the competent mogul he once was. “There’s this new trend that’s going to change the world. Something called social media. Some people think it’s a fad, but I already know it’s going to be huge.”
Hemingway and I trail behind them as they go to the kitchen. From this vantage point, I can see my mom turn her head. This is ostensibly to look into the other rooms we’re passing. I catch the corners of her mouth turning down and the quiver in her chin. It’s hidden when she faces my father again.
“It sounds wonderful.”
He keeps up his chatter while we take our seats at the table.
We have a small staff for the size of the house.
Only one chef, one housekeeper, and one groundskeeper.
The less people here, the less people who need to know our secrets. One of my father’s evening nurses is here. Jennifer hovers at a respectful distance, allowing us privacy while also being nearby in case my father needs assistance. Half of the time, he refuses to eat. I’m not hungry, he says. This time, he beams down at braised chicken and green beans with a side of glazed carrots and proclaims it wonderful.
I can feel the seconds ticking away, closer and closer to evening. To sunset.
Dad makes it through dinner. Through dessert. I manage to hold his attention with a story about one of my racehorses, texted to me from one of the trainers at our property upstate.
He laughs about Pegasus Gold’s thirst for victory on the racetrack. That’s when I see the first shadow of confusion in his eyes.
Hemingway sees it, too. He stiffens in his seat.
“Where…” Dad’s forehead wrinkles. “Where is the coffee? We always have coffee with dessert.”
“I gave it up,” my mother answers. “I get heartburn if I have it after three in the afternoon.”
“We’re okay without coffee, Dad. It’ll keep me up all night. And I think we’re all done eating, so—”
“We always have coffee. I had the cook brew a pot. What’s taking so long? Geneva doesn’t like to wait around at the table.”
“I’m fine, Daniel. Really.” My mom pats his hand.
He frowns at her touch, following her fingertips up her arm to her face.
He’s glaring by the time he meets her eyes. “Who the hell are you?”
“Daniel.” She keeps her voice very, very calm. “It’s me. Your wife.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Spots of color appear high on his cheeks. “I’m not married, and I’d know, wouldn’t I? I’ve never seen you before. What are you doing in my house?”
“Dad.” His eyes dart toward mine. “Mom came over to have dinner with us.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Where is she?”
“Daniel—”
He shoots out of his chair, knocking it over in the process. “You are not my wife. She is not my wife. Who let you in here?”
“Dad, it’s okay.” Hemingway stands up and moves around the other side of the table. He’s in Dad’s range before I can warn him back. “Dad.”
My father rounds on Hemingway, his body rotating into the slap. It turns clawed before it reaches the side of Hemingway’s head and makes audible contact.
Hemingway jerks back, clapping his hand to his head.. “I’m okay.” His cheek is bright red. “Finn. I’m fine.”
My pulse pounds like Dad hit me instead, over and over again. Adrenaline clarifies my horror and doubles it. I know what I’m watching. I’m watching myself, twenty years from now. I’m watching my son grab at the side of his head, blinking, bewildered. I’m watching Eva try to intervene.
I’m almost there, I’m almost there, but my mother is in the way. “Daniel. Don’t touch him.”
He lunges for her. Their limbs get tangled. I see his fist in her hair and terrified fury in his brown eyes.
I shove myself between my parents. Dad’s efforts make it harder to unhook his hands from my mother’s hair. She steps back, then back again.
He’s yelling, eyes wide with distress. “Who let a stranger into this house?”
“Dad. Dad. It’s okay. I know her.” He’s doing his best to reach around me. I don’t know what the hell he’s planning. My heart races. Jennifer appears at the dining room door. If he won’t listen to me, she’s next up. She pulls her phone from her pocket and sends a text. The second nurse on shift will have to help if neither of us is enough. “She’s not a stranger.”
“I don’t know her, Phineas. She’s an imposter. Take her away. Make her leave.”
“Okay, Dad. Okay. Calm down. Please.”
He struggles, but the fight leaves him. Jennifer approaches and puts a gentle hand on his arm. “Mr. Hughes, I made some herbal tea. Would you like some? I could put on Jeopardy in the living room.”
“Fine.” He pushes away from me, getting distance. I stay where I am in case he makes a final attempt. “That’s fine. I don’t want to miss the categories.”
“Good timing, then. You haven’t.” Jennifer takes his arm. “It starts in two minutes.”
It starts whenever she plays the recorded episodes.
I keep my eyes on them while they leave.
Then I go to my brother and put an arm around his shoulders. Turn his head to see if Dad left any marks. There are thin, red scratches at his temple, but nothing deep.
“I’m sorry, Hem. I should have intervened earlier.”
“It’s really fine. He didn’t hurt me.”
Mom approaches, taking her turn at inspecting Hemingway’s wounds. He holds still for her until she releases him. Does she feel as guilty as I do?
The tremble in her voice says yes. “I’ll take my usual suite, if that’s all right, Finn.”
“Of course, Mom.”
The heavy quiet in the dining room steals my breath.
This kind of evening is why I decided never to have children. It’s a stark reminder of what Eva faces if I allow her to stay with me. I don’t know how I can let her do it.
And I don’t think I can stop her.
13
EVA
Even filling out the forms at the doctor’s office feels surprisingly emotional.
Age? 33.
Is this your first pregnancy? Yes.
Any family history of miscarriages, low birth weight, etc? My mother had three miscarriages.
Apparently, miscarriages are common. So common that many women don’t know they’ve had one. It seems like a small miracle that I’m pregnant at all, given that.
I work my way through the pages, feeling faintly ill. Morning sickness, probably. There’s a packet of Club crackers in my purse now. I slip one out and eat it, but the sensation doesn’t go away.
I’m nervous. That’s what this is.
I’m sure of the baby. I want the baby. But the form seems like a catalog of all the ways that this might not be ideal. I know the doctors just want as much information as possible. I also know that a perfectly normal pregnancy can still end in an urgent C-section, like it did for Haley.
I take the clipboard with the completed forms back to the reception desk. I’m just sinking into my seat when the outer door opens, letting in a breath of warm air.
It’s not another woman here for an appointment.
It’s Finn.
He’s dressed in a dark suit that’s custom tailored to his muscles. My body flushes at the sight of him. A suit and tie is nothing special. It’s what he would wear any day at the office.
Except he’s not at the office.
He takes the seat next to me. The flush turns hot and indignant and…relieved.
Finn nods at me. “Morelli.”
“Morelli? Oh my God. How did you know I was here?”
Finn pats my hand as if I have gone slightly ’round the bend. “I have spies all throughout this city.”
It’s impossible to express how badly I want to hold his hand, but I do not. I fold mine in my lap, instead. I’m self contained. No man is an island, but this woman? She is. “That’s stalkerish.”
“Well, you didn’t marry me, so this is how it has to be.” He flashes me a smile. I’m interested. I can almost hear his voice the way it was in the poker club. Hot. Smooth. Neither of us was forcing anything. “I’m not walking away.”
“Listen, I was going to tell you the results.”
“Now you don’t have to, because I’m here.” I move to turn away, to collect myself, but Finn puts a hand on my arm. “We haven’t had a chance to talk about what happened.”
“Nothing happened.”
“I told your entire family that you’re pregnant, and the baby is mine.”
“They’d have found out sooner or later.” Would they have freaked out quite so much? Probably not. But what’s done is done. The cat is, as they say, out of the bag. “Why are you here?”
A hint of his usual charming grin lifts the corner of his mouth, then disappears. “Do you think I only show up for your brother’s baby? Not yours? Not ours?”
“That was different. That was an emergency. And I did appreciate having you there.” My heart twists. “But this is—this is just confirmation about a baby you don’t want.”
“My feelings about the baby—” Another patient exits the office. Finn’s eyes stay on mine as she goes past. “My feelings about the baby won’t affect my support for you. Or for the child.”
“Finn.”
“You’re right. I didn’t plan on this. I didn’t want this to happen. But I’m here for the baby.”
“And for me?”
“I’m going to take care of you, Eva.”
Duty. Responsibility. One thing I know about Finn Hughes is that he’s a man of honor. He’ll take care of what he feels he should, regardless of whether he wants to. “Because you have to.”
“Because any half-decent man would take care of his child and the mother of his child. That includes attending your doctor appointments, if you’ll let me.”
He’s so careful to put the baby between us. I’m no longer Eva Morelli, desirable woman. I’m the mother of his child. It’s a position of honor, but not a position of intimacy.
On some level I know it’s a good thing that he’s willing to step up, even for a child he didn’t initially want. He’s a good man, though he probably wouldn’t like me to point it out.
On the other hand, I can’t help but yearn for having him in a different capacity. Not only as the father of my child, but as my life partner. As my husband.
The door to the patient area opens. A red-haired woman in sleek pink scrubs steps out. “Eva Morelli?”
Finn stands at the same time I do, putting his hand on the small of my back, as casual as any husband protecting his pregnant wife. There’s a challenge in his hazel eyes. And in the quirk of his lips. Kick me out right now. Otherwise, I’m going with you.
I’m too nervous to argue right now. I want him to be here too much to demand that he leave.
It’s his baby, too. Our baby.
The air between us heats. Finn is perfectly composed, his hands in his pockets.
“Come on, let’s go.” I let a note of impatience show in my voice as if he’s the one who made us stand there for an extra thirty seconds.
Finn follows me through the softly swinging door. He hangs back while I step onto a scale in a discreet alcove. The nurse in pink scrubs shows us to a comfortable room done up in warm neutrals. An ultrasound machine hums in one corner. I take the soft, sterile sheet she offers me and nod along with her instructions.
“The doctor will be back in a minute.” She leaves with a bright smile.
I go to the low padded bench across the room from the exam table and unzip my slacks.
“Do you…want me to turn around?” Finn asks.
“Are you afraid to see me half-naked?” I’ve been through this routine every year since I was sixteen. The difference is that there wasn’t a baby. It’s the work of fifteen seconds to strip off my pants and panties and fold them on the bench. I whirl the sheet around my waist as a final step. “There. I’m decent.”
I turn to face Finn and find him staring, his eyes hot with longing.
“This isn’t sexy, Finn.”
“No, of course not.” He clears his throat and we change places. Finn sits next to my clothes on the bench. I take my place on the exam table.
My heart pounds.
Finn opens his mouth, but he’s interrupted by a brisk knock on the door. The doctor enters with the pink-scrubbed nurse. There’s a review of my medical history. Confirmation of the details I wrote on the form. And then the doctor is explaining the kind of ultrasound they’ll do because it’s so early in the pregnancy. Finn’s eyes go from their faces to the wand at the side of the ultrasound machine.
“Is that—”
“Safe for the baby? Of course.” The doctor continues without missing a beat. She pulls up a stool. The nurse dims the light and moves the ultrasound monitor so I can see it if I look up.
“Who did you bring with you today?” Her voice is softer now that she’s got a hand under the sheet and a wand entering my body.
“This is Finn Hughes. He’s the—the father.”
A kind smile. “Dad, if you want to come to Eva’s other side, you’ll be able to see, too.”
Finn gets up from his seat, his face set. He comes to the side of the table.
I won’t abandon you, Finn. I can taste the words now. Letting him be part of this moment feels like keeping that promise, even if I’m not obligated to keep it anymore.
Even if the tension between us is so thick I can hardly breathe.
I reach for his hand in the glow of the ultrasound machine and thread my fingers through his.
He holds on tight.
We’re both transfixed by the image on the screen. An oblong pool of black veers from side to side as the doctor moves the wand.
And there, near the edge—
“That’s the fetus. Let me check to make sure there are no roommates.”
Finn’s hand clamps down on mine. Twins were never included in my thoughts about the baby.
The wand moves. The doctor searches.
“One for the money,” she says with a low laugh, and I feel Finn’s breath go out of him. His grip on my hand relents. No twins. “But not two for the show. Now I need to get some measurements.”
The doctor taps at a keyboard below the monitor. The number of weeks and days of the baby’s life appears on the screen. Lines cross the tiny bean in the black space.
The doctor turns a switch on the keyboard, and the room is filled with the rapid whoosh-thud of a heartbeat. “The heart tones sound normal. Healthy. Everything looks good here. We’ve got a few weeks to go until the heart is finished developing.”
I can’t stop staring. The baby is barely baby-shaped yet. I can just make out the curl of a head. A printer whirrs. The lights go back up. Finn helps me sit. The nurse steps out, and the doctor rolls her stool to the counter and adds notes to my file.
She smiles at me again, her gaze assessing. “You’re about seven weeks along. We’ll want you back at ten weeks to check your progress. In the meantime…” A pamphlet appears, tugged out of a holder on the countertop. “Here’s a list of foods you’ll want to minimize from your diet, especially in the first trimester. Have you already started taking prenatal vitamins?”
“No. I’ll do that. Is there a brand you recommend?”
“Many of my patients have good luck with these.” The doctor adds a note to the pamphlet, then hands it to me along with the ultrasound pictures. I’m struck by the image of the baby all over again.
She outlines the appointment schedule. The twenty-four hour hotline. Writes her personal cell phone number on the pamphlet next to her recommendation for prenatal vitamins.
“We’ll be with you every step of the way. And you should know, Eva, that I base my practice on the most up-to-date best practices, but some of the more common pregnancy advice is a holdover from the nineteen-fifties. If you want clarification on anything, please ask.”
“That sounds good. I don’t really want pregnancy tips from the fifties.”
She laughs. “What else would you like to talk about today?”
“When can we find out the sex of the baby?”
The doctor nods. “Some couples choose to wait until the twenty-week anatomy scan, but—”
“It’s a boy.” Finn’s voice startles me. Both of his hands are shoved into his pockets. All his charm is hidden behind an angry scowl. A boy with the Hughes curse. He doesn’t say it out loud.
He doesn’t have to. I hear it loud and clear. “Finn.”
“At your next appointment, we can do a blood draw and run a genetic test. We need time for the concentration of fetal DNA to reach viable levels. So that’s…three or four weeks from now, plus a week for processing. That’s how soon you can find out the gender.”
