Not Yours to Keep, page 1
Praise for Not Yours to Keep
“One missing baby. A missing woman. Lots of secrets, lies, twists, and turns. In this heartfelt and heart-pounding domestic suspense, I found myself racing to the breathtaking conclusion. A sensational debut.”
—Rea Frey, #1 bestselling author of Don’t Forget Me and The Other Year
“A thought-provoking look at the secrets that lie beneath the surface of seemingly perfect lives, Not Yours To Keep is a slow-burn that pays off with a thrilling end. Ideal for readers, like me, who enjoy a peek inside the heads of morally gray characters who find themselves in ‘what would you do’ moments.”
—Jen Craven, author of The Baby Left Behind
“With high-stakes emotion and pulse-pounding suspense, Not Yours To Keep will have you turning pages well past your bedtime. . . In her debut novel, Zelly Ruskin writes full-throttle drama with a tender touch.”
—Katie Sise, best-selling author of Open House and We Were Mothers
“Electric and haunting. A taut, perfectly paced thriller that will surprise and satisfy. Ruskin is a writer to watch.”
—Taylor Larsen, author of Stranger, Father, Beloved
“Zelly Ruskin’s ability to combine her career and personal experience with fertility issues and adoption procedures into the fictional mystery Not Yours to Keep makes for a compelling read. This debut novel will both rivet and educate couples facing such life-changing dilemmas and decisions.”
—IndieReader
Copyright © 2024 Zelly Ruskin
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Published 2024
Printed in the United States of America
Print ISBN: 978-1-64742-724-5
E-ISBN: 978-1-64742-725-2
Library of Congress Control Number: 2024909007
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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To my children
You are my strength, courage, and heart.
Author’s Note/Content Warning:
While I have strived to create a story that resonates and engages, as you would expect with any domestic suspense, certain elements within the narrative might evoke strong emotions that could be triggering for some readers. As you immerse yourself in this suspenseful journey, please be aware that it references fertility, miscarriage, childbirth, teen sex, child sexual abuse, addiction, and mental health issues. If the themes raised in the book affect you or someone you know, please reach out to someone you trust for support, or a trust-worthy support group/organization.
ONE
Billie
The at-home stick Billie grabbed at CVS yesterday was about to determine whether she’d be a mom or confirm her fate to be an infertile adoption specialist with painful personal insight into her clients’ plight. She’d made herself wait the whole night to try it because the results were most accurate first thing in the morning. As night faded and a hazy sepia tone spread over Boston’s little suburb of Millpoint, Billie could see outlines of the unlit houses nearby. Besides the neighbor’s tabby cat crossing her backyard, she seemed to be the only one awake at five in the morning.
She’d been reorganizing the spare room since three. She pushed the reading lamp another inch to the right on the eucalyptus-colored nightstand, then fluffed the winter-mint-and-peach-patterned shams and accent pillows. About eighteen months ago, she had decorated the room with the painted blush walls to highlight the centerpiece hanging between the windows: a floating glass frame with pressed pink roses, peach orchids, Queen Anne’s lace, and eucalyptus leaves. Her bridal bouquet. Billie gently touched the smooth frame. Her mother created the piece of art, concealing her signature and the date, June 2010, under a flower petal.
After two years, Billie still found new shapes and textures when she looked at it. Made bittersweet by the loss of her mother, she cherished the wedding memories, especially the image of her, Tyler, her mother, and her in-laws laughing in front of the Parker House, unable to oblige the photographer’s quest for a serious-looking family portrait. Billie had known she wanted Tyler’s babies as soon as they started dating. She’d fallen in love with the nurturing, jovial way he interacted with the young patients at the children’s hospital where they’d volunteered. She’d adored the way the kids, no matter how sick, lit up when he arrived. And later, after they got engaged and were looking to buy a house, he was the one who made sure there were enough rooms for their future children. There’d been no doubt in her mind that Tyler was going to be an amazing father.
Now, with sixty seconds before the result of the pregnancy test would be clear, Billie worried that, at thirty-two, she’d already waited too long. The couples she worked with often blamed age for their fertility issues. Because of her work, she dealt with the impact of infertility every day. The longer they’d tried, the harder she hoped it wouldn’t be her and Tyler’s fate.
Billie remembered the shared anticipation one year ago, as she and Tyler sat on the edge of the bed holding hands, waiting for the minutes to tick by. Then he’d counted to three, so they’d look at the results together. They’d both laughed and cried when they saw the plus sign and then made love. In the six hours they’d waited for a nurse appointment at the gynecologist’s office, they’d dared to turn their dreams into plans. Each soared with confidence as Tyler went to work and she went for an official pregnancy test. Billie’s gynecologist, who she’d referred to for the first time as her OB, had confirmed the pregnancy.
The cramping and bleeding began within twenty-four hours. With it came the loss and grief that eased over time but hadn’t been forgotten. The fear that it would happen again was still tangible.
Although their spontaneous newlywed sex life had remained intact, there’d been a collective holding of the breath every twenty-eight to thirty days. The disappointment of not being pregnant had become more difficult to shrug off every month.
When the timer went off, Billie slowly opened the guest bathroom door, looked at the little indicator window on the pregnancy dipstick, and rushed down the hallway.
TWO
Anne
Anne set an old plastic saucer filled with water under her building’s fire escape stairs and waited. In a few short minutes, Thing 1 and Thing 2, the twin black-and-brown tabby cats she’d befriended, poked their heads around the corner. Thing 1 looked wary, but Thing 2, the bolder feline, paid her no mind as the duo gracefully crept to the bowl. Boston was experiencing a May drought, and the cats appreciated the fresh, cool liquid. Thing 2 licked his paws while Thing 1 took his turn to lap at the water. Then, when they’d had their fill, the cats sauntered back to the alley, their tails raised high.
Animals had always seemed comfortable around her, and she preferred them to most humans. When she was in high school, Mama Sue said she was a natural with their goat and chicks and encouraged her to study to become a vet technician after graduation. It wasn’t Mama Sue’s fault her dream never came true. Mama Sue was like a fairy godmother. She’d sheltered Anne and her mother when they needed a place to live. She’d always put Anne’s needs first.
Before the fall semester began at the community college, Anne had worked as a day camp counselor. Though she’d enjoyed it, the little girls in her group had told their mothers she stared at them and hugged them too long. The mothers had complained to the camp director, who, in turn, had several talks with her. She’d tried to rein in her compulsion to understand what it would be like to be one of their mothers, to know how it felt to hold a four-year-old. It took a lot of energy to stop gazing at them, imagining one of them was really hers. After she got fired, she waitressed, but it didn’t last long. Whenever she waited on tables with little girls, she would drop trays and knock into customers as she looked for the port-wine birthmark that would identify her baby.
Anne walked a couple of steps to her apartment, then went back for the cat bowl. She’d forgotten to take it in a few times, and her landlord threatened to evict her if she continued to feed “them vulgar strays.” She added the saucer to the pile of dishes in the sink and heated the teapot on the stove.
Despite losing her jobs that summer fifteen years ago, she’d begun taking college animal science classes in the fall. She’d liked them and believed she’d succeed in a career working with animals until the afternoon she and Mama Sue went to buy groceries. She’d followed a sweet little voice’s rendition of “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” to aisle three. A beautiful toddler with creamy, dimpled cheeks was sitting in a shopping cart between the shelves of cereals on the left and baking goods on the right. The little girl’s smile broadened, and her eyes seemed to dance when she saw Anne looking at her. She understood, now, that the child had been too young to be her baby, but at the time she hadn’t slowed down to think. The pull was relentless. She felt a connection. The child’s mother yelled for security when Anne pushed up the little girl’s sleeve to check for the special birthmark.
She’d sprinted out of the supermarket, and Mama Sue chased after her, as best her pudgy body allowed. She pushed Anne into the car and sped them away, turning into an empty lot when she thought they were out of danger. Anne could still feel her fairy godmother’s warm body embracing her and hear her soothing shushing.
“It isn’t good for you here,” Mama Sue had said. “The community is too small, and even after five years, it’s got too many triggers for you.”
“I only wanted to look at her arm. I really thought it might be her. I won’t do it again, Mama. I swear.”
“You don’t mean to, I know. But you’re not strong enough yet. We must make some changes. You need to get out of this town. It’ll be better for you, you’ll see.”
When the kettle whistled, Anne poured the boiling water into a teacup, adding one of the generic tea bags she’d pocketed from some convenience store’s condiment station. Sitting on the olive-colored love seat she’d rescued from a dumpster years ago, she steeped the bag in a mindless rhythm while Willow the Weatherwoman pointed to different areas of storm clouds on the map behind her.
“This just in.” It was obvious from the way the announcer paused and shifted his eyes that he was listening to someone in an earpiece. The screen switched to a live shot on the steps of a downtown Boston courthouse. A smartly dressed legal team was making a statement about a high-profile case they’d won.
Anne reached for the clicker, but before she hit mute, the camera lens zoomed in on one lawyer standing behind the podium, and she froze. An icy wave washed through her, and she paused the screen. Standing now, she looked hard at the chin and then the eyes, which looked right back at her. The shock pressed upon her. The teacup’s narrow ear slipped from her grip. Kneeling in front of the TV screen, she outlined the shape of his face with her finger. With each stroke, images and thoughts she’d never wanted to resurface swirled around her. She knew that face.
THREE
Tyler
Tyler’s parents had insisted he and Billie spend their second anniversary weekend at the family’s vacation house at Lake Sunapee. They’d left after dinner to avoid summer traffic, but even on a Thursday it still took almost three hours to get there from Millpoint. Billie had slept most of the drive and woke when the interior lights came on. Tyler smoothed her hair. “You were conked out.”
“This growing a human thing is tiring, and we’ve only just started,” she said.
It had only been a week since Billie jumped on top of him while he was sleeping and shouted, “It’s positive, it’s positive!”
Tyler popped the trunk and pulled out their suitcases, expecting Billie would remove the bags of groceries she’d packed for the weekend. Instead, she dug through the items until she found a bag of cherry Twizzlers and tossed a handful into her mouth.
“You like licorice now?”
Billie raised her hands. “Impulse buy.”
“What else is going to change?” Tyler took the crumpling brown paper bags from the trunk. “Are you going to turn into one of those alien pregnant people who demand pickles with peanut butter and whipped cream in the middle of the night?”
“Oh geez, that sounds nasty. Promise you’ll hold me hostage if I get cravings like that.”
“It’s going to be some kind of fun these next eight months,” Tyler said, and laughed.
Early on their second day at the lake, Tyler woke Billie to watch the sunrise together. Afterward, she slipped into the shower with him and snuggled against his back.
“Hiya, handsome.”
Morning showers had always been their thing, though bathing was rarely part of the equation. Hot water cascaded over his head, splashing her as he turned to kiss her.
“Best two years of my life.” He kissed her again.
“Mine too,” she said.
He held her hips and lifted her as she wrapped her legs around him, but he quickly put her back down.
“I swear, your anniversary gift should’ve been a notarized doctor’s note permitting you to make love to me.” She soaped up a loofah and handed it to him. “Do my back?”
Tyler was scrubbing shampoo into a thick lather while she rinsed off. She had an impish twinkle in her eye when she opened the shower door to get out and reached for the shower faucet.
“Don’t even think about it.” He held a handful of suds, prepped to retaliate if she flipped the water temperature to cold.
“Lucky for you, I need food. I’ll make us breakfast.”
“How about western omelets?” Billie was slicing green and red peppers when Tyler joined her after his shower. He sat on an island stool, admiring her ease around the kitchen, finding everything she needed like she cooked there every day. She’d always been comfortable here, and with his rowdy relatives, who usually joined them.
His grandparents originally owned the land and built the house. They’d passed it down to his mother and aunt, fifty-fifty. Tyler remembered the smell of sawdust and the toy construction helmets he and his cousin Charlie wore when their families remodeled the place and created an addition to make space for them all. The kids’ rooms were on the main floor. He and Charlie had artfully used the Jack and Jill bathroom to torture Charlie’s sisters by hiding behind the shower curtain, booby-trapping the door, and often sneaking into their bedroom to scare them while they slept.
Billie passed him his eggs and a bottle of Tabasco. “What are you thinking about?”
“That I owe my mother an apology and a thank-you for putting up with me as a kid.”
“She’s told me many stories about you,” Billie said with a laugh. “Don’t worry, there’ll be fair payback when our mini-you comes along.”
Her words struck him. How can someone like me be responsible for teaching, influencing, and protecting a new human?
“You know, your mom believes this is a baby-making weekend,” Billie said. “I’ve never known anyone more tenacious about having grandchildren than your parents. Your mother asked when the babies are coming the minute we said ‘I do.’ And your father never fails to mention you’ll be the end of the family line if we don’t have a son soon.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t jinx anything. Let’s not tell them, or anyone else, until after the first trimester.”
“Damn pragmatist. I don’t trust myself not to give us away. Especially to your mom.”
“My mother is probably a direct Boston town crier descendant. The news will travel across the state in seconds. They can’t know.”
Tyler shook the hot sauce onto his omelet a little too hard, questioning if he should be allowed to be a father. After all these years, he still didn’t feel he deserved it.
Tyler dragged the kayaks from the water onto their small private beach while Billie carried the paddles. They’d spent the morning paddling to the smallest of the three islands in the middle of the lake and back. He squinted as he looked directly into the sun. It was in the noon position.
“We stayed out longer than I intended.” He checked if Billie showed signs of discomfort. “I shouldn’t have let you do something so strenuous.”
“I’d have quit and made you rescue me if I’d needed to. Stop being such a worrywart and come rest with me on the dock.”
