Between Octobers Bk 1, Savor The Days Series (42 page)

That’s the reason why I told Evan I loved
him so easily. And he was so easy to love. In retrospect, I suppose
it should have scared the crap out of me. No, that fear was present
the morning after my barbecue, when he apologized for kissing me
and did it again. The nerves surfaced and fluttered away. His touch
did something to me. It made me lose my way. I would get lost in
his kiss, and then no amount of him was ever enough. It took
everything I had to move at the pace I did. I was surprised when he
proposed, but accepting felt natural. The brief courtship felt like
the steady pace of a tortoise. I guess, as far as love goes, I was
more comparable to the hare.

It was tough living a separate
existence, especially when I was so attached. It didn’t help that
his face was everywhere. His latest film was doing very well. Sheri
was right; it was his best work so far—receiving high praises all
around. In
Triumph In The Sky
,
Evan played a helicopter pilot, paralyzed during a rescue attempt
gone wrong during the Vietnam War. It was an independent film and
he gave a wonderful, emotionally charged performance. I’d watched
it nearly every night over the last month. Since not thinking of
him proved impossible, I thought I might try going the other
direction and began working in allotted blocks of time. The
rationing wasn’t working, either. The gnawing need to locate him
was driving me insane.

Sheri still called from time to time, but
she said he never asked about me. How I regretted not telling him
that day in the yard! Even if he was better off without me, even if
he never wanted to speak to me again, he deserved to know. Even if
he didn’t want the baby, I had to tell him, let him make the choice
for himself.

The other day, I prepared a script for that
conversation, since it was looking more and more like I’d end up
telling him over the phone. But I really didn’t want to have to
break that soon news via recorded message. But if that turned out t
be the case, I was prepared. Now all I needed were the guts to say
it.

Evan, I’m pregnant. Oh . . . I know you
don’t want kids of your own. But that’s too dang bad. I’m having
your baby.

He’s going to hate me.

In my great desire for absolute secrecy, a
necessary evil to keep Evan from finding out from someone else, I
cut myself off from the outside when my belly became too
noticeable. I could still hide it under a jacket, but it was
August.

Of course, hiding meant no more job. It also
meant no more therapy—which was surprisingly easy to deal with. I
did miss Dr. Lena’s company, but was much better at suppression
than I gave myself credit for. Suppressing everything but him.

Sitting at the
table
, I quietly mourned the aged crevices in my hands
while Lily finished her usual Saturday morning breakfast at our
house.

“What are you staring at?” Her lip puckered,
sipping her coffee.

“My hands are old.” I watched the wrinkles,
both great and small, disappear as I folded them into fists. They
resurfaced as I laid my palms on the table.

“Your hands aren’t old.” Noah stood at the
open refrigerator, pouring orange juice. “They’re the same age as
you.” He smiled.

“Hey,
Culo
caliente
, leave your mother alone.” I snickered at
Lily’s nickname for Noah, the one she’d given him when I told her
about Condom-Gate. She waved him off when his face fell into
mock-pout. “It’s the job. Look at mine,” Facing me, she held out
her lovely bronze hands.

The two were incomparable. “You’re
depressing me.”

After Lily left
with
Caleb, and Noah took off for a friend’s house, I
was left all alone. Even the one young girl that camped outside for
so long was long gone.

I had been a little sneaky lately and
orchestrated a Plan B, of sorts, by boxing up the rest of Evan’s
clothes. Being very careful not to cross any boundaries, I called
Sheri and asked her to tell Evan to come get his things. She’d
agreed to pass along the message and then called back the next day
to tell me he wanted her to come get them.

He really meant it when he said he wouldn’t
come back.

Sheri hadn’t said it, but I got the distinct
impression that he had better things to do. He was either angry or
ashamed, I was not sure which, but something was keeping him from
facing me. Probably my cold-hearted rejection after he’d ripped up
the kitchen next door.

I made my way to the sink and started the
breakfast dishes. Once that was done, I anxiously took out the mop.
A thin stream of drool escaped as I removed the cap from the
pine-scented cleaner. It made my mouth water as I poured it. I
started using it a while back because the bleach fumes were making
me sick. The pine scent drove me crazy. I wanted to wear it for
perfume, soak all my clothes in it, cover every surface of my home
with it, paint it on the walls, and smell it all day long. Reason
won out over desire and I stuck to using it for cleaning.

After the house was acceptably clean, I sat
to practice knitting. Aunt Rose sent me most of her patterns and
supplies. Her arthritis wouldn’t let her do it anymore, and she
knew I had nothing better to do. So far, I’d created three
misshapen pairs of baby booties and one moderately short scarf.
Abandoning the idea of making something wearable, today I was
resolved to start a throw for the back of the sofa. No harm could
be done with a deformed blanket.

But soon, I gave up and picked up a pen and
paper. Halfway through the third line in my letter to Evan, my
doorbell rang. My stomach knotted up when I checked the peephole.
Sheri. She would see my belly.

A million scenarios rushed through my
mind as I considered how to proceed. Yes, Evan needed to know, but
. . . How would I ever know how he truly felt? In his heart, I
think he did hold a measure of love for me, even if it was
fleeting. And he gave it the only way he knew how. He did tell me
once,
“I don’t know what comes after ‘I
love you.’”

Somehow, ‘trapped by an unplanned pregnancy’
didn’t seem like the best response.

Evan would be completely blindsided. In my
fool’s heart, I hoped he might want to come back, but I couldn’t
let that happen until I knew how he really felt. He was more likely
to warm up to the idea of fatherhood if he actually loved me. But I
needed to know that he could love me enough to give it a try. And
what if Evan did want the baby? Just the baby. And not me.

Maria’s accusations still held onto me in a
way that I could not explain. I’d never intended to trap her son,
but that didn’t mean I didn’t do it. I would never know what might
have been. If Sol had read his college acceptance letters before he
found out about Noah, everything could have turned out differently.
Now I know better and won’t take that chance. I will not be that
pathetic person, clinging to someone who put up with me out of
obligation.

Poking my head out the door, I greeted
Sheri.

“Long time, no see.” She smiled hugely,
stepping forward.

“Um, before you come in, I need to ask a
favor.”

She took the step back. “That depends on the
favor.” She’d made no secret where her loyalties were.

“I need you to promise—your most solemn
oath—that what I’m about to tell you will stay between the two of
us. You can’t tell Evan.”

Her eyes tightened. “That depends on what it
is.”

“Something I have to tell him myself.” She
crossed her arms, guarded as usual. “Sheesh! Sheri, he’s not going
to fire you. It’s a good thing. I think.”

“Alright,” she ascended slowly. “What is
it?”

I opened the door, keeping my body behind it
and invited her in.

“You’re not going to kill me, are you? I
have an appointment later.” She snickered.

I closed the door and turned. Her eyes fell
to my burgeoning belly. It was hard to miss when I pulled the
fabric of my t-shirt back. Emotion flooded her face. She covered
her mouth and followed one outstretched arm to the couch.

“Oh my, this is . . . this is—I—I’m
speechless.”

“You won’t tell him, will you?”

“Why didn’t you say something before you
kicked him out?”

I shrugged, feeling the well of guilt on my
face. “I should have, but under the circumstances—”

“Oh,” the syllable rang in sing-song.

Maybe she was remembering my phone call. The
one I’d made asking her to check on Evan. Informing her of our
fight in the hotel that day, telling her how worried I was about
him.

“Because you know he doesn’t want
children.”

It felt like an accusation, though her tone
was sweet. I wanted to argue. If he knew how much this meant to me
. . . “He might change his mind.”

She shook her head, “I doubt it. He rarely
does.” She looked to my round belly. “You should’ve come to me
right away. I would’ve gone with you to get this taken care
of.”

“Pardon?”

“He doesn’t
want
to have a baby. Not with you, not with
anyone. Not ever. Haven’t you considered his feelings at all?” She
raised a hand to her face and abruptly turned, on the verge of
tears.

“His feelings are the reason I haven’t said
anything.” I felt myself fall back into the chair—the weight of my
worry amplified a hundred-fold. I knew it. He’d said it. More than
once. And not just to me.

“Are you alright?”

I wiped my eyes. “I will be if you keep my
secret.”

Her eyes were fixed on the floor as she
shook her head. “Oh, you can count on it. Evan always shoots the
messenger.”

When she looked up, there was no expression
to read. Just her blank eyes, like empty windows in an abandoned
house. “Grace, he didn’t send me here to pick up clothes he’ll
never miss. He sent me over to give you these.” From the pocket of
her navy power suit, she pulled a thick, white envelope. “Keep in
mind, he’s trying to be nice about all of this. And take note,
these are not signed. He prefers you to take care of it, at your
leisure, and he’s willing to give you all the property and the home
next door.”

I tore back the outer cover. My eyes
searched greedily over the cold, black letters. No more us. He
wouldn’t change his mind, because what I wanted didn’t matter.

A fissure perforated my stomach. I saw it in
my head—the pink lining slowly turning red, growing to a white
canker before going completely black. Like the oozing scabs
decrepits get, the flesh would fester and bleed until it died,
along with my heart.

I swallowed the sob as the next line of
print line shocked me. “Aw, geez. ‘Irreconcilable differences’?” It
sounded exactly like the kind of thing Evan would hate.

“It’s his way of being amicable. Do you know
if it’s a boy or girl?” Her voice was so far away, I barely heard
it.

“Yes, it’s a—”

“Don’t tell me. I want to be surprised. When
are you due?”

“November
19
^th
.”

“You’re not very big for being so far
along.” Her hand stretched toward my belly, rubbing in a smooth
circle.

“Give it another month.”

I felt myself coming back a little as
we conversed—coming to grips with what she meant,
“
He wants you to take care of
it
.” Disillusionment washed over me.

I was trapped in a revolving door. Repeating
the same steps over and over and expecting things to look different
the next time around. How did I not see this coming?

“I’ve got to go,” she announced, hastily
standing.

“What about his boxes?”

“Grace, I will help as much as I can. But
you have to understand, he’s not only my friend, he’s my source of
income. I can’t be put in the middle.” She stopped at the door, her
hand loosely set on the knob. “You don’t look so good. Maybe
consider moving. New place, new life; might be better for
everyone.” She was out the door before I had a chance to speak.

I wanted to know why. Why now, after so long
apart? And there it was—the answer wrapped inside my question. We
were already apart. Completely disconnected from one another on
every level—every level he knew about. That was the reason I was
trapped and he was moving ahead. Because I knew and he didn’t.

I thought we had something special, lasting.
It couldn’t have all been one-sided. After all, he proposed. He had
the plan in place before we left for Vegas. He bought the bed, the
land, the neighbor’s house, and my ring, all in advance.

I looked to the papers in my hands—already
filled out, awaiting my signature. Irreconcilable differences—the
two most depressing words in the English language.

A painful twinge stuck me in the side, a
tiny elbow to the ribs. The perfect reminder why I needed to stay
calm. My blood pressure had been a little high the past few weeks
and I needed to be careful.

The stress would have to hold for a few more
months. Sheri said ‘at my leisure,’ so I would take him up on that
and do it in my own sweet time. Withhold my reaction until I could
afford to give it the proper fit it deserved. Besides, it really
was something we needed to discuss face to face. So I could stick
my foot in a place he would never forget. I waddled to the kitchen
and stuffed the papery trauma into a drawer.

I tried to get back into knitting, but it
wasn’t enough to keep my hands busy.

My Jeep had been looking pretty ragged. It
was Noah’s job to take care of cleaning the cars, but I needed the
distraction more than he needed the allowance. As I grabbed the
portable vacuum and some old rags from the cabinets over the
utility sink, my eyes fell on Arnold’s old crate. I missed that
stupid dog.