Crashing Souls (34 page)

I didn’t know how I was surviving without him. After he left, I was a zombie. And the day after, I locked myself in my studio and worked. Wounds, both old and new, caused me to work with a feverish sense of needing to complete the project. Miranda said she hadn’t seen me work this hard since we first met, when I was dealing with my unresolved Dexter issues. Funny. I was right back at square one. And I was pregnant, again.

I was different. It never even crossed my mind to have a drink. I didn’t know if it was because of the warning I’d received from the Angel of Death or because I didn’t need it anymore, but I woke up each morning, ready to take on the day alone. It hurt like hell. It was terrible. But I did it. Because I knew life couldn’t stop. And if I’d gotten through it once, I could again.

Even when it felt like I’d been shot in the chest. Even when I’d have to stop painting because my tears blurred my vision despite not realizing I was even
crying.
Even when I reached for him subconsciously, only to remember, with pain in my heart, that we were no longer anything. That he probably hated me. I’d hate me too.

I battled intense bouts of depression after Anna’s death. My guilt and self-hatred over the situation nearly drove me to my end. But it was hope that kept me going. In my mind, time went on. And if there was more time, there was room for change. Things would get better. And they had. I went from crying all day to crying every day. Every day to every other day and so on. Until I tucked the memory away in a part of me that I only unleashed with the sweeps and strokes of my paint brushes.

I sat on the bed and looked at the light yellow walls. That was the only indication that this room had been meant for a baby. All things Anna had been sent away. I lay back and cried myself to sleep for the baby I was now carrying.

It was going to be all right. Because I wanted the baby even if Dexter didn’t want me. And time would go on and conceal my wounds again.

•••

I was bouncing my knee up and down when Miranda breezed through the front door.

“You’re fifteen minutes late,” I said through my teeth. Fortunately, so was the doctor. As soon as Miranda sat, I was called forward. They took my height and weight, and I sighed when I was several pounds over what I usually weighed. I didn’t mind gaining weight for the baby. It wasn’t like anyone would be seeing me naked. That thought made me want to cry.

Miranda saw my eyes watering and rubbed my back. When the doctor came in, he stuck that terrible wand inside of me, and as soon as I saw the flicker of the heartbeat, the hope inside of me grew. He told me I
was
eight weeks. I tried to mentally calculate when it’d taken place but my moments with Dexter blended into each other. It was a blur of unprotected lovemaking and that fire. That blue fucking fire. We hadn’t been careful.
Wasn’t he curious at all?
Apparently not.

Miranda mentioned my history, and the doctor told me to take it easy and to call him if anything. He handed me his card with a personal number on the back and left the room. I was cleaning off when Miranda grabbed the card.

“Maybe you should give him a personal call,” she said with a smirk.

I rolled my eyes.

“Isn’t that what got me in this situation?” The nurse knocked and handed me a print out of the sonogram. I tucked it into my wallet without looking, knowing it would break me down, and Miranda and I hurried out as quickly as we could.

“No. Love is what got you here. Not fucking.” She handed me back the doctor’s card, and I stuffed it in my wallet. Sex, fucking, making love. It got me here. Love was what got me a shattered heart.

“Who wants to fuck a pregnant lady? Especially when the baby isn’t theirs?” I pulled my hair into a ponytail and slid into her waiting car. “Plus I’d feel like a whore.”

“He certainly looked like he wanted to fuck you,” she said, ignoring my last statement. “Or maybe he wanted to fuck me. Let me see that card again.” She had her expensive purse in her hands and her hair was perfect, of course.

I burst into tears.

“I forgot how emotional you were when pregnant. Except you were broken-hearted both times, so maybe that’s a factor. Don’t cry, darling. I won’t fuck your doctor.”

I
laughed, unable to stem the flow of emotions that went in every which way.

“Fuck him all you want, Miranda. I’m crying because I only want to sleep with one person and he wants nothing to do with me.” I sniffled as the car slid into the slow-moving traffic.

“You don’t know that. Go. Find him. You have free time. Your project is nearly finished, and I refuse to let you work too hard during this pregnancy. Go.” Miranda reached for my hand, giving it a squeeze.

“I booked a flight. It leaves this afternoon.” I shook my head. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“My dear,” Miranda starts, placing her hand on my cheek, “I find it best to always start with the truth.”

•••

The airport wasn’t as busy as I expected. I boarded the flight, settling into business class because I was pregnant and I didn’t want some giant of a man in my lap. I wanted first-class action, but I decided it wasn’t just me anymore and any extra money, no matter how much I had saved and invested, could be used for my little one.

I’d only brought a carry-on bag, convinced that I could do what I needed to in twenty-four hours or less. After all, it only took 1.36 seconds to tell someone you were pregnant. I knew. I’d timed it. I’d almost timed how long it took to tell someone you still loved them. But when the plane went up, I felt my courage wane. If Dexter wanted to hear from me, he would’ve reached out to me.
No,
I told myself. I hadn’t done right by him the first time, punishing him for what I knew he had to do. This time I would show him that I was different. Better. Older.

I slept the entire way, and when I woke, I shoved all trepidation aside. I grabbed my carry-on bag and hailed a cab. I gave the driver Tracey’s address, and when
he
pulled up, I paid him. I watched as he drove off, realizing I probably should’ve told him to stick around.

I headed up the walk and rang the doorbell. When the door swung open, I half-expected whoever it was to shut the door right in my face. I deserved it. But when I saw Tracey hold her arms open for me to step into, I bawled right there on her steps.

She led me in, grabbing my bag and settling me on the couch.

“I haven’t heard from him,” I said, my tone pleading. Tracey shook her head with a frown.

“Honestly, I haven’t either. It’s a shame because Molly could be going any day now.” She sat next to me, tucking my hair away from my face. “Why didn’t you tell him, honey?”

Finally,
finally
I spit out the poison. I told Tracey all of the terrible things I’d thought. How I hated him for leaving me and how I felt he didn’t deserve to know Anna. He abandoned me, after all. And when Anna died, I thought it was God’s way of punishing me for all of the hateful thoughts I’d been thinking. How I blamed my alcoholism and poor decisions. And, at the very root of it, I blamed Dexter. Because if she hadn’t died from my actions, it was from his. A broken heart was more potent than any liquor. And I couldn’t tell him once she was gone because he’d hate me for keeping her from him in the first place. But what I tried to avoid ended up happening anyway.

She sat and listened, her eyes filling. I couldn’t tell her that I was pregnant. I wanted Dexter to know from me, the way it should’ve been all those years ago.

“Do you know where I could find him? I really…I have to talk to him.”

“I think…if he hasn’t reached out to you, maybe he needs time to himself.” I knew she was torn. I stood and nodded, realizing Tracey likely wouldn’t help. I knew she was fond of me, but Dex was her blood.

I
turned to leave when she stopped me.

“I’ll give you Ralph’s number. I think he’s been trying to get a hold of Dex too. Hang on.” She went upstairs and Dan stepped into the living room, a paper in his hand.

“Find that boy and make him listen.” He hugged me tightly, and when I heard Tracey step back down, I shoved the paper in my bag.

“I assume you got what you were looking for,” she said, pulling on her coat. I turned to see Dan’s retreating back and looked back at Tracey.

“Sure, yeah.” I pulled out my phone, preparing to call a cab.

“Come on, you. Let’s get you to the airport. Seems you have somewhere to be.”

•••

My second flight of the day wasn’t as peaceful. I was tired and cranky and sure that my little nugget wasn’t too happy either. But we landed safely in Seattle and I rented a car. It wouldn’t be too far of a drive—thirty-five minutes, tops. I pulled over several times, making it a longer drive, but my energy wasn’t what it used to be.

I pulled up in front of a simple-looking home. I double-checked the address Dan had written and frowned. Dexter, with all of his money, could’ve afforded something nicer. Still, this was normal. It was just a house to him. I got out and knocked, aware that, while I’d emptied my bladder less than thirty minutes ago, it was time to go again.

The door opened and there was Rachel, all smiles with an ugly-as-sin apron on. I shook my head. Nothing was wrong with her apron. I was dealing with my chronic jealousy. But I was still wondering why she’d been the one to answer the door.

“Noa? Hi.” She offered her hand and I took it.

“
Where’s Dexter?” What I really wanted to ask was what the hell she was doing there. But I stopped myself. I wasn’t in the best shape to get into it with Rachel, and I didn’t want to spend the night in prison.

“He’s, uh, at work. Did you want to come in? He should be here in another hour, and I know you’re coming from Seattle.” She stepped aside, and I let my nosiness get the best of me.

“Sure,” I said. I’d left my carry-on bag in the rental. I jangled the keys nervously and walked in. Immediately, I knew Dexter hadn’t decorated this space. It was too plain and impersonal and nothing here looked like anything he’d pick out. Pictures of him and Phoebe were scattered throughout the space, and when I caught one of him, Phoebe, and Rachel, I wanted to smash it. I reigned in my annoyance and turned to her.

“So…where’s Phoebe?” I wanted to start a conversation since I was already there and I honestly missed the kid.

“She’s at daycare. I was in the middle of making a pie for Dexter. He adores my apple pie.” I looked around. That partially answered what she was doing here. But I wanted to know why. And why did she look so comfortable here, in the place that Dexter had once practically begged me to come to. Regret slithered up my spine, and my lips moved of their own accord.

“Why?” I wanted to slap my hands over my mouth and simultaneously cover my ears. Because the look on her face, that embarrassed happiness, told me she was about to pull the pin from a grenade and toss it right at me. It was then, when she tucked her hair behind her ear with her left hand, that I saw the rock on her finger. Sure, she’d done it on purpose. But I couldn’t even hate her.
Bitch.
Well, I could a little.

I held on to the nearest chair, supporting myself. If I passed out, she would win.
She’s already won.
I eyed her finger again and blinked back tears.

“
I live here now. Dexter proposed and, well, I said yes. So, I think the real question is, why are
you
here?” She was talking lightly, as if she were trying to make a child understand something incredibly easy for an adult to grasp. I looked into her eyes and I got it. This was Rachel. She was the sweetest bitch there ever was.

I wanted to tell her I was there because I was carrying his child.
His
child. Not some child I roped him into adopting. I wanted to fight dirty and tell her he would never love her because he was made to love me. I wanted to tell her no illegitimate child would change that. But I loved Phoebe, and despite her not being his biologically, she was his in the most important ways. And I refused to fight for a man who’d taken off his gloves and gotten into another ring with another woman. I was left standing alone, as usual. Except I had my nugget.

I turned on my heel, not looking back. I walked out of Dexter’s house, and I prepared myself to live a life without him in it.

Chapter
36

M
y belly was cute, I decided as I looked at it in the mirror. The breezy shirt I wore over it kept me from feeling like I was being sucked in by a cotton death trap. It was summer and the sun was shining, despite my wishing for rain. My air conditioner was on low, keeping me comfortable above the somewhat warm Seattle streets.

My showcase had gone without a hitch, and I made Miranda a lot of money. She claimed it was never about that, but I felt I was a better artist when pregnant. Or maybe when I was emotionally destroyed. One of them had me painting like my life depended on it. Which it sort of did.

I didn’t attend the showcase myself, something that people whispered about for weeks. I couldn’t face questions or speculation. So, I stayed inside, too afraid of what a nice jog would do to my nugget who’d grown more and more into a small turkey. I was nearing the seventh month, and I’d avoided so many things I’d done during my last pregnancy. I sat when I was tired, I ate healthy, I got rid of my cell phone. I kept the gender a secret.
Anything
I’d done last pregnancy was off limits. I hadn’t even set up the nursery yet, yelling at Miranda when she tried.

“You have to realize that that baby is coming whether or not I set up the crib,” she tried to reason, but I wouldn’t be swayed. I sat shaking my head at the memory of that argument.

There were dreams. And in those dreams, there were whispers. I knew who it was and I knew what he wanted. But I wanted to scream every time and blame
Dexter.
I’d tried. If only the Angel of Death knew how hard I’d tried. Instead, he reminded me of my loneliness until I woke up sobbing.

There was a knock on my door, jarring me from my thoughts, and I yanked it open, already preparing my speech for Miranda.