Unexpected Oasis (17 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

W
ithin twenty-four hours I'm heading for the SUV to take me to the airfield. No one, not Sharon, not John, not Two Bit, or Junior, or Rick, or even Conrad, question why I'm leaving. They say their good-byes, wish me luck, and that's that.

Once again, only Double D seems to have missed the memo. And he happens to be my escort.

His frown is etched deep into his jaw as he takes my one suitcase. I simply pretend like I don't see it and climb into the backseat. My heart hasn't settled in the last day, I barely slept, I can't stop sweating and I'm pretty sure I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I definitely don't need the stress of dealing with his apparent disapproval.

After he gives me a spiel similar to the one Trey handed out before my first trip in this SUV—a speech that does not make me feel more secure—he twists in his seat to look at me. "I get that you might be freaked out, but shouldn't you wait until Trey gets back before running off? Get a Valium prescription or something? The Doc can hand them out, you know. Keeps a full stash in his cabinet."

"No. I can't. I need to leave."

"Why? I mean seriously, it was just a botched car bomb. It barely touched the exterior wall. This was nothing compared to Site J and I hear you handled that like a champ."

I'm growing more anxious by the second. I have a plane to catch and it isn't like they're going to wait for me. "That was before—" I shake my head. "Look, it doesn't matter. Can we go?"

"It does matter. Have you even contacted Trey? He didn't seem real clued in when I talked to him earlier."

My heart jumps to my throat. "Did you tell him I'm leaving?"

"No," D says flatly. "And I take it you haven't either."

"I will. As soon as I get the opportunity." And that's what I intend. The right words are out there. Somewhere. I simply have to find them. I never did look at his email. I'll do it at the airport…

Right now, my heart is threatening to explode, my palms are a sweaty, clammy mess, and my stomach is twisted so tightly I can barely breathe. "D, if we miss my plane I swear to God I will climb this fence and hitchhike there."

"Fine." The car jerks into gear. Ahead the steel gate looms ominously, like it's guarding hell. I'm pretty sure it is. We pause at the gate while one of the security team—hard to tell which one with the gear covering his face—talks on a Walkie-Talkie. In the guard tower, a silhouette holding a large machine gun appears to respond.

A few seconds pass and then the gate slides open just as my stomach slides into my shoes. The guard waves us on and we roll into enemy territory.

I watch briefly as the compound slips behind us, knowing I'll never see it again. Regret makes my throat constrict. I'll also never see Trey again. Swallowing with effort, I force myself to look ahead. I knew this day would come. It just happened so soon.

My hand rests on my abdomen. This is the way it has to be.

We ride in silence for a while, the desolate landscape whizzing by with endless monotony. Monotony is good, calming.

The air in the car is still tense though, enough that it's making me uncomfortable. I'm shocked D is so irritated by me leaving, or rather, me not telling Trey I'm leaving. I don't quite understand why he cares, but it's eating me that he does.

"You're married right?"

He looks at me in the rearview mirror. "Yeah."

"With kids."

"Yep. Two of the cutest little shits you'll ever see."

"I don't get it."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you want to be with them?"

His massive shoulders lift and then drop. "I see them a couple times a year."

That's exactly the reaction I expected. "I couldn't do that. Why have a family if you never see them? If you're here, why even get married?" My tone comes out angrier than I'd planned.

Brow furrowed, he once again stares me down from the rearview mirror. I'd prefer he kept his eyes on the road and the more he frowns at me in the mirror, the more I find myself watching the road for him. Luckily, it stretches empty before us.

After what seems like an eternity, he turns his attention back to the road.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I just… It's a weird time for me."

"Gotcha."

"So, if you don't mind me asking, why
did
you get married?"

"I wanted kids."

"But if you never see them…"

"I see them enough. Look, this works for me. I understand why you might not get it. My wife and I have an arrangement. She gets a good life, I get a couple kiddos, a legacy, something to work for. It might not be ideal, but like I said, it works for me."

I wonder if it would work for Trey. The idea of him just throwing money my way and coming to visit maybe once a year makes my stomach twist into a gnarly knot. I'd hate it, but maybe that isn't my call to make.

"I understand," I say quietly, hand pressed tightly against my abdomen. And I do understand. Unfortunately, I hate the truth staring me in the face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't—I'm sorry."

Again he frowns at me in the rearview mirror. "Andrea, is there something you'd like me to tell Trey?"

My eyes go wide. How—? I look out the window. "No, I'll… No."

"Okay."

That's the most unconvinced affirmation I've ever heard. Keeping my mouth shut for the rest of the trip is probably a good idea. I'll figure out how to tell Trey, but it has to come from me, not D.

Watching the bustle of the city as we approach the airfield does little to distract me. I'm mentally planning the next few days. Make a doctor's appointment, find a temporary place to stay, figure out where I'm going to live, start my new life…

Sharon assured me I have a job waiting for me after I take some leave. She insisted on setting me up with a shrink and I'm pretty sure she's worried I have post-traumatic stress or something. Hell, ma
ybe I do, but to be honest I'm actually more excited than anything. A new life. I am truly starting a new life. One I'm looking forward to.

The airfield is just as busy and dusty as I remember. We park and walk toward the Tarmac, D carrying my suitcase. It still amazes me how pretty much everything I own now fits into one piece of luggage. I guess I'll be rectifying that soon enough.

D handles the security check-point and check-in procedure, doing all the talking and transferring of documents. He's professional and obviously knows his job. Weird that only a few days ago at the pool he wouldn't have been able to walk unassisted. It's even weirder I'll never see him again. Or any of them.

I swallow against the regret rising from my core.

D turns to me. "You're all set."

I nod. For some stupid reason, tears have set up camp in the corners of my eyes.

He offers his hand and I take it. I'd prefer a hug over a hand-shake. This feels so formal.

"It was a pleasure working with you, Andrea." Not Hermit Crap, or H.C., or even H. I guess I should be glad he didn't call me Ms. Ellis. "I really wish you'd waited until Trey returned."

I look away. Those tears are threatening to break camp. "It's too late now."

"I guess so." A terse nod and he turns and walks away.

Luckily, I'm able to contain the tears until I'm seated and staring out the plane window. I can't believe this is it. Maybe I
should
have waited. This feels so rushed.

I wrap my arms around my waist. I can't change it. Besides, had I waited, it would have just made things harder. If I actually had to say goodbye to Trey…? I don't know if I could handle it. At least not without turning into a blubbering idiot.

I slide the window shade down and leave it down, even after we arrive in Dubai. And if I could somehow keep a window shade between me and the world until I'm firmly back in Kansas, I would.

~

It's an exhausting thirty-six hours of travel time until I trudge into the Kansas City airport, feeling like my airplane used me as a speed bump on the landing. At least during the multiple layovers, I'm able to make my doctor's appointment and arrange to stay with my friend, Sarah, in her Midtown bungalow. My fallback plan would have been to stay with my parents in the affluent, sometimes pretentious Kansas City suburb I grew up in, but only as a last resort, and only if all the extended stay hotels happened to be booked.

I think about how I'm going to tell Trey, I really do. It just never seems to happen. Every time I start to mentally compose my message, something comes up. I'll do it when I get settled in Kansas City, I swear.

I haven't quite brought myself to read his email either.

My last plane finally lands at eight p.m., or at least that's what the pilot claims. It could be midnight for all I know. It
feels
like midnight. I'm pretty sure I'm inside a time vacuum.

Luckily, Sarah stands outside the gate, a huge grin on her face, a sign with my name in one hand—written in colorful marker and decorated with flowers and hearts—and a bottle of wine in the other. Single, with no plans for marriage or children, Sarah was my go-to going out girl. When all my other friends were having babies and moving to the suburbs, I could count on Sarah to see shows with me or simply paint the town. I can't recall (literally) how many cocktails we've enjoyed together over the years.

She bounces up and down giddily as I drag myself over. When I'm within ten feet, she bounds forward and embraces me.

"I'm so glad you're back!" she cries, hugging me tight and weaving back and forth.

Her enthusiasm is almost enough to make me smile—if only the muscles in my cheeks weren't too exhausted to lift the corners of my mouth.

Pulling back, she holds up the wine. "I have the vino!" She looks me up and down. "Though one drink looks like it'll put you under the table."

"I'm sure it would. I can't drink it anyway though."

"Why? You on some sort of psych meds or something?"

"No. Why don't we grab my suitcase and I'll tell you all about it on the ride home."

I tell Sarah everything, and I mean everything. It feels good to be able to unload
all
the details from the last several weeks and not just the ones needed to convince HR to send me home. Even better, as my friend and confident for many years, Sarah actually has a vested personal interest in me. She's absolutely ecstatic I'm pregnant. To the point her joyful squeals hurt my ears. She immediately invites me to live with her, declaring we can raise the baby together. Not my ideal situation, but it has promise.

Unfortunately,
jet lag takes its toll, and when my mom calls sometime the next morning, my marshmallow brain loses its mind and tells her too. It's a mistake I immediately regret. Not that I don't plan on telling her eventually, but not until I'm actually showing. Or maybe after I've given birth. It's hard to say.

At the moment I'm too tired to care. I barely hear what she says and respond foggily to her endless questions. I'm all too happy to hang up the phone.

I sleep until five p.m. and still wake up feeling like I could sleep for twenty more hours. In fact, after taking care of some business—looking for apartments, filling out paperwork for work, scouring the Internet for articles on infertility (although I'm pretty sure I've read all of them already)—I end up back in bed a little after one a.m.

Despite all that, I still don't wake until two p.m. I have an hour to shower and make it to the doctor. Sarah was able to catch a ride with a coworker, so I'm able to borrow her car. Having sold mine when I took the Afghanistan job, it's just one more thing needing to be taken care of.

The stress of all the little things piling up on my to-do list is easily shoved aside as I step into the doctor's office to confirm what I know in my heart to be true.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

S
arah greets me like an overexcited puppy when I return from the doctor. I'm almost afraid she's going to piddle on the floor if she doesn't calm down.

"Well?" she probes as I climb the stairs to the front porch. Her house sits above the street, with at least twenty-five stairs between the sidewalk and the front door.

I wait until I've reached the top stair before responding. Based on the half-empty bottle of wine sitting next to a nearly empty glass of said wine on the table wedged between two oversized wicker chairs, she's been busy since she got home from work.

"A little pre-dinner drinking?"

"Pshaw. The wine
is
dinner."

I laugh. I've had many dinners like that.

"Well?" she probes again.

I plop in one of the chairs, the resin wicker creaking even though the deep red cushion absorbs my landing.

Pushing the wine aside, she leans across the table. "What did the doctor say?"

She lets out an excited squeal when I turn to her and she sees my expression. If my smile is as wide as it feels, it must be threatening to take over my face.

"Confirmed. I'm definitely pregnant."

She squeals again, jumping out of the chair and hugging me. Her embrace is so tight I feel like my head is going to pop off.

"Oh my God, Andrea, that is so awesome!" she says as she releases me and returns to her seat. She tops off her glass of wine and holds it up. "I wish you could drink a celebratory glass of wine with me."

"Even if I could, I wouldn't want to celebrate too soon. Nothing's wrong now, but unfortunately, I'm nowhere near the edge of the woods. I don't want to jinx it."

"What do you mean?"

I retrieve the pamphlets from my purse and spread them out on the table. The titles alone are ominous: "High risk pregnancy", "Pregnancy after 35, understanding your risks", "Miscarriage, the unspoken threat for the older mother to be". The last one makes me physically shudder.

Sarah picks it up. "Wow, what a downer."

"I know. I get what my doctor was going for when she gave them to me. She wants me to be prepared for the worst, but I could have done without."

She returns the glossy paper to the table, flipping it over so the title side is down. "Well, try not to worry too much. I know everything is going to be fine."

"I hope so. I'm trying to stay a bit detached, just in case. You know?"

Sarah reaches over and squeezes my hand. "I know. Still. Don't stress."

I hold up another pamphlet, the one specifically about stress and the danger it poses to your pregnancy. "I won't. See?"

Sarah laughs. "Jesus. Is there one in there about not walking into traffic too?"

"Surprisingly, no."

Abruptly, she stops laughing. "Holy shit. Is that Jim?"

I jerk toward the direction she's frowning. Sure enough, headed straight for us is my ex-husband.

Physically, he looks the same as I remember, with dark-rimmed hipster glasses, light brown hair puposefully tosled, dark wash jeans, converse high-tops, plaid button down long sleeve shirt… Emotionally, he looks like a stranger.

Once upon a time I found his "I'm a rebel" mode of dress sexy. Now he just looks like he's trying too hard.

I blink twice, just to make sure my eyes aren't deceiving me. "Jim?"

"I know I should have called," he says as he begins to climb the concrete stairs leading from the sidewalk with unabashed confidence, "but when I found out you were back in town I had to see you."

"Since you don't have my number that might have been a challenge."

He reaches the first landing and continues to climb without hesitation. "There is that."

"How'd you find out where I'm staying?" I sound snippy and suspicious, which is exactly how I intend to sound.

"Your mom told me."

I resist the urge to sigh. God, did I tell her that too?

Oh shit, what else did she tell him?

"What do you want?"

He finally pauses at the foot of the porch stairs. "Can I come up?"

A large part of me would like to simply shove him back down the stairs. I glance at Sarah, who makes a face but doesn't say no. "I suppose."

I guess I'm going to be an adult about this and not spend the night in jail for assault. It's somewhat disappointing.

"Well, hello Jim, how are you doing?" Sarah sounds like a machine, her pleasantries are so rehearsed.

"Hi Sarah. Hey, do you mind if I talk to Andrea alone?"

"Only if she doesn't."

I sigh. "It's fine."

"You sure?"

I glance at Jim. I'm not sure exactly how I feel seeing him out of the blue like this, but besides a little irritation, I actually feel nothing when I look at him. No pangs of regrets, feelings of lost love…absolutely nothing.

"It's fine," I repeat.

While giving him the skunk eye, Sarah snatches up her wine and sloshes into the house.

Jim sits on the porch railing and I return to my chair. The pamphlets from the doctor's office are still scattered on the table beside me. I wish I'd put them away. If I do it now, I'll only draw attention to them. I don't want Jim to know I'm pregnant. It's none of his business.

"I made a terrible mistake, Andrea."

"Obviously."

"One I can never make amends for. But I want to try."

Okay, I wasn't expecting that. "What?"

"I want to come home."

"I sold the house."

"You know what I mean. I want to come home…to you."

For all the months I dreamt about this very scenario, I feel strangely apathetic. "Did Courtney leave you, Jim? Is that why you're suddenly here?"

"No." He looks me in squarely the eye. "I left her. When I heard about what happened in Afghanistan, I realized it was you I wanted all along. I was just confused before. But when I realized you might have been killed and it was all because of me, because I was stupid and misguided…Well, I couldn't bear the thought. I knew then that you've always been the woman for me."

I barely hear the last part of his ramble. I'm still mulling over the first part. "You left your pregnant girlfriend?" I ask incredulously. "Your
about-to-give-birth
pregnant girlfriend? To try and…win me back?"

He looks confused. "You're my wife. My vows are with you, not her."

"Ex-wife," I correct. "And our vows became nullified when you left me, when you got another woman pregnant while I was learning I was infertile."

He leans forward and takes my hands. "That's another thing. I'm seeking custody of the baby. We can finally have our family."

I stare at his hands cupping mine and then at him. "You're joking."

"We always talked about adoption…"

I pull my hands away. "I can't believe—"

"Please, Andrea. I know it seems strange. I know it's unconventional. I know I hurt you and I can't begin to make up for that. But you must know that I
want
to make up for it. Know that I want our family back. That I miss you. That I'm sorry."

At one time I would have given anything to hear those words. Now they just seem empty.

I rise. "You need to go."

His expression is pained. "Andrea…"

My head is a swirling mess of conflicted emotions. Between leaving Afghanistan and Trey, being back in the Midwest, and worrying about the baby struggling to grow inside me, I don't need this added drama. "Just go. I can't—" I shake my head. He doesn't need any more explanation. "No," I say to myself. "Just. Go," I say to him.

He hesitates for a minute before rising. "Think about it."

I don't answer, pressing my lips tightly together to keep it that way.

"I love you," he adds before turning and heading down the stairs.

Unbelievable…

I don't know what to think. A whirlwind of emotions flow through me, a mishmash of feelings I can't begin to pinpoint. What am I supposed to feel? I have no idea.

Tired. I definitely feel tired.

I quickly gather up the pamphlets, shove them into my purse and head inside. Sarah greets me with a hug.

"What a douche-canoe," she says. "Unless you're considering…?"

"No. Just no." I rub my eyes. One from weariness and the other to keep the tears at bay. I give her an exhausted smile. "I think I'm going to hit the hay. Jetlag and all."

She gives my arm a brief rub. "Of course."

I climb the stairs to the bedroom with wooden legs. It's too much. It's all too much. I don't think I'm sad. I'm done grieving for the death of my relationship with Jim and the man I thought he was. If anything I feel strong.

Before Afghanistan, before Trey, I don't know if I would have been able to tell him no. I probably would have taken him back in two heartbeats. But I'm stronger now. I'm better. The future may be uncertain, but I know I can handle it. Even if I have to alone.

~

The shrill ring of my phone wakes me. With fumbling hands I receive it from the depths of my purse.

Ah, shit…

"Hey, mom," I say into the phone, my voice thick with sleep. With less than steady arms, I push myself up into a sitting position.

How long have I been asleep? I wish I'd noted the time when I picked up the phone.

My mom rambles on tirelessly, asking how my doctor appointment went, how work took my request for short-term leave, how the living situation is going… I reply appropriately but without much enthusiasm.

Finally, she gets to the real reason she called. "So… I hear Jim stopped by?"

It really isn't a question. Visions of Jim and my mother meeting for coffee and discussing me fly into my head. I know she always called him the son she wishes she'd had. I guess I'd deluded myself into thinking his affair and subsequent insemination would push him out of her favor.

"He did."

"Maybe you should hear him out."

"Are you kidding me? After everything he put me through?"

"You can't just throw away seven years of your life because of one little mistake."

"I find your notion of 'little' appalling."

"You two can get counseling. He loves you and I know you love him."

I used to, or thought I did. I'm not so sure anymore. What I felt for Jim paled in comparison to what I feel, or felt, for Trey. But maybe my memories are skewed by my hatred. Maybe I'm not remembering things correctly.

"Andrea, I'm just saying you should listen to him. Put aside your anger. You are pregnant, honey. Think of your baby."

"It isn't even his, mom."

"I know. But your baby needs a father, and since you can't count on that military man…"

She doesn't know I didn't tell Trey. Or I don't think I told her. I was so jetlagged when I spoke to her last I honestly can't remember what I said. One thing is certain, I'm so ashamed I haven't told Trey yet, there's no way I can spill now.

"You didn't tell Jim I'm pregnant, did you?"

"No, of course not. If you do decide to get back together with him, it might be best to let him think the baby is his."

A small gagging noise sounds in the back of my throat. And I thought I was appalled earlier…

"Just think about it. Remember how devastated you were when Jim left. Surely there's something salvageable there."

She isn't wrong—about me being devastated. I don't know about the rest. "Okay," I say.

"You'll think about it?"

Maybe…unlikely. I don't know. "Sure."

After hanging up, I crawl out of bed and pull out my laptop. If nothing else, talking with my mom makes me realize one thing: I need to tell Trey I'm pregnant. I'll be sure to tell him he is under no obligation to do anything, but at the very least he deserves to know.

I click on his unopened email
.

Hey gorgeous, just checking in. Looking forward to coming home. I'll bring a bottle and we can have sex so dirty we can't look each other in the eye the next day.

Oh God. I wish I hadn't read that.

It takes me ten minutes to write a reply, but I think I've finally got something. I stare at the email, my computer cursor lingering over the "send" button. All that typing and deleting and typing and deleting just leaves me with, "Call me" written across the screen and my number below. What I need to tell him shouldn't be sent in an emotionless email. And it really should have been expressed in person. But at this point, a phone call will have to do.

I draw in my breath, close my eyes, and click. Before I can take it back, the email disappears into cyberspace.