Constantine: Britain’s Story Part 2 (Spearhead Lake)

Chapter 4

Britain

After my session with Carla, it takes me longer than usual to pull myself together, but eventually I do, like always. The girls are still out of sight, so I hop in the shower to officially finish off my crying and get ready for the day. Then I try to pull myself together a bit better than I’ve been doing lately. I mean the saying isn’t ‘look good, feel good’ for nothing, is it?

I’ve just finished putting on some mascara when Elodie and Caroline waltz into my bathroom. Quite literally, waltzing. I laugh.

“What are you girls doing?”

“Just waiting for you, Mother,” Elodie says.

“Where did you learn how to dance like that?” I mean really, ballroom dancing, right here in the bathroom.

“School,” Caroline spouts off. Sounds about right. At my public school, we learned line dancing. Apparently at boarding school you learn ballroom dancing.

I laugh. “Of course. Are you guys all ready?”

“Yep,” they say in unison.

“Great. Let me throw something on and we’ll leave.”

“Ooooh, can I pick it out?” Elodie asks.

I pause, “Within reason, yes.” Elodie is fashionable in a way I never was at age fourteen.

“Yessss!” She pumps her arm in the air and darts into my closet. It’s not as full as the one at Liam’s used to be, but slowly, my new wardrobe is growing. Not that I wear any of it, or will wear any of it now that I’m the one growing.

As part of her personal assistant duties, Jess has added styling to her list of responsibilities. She insisted I give her a monthly budget she can use to order me clothes and I caved to her demand. She also forbade me from throwing any of it away, even if I don’t want them anymore. I thought she was going to cry when I told her how I let Sandy either burn, trash, or donate my previous wardrobe. Jess. I need to call her after I drop off the girls.

“Ta-Da!” Elodie says as she steps out of the closet, dress, bag, and shoes in hand. It’s a little dressy for an ultrasound appointment, but if it’ll make her happy, I’ll wear it.

“That’s a lovely choice, Elodie. Thank you, baby.”

“No prob, mama.” She winks at me. “We’ll be waiting for you downstairs.”

“Yep, I’ll be down in a minute.” I take the Zimmermann dress off its hanger and slip it on quickly. I slide on the sandals and grab the purse, but pause. Should I bring it? It’s 12 weeks today, but maybe it’s time I stop doing it. He never responds to me. Ever. He probably doesn’t even see my text messages.

I walk into the closet and stop at the built-in charging station where my old phone sits. I pick it up and check for messages, but zero unread messages, zero missed calls stares back at me, just like always. My stomach sinks, which is ridiculous because there’s never anything new. Never. But it still hurts each time. I plop the phone back down into its slot. Maybe it’s time to just disconnect the line once and for all.

I ended up getting a new phone and number a couple of weeks after Liam dumped me. I wince inwardly at that word, dumped. But I suppose it’s accurate. He disposed of me easily. My hands get clammy just thinking back on it.

It was necessary to do, though. It was verging on unhealthy how much I obsessed over constantly checking for missed calls or messages from him. Carla actually suggested I change my number to take back some control over the situation, and it helped. I no longer obsess over where my phone is and whether it’s charged. But because I’m pitiful, I couldn’t get rid of it fully.

So it sits in my closet, and once a week, I send him an update. I try to keep it focused on the peanut, but sometimes my bitterness slips out. Again, those messages probably fall on deaf ears (or is it blind eyes?), and I have nothing to worry about.

I do think about Georgia, writing her notebooks to Constantine even after they ended their relationship. She called it a fool’s errand. I call my version ‘pathetic.’ It’s the only word that comes to mind when I think about me doing the same thing. What makes my version so pathetic, though, is that no one reads my messages. Constantine always read Georgia’s notebooks, but mine probably never even make it to ‘read’ before he deletes them.

I’m leaving the phone. I nod my head, physically willing my body to agree with my mind. Decision made. If I get home tonight and still want to do it, I can always do it then. I have to at least try to stop doing this, this obsessing. I hate you Liam Millar for ruining me.

I turn off the closet light and make my way downstairs.

“My favorite girls!” Sandy walks out from behind the counter to greet the girls and me.

“Hi, Gigi,” both girls say as Sandy embraces them. It’s moments like this that I’m reminded why I moved here. Family, people who care about us. From the outside, it might seem kind of strange that the girls are already calling her Gigi, but Sandy was insistent that they do. Sandy just folded the girls into her orbit, like she does, so naturally. Like it’s never been any other way than it is now. And I get it; she doesn’t want the girls to feel singled out when the new baby has a Gigi, but they don’t.

It’s special because they’ve never had a grandma like this before. Damian’s mom passed away when they were babies, and Georgia was never in the picture, at least physically. Of course, they talked on the phone, but Georgia didn’t give them warm grandma hugs and bake them cookies after school. Fortunately, Sandy has zero qualms about filling in for Georgia and playing an active role in her adoptive grandkids’ and her future grandbaby’s life.

“Hey, sugar! You’re looking great today!” Sandy’s radiant smile practically beams at me. The girls don’t even give me a goodbye, they just walk straight to the back to find Jim.

I peer around Sandy and call out, “Okay, bye girls, love you, too!” Then drop my hands to my side in disappointment when they continue ignoring me. So I refocus on Sandy, “Thanks, Sandy. Elodie picked it out.” I motion down to the dress.

“I wasn’t talking about the outfit, baby.” Sandy winks at me. I can’t help but smile in return. She’s always trying to bolster me and lift me up. Sometimes it works, and for those times, I’m grateful.

“It’s the makeup. Without it, I’m basically just a hairless raccoon.” I laugh. Sandy doesn’t.

“That’s not true, Britain. You really are glowing today. I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.” She arches a brow at me, and she’s right. I blush over her scolding.

“Okay, then, thank you, Sandy. I probably needed to hear that,” I sigh and she smiles at me, but not the bright smile she just gave me a moment ago. This smile is toothless and slight.

“You got a minute to sit down for a cup of joe before you take off?” Abso-freaking-lutely. I was mentally creating errands out of thin air so I wouldn’t have to go back home before my appointment.

“Of course. That sounds great!” Oh, shoot. “Well, a decaf cup of joe. I’ve already had my allotted caffeine ration for the day.” Sandy just chuckles in response.

“I’ll be right back.” She heads back behind the counter while I snag my favorite table, the one in the window. The town is a lot busier now than it was the first time I sat here. It’ll be busier tomorrow and over the weekend, too. But even on a Thursday, the town is bustling and moving. It seems like an endless parade of trucks pulling boats down to the marina. I can practically smell the sunscreen and pine trees, and feel the mist on my face from the wake. I should ask Alex if he’d do a boat day with the girls and me sometime soon. I get out my phone and add that to my list of ‘Activities to-do before summer ends.’

“Here we go, baby. One cup of decaf and a shortbread cookie.” Sandy sets the white mug and plate down on our table before sliding into the seat across from mine. Her presence soothes something inside me, and for a moment I forget. I forget about the last 6 weeks, and the pain, and the crying, and I feel lighter for a moment. A fleeting moment.

“Thanks Sandy,” I say with a smile, then motion around to the cafe. “You guys are pretty busy for a mid-Thursday morning.” Most of the tables are filled with tourists or part-time residents. At least that’s what I assume since I don’t recognize anyone here.

Sandy looks around, too. “We sure are. You know, if the girls want a little part-time job this summer, I’d love to have their help a couple days a week.” More alone time, great.

“Oh, you know, you’d have to ask them. But it’s okay with me if that’s what they decide.” Sandy smiles and pats my arm.

“I’ll ask em’ today!” She’s still smiling at me, but it’s that closed mouth smile again, and she’s not talking. This is very atypical Sandy behavior.

I ask, suspiciously, “Alright, what is it?” She looks away from me for a moment before returning her gaze.

“I’ve debated even bringing this up…but you seem a bit better today…” Keyword: seem. I’m getting better at hiding it.

Sandy drags out her pause, like she’s still debating it, but I stay silent, letting her come to her own conclusion.

“So…I had a call last week.” My stomach falls into my ass, I already know where this is going. “From William.”

Whatever glow I was just rocking has undoubtedly left me. My mouth gets hot and there’s too much saliva. When I swallow, it feels like downing a ball covered in sandpaper. My hands start to tremble, so I slide them off the table, clasp them in my lap, and instantly divert my gaze downward, hoping she doesn’t notice the pain in my eyes.

“He asked about you…” Why? Why the fuck would he do that?

I can’t even look back up at Sandy when I respond. “I don’t want to hear it,” I say quietly.

“He has a new number.” I’m sure he does. Probably got tired of my incessant text messages. I just nod, though. “I’d be happy to give it to you if you’d like.” My gut instinct is to fall to my knees and thank Sandy, to get that number and call him right this minute. But I can’t start this all over again. I can’t go back to the beginning of calling or texting him and waiting to hear back. The agony I went through, waiting, hoping, praying. I can’t do it again. I know I won’t survive it again.

It takes all my strength not to cry as I respond, “No, that’s okay, but thank you, Sandy.” When I look back up at her, I can see that our expressions mirror one another. Heartbroken, it’s written all over both of us. Heartbroken in different ways, but with the same end result, sadness and pain.

“I can’t go through it again, Sandy. I’m…I’m barely surviving this go around. I know I seem better, but I’m not.” Do I tell her? “I’m not sleeping, and then I can’t get out of bed unless the girls are there pushing me to get up.” I pause to breathe in and out, “And there’s a lot of times…I just don’t want to keep going because it hurts so bad.” Sandy slips a trembling hand over mine. When our eyes meet, hers are pooling with tears. She gets out of her chair and embraces me. Standing bent over, she hugs me tight. I don’t let the sobs out, but I know the tears are still falling. Same as her.

She’s still holding me when I whisper to her, “Please don’t tell him.” Sandy releases me, and sits back down in her chair.

Her voice trembles when she says, “If that’s what you really want, I won’t.”

“It’s what I need.” She nods her head in understanding. I need Liam to think I’m fine. The last thing I’d ever want from him is his pity.

“Are you seeing someone about this?”

“Yeah, I am.”

She nods again. “What can I do to help?”

“I don’t know if there’s anything that can help. I think it’s just a matter of time at this point.” Unfortunately.

“Well, if you think of anything at all, I hope we’ll be the first ones you call because there isn’t much Jim or I wouldn't do for you and the girls.”

“Will do,” I reply solemnly. Sandy reaches out and gives my shoulder a warm squeeze.

I try my best to ease the tension, though. “It’s just like old times, Sandy. Me crying in the cafe. Except this time, we can’t have tequila!” I force out a laugh.

“Speak for yourself, baby!” This time I really do laugh. I start to wipe away my tears and I wonder, how many more tears will I shed for this man?

I slide into the driver's seat of my new SUV and try to focus on my breathing for just a moment. Why? WHY would he ask about me? I don’t get it. I wish Sandy wouldn’t have told me. I didn’t need to know he had a new number and that I’ve crossed his mind, even if it was only in the politest sense. It changes nothing, but it hurts like hell.

I start the car, but sit in my parking spot at The Grounds for a few more minutes, mostly staring off into space. Without thinking, I start driving. It’s like I’m in a trance. I’m not thinking, I’m just doing. I wind up the mountain, on the road to Liam’s house, mindlessly. As I get closer to the turn for his street, my palms turn damp and I feel like I have to pee, badly, all of a sudden. I’m nervous.

What if he’s home? If he is, will I get out? Will I yell at him? Scream at him? Or will I just keep on trucking?

I make the turn onto his street. Even though it’s mid morning, the road is still mostly shadowed by the thick pines growing all around, making it feel ominous and dreadful. I begin to slow down as I approach the entrance to his driveway and my heart palpitates.

There’s no Range Rover. But there is another car parked right in front of the garage. The jealousy that pulses through me feels like an ice cold I.V. It hurts, and for a moment I feel like I can’t catch my breath. I instinctively slam on my brakes. With my arms stretched out in front of me on the steering wheel, I hang my head between them and try desperately to inhale.

That car could be anyone’s. It could be the cleaning lady, it could be a tenant. Unfortunately, I can’t think that rationally right now, and I refuse to believe it. There probably is someone else by now. Even if there wasn’t when he ended things, I’d have to be an idiot to think he isn’t moving on, or hasn’t moved on by now.

Hell, I actually wish there was someone else. Then at least I’d know. I’d get some closure and know how big of an ass Liam really is. And that would make it better, because it’s the not knowing that eats away at me and degrades my mental health. Not knowing is like being in quicksand, and the only person that could save me is Liam, but he’s just standing there. Ignoring me. Seeing me go down, but never once acknowledging my existence.

I wish he’d just tell me, ‘I don’t love you. I don’t want to be together. I’d rather be with someone else.’ Fuck, even if he told me he’d rather be alone, that would be better than this. Fucking coward.

The person I was planning my entire life around, the person I would have given anything and everything for is the one person who won’t acknowledge that I exist. Shouldn’t that be closure, enough? I shouldn’t need to know why, I should just accept that the only truth I will know firmly in this entire situation is that he doesn’t love me. He doesn’t care about me and my pregnancy means nothing to him. Fucking accept those facts, Britain. I seriously need to chin up and move the fuck on.

I ease off the brake and go down to the end of the street where the pavement widens into a dead end. I turn around, and this time, when I drive by, I don’t even bother to look. There’s something I need to do before I turn out onto the main road, though. I scroll through Carplay, hit Jess’ name, then wait while the ringing echoes through the empty cab of my vehicle.

“Hey, babe. I was just thinking about you!” Jess answers the phone cheerfully.

“Hi.” My voice falters before I can say anything more, but I don’t need to.

“What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” Jess knows me. All it takes is a change in the tone of my voice, and she knows.

“Everything is wrong, and nothing is okay.” I cry out as soon as the words leave my lips. I cry, hard.

“Oh, Britain. I’m sorry. What’s going on?” Jess’ tone is subdued and concerned.

“I,” I cry out again, “I can’t pretend like I’m fine anymore.” I keep crying.

“Then don’t. Don’t pretend to be fine. You shouldn’t be fine.”

“I…I dropped the girls off at Sandy’s this morning and she told me Liam called her. And he asked about me. Why?!” I cry, “Why would he do that?!”

“I have no idea sweetheart. Is that why you’re so worked up?”

“It’s one of the reasons.” I pause to sniffle. “Jess, I…I’m struggling…to get out of bed in the mornings, and to keep going. It just hurts, so bad.” The line is dead silent on her end for more than a moment.

“I’ll be there tonight, at the latest, tomorrow morning. Okay?” I nod to myself in the car.

“Okay.” My voice is quiet and meek. I try to calm myself down enough so I’ll be able to see the road and drive back to town.

“Everything’s going to be okay. Not right this moment, not even tomorrow, but soon. Everything will be okay, got it?”

“Yep,” I sniffle.

“I’m gonna go book a flight and pack. Are you okay to go to your appointment this afternoon? There’s nothing wrong with rescheduling it. In fact, I recommend rescheduling it. Go to the store, get some ice cream. Then go home and put on Bridgerton. Before you can even get to Queen Charlotte, I’ll be there.” Jess is right. Delaying my ultrasound a week won’t make a difference. If I’m going to stop pretending to be fine, the first step is taking the time when I need it. I don’t need to keep pushing through unnecessarily.

“Y-you’re right. I’m going to reschedule,” I sigh as my crying fades. Knowing Jess is coming here is already working on soothing me.

“Good, I’m going to let you go, but text me if you need anything. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay, and Jess?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Of course. Love you. We’re going to be okay, okay?”

“Uh-huh. Love you, too. Bye.”

The call ends and I immediately pull up Silas’ office number. Hopefully they can get me in next week.

“Dr. Scala’s office, how can I help you?”

“Hi, um, this is Britain Scott. I have an ultrasound and check-up appointment with Dr. Scala today, but I need to reschedule.”

“Okay, well, there’ll be a $50 fee for the late cancellation.” The administrative assistant sounds annoyed with me, I don’t blame her.

“Right, of course, that’s fine.”

“Unless you’re sick, in which case we can waive it.”

“I’m not sick, I just can’t make it today.”

“Okay, well, let me see about getting you rescheduled. Hold just a moment.”

“Sure.” The line switches over to elevator music for less than a second when I hear a click.

“Britain?” A familiar male’s voice sounds over the line.

“Hi, Silas.”

“What’s going on? You okay?” No.

“I’m fine.” Lie.

“Okay, do you want to talk about it?” He asks. I sigh.

“I’m just struggling today, Silas. Well, not just today, but today has been a particularly hard day, and I just need to rest and spend the day at home. I’m sorry to cancel on such short notice. I’m happy to pay the fee, or if you even need to bill me for the whole appointment, that’s fine, too. I just can’t be there today, and pretend to be happy. Like everything’s fine when it’s not.” My voice cracks on my last few words.

“Brit, I’m so sorry. It’s completely fine. I’m going to move your appointment to next Thursday, same time. Take the day and rest. Please. Next time, just text me. You don’t have to call in, okay?”

“Thanks, Silas.” I can’t say much more or I’ll start crying.

“Do you need a counseling referral?”

“I’m already seeing someone, but thank you.”

“Please text me if anything changes or comes up, okay?”

“I will.”

“Alright, take care. I’ll see you next week.”

“Okay, bye.”

“Bye.” The call ends and I feel the smallest bit of relief flow through me. I haven’t just taken a day to grieve since those first few weeks at Georgia’s house. Maybe that’s why I felt better back then; I was just letting myself feel everything, and maybe that was the healing part.

I open the glove box for a napkin to dry my eyes, but then remember the car is new and hasn’t had its inaugural fast food journey. No napkins. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and start the drive down the mountain. First stop, In-N-Out, second stop, ice cream, last stop, home. I need this. I need to just let myself be sad, so I can eventually be happy. It’s a plan.