9. Emmie
9
EMMIE
M y own house. I’d given that man tens of thousands of dollars, and he’d always hemmed and hawed about changing the deed.
Now it was too late.
The house was going to Oakley and her unborn child, Brooks Jr.
Now that the funeral was over, the big white Victorian house was decorated for Christmas.
“Those are my Christmas decorations!” I screeched. “I made half of those, and the rest are antiques. How dare she.”
Inside, it was worse.
“How did Oakley do all this pregnant?” Marius frowned. “I remember when my mom was pregnant with my sister. She could barely move.”
“Because she gets everything, and I get nothing,” I said bitterly.
I didn’t even care that I was making a lot of noise as I stomped up the stairs, whose banister was wrapped in the garland I’d made by hand. I wasn’t sneaking around my own goddamn house.
“The nerve of that man,” I said angrily. “How dare he get her pregnant then give her my house—my life that we built together.”
Even though I knew it was just going to ruin the rest of my holiday season, I swung open the door to the left of the stair landing.
“She even took my nursery.” I sank down onto the floor. “That’s the cradle my grandfather made right before he died. He was so excited for me to have a baby. She took all my furniture, and the will says she can have it.”
“Emmie…” Marius sat on the floor of the nursery I’d spent years agonizing over, making sure it was perfect for the baby who was going to make it all worthwhile, a baby who was never going to come.
He gathered me into his strong arms.
Then I was breaking down and sobbing in Marius’s arms. “I wanted a baby. That’s all I wanted. I tried and tried.”
Marius made comforting noises.
“Brooks said it was my fault, that I was defective as a woman, that I wasn’t meant to be a mother.”
“I see you with all those cats,” Marius said in a low, soothing voice. “I think you’ll be a wonderful mother.”
“I don’t know.” I hiccupped, wiping at my eyes. “Brooks and I were trying forever, but I think I’m infertile.” I sniffled. “We tried for a year and nothing. He hated me for not getting pregnant. He said he was fine… and it’s true because Oakley is pregnant.”
Marius’s arms squeezed me tighter as I spoke into the soft wool of his suit.
“For a second, I thought about getting a sperm donor, but I don’t have anywhere to live, and I bet it would just be a waste. I’m old, and I can’t get pregnant. Clearly.”
“You’re not old, and you’re not defective,” Marius assured me.
“You’re my lawyer, not my friend. You don’t have to pretend to be nice to me.”
“I’m not being nice. You clearly don’t know much about male anatomy.” He tilted my chin up. “Brooks was cheating on you, right? Well, a man only produces so many elves a week, so to speak. If he was sending all the presents down someone else’s chimney before he got to your house, then no babies for Christmas. I had a roommate who was looking at being a sperm donor but decided against it because you had to abstain from sex unless it was in a small, cold, windowless room, and he didn’t want to waste his college years on that.”
“So you think I could get pregnant?” My heart fluttered.
“I think you should try with someone who isn’t cheating on you before you start catastrophizing.” Marius petted my hair. “You’re not paying me. That means I don’t have to stoically watch a woman cry.” He swung me to my feet. “Let’s go to the Christmas market. I’ll buy you some yarn. You can knit one of those cats a sweater.”
“I need to find clues first.”
Brooks’s study was a disorganized mess. He’d never wanted me to clean it. Now I knew it was because he was hiding multiple affairs.
“Do you see any jewelry receipts?” I asked. “I bet that bracelet I found in my kitchen belongs to Oakley. We need to prove it.”
“I don’t see how you can find anything in this dump,” Marius said, opening drawers.
In my craft room, which was almost as heart-wrenching as the nursery, Oakley had set up shop at my white desk with the brass trim.
Her laptop was open.
I opened up her search history and looked. She was searching for medicines that made someone sick.
I snapped a photo with my phone.
“Marius?” I wandered next door into the master bedroom, which was messy and smellier than I’d left it.
The lawyer was looking at something else. “Are these Brooks’s clothes?” he asked me, pointing at a suit draped haphazardly over the chair in the master bedroom. “I didn’t think he ever wore a suit.”
“Kris Kringle on a shingle,” I whispered. “Oakley is having an affair!” I jumped into his arms, hugging him and giving him a big kiss on the cheek. “And you say you’re not a detective.” I snapped my fingers. “Ooh, I bet that baby isn’t Brooks’s!”