Chapter Thirty-Three
Whitney
The meeting is going well and we’ve just signed contracts with the happy couple and I’ve scanned them with my phone, sending them to Addison. “Please don’t think the fact I’ll have a newborn then will be a problem.”
“You’ve always been an amazing and fair business woman, Whitney, I have no doubt you will make it work as a mother.”
I can’t help but smile, feeling excited and happy people still trust me. “I’m anxious to get started. I know we have a few months, but I’ll probably have something for you to look at next week. I’m not one to wait until the last second and I’ll keep you up to date.”
We stand, ready to end our meeting when a group of older men come in. “Ernie, turn the scanner on,”
Oh good grief, something must be happening and they want to be nosey. One of the disadvantages of living in a small town. I turn to grab my bag, when another group of men come in, this one a little younger than the previous.
“Ernie is the scanner on? We just tried to come through the bottoms and there’s been a bad wreck.”
“I’m turning it on,” Ernie yells from behind the counter.
“Did y’all hear one of the cars involved was an officer and they died?” One of the group of older men asked the other group.
“Mom,” my heart drops and I reach out, grabbing her mom by the arm. “Did he say what I think he said?”
“Yes,” my mom nods slowly. “And none of them should be talking about it unless they know for sure,” she says loud enough that the group could hear them.
“Oh honey, is your boy workin’ today? He’s normally off, I didn’t think nothin’ of it.” One of the men at the counter says, looking over at me, with sympathy in his eyes.
“He switched because we had an ultrasound,” I put my hand on my stomach, feeling Stella kick.
“Have a seat,” Mom scoots a chair underneath me, while I’m fumbling in my purse. “I know,” I grab my phone. “I’ll just call and see if they can patch me through. He’ll answer, and things will be fine.”
But they don’t feel fine, and my fingers shake as I dial the number.
Dread pools in my stomach and I think immediately of all the things I should have said.
The things I wanted to say but never did.
I’ve never even told Ryan I love him, even though I do.
I didn’t want to open myself up to the potential hurt putting my feelings out there may cause.
The regret eats at me as I listen to the phone ring.
“Laurel County Dispatch.”
I go into my spiel, telling them who I am and telling her I just want to know if Ryan’s okay or if they can patch me through to him.
“I’m sorry, if you aren’t immediate family we can’t give that info out while someone’s on shift.”
“We may not be blood related, but I carry his baby,” I tell the woman on the other end of the line.
“Unless you wear his ring, have his last name, or a marriage license, I simply can’t give you the information you’re asking for.”
I hang up because it’s not in me to be rude to this woman. I still remember how my mom raised me and the fact she’s sitting right next to me. “I’ll call Trevor,” I decide. “He’ll know.”
As I listen to the phone go to voicemail, the tears come, they glide down my face and neck, until they’re stopped by the pearls I always wear. Reaching up, I grab hold of the pearl stud Ryan gave me for my birthday before the Alabama game.
“I never told him I love him, mom. I never told him. What if he died wondering? I didn’t tell him,” I bury my head in my hands, sobbing, letting my entire body take on the regret I feel.
“Honey, he knows,” Mom rubs my back, speaking to me in soothing tones.
I can’t breathe, I feel the suffocation of the room, of all the eyes on me. “Not if he’s dead, mom.”
“Why don’t we go home?” She offers. “That way you’re there if they come for you.”
“No,” I stiffen my chin, hoping it stops trembling as I grip the edge of the table, daring her to drag me out of there if she has to. “Ryan knew I was going to be here today. If they’re looking for me, Ryan would tell them where I am.”
I’m aware that I make no sense. I’ve just told my mom he’s dead, but I can’t make myself leave in case he’s not. Why would God do this to me? Why would he give me something worth holding onto if he was just going to take him away from me? I can’t understand.
I grab my purse and phone, running outside as much as I can run.
When I get into the fresh air, rain falls like tears from the sky, I inhale deep breathes, trying to regulate my heartbeat.
I put my hands over my head, clasping my fingers, expanding my ribcage, and hope I don’t have this baby weeks early because if Ryan’s dead, a part of me just died, too.
In the distance, I see blue lights and know they’re coming to tell me my baby has no father. They’re coming to make a notification.
Wiping the tears off my neck and face, I pull my bottom lip in between my teeth. I absolutely will not be complete and total mess when they tell me. I will make Ryan proud of how I handle this.
The car comes to a screeching halt in front of the cafe, and I do a double-take as Ryan gets out of the driver’s seat. He’s dirty, covered in mud, blood, and I have no idea what else, but he’s alive.
I run to him, crushing my white dress to the front of his once-white shirt. “You’re alive,” I run my hands through his hair.
He grabs hold of me tightly, holding me against him. “It wasn’t me, Princess. It wasn’t me, I’m here.”
I can’t say anything, I bury my face in his chest, sobbing. Relief flowing through me, but despair for the other person’s family.
“I have bad news though, Whit.”
Suddenly I look up at him. Now I notice the tension on his face, the utter devastation there – something is wrong. “Who was it?” I whisper because I can’t ask the question out loud. My voice won’t let me make it any higher, my body can’t push the sound out with any more force.
“It was Trevor. The officer in the other car was Trevor.”
“But he’s off-duty today,” I argue, not believing what he’s telling me.
“He was approaching from the opposite direction. They hit head on. When I left they were extricating him from the truck. We need to go to the hospital in Birmingham. That’s where they’ll take him.”
“To identify the body?” I whimper, trembling in his arms.
“Princess look at me,” he grabs my chin. “He’s not dead. He’s not good, I won’t lie about that, and I don’t know what he’s facing, but when I left he wasn’t dead. Dry those tears up, and let’s get your mom. We have a lot of praying to do.”