Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
india
Cage moves in slowly.
Not all at once, but gradually, his things start appearing in my cabin.
First it's just a toothbrush in the bathroom, then a change of clothes in the dresser, then tools in the shed, and then half his bookshelf because apparently he reads survival manuals for fun.
"You know you can just move in properly," I tell him one morning as he's adding more firewood to the pile he already chopped last week.
"I am moved in."
"You still have a cabin."
"I'm keeping the cabin."
"Why?"
He pauses, leaning on the axe. "In case you decide you need space."
"Cage." I walk over to him. "I'm not going to kick you out."
"You might."
"I won't."
"You don't know that."
I take the axe from his hands and set it aside. "I'm pregnant with your baby. You told me you love me, you're here every night. At what point do you believe this is real?"
He's quiet for a moment. "I'm working on it."
"Work faster."
He almost smiles. "Yes ma'am."
But by the end of the week, more of his things have appeared: Books, clothes, his coffee mug that says, I hate mornings that he claims is ironic but definitely isn't.
And every night, he's in my bed, our bed. Holding me like I might disappear if he lets go.
I'm twelve weeks along when I finally tell Rosie and June.
We're at The Broken Antler for girls' night. I've been dodging it for weeks, but Rosie finally cornered me at the library and refused to take no for an answer.
"You've been avoiding us," June says as soon as we sit down.
"I've been busy."
"Uh huh." Rosie eyes me over her beer. "Busy with Cage Brody."
I feel my face heat. "Maybe."
"Maybe." June's eyes are sparkling. "India, his truck has been at your place every night for two weeks. That's not maybe. That's definitely."
"Fine. We're together."
"Together," Rosie repeats. "Like together together?"
"Yes."
"About damn time," Rosie mutters.
June leans forward. "Are you happy?"
"Yes." The word comes out easier than I expected. "I'm really happy."
"Good." She squeezes my hand. "You deserve it."
I take a breath. "There's something else."
They both go still, watching me.
"I'm pregnant."
Silence. Then Rosie says, "How pregnant?"
"Twelve weeks."
"Jesus, India." She's doing math in her head. "That's from when you were weird about him at the bar. Three months ago."
"Yes."
"You've been carrying this alone for three months?"
"I didn't know what to say."
June reaches across the table and grabs my other hand. "Are you okay?"
"I think so. I mean, I'm terrified. But Cage is here, he's staying, and I think we're going to be okay."
"You think?" Rosie raises an eyebrow. "Or you know?"
"I'm getting there."
"He better be treating you right," Rosie says. "Because if he's not, I still have that tire iron."
I laugh. "He's treating me right. I promise."
"Does he want this?" June asks gently. "The baby?"
"Yes. It took him a minute to figure it out, but yes, he wants it."
"And you want him?"
"So much it scares me sometimes."
June smiles. "That's how you know it's real."
We talk for another hour. They ask questions. I answer. They tell me about the baby shower they're already planning even though I tell them it's too early.
"It's never too early to plan," June insists.
"She's right," Rosie agrees. "Besides, we need time to make sure it's not full of Nora's terrible decoration choices."
By the time we leave, I feel lighter. Like I've been carrying this secret alone for so long that sharing it has freed up space in my chest.
Outside, Cage is waiting by his truck. He drove me here even though I told him I could drive myself.
"How'd it go?" he asks.
"Good. They're happy for us."
"They threatened me yet?"
"Rosie mentioned a tire iron."
"I'd expect nothing less."
He opens the passenger door for me. I slide in, and he closes it carefully.
On the drive home, I watch him. The way his hands rest easy on the wheel. The way he checks the mirrors constantly. The way he glances at me every few minutes like he's making sure I'm still there.
"You can relax," I tell him. "I'm not going anywhere."
"I know."
"Do you?"
He's quiet for a moment. Then, "I'm getting there."
The same words I used with Rosie and June. We're both works in progress.
But we're progressing together.
A few days later, I'm at The Ridge having lunch when Sarah Mitchell walks in.
I tense automatically, remembering the way she looked at Cage. The pain in her voice.
She sees me and pauses. Then, after a moment, she walks over.
"India," she says.
"Sarah." I gesture to the empty seat across from me. "Do you want to sit?"
She hesitates, then sits. "I heard congratulations are in order."
"Thank you."
"How far along?"
"Almost thirteen weeks."
She nods. "That's good. Past the danger zone."
"That's what the doctor said."
Ma comes over with coffee, sees Sarah, and raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment. She pours two cups and leaves.
Sarah wraps her hands around her mug. "Cage came to see me a few weeks ago."
"I know."
"He told you?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"That you talked. That you're not ready to forgive him but that you told him not to waste his life."
She nods slowly. "I meant it. I'm angry. I'll probably always be angry, but that doesn't mean I want him to suffer forever."
"That's generous."
"It's realistic." She takes a sip of coffee. "TJ loved him. Trusted him. And TJ would want him to be happy."
My throat tightens. "Thank you for telling me that."
"I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it for TJ. And for Emma." She pauses. "She asks about Cage sometimes. Wants to know if he's the man Daddy talked about."
"What do you tell her?"
"That he is, and that Daddy thought he was a good man." She meets my eyes. "Is he? A good man?"
I don't hesitate. "Yes. He's a good man."
"Then take care of him, he carries more than he should."
"I know."
"And don't let him pull away when it gets hard. He'll try, it's what he does."
"I won't."
She finishes her coffee and stands. "Good luck, India. With the baby. With everything."
"Thank you, Sarah."
She walks out, and I sit there feeling like something has shifted. Not forgiveness. But understanding. Acceptance even.
Maybe that's enough.
That night, I tell Cage about the conversation.
We're on the couch, my feet in his lap while he rubs them. It's become a routine. I complain about my feet hurting, he insists on rubbing them, I pretend I don't love it.
"She said TJ would want you to be happy," I tell him.
His hands still on my feet. "She said that?"
"Yes. And she told me to take care of you."
"I don't need taking care of."
"We all need taking care of sometimes."
He resumes rubbing my feet, but I can see the emotion working across his face. Relief. Gratitude. Maybe the smallest bit of peace.
"Thank you," he says quietly.
"For what?"
"For telling me. For being patient with me. For not giving up even when I was being an idiot."
"You weren't an idiot. You were scared."
"Still am sometimes."
"Me too."
He pulls me closer, until I'm curled against his chest. "We're going to be okay."
"I know."
"I mean it. We're going to figure this out."
I tilt my head up to look at him. "I believe you."
And I do.
The next few weeks fall into a rhythm.
Cage wakes up early and makes coffee. I stumble out of bed an hour later, usually to find breakfast already made.
We eat together. He asks about my plans for the day. I ask about his.
Most mornings, he's got work to do on the cabin. Fixing things. Building things. Preparing for the baby.
He built a changing table from scratch. Won't tell me where he learned carpentry, but it's solid and beautiful and perfect.
"You built this?" I ask when he carries it in.
"Yeah."
"When?"
"At night. When you're asleep."
"Cage, you need to sleep."
"I sleep enough."
He doesn't. I know he doesn't. But he's trying, and that's what matters.
We go to doctor's appointments together. He holds my hand during the ultrasound and stares at the screen like it's the most important thing he's ever seen.
"That's the heartbeat," the doctor says, pointing.
Cage's grip tightens on my hand. "It's so fast."
"Normal for this stage. Everything looks good."
On the drive home, he's quiet. Processing.
"You okay?" I ask.
"Yeah. Just thinking."
"About what?"
"About how small it is. How much could go wrong."
"Nothing's going to go wrong."
"You don't know that."
"I choose to believe it anyway."
He glances at me. "How do you do that? Stay positive?"
"Practice. And stubbornness."
He almost smiles. "You're definitely stubborn."
"One of my best qualities."
At home, he's constantly checking on me, making sure I'm eating enough. That I’m resting enough, and not overdoing it.
"Cage, I'm pregnant, not dying."
"I know."
"Then stop hovering."
"I'm not hovering."
"You're absolutely hovering."
He crosses his arms. "Name one time I've hovered."
"This morning when I tried to carry firewood and you practically tackled me to take it."
"That's not hovering, that's being helpful."
"You followed me to the bathroom yesterday."
"I was going to the bathroom too."
"We have one bathroom, Cage. You can't use it at the same time as me."
"I was making sure you didn't fall."
"I'm not going to fall in the bathroom."
"People fall in bathrooms all the time. It's one of the most dangerous rooms in the house."
I stare at him. "Did you look that up?"
"Maybe."
"Cage."
"What? I'm preparing."
I walk over and cup his face. "I love that you care. But you need to relax a little, I'm okay. The baby's okay. We're both okay."
"I know, I just worry."
"I worry too. But we can't live our whole lives afraid of what might go wrong."
He leans his forehead against mine. "I'm trying."
"I know. And you're doing great."
We stand there for a moment, just breathing together. These are my favorite moments. The quiet ones. The ones where we don't need words.
One Saturday morning, Caleb stops by with a crib.