10. Jack
JACK
I pace my cabin, having half a mind to jump into my truck and follow Adam and Alyssa down the mountain.
It's not that I don't trust my friend, but the idea of Alyssa putting her trust in a man other than me, a man she doesn't even know, is driving me nuts.
I want to know what I did wrong.
What happened? What did I say to Adam that had Alyssa running out the door like she was getting away from me as fast as she could?
I pace down the hallway and stop in front of the guest room door.
She left it ajar, and I know I should respect her privacy.
I know that going into her room is an invasion of that privacy, and yet still I can't stop as my feet take four big steps through the doorway and into the room, stopping at the end of the bed.
I look around like maybe I'll find some sort of clue. Like maybe Alyssa's ghost is still here, left behind, able to explain why she had to flee, and whether I have a chance in hell of convincing a woman like her that I could be the man she needs in her life.
I turn, examining the few items that she unpacked onto the top of the dresser: a phone charger, a hairbrush, a contact lens case.
My stomach does a somersault when I see the last thing on the dresser. A crinkled little square photograph, black and white, shiny like film. Not a normal photo, but a very particular type of photo.
An ultrasound.
I pick it up and try to make sense of the black-and-white blob.
At first, it looks like nothing. For all I know, I could be looking at an X-ray of a jellyfish.
And then suddenly, everything snaps into focus, and the picture makes sense.
The thing that looked like a misshapen jelly bean suddenly reveals itself for what it actually is: the profile of a baby's face.
I look in the corner and see Alyssa's name at the top of the image, as well as her doctor's name, and then the date and the time.
This ultrasound is recent, but I don't know enough about babies and pregnancy to be sure of what I'm looking at.
I try to do the mental math, counting back the weeks since Alyssa and I slept together.
Does the timeline line up? Does it work out that I could be the father of this baby that's growing inside of her?
I realize as I'm doing the math that I desperately fucking want to be the father.
That I want it to be me, which is insane.
Who the hell am I? Earlier today, I was sitting across a diner table from a woman named Carla as she expressed her desire to have a baby, and the idea couldn't seem more abhorrent at the time.
Earlier, when Adam visited, when I explained to him why we were in a match, I —
“Fuck!” I say it out loud, finally able to remember the conversation that I had with Adam.
That's what she overheard. She overheard me talking about how I don't want children!
I look down at the ultrasound again before putting it in the breast pocket of my flannel.
She's not here to see her dad. She's here to tell me that I'm going to be a dad.
And then she heard me talk about how I don't want children, and she ran.
My mind conjures a replica of her face looking fearful and horrified, cheeks flushed as she pulled her coat on and tried to get out the door as fast as possible earlier.
It all makes sense now.
I rush out of the bedroom, photo of our unborn baby still in my pocket, and grab my own coat and keys.
While I'm starting my truck, I dial Adam's number.
"Pick up," I growl.
But it goes to voicemail.
I try again.
Voicemail again.
I'm speeding down the mountain at an ill-advised pace, and I'm about to dial Adam again when he rings me instead.
"Finally," I bark into the phone when I pick it up.
"Hello to you, too," Adam says breezily. "What's up? You need an update on your woman already?"
The way he says your woman quells some of my concern for some reason. Apparently, I'm more possessive than I thought.
"Yeah, I want a fucking update," I snap. "How is she doing?"
"Uh, well, she is currently standing on the porch of that jackass who sold me a lemon of a car last fall.”
"Toby Finneagan?” I ask.
"Yeah," Adam says with distaste. "That guy. He still owes me four hundred bucks!”
"I don't think you're getting your four hundred bucks from him," I say, thinking of the weathered old man with the foul attitude.
He has a bad reputation in Wildwood, with more than a few of the local townspeople having negative stories to tell about him, my own best friend included.
I put the pieces together quickly in my mind as I turn at the bottom of the mountain, in the direction of Toby's run-down shack of a house.
He must be her father, the man she said she was here to see.
"I don't know what you did," Adam continues. "But this woman seemed like she’d seen a ghost on the drive down here. She's seriously upset. I've never been the best at reading women's emotions, much less talking to them about them. But I have a feeling you fucked up, man.”
"Yeah, yeah," I say.
"Any chance you know what you did?” Adam asks me.
"I know exactly what I did," I say. "And I'm gonna fix it."