Chapter 36 – James
JAMES
Ilie back in my bed, reviewing tomorrow's schedule on my tablet. There's a new color on my calendar. Mustard yellow, for doctor’s appointments. Maura and I have another follow-up appointment tomorrow.
The day we arrived back from Greece, Dr. Markovic came to the penthouse to check up on Maura personally.
He came with a whole host of recommendations for her diet, exercise, and schedule during her pregnancy.
With his help, we arranged for a private chef to deliver meals tailored to Maura's needs.
She's now under strict instructions to walk no more than an hour a day, accompanied by someone who can call him if her heartbeat elevates.
It's obvious that Dr. Markovic and Maura have known each other for years.
Sometimes, he talks more like she's still a child.
Part of me wants to snap at him that she's a grown adult, capable of making her own decisions.
Another part of me is glad. She acted like a child, keeping her condition a secret and na?vely thinking it would never come out.
Putting herself at risk because of her stubbornness.
My own schedule for tomorrow shows the gym in the morning, then straight meetings for six hours. At least Taylor was able to schedule them over Zoom, so I can stay in my home office in case Maura needs me.
Sighing, I rub my temples. She won’t need me—and even if she does, she won’t ask.
There’s been a definite distance between us since we got home.
We’re polite when our paths cross, but Maura never invites conversation.
She disappears to her studio whenever she can, though she’s not strong enough to stand for long.
Meanwhile, I come up with every excuse to barge in on her and make sure she’s alright. I’ve offered her water so many times, Dasani will probably try to hire me as a spokesman. I’m constantly, painfully aware of where she is.
Two days ago, she snapped at me to stop hovering.
“You're doing it again,” she'd said, not even looking up from her book.
“Doing what?”
“Hovering. You've followed me from the bedroom to the kitchen to the bathroom and back. That's the textbook definition of hovering.”
“I'm not hovering. I'm just…standing nearby. In case you need something.”
“I went to pee, James. It's not exactly a high-risk activity.”
“You could slip.”
“On what? The bathroom floor is dry.”
“Hypothetically.”
She'd rubbed her temples. “If I promise to text you every time I successfully use the toilet, will you stop?”
I considered that. “That seems excessive.”
“More excessive than following me to the bathroom?”
Her point was taken.
“I'll give you more space.”
“Thank you.”
“Starting tomorrow.”
She'd thrown a pillow at my head.
I've tried to follow her orders since then, but it's hard.
I set down the tablet and lie back on the pillows.
I’ve got a long day tomorrow, and I need all the rest I can get.
But sleep feels nowhere near. The house feels too quiet somehow, the heavy silence pressing around me.
I wonder if Maura’s asleep in her room. She should be, according to her doctor-approved schedule. Maybe she's tossing and turning, too.
I stare at the ceiling. Normally, I sleep like the dead.
Once I give myself permission to rest, my body falls in line.
For the past week, though, I've been too restless.
I can't stop thinking about silence. About the absence of breath, the absence of a heartbeat.
Sometimes I think that if I listen hard enough, I could hear those small noises that prove that Maura is still here. Still alive.
Pulling the sheets up to my chin, I turned to the side, trying to find a comfortable position. Nothing feels right. My body buzzes with energy, ready to run on the treadmill for hours or punch the speedbag downstairs until I wear through my boxing gloves.
Neither task seems harder than walking the dozen steps over to my wife’s room.
Time seems to drag on as I shift in bed, chasing sleep. My dark curtains hide the city lights, so I have to squint at my watch to see the minutes tick by. One, two, three.
Reduced life expectancy.
Not enough time.
I drag my hands over my face. The whole thing feels so unfair.
It shouldn’t be possible that this gentle woman, who’s never hurt anyone, who has this artistic fire burning inside her, should have to face death far before her time.
She’s known about this since she was a child.
I can’t imagine how terrifying it must have been, being forced to confront your mortality before you even know how to read.
No wonder Maura’s so eager to seize life, when she’s always known how little of it she’ll get to enjoy.
I drum my fingers on my sheets, frustrated.
I hate that there’s nothing I can do to help her.
I can bring her water and vitamins and make sure she remembers to eat breakfast, but those aren’t things that will really move the needle.
Her heart will keep going, or it won’t. All I can do is wait and hope that she’ll be alright.
What if something’s wrong now? The doctor said a cardiac event could come on without warning. Could I even hear her cry for help, all the way in here?
What if she needs me?
Fuck it. If she wants to accuse me of hovering, let her. I can't stand lying here any longer wondering if she's okay.
I throw off the covers and walk into the hallway. As quietly as I can, I ease open her door.
Maura left her curtains open, and moonlight streams into her bedroom. She’s asleep on her side, one hand curled near her chest. The moonlight softens her features, casting a gentle glow over the slope of her nose and her curving lips.
I settle on the edge of her bed, careful to shift my weight slowly enough that it doesn’t move the mattress and wake her.
I gaze down at her, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. Her hair circles on her pillow like a halo.
I dare to reach out and run my fingers over a loose strand. Maura doesn’t shift.
Just looking at her makes my anxiety ebb the smallest bit. She’s here, still breathing.
Slowly, I lean down so my head hovers just above her chest. When she still doesn’t wake, I lower myself a final inch until my ear presses above her heart.
Thump.
Thump.
Th-thump.
I try not to panic at the uneven beat. Dr. Markovic warned us that irregular heartbeats were typical, and that we only needed to contact him if Maura’s heartbeat raised over 100 beats per minute.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
I listen, counting the beats as I watch the second hand tick by on my watch.
We pass a minute, reassuring me that her heartbeat is at a healthy 75 beats per minute.
I don’t lift my head just yet, though. I keep my ear against her chest, listening.
The beats are uneven but determined. Her heart won’t give up on her—it’ll carry her through this, and as far as it can go.
My sanity anchors itself to each gentle thump. Each beat reminds me that she’s here, she’s fine, she’s safe. My eyelids grow heavy, sleep lingering at the edge of consciousness. I still can’t bring myself to move. I don’t know how to keep panic at bay without that steady reminder.
She’s okay.
She’s okay.
She’s okay.
Then I’m blinking awake, my neck muscles stiff and aching.
I sit up slowly, careful not to jostle Maura.
Shit, I didn’t mean to fall asleep listening to her heartbeat.
Thank god I woke up while it was still dark.
I wouldn’t want to face her wrath if she found me here in the morning, doing quite a bit more than just hovering.
My footsteps are as quiet as I can make them as I walk away. I let myself pause in the doorway, drinking in the sight of her moonlit face. It’s a balm to my ravaged mind.
In the dark, there’s no denying the truth. I’m in this marriage far deeper than I ever intended. As angry as I might have been at her for hiding her condition, it’s nothing compared to the relief I feel that she’s still here. That I haven’t lost her.
Because now, when I think about the future, I’m not just thinking about my company. In fact, Sequel tends to drift further to the back of my mind. I know now that there’s no version of his life now that doesn’t include Maura and our baby.