Chapter 22 #2
The tilt of her head and sympathy in her eyes told me she understood why I was here, but since patient privacy hadn’t been a big concern so far, that wasn’t a surprise. She’d probably been filled in either by the receptionist or one of the nurses.
“Been better,” I mumbled, then gulped down the small amount of water in the cup.
Seeing that it was empty, Bette took it and turned her back to me, my hand still in hers. “Can she get some more water, please?”
She was addressing Hilary, who was scrolling through social media, and my fertility counselor jumped as if startled, then looked around. “Me?”
“You work for the Department of Fertility, don’t you?” Bette asked. “I mean, it is your job to make sure she’s well, right?”
Hilary scowled but shoved her phone in her pocket and crossed the room, taking the cup from Bette. The sour expression was still on her face when she hurried from the room.
“Thanks,” I said when Bette and I were alone.
“No problem.” She rolled her eyes. “She’s okay with me, but I know how she is with the girls who aren’t thrilled about the program.”
“You mean a bitch?” I said in a gravelly voice.
“Exactly.” Bette smiled, but her expression sobered after a second. “Are you okay? I mean, I can connect the dots, so I know why you’re here.”
She was still holding my hand, which should have been awkward since we didn’t really know one another, and I wasn’t a very touchy-feely person.
At least not with anyone but Trevor. For some reason, though, it wasn’t, and I had a strange feeling I could confide in this woman.
Although that might have been from the anesthesia since I was still groggy.
“Okay,” I said, my words slightly slurred. “But not exactly sure how to feel since I didn’t want the baby and hadn’t been planning to keep it.”
“That’s understandable.”
“Not to everyone,” I muttered.
“Well, most people are stupid.” Her smile returned. “At least in my experience.”
Hilary cut the conversation short when she came back into the room, and when she passed me the cup, I quickly gulped the water down. Once I had, exhaustion settled over me again, and I closed my eyes.
I dozed, half aware of what was going on around me, of Bette having a quiet conversation with either Hilary or a nurse, of someone saying I should be okay to leave soon.
Then I was roused from sleep by a gentle shake of my shoulder, and the next thing I knew, someone was helping me dress.
Who, I wasn’t even sure. I was still too out of it.
Once I was in my original clothes, Hilary helped me into a wheelchair.
Bette was nowhere in sight, and as my fertility counselor pushed me down the hall, I began to wonder if I’d dreamt she was here, but was too tired to ask.
Keeping my eyes open was nearly impossible, and since I trusted someone else was on top of things, I didn’t even try.
When hot air swept over me, I opened my eyes to bright sunshine and found Bette standing beside a shiny black car, the passenger door open.
“Can you stand?” she asked, her hand out in case I needed it.
“Yeah.”
I stood on wobbly legs, clinging to the wheelchair in case they gave out. When I was sure I was okay, I moved, already reaching for Bette’s outstretched hand. She clung to me, one hand on my back as she helped me in, and her gentleness was so touching, I actually teared up.
Once I was safely seated, Bette shut the door and hurried to the driver’s side.
It wasn’t until her door was also shut that she said, “I just realized I don’t even know where you live.”
“Downtown,” I replied, aware that the word was slightly slurred but too tired to care.
“Oh, yeah! I remember you saying that now.” Bette hesitated then said, “Are you on the second floor?”
I nodded slowly in response.
“Oh.”
I didn’t know what her reply meant and was too exhausted to try to decipher it. Sleep was trying to drag me down once again, and even though it was a short drive, I didn’t put up a fight.
I dozed as the car rocked and music flowed from the speakers, the volume low and soothing, and in what felt like no time, the car had come to a stop. Only then did I open my eyes, but the sight I was met with was confusing.
“Where are we?” I asked, staring up at a huge, white historical home with massive pillars.
“My place.” Bette climbed out of the car, slammed the door, and hurried to the passenger side, continuing the conversation once she’d opened the door. “I was concerned when you said you lived on the second floor, so I brought you here instead.”
Here. Her house. Her huge house.
Still groggy from the anesthesia, I was grateful when Bette offered me her arm.
She’d parked in the driveway even though there was a detached garage, and I clung to her as she led me to a side door, my gaze sweeping over the massive house in the process.
It was so stately and beautiful. I only wished we could go in the front door instead of the side one.
Although considering the long walkway, multiple steps leading up to the front porch, and my wobbly legs, this was probably better.
The door she led me to wasn’t locked, which I found odd considering how nice the house was and the state of the world, but Bette acted like it was a normal thing as she led me into a mud room.
Hooks lined the wall to my right and beneath them was a bench with storage for shoes.
A picture was mounted on the wall above the hooks, the words Stay Awhile scrawled in elegant black cursive set on a white background.
“This way to the living room,” Bette said, urging me to keep walking. “You can lie down there.”
She led me through what was the very definition of a gourmet kitchen, complete with the largest refrigerator I’d ever seen, double ovens, two sinks, and shining granite countertops, then into an elegantly decorated hall.
We passed a formal dining room large enough to entertain a dozen people and what appeared to be an office with wall-to-wall dark oak bookcases filled to the brim, before reaching a beautiful yet cozy living room.
“Here you go,” Bette said, waving to a soft-looking teal couch.
Having been distracted by my surroundings, I’d almost forgotten how tired I was until I saw the thing, but once I reached it, I plopped down gratefully.
“Thank you. Again.”
“Of course.” Bette’s smile was so sweet it could only have been described as angelic. “I did say you could call for anything. I meant it.”
“I can tell.”
She ran her hand over her round stomach. “Can I get you anything?”
“Honestly? I think I just need rest.”
“I get it, and that’s fine. Your body has been through a lot.”
I was thankful for everything she’d done, but with sleep already trying to pull me under, I couldn’t focus enough to tell her.
Instead, I kicked off my shoes, curled up, and closed my eyes.
I couldn’t even crack one when a second later, Bette laid a blanket over me.
That was the last thing I remembered before sleep overtook me.
The room was dark by the time I woke, and between my unfamiliar surroundings and groggy brain, I had no clue where I was or how I’d gotten here.
Or even why. It wasn’t until I sat up and noticed the picture of a smiling couple on their wedding day hanging over the fireplace that it all came rushing back.
The call from Hilary, learning I needed a D&C, asking Bette for a ride when I couldn’t get in touch with Trevor.
Trevor.
Hours had passed since I’d left him a text asking for a ride.
Had I checked my phone after the surgery?
I couldn’t remember but doubted I’d been with it enough to even consider it.
I had no idea what time it was now, but he’d most definitely tried to get in touch with me since then and was probably out of his mind with worry.
The lump in my back pocket told me my cell phone was there, and I shifted so I could pull it free. I had two missed calls from him – he hadn’t left voicemails – and even more texts, each one sounding more panicked than the last.
I WAS IN COURT. IS EVERYTHING OKAY?
Then twenty minutes later.
YOU’RE SCARING ME. WHAT’S GOING ON?
Then a little after that.
SERIOUSLY, ARA. WHAT IS GOING ON? I CALLED YOUR WORK AND THEY SAID YOU’RE NOT IN. TEXT ME BACK BEFORE I FREAK OUT.
There were two more that pretty much said the same thing.
My fingers were flying across the screen, typing out a quick text, when footsteps thudded in the hall, heading my way.
SORRY. I WAS ASLEEP. HAD TO HAVE SURGERY TODAY BUT AM OKAY. LONG STORY. CALL YOU IN A BIT AND TELL YOU ALL ABOUT IT.
I hit send just as Bette appeared in the doorway.
“You’re awake,” she said, her face breaking out in a smile.
She looked as fresh as always, her hair and makeup perfect. Between her soft southern twang, refined beauty, and impeccable style and manners, Bette fit with this house perfectly. Unlike me.
“Just woke up.” I shoved my phone back in my pocket and raked my fingers through my long, dark hair self-consciously. “Thanks again for this. I really appreciate it.”
“It’s no problem, really.” She waved dismissively. “I didn’t have anything else going on today, and you needed help.”
I took in my surroundings with eyes fresh from sleep.
It really was an amazing house, but being here made me uncomfortable, especially because I had no way to get home, and I didn’t want to overstay my welcome.
But I also didn’t want to ask Bette to drive me somewhere yet again. Maybe Trevor could come get me...
When I was once again looking at her, I said, “A friend can come get me any time. I mean, I don’t want to overstay.”
“Absolutely not!” Bette sounded appalled by the idea. “You just had surgery and you need to rest. Plus, I’m making dinner. Fried chicken.”
It was such a stereotypical thing for her to say that I almost laughed. Instead, I said, “I don’t want to impose.”
“You’re not,” she said firmly. “I insist you stay. Plus, I’m usually alone, and it will be nice to have the company.”
I looked at the rock on her left ring finger, then once again focused on her face. “Where’s your husband?”
“Working. He’s not home all that much, really.”
She gave an unconcerned shrug as she flipped the switch beside the doorway.
Light flooded the room, illuminating it and the picture above the fireplace mantel more clearly.
Bette was young, in her early twenties, so I was surprised to realize her husband was quite a bit older.
Forty-five, I would have guessed. Maybe older.
He was good-looking, though, with dark hair and only a touch of gray at his temples, and had the build of someone who made a point of taking care of themselves.
There was something about his eyes, though, that seemed cold. Selfish, even.
“He gives me stability,” Bette said, as if reading my thoughts and wanting to justify why she was married to this icy-looking man.
“Walter comes from money. This house has been passed down for generations, and all he’s ever wanted was to have an heir so he could continue the tradition.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t possible.” Bette’s mouth pressed into a strained smile.
“He and his first wife got married in 2044, right when fertility rates got really bad, and she was barren. But then the Department of Fertility was created, and The Fertility Act was passed, and they thought, this is it! We can adopt.”
“Did they?” I asked, unable to stay quiet.
Bette’s soft voice with its slight southern twang was mesmerizing, but something about her tone was off. Almost like she was telling me a ghost story, not talking about her husband, and it was unsettling.
“They did,” she replied. “When they were almost thirty, they adopted a healthy baby boy. They were ecstatic, her because she wanted to be a mother, Walter because he needed an heir.” Bette looked down, her hand moving over her stomach as if trying to soothe her unborn child.
“Walter Junior was six weeks old when he died. They said it was SIDS, which was common during the RNAB-50 pandemic. Shortly after, the population took another huge hit, and the laws were changed, making it impossible for them to adopt again.”
“That’s awful,” I said, feeling like I needed to fill the silence that followed the statement.
“It is.” Bette’s smile was shaky when she lifted her gaze to me.
“They were devastated for so many reasons and it really began to take a toll on their marriage. They hadn’t been happy for a long time before he met me, and I gave him hope.
I’m not going to pretend it wasn’t wrong or that we got married for good reasons.
It was and we didn’t. His wife was depressed, and he was unhappy, and I was fertile. It made sense.”
“So, he divorced his wife to marry you because you could give him an heir?” I asked, wanting to make I understood.
“That’s pretty much what happened.” Bette gave a small shrug.
“I came from a pretty bad place. Really bad,” she explained.
“I grew up in the south, and we were so poor. All I wanted was to start over somewhere else and figure out a way to have financial stability. I moved as soon as I turned eighteen, not even sure where I was going but knowing I had to get out. I had a little money,” she flushed at that, telling me there was more to the story, but didn’t elaborate, “so I bought a shitty car and drove until I found a place that looked nice.
Somehow, I ended up here and I liked it. So, I stayed.
“I met Walter when I was bartending and could tell right away he had money. I paid extra attention to him, which he loved, and we got to talking. It wasn’t long before he was spilling his guts about his life, and I instantly saw a solution to both our problems. He wanted a baby, and I wanted money.
He was on board the instant I suggested we get married. ”
“You suggested it?” I asked, stunned.
“I did, and I don’t regret it,” Bette said simply. “No, we don’t love one another, but that’s okay. I have something I’ve never had before, which is a real life, and he’s getting his baby.” She looked at her stomach once again. “It worked out perfectly.”
I wanted to point out that it hadn’t exactly worked out for Walter’s wife, but let it go.
The arrangement was a bit strange, but I didn’t judge her for it.
It did, however, seem so out of character for someone so selfless and caring.
Then again, maybe she was only selfless now because she could afford to be.
Maybe if she hadn’t been able to claw her way out of her horrible circumstances, she would have been a different person.
“Anyway,” Bette said, her usual smile back on her face, “I should get started on dinner. Want to come into the kitchen so we can chat while I cook? I can drop you off at home after.”
I stood, suddenly aware that my stomach was growling, and that I actually liked this woman. “Sure.”
Bette smiled, and I followed her from the room.