Chapter 20 #3
I’m in the middle of some paperwork for closing out a pretty major account when my alarm on my new phone goes off.
My VIP lunch date. I shut my laptop and pocket my keys and phone.
I’m about to walk out the door when I stop in my tracks.
Actually … I return to my desk, lock the file I was working on, and put my laptop in the drawer. I shut down my desktop as well.
I don’t trust anything that’s happening here anymore. Passing through the main office, my attention is caught by the familiar form of Asher, except he looks nothing like himself. I lift my head to say hello, but he gives a sharp shake of his head. Interesting.
I’m nearly to my destination when Paige passes by in the Suburban.
What the hell? Her eyes pass right by me, which makes sense as I’m driving this beautiful 1992 Honda Accord.
Carter’s dad, Lyle, didn’t hesitate when I asked if I could buy it off him.
“Are you kidding? I get to help you, and get brownie points with the wife for selling a car and getting it off our property? Absolutely. Grab the title from the drawer, and we can finish the paperwork when I get back.” Lyle didn’t ask any questions, but I know his wife will have plenty.
The acid sloshes with the idea of facing their combined disappointment.
I turn around at my first opportunity and follow Paige.
When she starts heading out of town, I get really confused.
I try calling her, but it goes straight to voicemail.
I follow her anyway, worry seeping in when I recognize the direction she’s going.
Soon enough, ten minutes later, she’s turning into the lot of our pediatrician and her Ob-Gynecologist. They share an office.
I pull in behind her and park on the other side of the lot.
I try calling again, and again I’m sent to voicemail.
Did she block me? Paige disappears behind the doors, no Jacob in sight.
Is she … Does she have an appointment?
It must be for a general check-up or Check-in.
She’d let me know when our first baby doctor appointment begins.
I sit and stare out the windshield, watching the door as my thoughts rotate through my mind.
Some make me feel better about everything and minimize, then there are others that fill me with sickening doubt.
I think I make it ten, maybe fifteen minutes of sitting there, the scent of our lunch filling the car, before I finally give in and follow her.
I’m two steps in when I see the back of her through the other door.
I grind my teeth to keep from running in after her.
It’s an appointment. She made an appointment without me.
I debate leaving or marching up and demanding answers.
But … I can’t. I can’t move. Images of Jacob’s appointments start to play behind my eyes.
Paige, terrified, squeezing the life out of my hand while we wait for the image to come up.
Paige crying when we first saw his heartbeat.
Paige laughing while we watch our baby kick and spin on the screen.
Paige looking to me to keep me in the moment with her.
I fall into the seat closest to the door as new images pop into my mind.
These are far newer, and there is no joy in them.
Paige, outraged, shouting at me about betraying privacy.
Paige, tired, watching me from across the party.
Paige laughing, crumbling on the side of the road with an empty condom wrapper in her hand.
Paige, quiet, sitting at the table while another woman touches me.
Paige, bruised and vibrating in silent fury, asking me about my feelings for another woman.
Oh, God. Oh my God. “What have I done?” The words are a whisper in the quiet waiting room.
A man and a woman I vaguely recognize sit in the corner.
His hand rests on her stomach, and they’re absorbed in their own little world.
Her smile is so wide, and his eyes keep traveling across her beaming face and down her clearly pregnant body.
If anything, they’re radiating contented joy.
Unable to watch any longer, my eyes drift back to the closed door.
I stand, unsure what I plan on doing when time moves in slow motion.
The door glides open, and out steps my world with tears staining her cheeks.
“Paige?” Her name falls from my lips in a broken whisper, but her head whips to me as if I shouted, screamed it into the room. I watch like I’m outside my own body as her face registers first relief, only for that to bleed into confusion, and finally, horribly, disappointment.
Pain like I didn’t know was possible for a man to feel without losing a limb suffuses my chest. I put my fist there, placing pressure like I’m holding myself together, staving off the blood that must be pouring out of me.
Her eyes are harder than I’ve ever seen them before she turns from me and follows the nurse to the front desk.
She doesn’t even acknowledge me, and I’m left here, bleeding out, wondering how I’m supposed to take my next breath.
What have I done?