Chapter Thirty-One Tessa
Chapter Thirty-One
Tessa
Gabe would never hurt me. It’s so offensive, so incredibly condescending that she, a stranger, thinks she knows my husband better than I do.
He’s done something perverse, something unforgivable, but he isn’t violent.
Barb, on the other hand—if she finds out about Jasper, there’s no telling what she might do.
Barb. Her name snags me with its hook. Barb.
Barb. Barb. I’m right to keep her out of our lives.
Over one hundred files are scattered across the floor, commingled and disordered. I still haven’t found one for Regina, no paperwork that proves she was my donor. Outside, tourists amble by. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I don’t feel like someone’s watching me.
There are only four folders left to read. Four women who might be Regina. If there isn’t a file for her, I’m not sure that would prove she wasn’t my donor. It would leave room for doubt, though. Doubt that I crave. Doubt that I want to cradle and insulate until eventually it becomes truth.
Another contraction cleaves my side. I’ll have to wait them out until my C-section next week.
As I’m hunched over the counter, breathing through the pain, the door creaks open, and Jasper runs to me, throws his arms around my leg.
Through the sharpness that steals my breath, the acute burn of panic radiates.
They shouldn’t be home yet. I haven’t had time to deal with the folders, to decide what I can possibly say to my husband.
Jasper tugs at my dress, wanting my attention.
I can’t gather the strength to lift him.
“T., you here? Listen, something’s come up at work.
” His words grow louder as he walks down the hall.
Another contraction pummels me, raging like it will never end.
I can’t move, can’t begin to devise a plan.
“I need to head to the—” His sentence ends abruptly.
My vision blurs. I see only the shape of him running toward me.
“T.” His voice is rich with concern, the attentive husband I’ve always known.
He spreads his fingers across my back as I breathe into the pain.
His other hand laces mine, our wedding rings nestled together, steel bands I carved into Mobius strips, mine with tiny blue sapphires.
It’s unusual to mix gemstones with steel, to cast wedding bands out of a metal so affordable.
Steel is made from iron and carbon fortified with copper.
It’s how iron becomes strong, mixing it with other metals.
Despite the pain, my racing mind, I study our matching rings, noticing how much attention I’ve bestowed on cheap metal, how weak iron is on its own.
“Just breathe.” Gabe rubs my back. I want to scream for him to get off me, but as long as he’s tending to me, he hasn’t noticed the folders scattered on the floor.
This buys me a few moments to devise a plan.
The contraction releases. I pretend it still has its grip on me as I use my foot to push the files under the peninsula, out of view from where we stand in the kitchen.
I’ll distract him until I have a chance to move them to a drawer or cabinet, somewhere he won’t think to look.
Jasper’s laugh pierces the moment. His mischievous cackle. On the floor, he’s pulling the files out from under the peninsula, tearing one of the folders. Gabe peers down. A shock radiates through my chest. I’m not ready for everything to change.
For a second we’re all still, even Jasper, even my body, placid between contractions.
Jasper holds a paper toward us. A pretty Asian woman smiles from the intake sheet.
Gabe lets go of me. He doesn’t reach for our son.
Instead, he pries the intake sheet from his hand, surveys it, ignoring Jasper, who tugs at his leg, begging for the paper back.
“Why do you have these?” His expression is so cold it makes me numb. “Did you break into my office?”
Gabe’s temples pulse, and I can tell he’s furious. His hand shakes. The intake sheet he’s clutching vibrates like it’s caught in a soft wind. Every muscle in my body tenses as he inches in on an anger I’ve never seen before. I brace myself for him to snap, something he never does.
“You mean Rosebud’s office,” I manage to grunt.
Gabe starts pacing from the kitchen into the living room and back, piecing together what I’ve done, what I know, saying “You really shouldn’t have done this” over and over again, his tone growing more insistent each time. “Jesus, Tessa. What were you thinking? The cops are there now.”
Another contraction stabs through me. He keeps striding that short distance, ignoring my imminent labor.
I’ve become invisible to him, and so has Jasper, who’s now clutching my leg with that pinched, stunned expression he gets when he’s terrified.
Jasper decides the fear is justified and unleashes a panting cry, different from when he’s throwing a tantrum, from when he can’t communicate his desires, when he’s tired or hungry.
Even from at night, when the terrors grip his imagination.
This is the sound of pure fear. He’s afraid of his father.
It makes me realize I’m afraid of Gabe too.
At last Jasper’s shriek breaks Gabe’s trance. He bends down to pick up Jasper, who tries to lunge from Gabe’s arms, shouting “Mama” as Gabe carries him into the living room. A thought nearly bowls me over. Would he hurt our son?
I start to stand when I’m hit with another contraction, one that sends me retreating to the peninsula again for support.
Gabe hardly notices as he carries a flailing, screaming Jasper toward the couch, saying in his familiar soft voice, “Hey, buddy, it’s okay.
Daddy’s just a little upset. Everything’s okay. ”
Gabe rubs his back until Jasper submits to his embrace, lying against his father as he pops his thumb into his mouth for comfort.
“You’re okay,” Gabe keeps saying, trying to settle Jasper’s overstimulated body as he gasps for air. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”
My jaw releases some of the tension. Gabe would never hurt him. This has all been to bring Jasper into this world.
“Just breathe, buddy.” Gabe brushes Jasper’s curls. I want to believe I’m safe with Gabe too. As I glance down at the intake sheets, the sweet faces smiling up at me, I admit for the first time what’s been plain all along. He’s already killed two people to keep these secrets hidden.
Once Jasper has calmed, Gabe plops him into his gated area. Jasper finds blocks and begins stacking them, the fear of moments before so quickly forgotten. Gabe’s steps are heavy and measured as he returns to the kitchen, where he bends down and gathers the folders.
“I thought we were better than this.” His disappointment borders on heartbreak. “I thought we trusted each other.”
This is what he does, what he’s been doing to me all along. He uses concern to manipulate me into thinking I’m irrational or overreacting, impulsive. When I’ve been clearheaded about everything except for him.
Before either of us says anything, another impossibly acute contraction cuts around me. I grunt before I can hide it. It’s too painful. I lean down, rest my hands on the counter. In my periphery, I spot my phone.
“We need to get you to the hospital.”
“It’s only prelabor. It’ll stop.” I breathe into the contraction as it lingers.
“Tessa, you can’t go into active labor.”
He’s right. I know he’s right. I reach for my phone to call 9-1-1. When I swipe up to unlock the screen, Laila Ruiz’s face stares back at me from when I’d shown Barb the article on her pregnancy. Barb. She knew I wasn’t safe with Gabe. I start to dial 9-1-1.
Gabe grabs the phone from my hand, hits End, and puts it in his back pocket. He shakes his head, and with that deliberate movement, I know I’m in danger.
“Come on.” He reaches for my arm.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” I try to pry my arm away, but his grip holds firm as he leads me to the couch.
Sitting does nothing for the pain, for my racing heart, for the thought that drums on repeat through my head: My husband is a killer. My husband is a killer. He killed Aram. He killed Regina. He might kill me too.
“I’m not sure what you think you’ve uncovered here.” Gabe crouches down, rests his hands on both my knees, his face too close. “It’s all perfectly normal. I’ll explain. For now, we’ve got to get you to the hospital.”
I want to argue that I won’t leave until he tells me if Jasper is Regina’s, when another contraction pelts me. If my husband doesn’t kill me, this pregnancy will.
“Jasper,” I manage to grunt.
Gabe’s face falls as he realizes what I’m thinking. The plan was for Marisol to watch him when I go in for my scheduled C-section. We didn’t prepare for an emergency. We didn’t imagine we’d find ourselves in this situation. Any of it.
“I’ll call Marisol,” Gabe says.
I pace, trying to breathe through the pain as I listen to Gabe’s side of their brief conversation.
He hangs up. “She can be here in an hour.”
I’m about to protest that I can’t wait that long when another contraction hooks me, tearing at my insides.
“I’ll call her,” Gabe says, and I’m about to protest that he can’t call Barb. I don’t want her anywhere near Jasper. He holds a finger up, motioning me to wait. “She’s not picking up.” He calls again and again, and all I can think is, Please don’t involve Barb. I don’t trust her.
When he speaks her name into the receiver, it knocks the wind out of me, literally sends me falling to the floor. “Hey, Claire. Sorry to be calling you like this.”