Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Trevor
Ifold up the letter and return it to the envelope, amazed this was the one letter I pulled from the multiple dozens of them. Some of the words from it flash behind my closed eyes. Is it strange to think God or the universe works in such ways?
I lean over and rest my elbows on my knees.
We were told sperm donation or adoption were better choices, and it was my decision to do the IVF.
It was me who suggested using all our savings to try something that was a long shot.
If it weren’t for that, there wouldn’t have been additional embryos left for her to transfer.
There would be no pregnancy. No impending baby.
Have I been blaming the wrong person? Am I a fool for walking out on her when all along she just wanted to give me what I wanted: a biological child?
What I wanted.
Not what he wanted.
I realize it may be the first time I’ve associated the old me with the new me. I’m him. He’s me. We’re one and the same.
I look up at the ceiling, waiting for a sign. Or another sign as it may be.
My heart rumbles when there’s a frantic knock on the door. Is Carter back? Is it Ava?
“Help!” a man shouts.
I race to the door and open it to see a distraught stranger.
“Oh, thank god. Do you have cell service? Mine isn’t getting a signal.”
“Yes. What’s the problem?”
“Call 9-1-1. My wife is having a baby.”
“Where is she?”
He points to the driveway. “In our car. We saw your lights from the street. Her water broke and she says she has to push. We’re on our way back from our babymoon. The nearest hospital is too far. Our other kids all came quickly. I’m afraid she’s not going to make it.”
“How far along is she?”
“Thirty-seven weeks. We thought we had time. All the others came late.”
I shove my phone at him. “You call. I’m a doctor. I can help.” I run out in bare feet, rocks digging into my skin as I race over the gravel driveway. I open the passenger door to see a distraught woman looking up at me in abject horror.
“I’m Trevor. Uh, Dr. Criss.” I take a deep breath, feeling my instincts kicking in. “I can help. What’s your name?”
“Imala.” She grunts. “I’m feeling lots of pressure.”
“Imala, do you think you can walk?”
As she shakes her head vehemently at me, I assess her stature. She’s a slight woman. Less than a hundred twenty-five for sure.
“You!” I yell back at her husband. “Get on one side, drape her arm over your shoulder and her leg over your arm. I’ll get on her other side, and we’re going to carry her inside.”
His face drains of all color. “An ambulance is on the way, but they said it will be a half-hour.”
“Thirty minutes?” Imala screams.
I reach in the car and slide her to the edge of the seat. “Let’s get you inside.”
“Careful,” the guy says, flashing me a harsh stare. “She’s my life.”
I nod and we pick her up, flanking her sides, and walk slowly up the three stairs. Once inside, we carry her into the bedroom. “Take off everything below her waist.”
He eyes me warily. “You really a doctor?”
I contemplate telling him I think so but technically not until the medical board of New York approves me to practice.
“Yes, I’m really a doctor. I’ve delivered dozens of babies.”
I don’t bother saying I don’t remember any of them. But I know it’s part of any residency program, so surely I’ve done it at least a handful of times.
I wash my hands, get some fresh towels and a first aid kit from under the sink, then return to the bed.
“Your name?” I ask the guy.
“Benham,” he replies.
It’s now I notice the stark difference between the two. He’s a tall redhead with light, freckled skin. She’s petite and dark-skinned with jet-black hair. It makes me wonder what their kids look like.
“Benham, I have to check her.” I turn to Imala. “Are you okay with that? I need to put my hands between your legs and see how dilated you are.”
They share a look of fright and uncertainty, then they both nod.
My fingers don’t even get as far as her cervix when I feel the top of the head. “Yeah, so this is happening now.”
“Now?” Benham asks. “Here?”
I don’t see any evidence of prior C-sections, and the baby is head down and presenting well, so this should be relatively easy.
Easy. I almost laugh at myself for thinking it. I’m a doctor. Only I can’t remember being a doctor. But I remember how to do this. It’s crazy.
“You’ve done this three other times. You’ve got this, Imala. Go ahead and push when you need to.”
Benham grabs her hand, leans over, and gently kisses her forehead. “You can do this, baby. He wants to come out and meet his mama.”
He. They know it’s a boy.
Instantly, I have a burning desire to know if Ava is having a boy or a girl. If I’m having a son or a daughter.
And I feel like a complete idiot for how I’ve been dealing with this.
Watching Benham support his wife as their child comes into the world, it all becomes clear. I mean, talk about a fucking sign. This one came with flashing neon lights, nuclear sirens, and the satisfying wail of a new life entering the world.
As I place the perfect little boy on Imala’s chest, I know I need to do exactly what Carter said… I need to do better.
Ilook over at Ava. She’s so peaceful in her sleep.
She’s beautiful. I love the way her rounded belly is starting to show even when she’s flat on her back.
The urge to reach out and touch it is strong.
I want nothing more than to feel the flutters beneath her skin. To feel the life growing inside her.
“You’re staring again.”
My gaze shifts from her belly to her eyes. She’s wiping sleep from them as she wakes.
I scoot closer and put a hand on her stomach. “I can’t help it. You’re so damn beautiful.” I kiss her cheek. “You’re my whole world.”
A smile lights up her face, making her even more gorgeous than she was a moment ago. But as quickly as it comes, it disappears.
Her entire body stiffens. “Something’s wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“With the baby.” She grips her belly, shouting in pain. “Trevor, I’m scared.”
Dread crawls down my spine as I bolt upright. Terror follows when the white sheet surrounding her turns crimson.
“Trevor, no. Make it stop. Please, make it stop. I want this baby.” Her bloody hands grip my arm. “We need this baby.”
Iwake with a start, sweat soaking my T-shirt. Hands shaking. Head pounding from the blood rushing through my ears.
Holy shit.
I check the time. It’s two in the morning, but suddenly, I need to know if my dream was merely a dream… or was it a memory?
Not bothering to clean up—I’ll deal with that later—I change clothes, grab my phone and laptop, and am in the car in a matter of minutes.
The entire drive back to Calloway Creek, I try to analyze the dream.
One: I delivered a baby last night, which, in itself, was a surreal experience.
Two: I realized what a dick I’ve been. Three—and this one is the real kicker: If Ava were to lose this baby, I think I might be sad.
Devastated even. Just like in the dream.
I’m just not sure how it’s even possible that, over the course of one night, it’s like a light switch flipped on. A thought shoots through me like a bolt of lightning. Is my memory returning?
Is it possible she had a past miscarriage? Nobody has told me anything about that—no mention of a prior pregnancy, not even a hint of one ending. I know we tried for years to get pregnant. Could it be it happened, but she didn’t want to relive the experience by telling me?
I step harder on the gas pedal when it occurs to me that maybe my dream wasn’t a dream at all.
Not even a memory. Maybe it was some sort of premonition.
Maybe I’m being punished for the way I’ve handled this whole situation.
Is it possible my actions put so much stress on Ava that it’s causing her to lose the baby?
After I’ve about driven myself crazy with all the possible scenarios, I’m pulling up behind the coffee shop just after three o’clock.
It’s still pitch black when I use my key to go in through the back.
I’m quiet as I step through the apartment door, stopping before I get too far in, and listen to the silence.
I toe off my shoes and pad stealthily down the hallway, stopping once again in the open bedroom doorway.
There’s a sense of relief when I hear the covers rustling. She’s here. And she’s not in distress.
I approach the bed, not wanting to scare her, but needing answers. Sitting down on the edge and putting a gentle hand on her, I whisper, “Ava.”
She stirs and rolls over. “Trevor?”
“Yeah.”
She turns on the lamp, rubs her tired eyes, and stares at me curiously. “Why are you here?”
“Are you okay? The baby?”
“Yes. Everything’s fine. Can you answer the question?”
“I had a dream. Or a memory? I’m not sure which.”
She sits up and pulls the sheets protectively around her. I thought she might be excited about me having a memory, but it’s quite the opposite. She looks irritated that I’m here.
“Trevor, you’re giving me whiplash. Dead, alive, amnesia, need space, move in, disappear, crawl into bed with me. I just can’t—”
“I delivered a baby last night.”
Her head cocks to the side. “Really? How? Where?”
I go over all the details as she looks at me in surprise.
Now she starts to look hopeful. “And you think doing that somehow triggered your memory?”
“I don’t know. Ava, were you ever pregnant before? Did you have a miscarriage?”
A hand goes to her stomach as her head shakes. “I’ve never been pregnant before now.”
I’m not sure if that declaration should relieve or disappoint me. If it had been true, that would mean my memory was returning, bits of it anyway. But if it had been true, it would mean we’d gone through something devastating.
I scrub a hand across my jaw. “The dream was so real.”
“So real you had to show up in the middle of the night? Trevor, why are you really here?”
“I guess to say I’m sorry.”
Her eyes close. “You’ve said it so many times before that I’m not sure those words hold meaning anymore.” She gets out of bed and pulls on a robe. “I was hoping you were going to say you came back because of the letters.”
“Yeah, well, that too. Ava, can you sit back down please?”
“Why? So you can tell me you’re sorry again?”
“So I can tell you what an idiot I’ve been.
It was me who suggested the IVF. It was me who said we should use all our savings on the off chance we could have a biological child.
It was me who was so selfish that I couldn’t stand the thought of you getting pregnant by a sperm donor and not by me.
And it was me who stormed out of here when you told me about the loan and the baby.
That makes me one hell of a hypocrite, Ava. ”
Finally, she sits back down on the bed, letting out a lungful of air. “You’re not the only one at fault here. I can hardly hold you responsible for things you don’t even remember.”
“I wish you’d told me.”
“Do you really think that would have made a difference, Trevor? You were so mad at me. But the thing is, I don’t even think you were mad about the money.
You were mad because I got pregnant. You can’t remember that you wanted a baby.
That puts us in an impossible situation. So I’m asking again, why are you here?”
“You’re right in that I don’t remember wanting a family.
To me, you’re somebody new in my life. I was getting excited to see where that was going to take us.
I guess I was upset because we weren’t going to have time to be a couple, to let things progress naturally from a new beginning.
Then something Carter said when he brought the letters really stuck with me.
What if we’d already had a child before my accident?
Would I have disregarded him just because I didn’t remember him?
” I take her hand in mine, happy she doesn’t pull away. “I want to take responsibility.”
Now she pulls away. “How romantic.”
“Fuck!” I get up and pace. “I’m saying all the wrong things here, but the truth is, I want to try. Try to be with you, try to be a family—”
“Try?” She scoffs. “And what happens the next time you get spooked and you leave again? Trevor, I’ve had weeks to think about this. Maybe we should just let it go.”
“It?”
“Us. This.”
“You want to walk away? But you gave Carter the box of letters.”
“That was days ago. I’ve done a lot of thinking since then.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, clearly frustrated. “Trevor, I’m tired and I have to get up in a few hours. Can we talk about this later?”
“Okay, sure.”
I take off my clothes and crawl into bed.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her jaw slack.
“I’m going to sleep. In my bed. With my wife.” I reach across her and turn off the lamp. Then I kiss her cheek. “If you want me out, you’re going to have to kick me out. And if you want to walk away, I’m not letting you go without a fight.”
Every muscle in her body is tense as my arm surrounds her. It takes a moment, but she starts to relax. Is she just too tired to do anything about it, or is she realizing she could still love me?
But it’s the which me question that terrifies me to my core.