Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
Ava
Even after six weeks and several ultrasounds, every time Trevor passes the refrigerator, he looks at the black and white pictures. The entire upper portion is covered, displaying photos of all four scans.
Twenty weeks. We’re halfway there.
He comes around behind me, wrapping his arms around my middle, running a palm over my belly. That’s another thing he does a lot. He can’t walk through the room I’m in without touching me. Some might call it annoying, but not me.
Because I know it could have gone the other way. He could have stayed only out of obligation. Responsibility. Coercion. Or he could have left in search of a new life. In search of himself.
But he didn’t.
He’s here. Here with his arms wrapped around me like he can never get enough of me. With hands cupping the baby he genuinely wants. So yeah, I’ll take it exactly as it is.
“You’re goddamn sexy in that short nightie,” he whispers.
I smile, loving how he worships my growing body. “Mmmm,” I mumble, my head falling back onto his shoulder.
He presses into me, and I can feel his erection. “My cock likes that noise. He’s hungry even though he just had a meal not even an hour ago.”
I giggle. “There’s no time for seconds today, Trev. Are you excited to finally get back to work?”
He rests his chin on the top of my head. “Not as excited as I’ll be when the medical board comes through with my reinstatement, but yeah.”
I spin around in his arms and look up. “How long do you think that will be?”
He shrugs. “Honestly, I really don’t know. It could be months or even longer. They haven’t given me any kind of timeline or told me what hoops I’ll need to jump through. The only communication I’ve received was confirmation of my request and a promise to ‘put it on an upcoming agenda’.”
“I’m sure you’ll hear something soon.”
“Hopefully. But until then, I’m going to fully immerse myself in the job I’m starting today and be the best paramedic I can be.”
“I’ll miss you tonight.” I snuggle into his shoulder. “I know we’ve only been sleeping in the same bed for six weeks, but I’ve gotten used to having you there.”
He kisses my forehead. “I’ll miss you too. At least it’s only two twenty-four-hour shifts per week.”
“Sometimes three.”
“Okay, sometimes three. But mostly two.” He grazes a finger along my jawline. “What’ll you do with yourself now that I won’t be around all the time to bother you?”
I lean back and study him. “You haven’t been a bother, Trevor. After missing you for so many years, it’s been nice having you around full-time. Plus, now that we’re in the house—a place not directly connected to the shop—you’re most certainly not around me twenty-four seven.”
Now that I’ve gotten a good look at him, I can’t tear my eyes away.
“You’re the one who’s sexy,” I tell him, eyeing his brand new dark blue CCFD uniform, complete with arm patches and the word paramedic sewn onto the right upper chest. I trace the word with my finger.
“I know you wore a similar uniform thirteen years ago, but… wow.”
He chuckles. “Why, Ava, are you eye-fucking me?”
His choice of words makes my insides go all melty. I shrug an innocent shoulder. “I admit to nothing.” Tearing myself away from him, I toss him a look over my shoulder. “But if you come to bed wearing that tomorrow after shift, you won’t hear me complain.”
Deep, throaty laughter dances behind me as I sashay out of the kitchen and head for the shower, a little more swivel in my step.
Wiping sleep from my eyes, I stretch out an arm to find the other side of the bed empty.
I gasp and my heart pounds. Oh God, he’s gone!
Memories of the funeral come rushing back and before I can stop it, I go into full-on panic, my mind pulling me back to those two weeks where I thought he was dead.
Weeks when I slept hugging a pillow that had long since lost his scent.
Weeks when I didn’t even want to sleep in my own bed even though he hadn’t slept there in months.
Sitting up, I see Trevor’s shirt on the chair, and reality warms my body and calms my heart rate.
Then I smile, knowing he’ll be home in a few hours.
I even took the morning off, planning to surprise him by being here.
Needing to hear all about his first shift.
Hoping this is just one more step in getting back the life we had. The life he wanted and still wants.
It’s been six weeks. Six weeks of waking up to him every morning. Of him kissing me every night. Of us making love more nights than not.
The urge was strong yesterday to tell him I loved him before he left for his first day. But I didn’t. Even though I do. And based on what I see in his eyes, I think he feels the same way. How long will it be before we say the words?
Part of the reason I haven’t said them is the fear he’ll simply repeat them back out of obligation. I don’t want him to feel like it’s his duty to say them until he’s absolutely sure he means them.
I hear a car door shut and bolt upright. It’s too early for him to be home. His shift isn’t over. I peek out the front window and see a Fed Ex truck. I’m not expecting a delivery, so I surmise it could be something for Trevor’s parents. We still get some mail for them from time to time.
An hour later, after breakfast and a shower, I finally open the front door and retrieve the package, ready to add it to the pile of mail we save for Chuck and Dawn as some still finds its way here instead of the apartment.
But this box is rather large. And when I look closely and see who it’s from, a hand comes to my chest.
It’s Trevor’s things. The military finally found them.
We were told long ago that between the mix up at the hospital and all the red tape, it could take a while for his belongings to get here.
I guess I just sort of forgot about it. But now, after I manage to carefully push the large box inside, I sit on the couch and stare at it, knowing everything from his past is inside.
Will he even want to go through it?
I’m not sure he will. He’s made it perfectly clear that this new version of him is who he wants to be and any remnants of the past is just that… the past. We took care of that when we actually did burn all those old letters he’d written to me.
We took them out to our tree and lit the box on fire, watched it burn, then made love under a thick blanket, just like we used to when we were sixteen. It was both an ending and a beginning. A catharsis we each needed to let us move forward. And everything since that day has been pure bliss.
Will this box change that?
I check the time and see I’ve still got an hour before he gets home.
I figure I’ll go ahead and open it. Then, after seeing what’s inside, I’ll decide if it’s worth showing to him.
I’m sure it won’t be though. I anticipate it containing clothes he may not want to wear, his old cell phone containing pictures he won’t want to see, and perhaps other mementos from a past he can’t remember.
I slice through the strong tape and open the lid of the box.
His military issued duffle bag is inside, stuffed to the gills.
It’s too heavy for me to pull out so I turn the box on its side and slide it out onto the floor, drawing in a breath as I prepare myself for an emotional trip down memory lane.
Opening the zipper, I get a whiff of his scent. Or his old scent—he no longer wears the same cologne. I close my eyes and inhale, feeling like I’m somehow betraying the new Trevor with thoughts of the old one. Oh how things can change over the course of a few months.
I pull out several T-shirts he took over to wear underneath his field uniform.
Then socks, underwear, toiletries, a few favorite books he’d taken with him, two pairs of boots, sneakers, other random articles of clothing, and a large envelope containing all the letters I wrote to him.
Fishing my hands through some of the inside pockets, I also find his passport and military ID, along with some foreign currency and his cell phone.
None of it is anything I think he’d care to see.
But then I come across the one thing I know might interest him. Inside a zippered pocket, there’s a soft pouch. I know what’s inside based on the shape and feel. It’s the stethoscope I gave him when he graduated medical school. I saved up for months to be able to buy him the best one I could find.
I remove it from the pouch, turn it over, and trace a finger across the engraving.
You’ll always have my heart
~ Ava
He used to say it was his most prized possession.
He took it on every deployment, even though I doubt he used it in the field hospitals where it could have gotten lost or damaged.
He said it would be the only one he ever used when he became an attending physician back here in the states, but that he wanted to carry it as a reminder of how much I loved him.
As if he needed a reminder. I said it in every letter. On every phone call. It was evident in every picture we’d ever taken together.
I hope he still wants it.
I keep the stethoscope out but tuck everything else back into the duffle bag. The choice of whether or not he wants to go through it will be his.
I know in my heart he won’t. And I also know I’m finally at peace with that.
A zippered pocket on the outside end of the duffle catches my eye.
It’s a small pocket, and I’m kind of hoping his wedding ring will be inside.
They told us his attackers most likely removed all jewelry.
Still, maybe he wasn’t wearing it that day.
The pocket is too small for much of anything.
And surgeons do have to take off their rings before scrubbing in. Maybe this is where he kept it.
I swallow as I unzip it slowly, knowing that if I find it, it will be the one and only secret I ever keep from him, wanting just this small reminder of the day and the man he can’t remember.
Trevor has never mentioned not having a wedding ring.
Maybe he thinks he didn’t have one. Or perhaps he’s simply avoiding a conversation that would lead to more talk of a past he doesn't remember. I suppose I haven’t brought it up for the same reason.
Which is why I know I’ll keep it to myself if it’s here.
As I sweep a finger in the pocket, it’s not a ring I find, it’s a small, folded envelope. I pull it out and tears fill my eyes when I see that it’s addressed to me. The last letter he ever wrote before the accident.
He didn’t write a lot. He never had much downtime, not to mention it would take so long for the letters to get overseas that eventually we had cut back to only a few times a year these past few years.
An anniversary card for sure. And birthdays.
But other than those, they were few and far between.
Emails and occasional phone calls—neither of which were ever as emotional and heartfelt as the actual pen and paper letters we’d send each other—were our main way to keep in touch.
I run a hand across the flap that he hadn’t even sealed yet.
Maybe he never even had time to finish writing it.
I pull out and unfold the letter knowing that this might be the one secret I keep from him.
Because I’m not sure I could ever bring myself to burn the very last letter written by the man who is no more.
But when I read the very first line, my entire body stiffens. Every letter he’s ever written to me has the same salutation: My Sweet Ava. He’d never written a single solitary letter without those three words at the top.
Until now.
And a feeling of pure dread scorches me to my very soul.