Kate

KATE

11 YEARS BEFORE

May

The next morning, Bea walks in on me when I’m on the phone. I’m in the bedroom. I thought she was outside in her studio working, and so I didn’t even try and be quiet. I had no intention of telling her what I had planned, knowing she’d try and talk me out of it if I did.

“Did I get that right?” she asks from behind. I spin to face her. I hadn’t heard her come in. She looks disappointed in me. She stands there, showered and dressed, while my own hair, still wet from a shower, air-dries. I’m in a towel, hurrying to get dressed before the workers arrive and find me this way.

Bea asks in disbelief, “You made an appointment with Dr. Feingold?”

I go to my dresser. I riffle through it for something to wear, putting Bea off. I don’t know how to respond to her, though it’s not worth a lie. Bea and I aren’t the type to lie to one another. But more than that, Bea heard what she heard. She knows what I’ve done.

I step into a pair of underpants and jeans. “Didn’t you know?” I ask, keeping my voice light. “Surprise!” I say. “I’m pregnant.”

“Kate,” she says, shaking her head in dismay. She knows as well as I do that I’m not pregnant. She asks, “And what exactly are you going to say when he tests you at his office and it comes back negative?”

My answer is immediate because I’ve thought this through. “A false positive. Home pregnancy tests are good, but they’re not foolproof. It happens,” I say.

Last night I couldn’t sleep. How could I possibly sleep, with all that’s happening? My mind was consumed with thoughts of Meredith and Delilah, wondering where they were. As I was sleeping in my bed, all I could think about was where they were sleeping, if they were sleeping. I thought about Shelby sleeping forever. I imagined what she must have gone through in the moments before she died. I wondered what exactly someone did to take her life. Was she stabbed, shot, suffocated? No one has said. My mind drifted then to the blood the police found in Josh and Meredith’s garage. Was it Meredith’s blood? Delilah’s? How did it get there? My thoughts then shifted to Dr. Feingold, the malpractice suit, two figures hiding in the darkness of the Dickeys’ home that night, weeks ago, when Cassandra saw. Was it Dr. Feingold that she saw? Did he do something to Meredith and Delilah? At some point in the middle of the night, I knew that I needed to meet this man. I need to see for myself if he’s someone capable of murder.

“Then I’m going with you,” Bea decides.

“You can’t,” I say.

“Why the hell not?” she asks. She’s angry because she’s worried for me.

“Because two women can’t conceive on their own,” I say. “It would raise questions. Dr. Feingold would want to know why we didn’t just go see our fertility specialist if we were pregnant.”

“We don’t have to tell him we’re gay,” she says. “We’ll tell him I’m your friend. This baby is the result of a one-night stand with some man. I’m not letting you do this alone. He could be dangerous, Kate. We don’t know. Either I go with,” she says, giving me an ultimatum, because quite often that’s what Bea is in our relationship, the decision maker, “or you don’t go.”

Bea won’t be talked out of it. She’s decided, and so I agree. I finish getting ready and follow Bea downstairs, where I sit down at the kitchen counter and research symptoms of early pregnancy on the laptop. I won’t have to fake the nausea because, with Meredith and Delilah still missing, I feel constantly sick to my stomach. I can hardly keep anything down.