CHAPTER 25

PERLA

I didn't even know about Grant's family. I mean, it's not like we all sit around and talk about each other's siblings. My brother was USC's quarterback in 1987, and no one seems to ever want to talk about that, so why would I ask Perla about Grant's sister? But yeah, someone said something to me yesterday, so I guess now the whole neighborhood knows. I guess I could have figured it out, you know, because of his last name. But there are a lot of people named Wultz. I had a teacher in elementary school with that last name. Miss Wultz. She was a total bitch.

—Laurelin Hodgkins, entrepreneur

My watch buzzed and I looked away from Dr. Maddox to glance at the caller ID. Grant.

"I'm sorry, my husband is calling me. Let me send him a text."

She didn't respond and I looked up at her. Her lips were pressed together in a flat line of irritation.

"He's with our daughter," I said tightly. "Something might be wrong."

"Oh sure." She waved off the response, but the annoyance was telegraphed by the rigid set of her frame and the cluster of lines on either side of her mouth.

I tapped back a response. Can't answer. At the doctor's for my annual exam. All okay?

I placed it on my knees, on the platform created by my soft pencil skirt. "Okay. What were we talking about?"

"Your husband. You were telling me about when you got pregnant."

"Oh. We don't need to talk about that. I just thought it was important to mention that Grant never wanted to have a child. Sophie was an accident, one he wasn't pleased about."

"Getting pregnant can be very disruptive to someone's life, and to a relationship," she said gently, as if I were tender on the subject.

I wasn't. The real truth of the matter was that Grant had been positively giddy over the news of my pregnancy.

I had anticipated his elation, which was why I didn't tell him I was pregnant. I had planned to terminate the pregnancy as soon as I could get the paperwork handled and the appointment made. Then Christmas Eve came. The Christmas Eve that changed everything ...

I stood on the cabin's front porch and watched as the snow came down. The moon was full, and the fresh layer of snow glowed, an undisturbed white carpet that stretched between the pine trees.

Our car was parked to the side, the windows already iced over even though we'd only been in the house for a few hours. I wrapped my arms tightly over my torso and considered going back inside and finding the gloves and scarf I had packed.

"Wow." Grant joined me on the porch, closing the cabin door tightly behind him and locking the knob. "It's freezing out here. You sure you want to go into town?"

"Yes." I rubbed my hands together. "Better now than in the morning. What if we get snowed in?"

He turned away from the door and wrapped his arms around me, hugging me to his chest as he briskly ran his hands over my arms, warming me up. He kissed the top of my head. "Okay, let's go before the store closes. You okay to run through the snow?"

I looked down at my new boots, my jeans tucked into their fur interiors, laced tight. "I'm good."

"Because I can carry you," he offered.

"No, let's go." I took his hand, accepting his help down the stairs, then gingerly stepped onto the snow, where I promptly sank knee-deep in the snow. Cursing, I turned to him for help.

He was grinning as he traversed the stepping stones, stopping beside me and lifting me, fireman-style, over his shoulder. My stomach cramped from the position, and I thought, for the briefest of moments, about the three-month-old fetus inside me.

Just ten more days, then I would have my appointment and it would be gone. No harm done. No one the wiser. Especially not my husband, who was opening my passenger door and carefully depositing me into the front seat. He paused before me, his mouth inches from mine, a goofy smile on his face, and when I moved forward, our lips touching, his nose was cold.

We were almost at the grocery store, rounding the final curve, when the minivan ahead of us slowed, its taillights glaring red. Grant immediately braked, but our sedan went into a skid. I grabbed the door handle and inhaled, holding my breath as we careened forward. Grant yanked the wheel but nothing happened, the woods rushing up on us in a second.

I woke up in the hospital, Grant beside me, his face gray with concern but his eyes shining bright with excitement. I was strapped to the bed, a neck brace keeping my spine in line, but my eyes moved, catching everything.

Grant's hand protectively on my stomach.

The doctor's mouth moving, his gritty voice sharing the age of the fetus.

Undamaged by the crash. A miracle.

They told me the news and took my tears as ones of joy. Grant covered my face with kisses and told me how much he loved me. How happy he was. What great parents we would be.

I had almost died, and yet he couldn't stop celebrating an embryo he hadn't even known about twelve hours earlier.

They kept me in the hospital for two months while my body healed and the baby grew fatter in my belly. Eating my nutrients. Fueling my husband's joy.

It was horrible, a prison sentence I couldn't avoid and didn't deserve. An invasion in the relationship and plans I had worked so hard for.

"... new relationships and that dynamic," Dr. Maddox continued, and I nodded as if I were listening.

Grant texted back. Everything's fine. Just call me when you're free.

"Now, how did Grant adjust once your daughter was born?" Dr. Maddox had chosen paisley capri pants and a gray jacket. The ensemble didn't match. I tried not to obsess over it.

"He learned to deal with it." Another slight rewrite of the truth. Grant's joy quadrupled the moment the screaming, red-faced infant came out.

The pants had lilac accents, and this was why I only wore neutrals. Janice had taught me that. Wear expensive, quality staples. If you must add color, do it with accessories. Take my outfit today. Gray pencil skirt. White turtleneck. Red coral necklace. Black purse. Black pumps.

Classic.

Conservative.

Quality.

"‘Deal with it '?" She tilted her head. "You're referring to Sophie? Sophie is the ‘it'?"

A mistake. I cleared my throat. "Not Sophie. I was referring to the act of parenting. It was hard for him at first, but he got better—or rather, hid his distaste better. I'm not sure that he's ever been happy being a father."

No, not happy. Boisterously ecstatic. Annoyingly exuberant. When the nurse deposited Sophie's screaming body into his arms, his entire face changed into a combination of fear and love I had never seen before.

I saw then the power Sophie had over him. Naively, I thought I would be able to use that power as a tool of manipulation. I didn't realize that power was going to grow up and have its own ideas, its own desires, its own evil motivations.