Chapter 25

“Ava, open the gate!”

I instantly recognize the voice. With a mixture of relief and excitement, I press a button and let him in.

“Gabe, what are you doing here?” I ask, so happy to see him I give him a hug.

He’s dressed in work clothes. His so different from Ned’s formal suits. A pair of faded jeans, a dark-navy blazer, a soft white T-shirt, and Adidas.

“I was in the neighborhood. I had a dentist appointment—a routine checkup.”

He steps inside the house. In one hand is a Starbucks bag, and in the other a stack of envelopes held together by a rubber band. He smiles brightly, revealing a perfect set of pearly-white teeth. And that adorable dimple punctuating one cheek.

“I didn’t recognize your car. I thought you drove a blue Bronco.”

“I did, but it was costing me a fortune with the crazy price of gas these days. So, I traded it in.”

“For the Jeep?”

“Yeah, it’s a Wrangler hybrid.”

“Nice.” Ned wouldn’t drive one…even over my dead body.

“And it’s baby friendly. So whenever you’re ready, I’ll take you and Isa for a spin.”

I give a hopeful smile. “That would be awesome.”

Gabe holds up the bag. “I brought you something from Starbucks. An iced mocha Frappuccino…with almond milk.”

“Oh my goodness, thank you. That’s so thoughtful of you. I haven’t had Starbucks in ages.” The last time was three months ago with Nurse Marley, I think to myself. “How did you remember my favorite drink?”

“The time you, Ned, and I went to the Starbucks near our office…” He hedges. “After you had that mishap and fell into his arms.”

That life-changing day. For better and for worse. “You have an incredible memory, Gabe.”

“Yeah, it’s my lawyer brain. I remember the weirdest things…like you’re lactose intolerant.”

I can’t help but smile.

“I also brought your mail in,” he says, handing me the stack as he accompanies me to the kitchen. While he sets the coffee drinks on the island, one for me, one for him, I quickly thumb through the envelopes and flyers. Lots of junk mail and offers for Visa cards. Several local real estate offerings. Still no birth certificate. I thought it would be here by now; it’s been over a week. But there is one piece of mail that captures my attention and makes my stomach bubble. An eight-by-eleven manila envelope from a company called Endeavor. But I can’t open it here and let Gabe see it. Or see me react to it. I put it with the rest of the mail on the counter and then join Gabe at the island. He tosses me a straw and we simultaneously take sips of our iced coffee beverages.

“Mmm, this is so good and just what I needed.” A caffeine fix. “Thanks again.”

“Hey, anything for the mother of my goddaughter.”

I twitch a smile, my mind wondering what’s inside that envelope. Gabe cuts my mental ramblings short.

“Where’s that nanny of yours…Marti, right?”

“Marley,” I correct. “So much for your great memory.”

He blushes. God, he’s so cute.

“How do you know about her?” I ask.

“Your old man hasn’t stopped raving about her.”

For the second time today, I feel myself bristling. Doesn’t Ned talk about me or our baby?

“Can I meet her?” asks Gabe.

I take another long sip of my Frappuccino to keep myself in check. “She went out to pick up some groceries and things we need for the baby.”

“You’re all alone?” Genuine concern shines in his eyes.

“My mother’s here. I think she’s in her room watching her favorite talk show, or daytime soap.”

At that moment, I hear a loud wail on the baby monitor. An alarm goes off inside me. While it’s likely Isa’s just hungry, my mind jumps to the worst-case scenario. Something’s happened. Something’s wrong.

“Gabe, I need to go.” My voice sounds rushed and anxious. It’s not like my mother is going to tend to my baby’s needs. She’s the least maternal woman I know. With her TV blasting, she probably doesn’t even hear my baby screaming.

“Thanks for stopping by.”

He sets his drink down. “Hey, I’m in no rush. I’d love to see my little princess again.”

Moments later we’re in Isa’s nursery. Her wails are louder than ever. She’s kicking and flailing in her crib. Her face is beet red, her tiny hands clenched. Her face grows redder, her wails louder. A wretched odor infiltrates my nostrils. Fear pulses through my veins.

“Gabe, I think there’s something wrong with her!” Gripped by terror, I bend over the crib to lift her out, but wince when a sharp pelvic pain stabs me. I almost double over. Gabe’s strong surfer arms catch me.

“Ava, are you okay?”

The knife-like pain subsides as fast as it attacked me. My baby’s wails consume me as I straighten up. “I’m fine, but Isa is freaking me out.”

The vile stench grows more intense. More toxic. She’s wailing like a banshee.

Banshees…the sirens of death. I remember learning about them when we studied Irish mythology in tenth-grade English Lit.

Tears gather in my eyes. My baby is dying like in one of my nightmares. Were they horrible premonitions?

To my utter shock, Gabe laughs.

“Gabe, how could you be laughing at a time like this? Something’s seriously wrong with Isa! Call 911,” I cry out as he lifts my bawling child out of the crib. He holds her in the large palms of his hands like a rare, delicate treasure.

“I think I know what’s wrong with her,” he says with confidence, as he ambles over to the changing table. My heart in my throat, I follow him, and watch as he gently lays her on her back on the cotton pad.

“Ava, I think our little Isa just took the biggest dump of her life.” With one hand, he gently lifts up her pudgy legs by her little feet. “Take a sniff.”

Hesitantly, I bend over and put my nose to the area between her legs. I inhale. “Oh my God!” I could die from the smell. “I think you’re right. It must be the new formula Nurse Marley put her on.”

He rips apart her onesie. The snaps all sounding at once. Exposing her tiny legs and tiny diaper.

“Oof…oh boy.” He blows out a whistle, then makes a face. I see what he’s seeing. Smell what he’s smelling. The poop, more like diarrhea, has leaked out of Isa’s diaper and dripped down her dimpled thighs. Like rivulets of melted milk chocolate.

Undoing the Velcro tabs of her tiny diaper, he says, “Ava, I need a warm, moist washcloth, some wipes, a fresh diaper…and a new onesie.” He utters the words with the precision and calmness of a surgeon in the middle of an operation, talking to his chief nurse. Like the doctor who performed my cesarean.

I’m at his beck and call and scurry around the room after fetching a wet washcloth from the guest bathroom.

Five minutes later, Isa is all cleaned up. In a fresh diaper and a brand-new pink floral onesie. And she’s back in her crib, lying on her back. Content and sound asleep.

Gabe and I watch over her. Her chest rising and falling. Our bodies almost touching, I heave a breath.

“Gabe, thank you.” My voice is as small as a worn-out soldier’s. “That was epic.”

His voice is small too. “Yeah.”

“You’re the best godfather ever.” If only my husband could be half of what his best friend is. A real hands-on partner. Sadness sweeps over me.

Leaning against the crib, Gabe surveys the room. He beams. “Ava, you did an awesome job decorating this room. My bookshelf looks great where you put it.” His eyes roam the book-lined shelves, from top to bottom.

He moves closer to the corner bookshelf, me by his side. “What’s that on the floor next to it?”

“A Barbie Dreamhouse.”

“That’s what I thought. One of my nieces has one, but it’s bigger and looks a lot different.”

“That’s because mine is vintage.” A reflective pause. “It was a Christmas present from my father.” His last one.

“Is he here with your mom?”

“No. He’s dead.”

“I’m sorry, Ava.” There’s genuine compassion in his voice.

“Don’t be. He died when I was young.”

“Can I ask how he died?”

“In a terrible car accident.” Disfigured beyond recognition.

A memory: my nine-year-old self coming home from school. My mother telling me, my heart shattering. My beloved daddy was dead. I’d never see him again. And I never got to say goodbye.

“What did he do?” asks Gabe, bringing me back to the present.

“He was a scientist…a molecular biologist. I actually don’t know much about him. My mother’s always been very closemouthed…making me think he was some kind of government agent or spy, especially since I’ve never found anything online about a scientist named Isaac Miller.”

All I know is I loved him and have always missed him. My mind flits to the photo of him holding me when I was toddler that I keep in my top drawer. My one and only. The rest, my mother told me, got lost in one of our moves. He was a tall, broad, serious-looking man with wavy chestnut hair and chiseled features. His green eyes the same shape and color as mine.

“That must have been hard growing up without a father. I can’t imagine not having one.”

I recall how close Gabe is to his parents. To both his mother and father. “Yeah…growing up alone with my mother was challenging. After my father died, my mother sold our big house and we went to live in Vegas. Money was tight. Whenever we were strapped, she pawned a piece of jewelry.”

Or hit the crap tables, I think to myself.

“We moved around a lot. Each place smaller and smaller. There was only one constant…this dollhouse. It came with me wherever we moved.”

“It must mean a lot to you.”

I give a thin smile. “Yes, it does. It’s a connection to my father. He helped me assemble it. Plus, I think it inspired my career to become an interior designer.”

I go on. “My mother never bought me a Barbie, no matter how much I begged for one, so I pretended I was her. That I could be anything I wanted. So, I became ‘interior designer Barbie’…well, in those days, ‘decorator Barbie.’ I was always changing around the furniture, looking for new pieces at garage sales, and making things out of scraps of fabric to decorate it with. Curtains…pillows…spreads. And hanging tiny paintings I made on the walls.”

“That’s really cool, Ava.”

I glance down at it with sadness. “It’s a shame it’s in shambles. With all my pregnancy complications, I haven’t been able to assemble it.”

Gabe gives a slight jerk of his head. “C’mon, let’s put it together.”

“You sure? Don’t you have to get back to the office?”

“My next meeting’s not till two. Are you up for it?”

Before I can respond, Gabe lowers himself to the carpeted floor and sits cross-legged. My hand to my swollen stomach, I manage without any pain to squat down and join him, sitting beside him in the same fashion. My shoulder brushes against his and the scent of his beachy aftershave wafts up my nostrils. He smells good. Like a salty ocean breeze.

Piece by piece we put the two-story, six-room bright-pink house together, furnishings and all. In silence, we admire our handiwork. Gabe the builder, me the decorator. A team.

“I always fantasized living in a house like this,” I say wistfully. “It reminds me of Ned’s parents’ pink house with its white-painted terrace and shuttered windows.”

“Yeah, a lot.”

“I once saw a spread on their house in a magazine. It was gorgeous. Did you know it was built in the 1930s by Paul Williams, the renowned Black architect who designed the Beverly Hills Hotel?”

“No, that’s interesting.”

I let out a sigh. “I wish it never got sold.”

“Actually, it never was.”

Wide-eyed with surprise, I turn to look at him. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. It was put into a trust.”

I’m shocked to hear this. I just assumed it was sold after Isabelle and Edward perished. Gabe continues.

“Ned’s parents stipulated in their will that he could sell it only after producing an heir and staying in a marriage until the child was eighteen.”

More shocking news. I think about the contents of the Endeavor envelope and inwardly shudder.

“Gabe, what would happen if Ned suddenly died?”

“I don’t know. I don’t specialize in that area of law.” He inhales, then shrugs out a breath. “But, frankly, I don’t think your tough old man’s going anywhere.”

For a second I wonder: Does Gabe know Ned has arrhythmia?

Wordlessly, he helps me return the unused miniature pieces of furniture to the Ziploc bag where they were stored. The last piece a canopy bed.

Inadvertently, our fingers touch. Maybe it’s not an accident.

There’s an awkward silence between us. Only the sound of two pounding hearts fills the air until Gabe breaks the quiet.

“Ava.” He says my name tentatively. “About that night…I’m sor?—”

I cut him off and rest my hand on his thigh.

“Don’t be. Because I’m not.”