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“I’m guessing she took the news that you’ve been fucking prostitutes as well as I imagined?”
“Can you not say it like that?”
“How would you rather I talk about you fucking prostitutes? I’m open to suggestions.”
“Jesus, Deanna.”
“You called me. What do you want?” Her tone is sharper.
“Did I upset you?”
“Just tell me how long it was going on.”
“What?” I can’t get my bearings.
“Were you paying for sex when we were together?” Her voice is smaller, more vulnerable than just moments ago.
“No,” I say.Fuck. Holy fuck. How did I fuck this up so badly? How did it never occur to me to call her before now and make sure she knew. “No.Of course not. I was devoted to you.”
She lets out a shaky sigh. Her vulnerability stuns me.
“Fucking postpartum hormones,” she mumbles.
Postpartum?Shit.
“You had the baby!”
“Yeah, I did. And you missed it, you shit.” But the anger is gone. She’s teasing.
“I have a gift. I just haven’t sent it. When was he—she?”
“She was born in August. We named her Jean Anne, after Julian’s grandmother. I call her Dreamy Jeanie. She sleeps a lot. It’s fabulous. Eight pounds, twenty-one and a half inches, and a massive head. I needed three stitches.”
I wince. “Wow. Congratulations, Dee.”
“Thank you.”
There’s a smile in her voice. The smile is contagious, even over the phone, and I can’t keep it off my face.
“You’re a mom, Deanna,” I say in an almost whisper.
“I’m a mom,” she whispers back.
We’re both quiet. My chest tightens, and the tightness rises into my throat, my jaw. I swallow hard, feeling the tightness move into my face as I realize I’m silently weeping.
“I’m so fucking happy for you.”
“I know you are,” she says. “Tell me about the rest of it. I know you didn’t fuck things up with the recruits. What am I missing?”
“Sam Hirschfeld threw my name in the hat. I didn’t play his mind games. I don’t know what all he was involved in.”
“Sounds like everything, including the kitchen sink.”
“I run a clean program. I always have.”
“I know.”
“But I paid for sex. That part is true.”
