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And though I just offered a drink, though she’s gone to such pains to avoid me in the last few months, I limp to her side and lower myself down to her step with a groan. I’ll bring her cocoain a moment. First, I want to feel her warmth at my side, and I want her to feel mine.
It gets lonely up here in the mountains. I should know. Before Helen, I had only my paintings for company.
This is better. Painful, but better.
“You could go home for a visit with Fran if you wanted.” I talk to a spot on the lobby floorboards below us. “If that would make you happy, I mean. I’d buy your tickets.”
There’s a long pause, then Helen breathes out. She slumps against me, soft cheek on my shoulder, her body heat seeping through my shirtsleeve.
Don’t move. Don’t you move a fucking inch, you old fool.
Heart thudding, I turn and press a kiss against her hair.
Jesus Christ, I want her so badly. It’s agony, and yet I can’t bear to move away.
“Thank you,” she whispers at last, “but no. I think I’ll stay.” And when she sits up, she sniffles quietly, wiping her eyes and giving me a wobbly smile.
…Cocoa. Right. I snatch up my cane.
“Don’t move,” I warn, heading back down the steps for the kitchen. “Folks go missing in this hotel. Whole gaggles of ‘em.”
Behind me, Helen snorts, and it’s the sweetest sound I ever heard. Has she laughed at all in the last few months? I don’t think so.
We went wrong somewhere along the line, but maybe…
Maybe we can fix it. Maybe I can make her happy, as a boss if nothing more.
Seven
Helen
Pregnant.
Pregnant.
Holy crap.
I stare at the little white stick, but my eyes are fuzzy. The evening sky is pink and purple through the frosted bathroom window, and wave after wave of emotion crashes over me, dragging me under so I can’t breathe.
Joy, fear, sorrow. So much love for this budding life inside me. So much heartbreak.
And so many questions.
What if I’m a terrible mom? What if I suck at this? What I’m not cut out to do this parent thing alone? And oh god, how will I pay for everything? Should I tell Rufus? I have to, right? What will Fran think? Will I be able to keep drawing?
On and on and on the thoughts whirl, a storm in my skull, and the whole while I’m hunched over, perched on the edge of the bathtub like a gargoyle in a red sweater dress. My neck aches. Will Rufus hate me?
Plink. Plink. Plink.
The faucet drips into the bathtub. Blindly, I reach back and smack it off.
I can’t believe this is happening.
I mean—I know it’s happening, obviously, and I know how. The birds and the bees, and all that. Idiot that I am, I made my mistakes with my eyes wide open.
But it’s like some huge cosmic joke, that I should fall in love with a man, sleep with him once—once—and months later, rejected and still so lonely, find out that I’m carrying his baby.
Rufus Junior.
