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“You did everything you could. You’re a good nurse, Meghan. Don’t ever doubt that.”
“Was. I was a good nurse,” I say. “I’m pretty sure my nursing days are through. The hospital put me on administrative leave. I’m not surprised. I don’t blame them, but I think it’s only a matter of time until I get fired. I’ve thought about resigning.”
“And beat them to the punch?”
“Yeah. Why not? It’s not that great of a job anyway. The long hours, the pay.”
He nods, though I’m being overly cavalier. I love the job. But I love my life, my freedom more.
“What did Sienna say?”
“I haven’t told her. She’s not speaking to me, but that’s a story for another day. She’s at home by herself right now, ruminating on how much she hates me, on how I’ve ruined her life.”
I reach for my wine, taking a long sip. Luke is quiet for a minute, contemplative, reading my face, before he motions for the waitress to order me another drink because mine is nearly gone. “You want to tell me about it?” he asks as she leaves.
“No,” I say swiftly, decisive. I’d love to get it off my chest, but I’m embarrassed for everyone to know my secret. What would Luke think of me if he knew what I did, how for over sixteen years I let Ben raise a child that wasn’t his? “Enough about me. I’m being a total killjoy. Tell me about Penelope. It will make me feel better to know I’m not the only one whose life is falling apart.”
Luke smiles, empathetic. “Same fight, different day. I can’t say or do anything right. I just hope that things go back to normal when the baby comes.”
He looks sad, tired, defeated. I feel sorry for him, but I also empathize with Penelope and where she’s at with the pregnancy right now.
“I’m sure they will,” I say, trying my best to be uplifting, though I’m not in the most encouraging mood. “Penelope is going through a hard time. The bed rest, the hormones, worrying if the baby will be okay. It must be overwhelming. And lonely.”
My phone rings then. I just barely make out the sound of it from inside my bag and I reach a hand in, searching. I find the phone and pull it out, wondering if it’s Sienna, hoping it is, hoping she wants me to come back home to talk, but the number on the caller ID is one I don’t know, a local 773 number. For a second, my stomach flips as I think again about seeing the police at the hospital today and wonder if they’re looking for me.
“Who is it?” Luke asks, and I turn my phone around so he can see it.
“I don’t know. Not anyone I have in my contacts.”
“Probably a telemarketer then. Just ignore it,” he says lightly, reaching for his drink, and I do, setting the phone on the table as the waitress returns with my wine and I thank her, grateful. I probably don’t need a second glass of wine, and under normal circumstances I wouldn’t have one, but today is an exception.
“Listen, I hate to do this,” Luke says after a minute, “but I should go home and check on Penelope, and see if she’s ready to talk.” I nod. I don’t want him to leave, but I know he needs to go patch things up with her. “Will you be okay?” he asks, finishing his drink.
“Yes. Go, please.”
“Are you sure? It’s just—what you said about her being lonely. It got to me. I feel guilty.”
“Yes, of course I’m sure. You’re a good man, Luke. You and Penelope are just going through a rough patch too. Everything will be better when the baby comes. I promise.”
“What are you going to do?” he asks, his expression thoughtful. “Are you going to stay here awhile or are you heading home too?”
“I’m going to stay for a bit,” I tell him. “I’ll head home after I finish my drink.”
I’m not in a rush to go home, and Sienna is probably happier without me.
“Okay,” he says. “I might be back if Penelope tells me to fuck off.”
I smirk. “I’ll save your seat.”
He takes one last sip of his beer and then says, “I always knew I could count on you,” with a wink. He leaves and I wrap my hands around my glass of wine, nursing it, grateful for the noise in the crowded bar. It’s a nice distraction. I people watch, jealous of all the happy, laughing people, hanging out with friends. I lose track of time. Twenty or thirty minutes pass and then my phone rings again and I look, wondering if it’s Sienna, but it’s not. It’s the same local number that called before, when Luke was here. I feel suddenly anxious, wondering who it is and what is so urgent they would call twice.
This time I answer the call, pressing the phone to my ear, bracing myself for who is on the other end of the line, expecting the voice for some reason to be bold, brusque, male, but it’s not.
“Is this Meghan Michaels?” a woman asks, her voice reluctant.
“Yes, this is she.”
“Meghan. Hi. It’s Penelope Albrecht. Luke’s wife. I’m sorry to just call like this, but I found your number in some of his things.”
