I closed my eyes. Ducked my head, let my shoulders roll forward. Swallowed hard. “I had an abortion. After the rape.” I shuddered. “I’ve only ever told Dr. Hines, and now you. I did it in secret. Kept it secret for the last twenty years.”
“Jesus, Laur.”
“I couldn’t—you know? Like, how could I go on with my life? How could I…I didn’t want to—end it, get rid of it. I didn’t want to. It felt wrong. But…fuck, it was forced on me. I…”
He pulled me to his chest. “I know, baby. I know.”
I shuddered and shook against him. “I talked about it with Dr. Hines a lot. I’m not, like, okay with it. It’s not, like, fine. But…I’m as okay and fine with it as I’ll ever be. And I’m glad I told you.”
“Does that make this harder? With Isabela, I mean.”
I laughed. “Wow, I don’t think that’s crossed my mind yet. I mean, no? I don’t know. Would you have told her to do that, if she’d asked you?”
A harsh sigh. “I don’t know.” Another sigh, more of a groan. “No, I don’t think so. If she’d insisted I’d have supported her and helped her any way I could, but no, I wouldn’t have wanted that, in that situation. In yours, it’s different. But it would have been her choice, either way, so I would have supported her no matter what.”
“It’s a complicated, tricky, difficult, painful topic.”
“Yeah, it is.”
I turned away from him and lifted my chin and swallowed hard, shook my hands as if to wake them up. “Enough. We don’t have time for that whole conversation, and it’s not even really relevant. The point is, there’s no more secrets, right?” Back to him, gazing up at him. “That was my last secret. If you have any more, now’s the fucking time, Titus. Because when we go out there, that little girl is going to be messed-up. Confused. In pain. This is going to be fucking hard, for everyone. And we have to be on our A-game, because that little girl is going to need love and patience and understanding.”
He nodded. “I got nothing. That was it. I told you about being suicidal, you know I’ve struggled with drugs and alcohol, and you know I’m sober—from drugs, I mean. Alcohol was just the thing you did as a rock star. I was always able to put the booze down when I needed to. The coke was a different story, but after Tommy, I have no interest in going down that road ever again.”
I nodded. “Good. So we’re clear.” I took his hands, lifted up on my tiptoes and kissed him. “Let’s do this.”
He shook his head, breathing shakily. “I can’t believe this is happening.” He swallowed thickly. “I don’t know how to be a dad.”
“I think first, we just start with getting to know each other. That’ll be enough, I think.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” His eyes met mine, and he blinked wetness away. “I don’t think I could have done this without you, Laurel.”
“Well, you don’t have to.” I grinned up at him. “I do have one little secret—I’m good with kids. One of those unexpected things most people wouldn’t ever guess about me.”
He just laughed. “At this point, nothing about you surprises me. I’m learning to expect the unexpected, where you’re concerned.”
I peeled the button-down off, folded it, and set it on my shelf of pajamas, and I noticed his eyes on me. “Down, boy.”
He just laughed, shucking his shorts. “Can’t blame me for looking.”
We dressed quickly, then, and I dragged a brush through my hair and put it in a quick braid.
Before we left our room, Titus stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. “I have one question, real quick. Just to think about it, if not answer right now.”
I knew what he was about to ask. “Would I ever consider having a baby of my own?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
I sighed, swallowed hard. “Until this moment, Titus, I would have said no. I never wanted the responsibility. I never wanted…never had anyone in my life I could have conceived of having that life with, and I never wanted to be a single mom. My next-door neighbor is a single mom, and she’s a fucking hero in my book, but I wouldn’t want that simply because it’s so hard for her. So until you, no. I never wanted to be a mother. But now, with you in my life, with us living together, I guess…” I huffed something like a laugh, or a sigh, or mixture of both. “I guess now, I can see it happening. Someday.”
He just nodded. “I see.”
I put my hand on the knob. “Out with it.”
“I just…I guess in the back of my mind, I deeply regret and resent being kept out of Isabela’s life, that I didn’t get to see any of it, of her life, and I…”
“You want a chance to do it right.”
“Redemption, I guess. My own folks were shit, just absolute shit at being parents. I want to do better. Do it right.”
I lifted up and kissed him. “Baby steps, Titus. First, let’s meet this little girl.” I opened the door. “How old is she, anyway?”
A pause, as he thought about it. “Six. She’s six.”
I held his hand and pulled him toward the living room. “You ready?”
“Nope,” he murmured, “but I don’t think I ever could be, so…let’s do this.”
13
The police officers were outside, in their cruiser.
On the couch sat the social worker, a younger woman wearing a colorful hijab with jeans, a blouse, and a blazer. Beside her, a small girl with wide, dark, frightened eyes. Black hair, short and straight, cut at her jaw. She was wearing pink shorts, a white shirt, and clean white sneakers. She held a well-loved and well-worn stuffed elephant on her lap.
The social worker stood up as we entered the living room, strode over to Titus and met his eyes, hand extended. “Hi, I’m Mena.”
“Titus Bright.” His voice was low and tight.
To me, then, and I shook her hand as well. “Laurel McGillis.”
Mena’s attention returned to Titus. “We have much to discuss. But first, Titus, this is Isabela.”
Isabela held utterly still, wide eyes fixed on Titus. She seemed to be barely breathing.
Titus knelt in front of her, a soft smile on his face. “Hi, Isabela. I’m Titus. I’m your dad.” A pause. “You can just call me Titus for now, though, okay?”
A nod, nothing else.
Titus glanced at the social worker, who remained impassive and watchful, seemingly content to see how first introductions played out.
“Um, do you go by Isabela? Or do you have a nickname?” Titus remained kneeling, and seemed to be trying to make his shoulders narrower, as if that was possible.
The little girl just stared at him. “Bel,” she whispered. “Mommy called me Bel.”
“Do you want me to call you Bel? Or would you rather I call you Isabela?”
A shrug. Eyes dropping. “Isabela.”
“Okay, then, Isabela it is.” Titus seemed at a loss. “Um. Is there anything you want to ask me?”
A long, long silence. Isabela’s eyes roved over him, assessing. She reached out and didn’t quite touch one of his tattoos on his bicep, a stylized depiction of a 1940s pinup model. “Is that Mommy?”