“Wait a minute, are you saying I can get out of here in five weeks?”
Before he can answer I do the math. In five weeks, Lacey will be thirty-seven weeks pregnant. If the judge lets me loose, I’ll be there when she gives birth. As quickly as the realization hits me, so does reality. It all seems too good to be true. No judge mandates someone to rehab for ten months only to let him out after only having done six months…right?
“So as long as the judge feels you’re not going to ditch this place to snort an eight ball of coke, that’s what I’m saying.”
Clenching my jaw, I lean forward.
“Schwartz if you’re fucking with me, I’m going to leave this place and the first thing I’m going to do is blow your fucking head off.”
It’s his turn to roll his eyes, and he does it while shoving the documents towards me.
“These are progress reports. Have your counselors fill them out and tell them I’ll be in touch.”
“Schwartz.”
“You paid me to get you off,” he says, closing his briefcase. “I would’ve done the job sooner, but you decided to overdose. Now get the fucking papers filled out so we can be done with this shit once and for all.”
Done.
Once and for all.
Free to be a man of action and not one of broken promises.
The man Lacey deserves.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Lacey
If my daughter ever asks about my pregnancy, I think I’ll lie. I mean, imagine finding out your daddy went to prison, overdosed, was mandated to rehab and missed your birth. Then add your mom having a psychotic break which landed her in the psych ward for three weeks because she went off her meds while she carried you. Even with leaving out the suicidal thoughts and depression, that’s gotta emotionally scar a child and I never want her to think any of that was her fault or that we didn’t want her.
The truth is, she’s all we wanted.
She’s the light at the end of this dark tunnel.
Our why.
Forever our why.
Maybe she should know all the struggles. Maybe it will make her realize the strength she has written in her D.N.A. when the world becomes too heavy. Maybe every bad thing we persevered through will prevent her from giving up.
Or maybe I’ll share with her the emails her dad wrote to me.
Well, some of them.
After Blackie gave me the login information to the email account he created, I logged in from my phone. He wasn’t kidding about there being a lot. There were over a hundred of emails for me to read. Scrolling all the way to the first one, I opened it and knew I needed to be home when I read the rest.
There was so much emotion.
So much sorrow.
So much truth and forgiveness to be found.
I wanted the chance to absorb each word.
I’ve said our story is a tragic fairy tale, and maybe it is, but I think it’s tragically beautiful. To watch two people, fall apart only to rebuild on the strength of love is the real magic missing from the stuff Disney tries to sell you. Not everyone is a princess. Some of us are queens wearing crooked crowns and it’s not always a charming prince that straightens that crown. Some of us fall for a king who’s been knocked off his throne. A fractured man who has been stripped of his title and demoted to knight. If you’re lucky, he rides into your life on a chrome horse and is cloaked in leather. If you’re really lucky, he writes you emails expressing everything he’s thinking and feeling when he can’t be with you. And when the final page turns, there is still a happily ever after, but it means so much more because you know how hard they worked for it.
I think that’s what I’ll tell my daughter.
Unscrewing the orange prescription bottle, I shake two pills into the palm of my hand.
Good ol’ Lithium.
It took some time for my mind to take the bait but once it did, my maker became silent. With the help of Dr. Spiegel and the support of my family, the depression began to fade and the excitement that comes with a new baby filled my heart. I couldn’t wait to meet my daughter.
No one needed to drag me out to buy the things she needed or sneak pictures of my ginormous belly. I did all those things willingly and as soon as I was discharged, the nesting phase of my pregnancy kicked in. Blackie wouldn’t be released until months after our daughter arrived and I knew I’d need help, so I took my father up on his offer to convert Junior’s room into a nursery.
The day we packed up my late brother’s belongings was a sad day for the Parrish family, but it was also long overdue. For twenty-four years his room served as a shrine to the little boy who was taken from us all too soon. I watched as my mom and dad went through all his things, sharing their memories of him with one another. It’s strange because I don’t think they’ve ever done that before. After Junior died, they retreated to separate corners and grieved alone instead of together. It was nice to see them remember the boy they created and loved so much.
Once the room was cleared, Dad got to work on painting the walls a pale pink. A new carpet was installed and three days later the most beautiful baby furniture was delivered. A gift from Grace Pastore. My mom and Reina threw me a surprise baby shower that weekend, but the biggest shock was the flowers that filled every surface and corner of the restaurant. Every petal sent by my husband. A reminder that distance couldn’t teeter his presence or his love.
Swallowing the pills, I screw the top back on and place them safely inside the medicine cabinet. My gaze meets my reflection in the mirror and a soft smile plays on my lips as I let my finger trail down the faint line on my belly. Some call it a lifeline and they say it doesn’t fade until weeks after the baby is born. I wonder if I’ll miss seeing it once I’m holding her. Blackie and I still can’t decide on a name for our daughter. As excited as I am to have a girl…hello, headbands and tutus…it would’ve been much easier to name a boy.
Sliding on my robe, I pad out of the bathroom. Reina and my dad took advantage of Danny sleeping at Riggs and Lauren’s house and decided to go on a date, leaving me with the house myself. I could tell they were hesitant to go, but I assured them I was fine and that I’d call my mom if I needed anything. With privacy in play, I step into my bedroom and gently close the door. Grabbing my laptop, I power it up and climb onto my bed. I make quick work of logging into the email account and scroll until I reach the email with the subject line, I just couldn’t help myself.
Before I can read a single word, my cell phone rings. Glancing at the screen, I smile when I see it’s a restricted number.
It’s like he knows.
Sliding my thumb across the screen, I lift the phone to my ear.
“I was just thinking about you,” I say, forgoing a hello.
He chuckles and for a moment, I pause, loving the sound. I’ve gotten used to the lighter side of Blackie.
“Hello to you too,” he teases. “How are my girls?”
“Baby is good,” I reply, leaning against the headboard as I untie the belt of my robe. Having just come out of the shower, I’m only wearing a pair of panties. The elastic band sits under my belly and I laugh at how far it sticks out.
“And her mommy?”
Biting my lip, I glance at the computer screen, contemplating if I should be completely honest. Instead of full disclosure, I take the safe route, letting him have the final say in how far this goes.