“We’re all in your corner, and we’ll be here to help pick up any pieces. In a year or two, you’ll look back on this and be proud of how you handled it.” He kissed my temple.
“Let’s hope so.” Projecting ahead a year or two to a bleak future that in no way matched the life I’d tried to build made me ill. I cradled my stomach, eager to become a mother my daughter could be proud of.
“Let’s go.” Kevin offered his hand to help me out of my chair. Willa might only be as big as an eggplant at this point, but my distended body made me unsteady, not to mention the pressure she put on my bladder.
Kevin and Stan conversed in the front seat while my heart beat louder with each mile. Through the window, I could see other drivers whizzing past. How many wrestled troubles like mine—marriages gone bad, money crises, self-recriminations?
Twenty minutes later, we’d pulled into the parking lot of the Baltimore FBI office building.
I pressed my hands to my chest in a wasted effort to slow my racing heart. Having never been questioned by any officer for anything—not even a traffic ticket—I let my imagination run wild. What if he didn’t believe me? What if I’d upset my mother for nothing?
“You okay? You’re sweating,” Kevin said over his shoulder.
I fanned myself. “Nervous.”
“I won’t leave your side.” My brother helped me out of the car, and we followed Stan into the building, where we passed through a security check before heading to the elevator bank.
When the elevator doors closed, hot and cold flashes racked my body. My ears rang and I trembled with nausea, pulling away as if we could run back to the car and forget it all. I’d never hated my husband more than I did while riding up to Agent Crowley’s office.
“Kevin, I’m afraid.” I gripped his arm.
“You’ve done nothing wrong.” He slung an arm over my shoulders.
He wanted me to feel safe, but that required a level of trust I’d probably never again achieve. Before I could reply, the elevator doors opened.
A tall man in a navy blazer and coal-black hair shook Stan’s hand. “Stan, good to see you again.” He turned his sober gaze on Kevin and me. “Mrs. Foster, I’m Agent Crowley. Please, come to my office.”
Four hours and one hellacious drive on I-695 later, I dragged myself into my mother’s kitchen. “Hello?”
No answer.
Good. My head throbbed and I thought I might wilt from exhaustion. I couldn’t remember the barrage of questions, but the humiliation of having to look at Agent Crowley and share the truth—worse, to convince him of my claims—would stay with me forever. Some time alone and rest to recover my strength before going another round with my mother would be a blessing.
I cranked open the window to let in the breeze. It tickled the hairs on my neck but didn’t last long enough to be refreshing. After grabbing at the paper towels and soaking them in cold water, I patted down my face and neck, but it’d take an ice bath to reduce my swelling.
My favorite maternity dress now sported sweat stains that might never come out. I plugged my phone into the charger before collapsing onto a kitchen chair and kicking off my shoes. Bending over to rub my feet proved too much of a challenge, so I leaned back, stretched them out, and wiggled my chubby toes.
Even without my pregnancy-acquired sensitivity to smells, I knew I needed a fresh change of clothes. Heaving myself out of the chair, I then waddled into the living room, at which point I stopped dead. My mother didn’t bother to glance up from the book she was reading in Dad’s Barcalounger.
Her silent tantrum shouldn’t have shocked me. She’d pulled it on Dad when he’d supported Erin’s decision not to go to college. She’d used it on Kevin when she caught him and his ninth-grade girlfriend going to third base in our basement. She’d done it to Erin too many times to count. But this one—my first—had lasted for days, and I was sick of it.
Clumsily, I settled my weight on the sofa arm, dropping my shoes to the floor. My stomach cramped again, as it had, on and off, all afternoon.
“Oh, you are home.” I stared at her until she spared me a glance.
“Where the hell else could I go now? I’ll be entombed here in perpetuity once Lyle’s arrest hits the local paper.”
Whenever Mom whipped out her more colorful vocabulary, a lecture would follow. “I can’t keep apologizing, Mom. You’re angry with me. I get that. Sorry, not sorry, for trying to get your money back in a way that didn’t land us both behind bars. In case you’re interested, the FBI agreed to deputize me for the OIA once they finish verifying what we told them. It looks like we’ll coordinate with the Puerto Rican field office, given Lyle’s present course.”
“How exciting for you.” She kept her eyes on her book. The icy sarcasm made me shiver even though I was still sweating.
“You do know you’re not the only one affected by all of this, right? Whatever you and I suffer, at least we are partly to blame for our mistakes. What about my innocent baby? She’s likely to suffer her entire life because of her father’s crimes. So maybe think about that while you sit there trying to make me feel worse than I already do. Involving the authorities was the smart choice. Why can’t you admit that if we’d done it your way, we probably would’ve failed?”
She set her book on her thighs. “We don’t know that.”
“Our chances are much better with coaching and backup.” Another cramp grabbed hold. I winced and blew a few short breaths.
“What’s the matter?” Her sharp gaze softened as it dropped to my stomach.
After the cramp passed, I slid from the arm to the cushion. “It’s been a rough day. Lots of cramping.”
Her anger gave way to concern, but her pinched expression made me uneasy. “Are you sure those aren’t contractions?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I’ve never done this before—I thought contractions were painful. These feel more like a ball of pressure collecting and releasing. It’s probably from stress.”
“But it could be more serious, especially if it’s been happening all day. You’re barely seven months pregnant. If you’re having preterm labor contractions, we need to go to the doctor.” She set her book aside and came over to lay her hand on my stomach. “Have you eaten today?”
Nothing since the banana and cup of yogurt this morning. “Not much.” Everything I ate came back up on me when I was nervous, and I’d puked enough during my first trimester to last a lifetime.
“Amanda! Have you been keeping hydrated?”
To be honest, the past few days had been a blur of terse conversations here, phone calls with Kevin and Stan, and donning a brave face in public despite telling a few people about the divorce. The last thing on my mind had been making sure to drink enough water or juice.
I flinched when another cramp tightened my abdomen.
“That’s it. We’re going to the doctor. I’ll drive.” My mother stood and then helped me off the sofa.
She had me alarmed now. Though, admittedly, having her back on my side helped me cooperate.
“Where’s Erin?” A month ago I wouldn’t have wanted her with me during a crisis. Amazingly, Lyle and the end of our marriage had brought about something I’d craved my whole life.