Jon tosses a handful of weeds into the bucket and wipes his brow with his sleeve. “I shouldn’t have made you those suits.”
“Those are the best-fitting suits I have ever owned. Why would you say that?”
“She thinks we bonded over that.”
I laugh, but it’s true. I fell in love with Jonathan after he hand made me three suits.
“Now she’ll never believe you want me to leave. She’ll think I need to stay for you just as much as her.”
“I do love those suits.”
“Which one does Ellen like best?”
I don’t even have to think about it. “Classic black with a vest. She has a thing for three-piece suits.”
Jon nods. “She has good taste. Now, that’s the one you need to wear when you marry her.”
I still, planted on my hands and knees, sweat dripping down my face and arms.
“Don’t act surprised. Did you really think I was going to let you bring a child into this world with my only child and not make her your wife first?”
I sit back on my heels and grab my water bottle, taking a long drink before screwing the cap back on and tossing it aside.
“What color shirt and tie?”
Jon smiles.
*
Elle has a late appointment. Right after I hired someone to take Jon to his therapy appointments, she started seeing clients again at their homes, just like her father suggested. She still gives me the hairy eyeball when she visits me at work and sees the sign for my new tenant, a tutoring service. I can’t lie. I prefer her making noise on top of me in bed than above me at work.
This is the perfect time to talk with Harrison alone. I glance in his room, but he’s not there.
“What the hell, Harrison? Get those rats out of the crib!”
He shrugs. “They like it in here.”
“I will kill every single one if you don’t get them out of here now.”
“Elle will kill you if you kill her babies.” Harrison huffs as he sets them on the floor and says, “Cage.” They all scurry back to his room and get in their cage.
I don’t want to admit that I’m counting down the days in their three-year life expectancy, but I most certainly am.
“I’m going to ask Ellen to marry me. Are you good with that?” There’s no beating around the bush with him. I’ve discovered the direct approach is best.
Harrison locks the door to the cage. “Why? What’s the point? Does that make her my mom?”
“No. It makes her my wife. And your stepmom, I suppose, but you don’t have to think of her any differently than you do now.”
“Then why marry her?”
“I love her and it’s the right thing to do.”
“Why is it the right thing to do? If you were going to get married, shouldn’t you have done it before she got pregnant? Before she moved in here?”
“Yes. I should have married her before she got pregnant. Yes, I should have done it before asking her to move in with us. But to be honest, after your mom died, I didn’t think I’d ever get married again. I didn’t think I’d have any more children. Ellen and this baby have taken me by surprise, and I’m still struggling to do the right thing.”
“Grandma was pissed off when she found out about the baby. She’s not going to like you getting married.”
“Sandy is upset because your mom died. I’m not sure she’ll ever completely stop grieving her loss. But if she needs to be pissed off at me to deal with her grief, then I’ll take it.”
“It’s stupid for her to be pissed off at you. It’s not your fault Mom died.”
This is it. Right here. Right now. There may never be a better opportunity to tell Harrison the truth. I know nothing good can come of it for his life, but I’m so tired of carrying this secret around. The guilt that it was my fault is enough to last a lifetime. The guilt of him not knowing is enough to last more than one lifetime.
“I want to talk about your mom’s death.”
Harrison plops down on his window seat. “What about it?”
I grab my vibrating phone out of my pocket. “Just a second, buddy.” I answer it. “Flint Hopkins.”
“Mr. Hopkins, my name is Laurel. I’m a nurse at Methodist Hospital. Your name is listed as Ellen Rodgers’ emergency contact. She’s been in a car accident.”
And. My. Whole. Fucking. World. Ends.
*
Ellen
There was Chopin and heavy evening traffic. The first made the second bearable. I turned off the main road to take a longer but less congested way home. I saw the bend in the road, headlights, and then nothing. Every day really is a miracle. We dodge a million chances at death for one chance to live. The odds are not in our favor.
My name. Lots of people and echoed voices. Lights. Beeping. My name again. Baby … someone said baby. My baby? She’s a girl. I didn’t think I wanted to know, but when we had the 3D ultrasound, I couldn’t resist. Flint was right.
My stomach feels tight and there’s pain in my lower back. And my head hurts. I feel my pulse in my head. It’s angry. Why is my pulse angry with me?
“The father is here. Let’s get her prepped for OR Two.”
Whose father? My father? My baby’s father?
“I’m here.” Something warm touches my forehead.
I open my eyes again. Flint. He’s wearing a blue gown and a cap like a doctor going into surgery. OR Two. He’s not a doctor.
“What are you doing?” I say in a weak voice. Or at least it feels weak. I feel weak … and my back hurts, but not as much as my head.
“You’re going to have a C-section. I’ll be with you the whole time.”
“No.” That’s not the plan. I have a midwife. We’re having a natural birth. We did the 3D ultrasound when they were concerned about the baby’s growth, but everything was fine.
“You were in an accident. You’re fine. The baby is fine. But your water broke and she needs to come out now. She’ll be fine.”
Who is this guy? My Flint speaks with confidence and authority. This imposter speaks with a shaky voice, like every other word is broken.
I don’t like this. Why are his eyes red?
“I’m scared,” I whisper.
His brows come together in an anguished expression. “Don’t be scared.” He kisses my forehead.
C-section. It’s too early. Her little lungs aren’t ready. Her immune system isn’t mature. I close my eyes and wait because I don’t feel anything. The back pain is gone. I don’t feel her.
Beeping. Voices. Lights. Flint.
“Ellen, say hi to your daughter.”
I open my eyes as a nurse holds my tiny little girl beside my head for two seconds before whisking her off in the other direction. She’s too small. She’s not crying.
“Is she breathing?”
No one answers me. Flint’s head is turned, looking in the direction of our baby.
“Flint?” I say louder, aching with desperation.
He jerks his attention back to me.
“Is she breathing?”
“Mom needs an update,” the doctor calls from just in front of me.
And then there’s this faint squeak, but I hear it and tears spring free.