“You’re supposed to be working on this with me. You’re not even mentally with me right now.”
She was right.
“Let’s go home,” I said, kissing the top of her head. “I want to sleep for twelve hours straight and eat three meals in bed.”
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed me on the mouth. It took effort to kiss her back so she wouldn’t suspect anything was wrong. When she keened into my mouth, I knew I was every bit as good at lying to her as I was at lying to myself.
Chapter Twenty-Six
My car tires kick up gravel as I speed out of the parking lot. How could she? I run my hand through my hair. Why wouldn’t either of them have told me? They are such vicious, catty women; you’d think they would have come running with the information. All I can think, as I speed on the 95 toward Leah, is of the little girl that still bears my name. The one she told me I was not a parent to. Was that a lie? If Leah lied about Estella’s parentage, I would kill her myself.
Estella, with her beautiful red curls and her blue eyes — but she had my nose. I’d been so sure of it until Leah told me that she was someone else’s. Then her nose had shifted. I thought that I was seeing things because I wanted so badly for her to be mine.
My mouth feels dry as I pull into her driveway. A million years ago it had been my driveway. My wife had been in that house. I broke it all apart because of the love I had for a ghost — a married ghost.
God. I think of Olivia now and a peace settles over me. She might not be mine, but I’m hers. It’s no use even fighting it anymore. I just keep falling flat on my face and then rolling toward her. If I can’t have Olivia Kaspen, then I’ll be alone. She is a disease I have. After ten years, I am finally realizing that I can’t cure it with other women.
I push the door to the car open and step out. Leah’s SUV is parked in her usual spot. I walk past it and up the stairs to the front door. It’s open. Walking into the foyer, I close the door behind me. Glancing around, I see that the living room is a mess of toys — a Cabbage Patch doll lays on its head next to a pile of na**d Barbies. I step over a tricycle, heading toward the kitchen. I hear my name.
“Caleb?”
Leah stands in the doorway to the kitchen, a dishtowel in her hand. I blink a few times. I’ve never seen Leah hold anything but a martini glass. She dries her hands with the towel and tosses it on the counter, walking toward me.
“Are you okay? What are you doing here?”
My chest heaves with everything that wants to come out. I grind my teeth so hard I’m surprised they don’t crumble beneath the pressure. Leah notices what I’m doing and raises her eyebrows.
“Oh,” she says. She beckons me to the kitchen. I follow her and watch as she pulls a bottle of tequila from the cabinet. She pours two shots, takes one of them, and refills the glass.
“We fight better with tequila,” she says, handing one to me.
I don’t want to drink the liquor. Adding it to the fire that is already coursing through me can only mean danger. I look at the clear liquid and bring it to my lips. If Leah wants fire, I’m going to give it to her.
“Where’s Estella?”
“Asleep.”
I set my glass on the counter.
Good.
I walk toward my ex-wife. She backs up, her nostrils flaring.
“Tell me what you did.”
“I’ve done a lot of things,” she shrugs, trying to play it cool, “you’ll have to be more specific.”
“Olivia.”
Her name pings between us, ripping open old wounds and spraying blood across the room. Leah is furious.
“Don’t say that name in my house.”
“It’s my house,” I say calmly. Leah’s face is pale. She runs her tongue along her teeth, blinking slowly.
“Did you know Turner?”
“Yes.”
“And you had him ask Olivia out … to keep her away from me?”
“Yes.”
I nod. My heart is aching. I lean over the counter to gather my rising anger before it explodes. I push it down, swallow my contempt and look her in the eyes. Olivia and I never had a chance. The whole time we were destroying ourselves, someone else was having a go at it too.
“Leah,” I say, closing my eyes. “The hospital … after you took those pills-” my voice cracks. I rub a hand across my face. I am so tired. “Were you pregnant?”
She raises her chin and I already know the answer.
Oh God. She lied. If she lied about that baby, what else has she lied about? I remember the blood. All the blood on our bed sheets. She said she was losing that baby and I believed her. It was probably just her period. How long after that had Estella been conceived?
I pace the length of the kitchen, my hands behind my neck. I say her name again; this time it’s a plea.
“Is she mine, Leah? Oh fuck.” I drop my hands. “Is she mine?”
I watch her face as she takes her time answering. She looks conflicted as to whether or not to tell the truth. Finally, she shrugs.
“Yeah.”
The whole world goes quiet. My heart crashes. Rises. Crashes.
Grief cleaves me in two. Two years, I haven’t seen her in two years. My daughter. My daughter.
The empty glass I drank tequila from sits to the right of my hand. I let my anger come, swiping the glass to the floor. It shatters and Leah flinches. I want to shake her, I want to throw her like that glass and watch her shatter for all the things she’s done. I head for the stairs.
“Caleb.” She comes after me, grabbing my arm. I yank myself free, taking the stairs two at a time.
She calls my name, but I barely hear her. I reach the top of the stairs and turn left down the hallway. She’s behind me, begging me to stop.
“Caleb, she’s sleeping. You’re going to terrify her. Don’t…”
I fling open the door and take in the soft pink light. Her bed is in the corner, a white four-poster. I walk in slowly, my steps muffled by the carpet. I can see her hair fanned out on the pillow, shockingly red and curly. I take another step in and I can see her face — pouty lips, chubby cheeks and my nose. I kneel next to the bed so I can see her, and I cry for the second time in my life. I cry quietly, my body shaking from my sobs.
Leah’s pleas have stopped. I don’t know whether she’s behind me or not — I don’t care. Stella’s eyes flutter open. For being woken up in the middle of the night by a stranger, she is surprisingly alert and calm. She lies still, her blue eyes watching my face with the gaze of a much older child.
“Why are you cwying?”
The sound of her voice, raspy like her mother’s, startles me. I cry harder.
“Daddy, why are you cwying?”
I feel like someone has just poured ice water over my head. I lean back; suddenly sober. I take in her disheveled curls, her full chubby cheeks, and I melt for my daughter.
“How do you know I’m your daddy?” I ask gently.
She frowns at me, her little lips pouting, and jabs her finger at her bedside table. I look over to see a picture of myself, holding her as a baby.
Leah told her about me? I don’t understand. I don’t know whether to be grateful or furious. If she wanted to make me think this little girl wasn’t mine, why would she bother making Estella think anything different?
“Stella,” I say cautiously, “can I give you a hug?” I want to pull her to me and sob into her beautiful red hair, but I don’t want to scare my daughter.
She grins. When she answers, she lifts her shoulders up and tilts her head all the way to the side.
“Sure.” She leans forward, arms outstretched.
I hug her to my chest, kissing the top of her head. I can barely breathe. I want to pick her up, put her in my car and drive her away from the woman who has kept her from me. I can’t be like Leah. I have to do what is best for Stella. I want to hold her to my chest all night. It takes everything I have to separate from our hug.
“Stella,” I say, pulling away. “You have to go back to sleep now, but guess what?”
She makes a cute, little kiddie face. “What?”
“Tomorrow, I’m going to come pick you up so we can hang out.”
She claps, and again, I’m tempted to pick her up and carry her out tonight. I curb my enthusiasm. “We’re going to go eat ice cream, and buy toys, and feed ducks, and kick sand at the beach.”
She slaps a hand over her mouth. “All in one day?”
I nod.
I help her snuggle back under her covers and kiss both of her cheeks and her forehead. I kiss her chin for good measure. She giggles, so I pull back the covers and kiss her toes. She squeals, and I have to press my fingertips to the corners of my eyes to stop the tears.
“Night, pretty baby.”
I close her door softly. I don’t make it five steps when I find Leah sitting against the wall. She doesn’t look at me.
“I’ll be here first thing in the morning to pick her up,” I say as I walk toward the stairs. I want to get out of the house before I strangle her.
“She has school,” Leah argues, standing up. I double back and come within an inch of her face. I am breathing hard, my chest heaving. She squares her jaw. I hate her so much in that moment; I don’t know what I ever saw. My words are gruff and full of anguish.
“She has a father.”
It’s then that I hear the sirens.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Hey, handsome, what are you doing here?”
I lifted my sunglasses and smiled.
“Cammie.”
She smirked and stood on her tiptoes to give me a hug. My eyes darted past her and searched the crowd walking into the mall.
“Is she-?”
She shook her head. “Not here.”
I felt myself relax. I didn’t know if I could handle seeing her. Out of sight, partially out of mind was what was working for me at the moment.
“So, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be home with the pregnant wifey witch?”
We fell into step and I grinned at her. “I’m here for a pretzel actually. She had a craving.”
“God, that’s embarrassing — once the big man on campus, now the bitch’s errand boy.”
I laughed. Cammie was always good for a laugh. I held the door open for her, and the air conditioning blasted me in the face.
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh, you know me,” she sang, stopping at a rack of skirts. “I like to spend money.”
I nodded and stuck my hands in my pockets, feeling awkward.
“Actually,” she said, turning to me, “I’m looking for a dress to wear to a wedding. Help me?”
I shrugged. “Since when do you need help shopping?”
“Oh, that’s right.” She tucked her lips in and shook her head. “You have to get back to your pregnant wife. Don’t let me hold you up.” She dismissed me with a wave of her hand and pulled a slinky white dress off the rack.
I scratched the back of my head. “White makes you look matronly.”
She narrowed her eyes and put the dress back, while still looking at me. “Who asked you?”
She held up a blue silk dress for me to see and I nodded. She shoved it at me and I took it.
“So, do you know what you’re having … boy … girl … seed of Chucky?”
“We’re not finding out.”
She tossed another dress my way. I re-shelved it when she turned away.
“I own a nanny agency, you know. So, when the little bundle comes along, I’m sure I can find it a new mother.”
She held up a Gucci dress and I nodded. “She’ll be fine. You know I’m traditional about those things.”
Cammie snorted. “You might be, but I highly doubt your lovely wife will be offering up the breast any time soon.”
I ground my teeth together, which she noticed right away.
“Sore subject much? Don’t worry C-Dizzle, I’ve seen this before. Tell her you’ll buy her a new set when it’s all over. That should bring her around.”
I cocked my head. That wasn’t a bad idea.
I followed her to the changing room.
“So,” I said, leaning against the wall outside. “How-”
“She’s fine.”
I nodded, looking at the floor.
“Is she-”
She burst out wearing the blue dress and spun in a circle.
“Don’t even bother trying the others on,” I said.
She made a kissy face at the mirror and nodded. “You’re right.”
The door slammed closed. A minute later, she came out dressed and carrying the garment on her arm.
“Well, that was easy.”
I walked with her to the register and watched as she plucked out her credit card. “Now a gift and shoes and I’m all set.”
“What’s the dress for again?”
She leveled her eyes on me, a wicked smile playing on her lips.
“Didn’t I tell you?” she said innocently. “This dress is for Olivia’s wedding.”
A tremor of shock passed through me. Suddenly, all of the colors around me were bleeding together, hurting my eyes. I felt sick, my chest constricting with each second that passed. Cammie’s lips were moving; she was saying something. I shook my head to clear it.
“What?”
She smirked at me and tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder. Then she patted my arm sympathetically.
“Hurts, doesn’t it, motherfucker?”
“When?” I breathed.
“Uh-uh. I’m not telling you that.”
I licked my lips. “Cammie … tell me it’s not Turner.”