Chapter 7

 

Whitney startled awake. Her phone was ringing. She’d gotten home about 2:00 a.m. and fallen asleep without even talking to Connor. And since her work on the Social Security bombing was done, she wasn’t going in today. So who would be calling her?

She grabbed the phone without looking at the ID. “Dwyer.”

“It’s Max.” His voice had the huskiness of morning and/or after sex. She savored it before she could stop herself. “Whitney?”

“Sorry. I— What time is it?”

“Eight.”

“Why are you calling?” Please God, don’t make me have to see him.

“I thought you might want to know that the bomb squad discovered the exact time the IED was supposed to go off at the Social Security office.”

Easing herself up against the headboard, she said, “Let me guess. When Senator Alcott was supposed to visit.”

“Yeah.”

“Are they interviewing her? Investigating her?”

“Uh-huh, but the FBI has taken over with that.”

Thank God.

“They don’t want us to guard her, do they?”

“No. She has permanent protection she likes.”

“Did you hear anything about the searches done last night?”

“No to that, too. They’ll probably keep their findings close to the vest until they make determinations with the evidence, if any, found at Hines’s and Jamika’s residences and workplace.”

She stared up at the ceiling where Max had installed a fan. She remembered the day he put it in. They’d turned it on and then…turned themselves on.

Stop it, Whitney.

“Max, why did you call?

He hesitated. “What will you do today?”

“That’s none of your concern anymore.”

“Damn it, Whitney, I need to know how you’re feeling. Did you sleep well? Are you still getting sick?”

She wanted to strike out at him. Make him feel as bad about the breakup as she did. But in the end, she couldn’t do that to him, to the man she loved. “I’m going to hang up, Max.”

“Right.” He clicked off.

She lay in bed, watching the pattern of light flick across the walls through the slats in the blinds. Ordinarily, he’d be getting out of bed with her this morning, and they’d sit around with Connor. Max was so good at listening, at offering suggestions.

No more.

Trying to escape the memories, she flung off the covers and bounded out of bed.

The world tipped upside down. Her eyes blurred.

Then everything went black.

o0o

“Come on, sweetie, let me help you.” Connor bent over Whitney, his face full of concern.

She awoke to find herself on the floor. Afraid to get up by herself, she’d yelled for him. “My shoulder hurts. I must have fallen on it.”

“Can you stand?”

“Not alone.”

He drew her to a sitting position. Then he hooked his hands under her armpits and assisted her up from behind. “Are you weak?”

She leaned back into him. “As a kitten.”

“Let’s get you back in bed.”

“I have to pee. Bad. And I want to brush my teeth.”

Arm in arm, he walked with her over to the bathroom. “I’ll wait right here.”

After she finished, she opened the door and he led her to bed. “I think I’m fine, now.”

“In bed, until you have nourishment. Doctor’s orders. What do you want?”

“Juice. And some toast.”

“I’ll make eggs, too, for the protein. And what happened to the coffee you crave?”

“I’m, um, getting off of it.”

He gave her a quizzical look. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“Go make me some food.”

He was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt when he served her breakfast on a tray. But he didn’t sit with her. Standing before the bed, he said, “I have to run an errand. I’ll be right back.”

“Now? It’s early?”

“I know. I’ll only be gone ten minutes.”

That was strange. She wondered if something had happened last night at the conference reception. She turned on the TV remote and ate her food while the news droned on. The juice was ice-cold and the eggs tasted great. She gobbled up the crispy toast. After a bit, she heard the front door open and close.

When Connor returned to the room, he carried a small white bag.

“What’s that?”

“Something you need.” He fished inside and handed her a rectangular box.

Frowning, she looked down at it. Early Pregnancy Test.

Her heart leapt in her chest. Pounded hard. “Why would you do something like this, Connor? You’re my best friend. You know how I feel about having a kid.”

“Because whether you want to or not, you have all the signs of pregnancy. I don’t care how erratic your periods are. And we have to know what you’re dealing with.”

Her eyes filled as the niggling suspicion she’d kept hidden in her psyche surfaced. “No. I won’t take the test.”

Connor had this way of turning from her childhood buddy to an adult man, forceful and assertive. He straightened and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “No? Then I’m calling Gabe and Nick. They can be here in no time.”

“Oh, and what are all of you going to do? Force me to take this test?”

“If we have to, yes.”

o0o

Max stood on the porch of his father’s brownstone in Georgetown with a heavy heart. He had comp time and took it because his mind was all over the place. He didn’t want to work without Whitney anyway. He rang the bell to let his father know he was coming inside, then unlocked the door. In the foyer, he called into the dim house, “Dad, it’s me.” It was 9:00 a.m. and his dad wasn’t up yet?

“I’m coming.” His father appeared in the kitchen. His full head of white hair was damp, and sweat dripped into a towel around his neck. Approaching seventy, the man was in great shape. He’d turned one room of his house into a gym.

“I interrupted your workout?”

“No. Just finished.” He wiped his face. “I put my time in.”

“Do you have a minute for me?”

“Of course. I always do. School’s on semester break anyway.” His father still taught one class, Great American Poets.

“That’s right. I lose track of what month it is sometimes.”

John moved closer and studied him. They were about the same height, six feet. Max hadn’t shaved. He knew his eyes were red rimmed. He’d hardly slept. “You are not doing well.”

Emotion, deep and strong, welled inside him, but he battled it back. Secret Service agents did not break down. Except for Whitney, and that had only been when she had one of her nightmares.

She probably cried over what you did to her, asshole, when she was alone and hurting.

Shit.

“Go sit on the couch in there.” He pointed to an oversize great room, with ten-foot ceilings, paned windows and Early American furniture. “I’ll make coffee.”

Max crossed into the room but didn’t sit. Instead, he stood before the wall of pictures. His mother, dark hair and blue eyes like him, smiling at the cameraman, who was his dad. Pictures of Max at every age, including his Secret Service graduation. Of course there were some of him and Whitney. On a boat that his dad owned, her hair blowing in the wind. With him in fancy clothes when they celebrated her birthday one year. He turned away from the others, the memories too painful.

His dad set down the coffee on the long, rectangular table. “Sit.”

They sat on the same couch. Max sipped his coffee. “You were right. I made a bad decision about Whitney.”

Max, don’t do this. It’s not a good decision.

“I’m sure all of this is painful, but it hasn’t been long enough for you to know that.”

“Feels like a lifetime. She’s so hurt, Dad.”

You have no idea how much you mean to each other, do you?

“She can’t possibly be any worse off than you are.”

“You told me that we meant too much to each other to split up. I didn’t listen.”

“Okay.” He waited. “And now?”

“You were right. She’s kicked me out of her life completely.”

You’re kidding yourself if you think you can stay friends. Partners.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Leaning back, he laid his head on the cushion and closed his eyes. “I don’t know what to do with all that’s churning inside me.”

“Some sleep would help.”

“I dream about her.”

“What about Angela?” He called Angie by her formal name, as Whitney did.

“She’s suffering, too. We…couldn’t be intimate. Because of me.”

“I’m surprised you tried so soon.”

“She called it tearing off the Band-Aid.”

“How romantic.” His dad’s dry sense of humor felt comforting.

“I need some guidance, Dad. I know I didn’t listen to you the first time, but it’s only been five days, and I don’t see my future without Whitney.”

“Then tell them both that.”

“That ain’t gonna happen. Whitney said now she knew that I wanted a child, she could never accept me back under the terms of our old relationship and deprive me of a family.”

His dad sighed. “Actually, I understand that. Maybe you need to give yourself some time away from both of them.”

“Angie won’t like that.”

“You’ve led her to believe you could make a life with her.”

“I thought I could.”

“Maybe you still can. Surely she’ll give you space.” His dad stood. “But first, come on upstairs. I’m putting you to bed. You’re dead on your feet. Maybe you’ll sleep here.”

“Maybe.” But he doubted it.

o0o

Whitney stormed into the bathroom. She was mad.

No, she wasn’t mad.

She was petrified.

Of course, she’d known for a long time that she had all the signs of pregnancy. The exact ones Nick’s wife Isabelle had manifested. And she could barely consider what a positive result would mean. She sat on the toilet. She could put water on the stick, fool Connor into thinking she’d done the test. But she didn’t. Somewhere in her muddled mind, she knew she had to face reality. So she got up and went back out to the bedroom. “I can’t do it alone.”

Connor was pacing and stopped. “I’m a doctor, honey. I’ll help.”

“I mean I can pee alone, but I need you to hold my hand while we wait for the results.”

“You’ve had suspicions, too, haven’t you?”

“I have. Even Max asked me about the possibility.”

He moved closer and put his hand on her shoulder. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Now, go back in there.”

This time, she didn’t even close the door. She peed on the stick and then went back out. “Here, you hold it.”

He took the stick. “I—”

“Don’t say anything until we know. The box said this one takes two minutes.”

“All right.” He checked his watch.

He sat on the bed, scooted up to the headboard and motioned her over. She nestled in beside him. He laid his head on hers. They waited two long, torturous minutes. “No matter what happens,” he told her, kissing her head, “I’ll always be here for you.”

“Let’s look together.”

They did.

And saw a plus sign.

She gasped. He dropped the stick onto the nightstand and took her into his arms. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me, too.” And like a little child, she curled into Connor’s chest and buried her face in his shirt. “Oh, God. What am I going to do?”

o0o

Max awoke with a start. He’d dreamed Whitney died in a plane crash. Because she was dead to him, as the Italians said. Lying back on the pillows, he glanced at the clock. He’d slept two hours. Thank God. He needed a clear head. Throwing off the covers, he went to the bathroom, where he showered, dressed in sweats he left in the drawer here and then hurried downstairs. His dad sat in the great room, reading.

He looked up when Max entered. “Well, you seem better.”

“Thanks for making me sleep.”

“You always sleep well at my house.”

A half smile. “You were a good dad.”

“Hey, I’m still around.” His dad stood. “Coffee?”

He hadn’t even sipped the first cup his dad poured earlier. “Yeah.”

They sat in the kitchen. His father’s backyard was bare of trees and foliage and frosted with a light dusting of snow. It glazed the window panes.

“I hate winter,” Max said apropos of nothing.

His dad’s brows raised. “Want to go away somewhere warm?”

He perked up. “You and me?”

“Sure. We can go anywhere you want because we’re flexible on the timing.”

The thought was tempting. But he shook his head. “How can I leave this mess behind, Dad? It’s not fair to Whitney.”

“If you let things stand as they are, you can leave town. Right now, your indecision is hurting her. If you stop all contact with her, she’ll heal faster.”

His father was wise. He’d been right about Whitney initially. But Max knew what was in his heart. Time for honesty. “I can’t do that, Dad. I can’t leave her alone. I don’t want to.”

His father sat back and sighed. “You thinking of trying to take back the breakup, son?”

“Yeah. I don’t know how I thought this would work out.”

“You want a family.”

“I do.”

“And you’re willing to give that up?”

“Dad, at this point, I don’t see I have any choice. I can’t live without her. She’ll be my family. We’ll be fine.”

“Hmm. Whitney might have something to say about that.”

“I guess. But how can I not try? She did say she would have married me before she knew I wanted a child.”

His father reached across the table and put his hand over Max’s. “What about Angela, Max?”

He closed his eyes briefly. “Man, am I a dog. I’m going to hurt her now.”

“It’s a no-win situation.”

“If I can get Whitney back, it might be for her and me.” He shook his head. “That sounds awful.”

“And if she won’t take you back? Now that she knows what you want?”

“I guess it doesn’t matter. I can’t be with another woman.”

“All right. But the offer of a vacation with your dad is open if things don’t go your way.”

“Thanks, Pop.” His old nickname for his father. “I appreciate the support.”

o0o

After the stunning revelation in her bedroom, Whitney appeared to be in shock. She didn’t want to talk right away and Connor understood. He’d suggested they go for a walk on the Mall. At 11:00 a.m., the huge grassy expanse was fairly busy, despite the frigid air that bit his nose and chilled his neck.

“Is this too cold for you?” She must have seen him shiver. “Your blood is still thin from all that Middle Eastern heat.”

“It gets cold in the winter there. Besides, Max’s hiking boots are warm. So is his winter jacket.” There were lots of his things at her place.

“I’ll have to get rid of his clothes and the rest of his stuff. Maybe you can pack them up for me and deliver them to his house.”

“I don’t trust myself alone with him after what we learned this morning.”

“Pacifist Connor?” she said as they passed the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall. “That’ll be the day.” They walked farther. “So, tell me about last night.”

A vision swam through his brain. The dark hair and eyes that had haunted his midnights. “Calla was there.”

She stopped short, in front of a monument of horse and rider. “What?” She touched his shoulder. “Oh, Connor. That must have been so hard.” Only Whitney knew about his love affair in Syria with Calla Gentileschi. Only Whitney knew the devastation he’d felt when Calla left him. Even then, he hadn’t told her everything.

“It was hard.” Just mentioning her brought pain, so he quickened his pace to outdistance it. And he hadn’t made a decision yet. Besides, Whitney had enough to deal with, and there was no easy solution to Connor’s issues.

“Let me just say she’s in a different place now. But truthfully, talking about her is the last thing I want to do.”

“Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh. I need time.”

“Man, we’re both emotional train wrecks.”

“We’ll both take time to untangle ourselves, then.”

“Agreed.” He stopped in front of the Korean War memorial. “You do know, though, that you’re going to have to deal with your situation soon?”

“Yeah, but not yet. Let’s walk and forget about the others in our lives for a little while longer.”

o0o

Angie gave Max an intimate look from where she stood by his couch. She’d shucked her coat and boots, so she was barefoot. Somehow, that made her seem more vulnerable. “I’m so glad you asked me for lunch.”

You won’t be.

Her happiness about such a small invitation dug the knife of guilt deeper into his gut.

She came in closer. “And I’m glad you chose your place.” A sexy smile now. “I’ve got two hours before my next meeting.” Sliding her hands up to his shoulders, she leaned in and kissed the rim of his sweatshirt. “I’m ready now, in case you can’t tell.”

Oh, God.

“I ordered lunch. It came just before you arrived.”

Her gaze narrowed. “I don’t want lunch right now. I want to make love.”

His quick intake of breath was impossible to control.

She stepped back. “Max, I’ve tried to be patient this week, but I’m beginning to feel you changed your mind about us getting together. About leaving Whitney.”

Rip the Band-Aid off. “I’m sorry, Angie. I have.”

She lifted her hands and let them fall to her thighs. “You can’t be serious. Do you have any idea what agony you’re putting Whitney and me through?”

“I’m so sorry.”

She took in a breath. “Maybe you’re just feeling guilty about her.”

“That’s what I thought at first, too. But the reality is I can’t picture my life without Whitney in it.”

“What about me? I’m not enough?”

“No, no, this has nothing to do with you. She’s…a part of me, I guess.”

“You should have thought of this before you started anything with me!”

“I should have. But I didn’t know how wrenching a separation from her would be.”

Angie stood up tall and shook her hair back. She’d let it down for him. “Have you told her about this?”

“No. It wouldn’t have been fair to discuss these feelings with her before you knew.”

“Hmm. Well, knowing Whitney, I don’t think she’s going to be happy. You’ve hurt us both. And she knows now you want marriage and a child.”

“I’ll have to deal with all that.”

She moved in closer again and grabbed his forearm. “Reconsider, Max. You’ll get over her. I can make you forget her.”

“No, Angie. I won’t. Again, I’m sorry.”

“I think you’re going to be a lot sorrier than you know if Whitney refuses what you’re offering. But I’ll leave while I have some dignity left.”

Grabbing the coat she’d thrown over a chair, she crossed to the foyer, hurriedly donned her boots and walked out the front door.

Bereft, Max stared after her. He hated hurting this woman he genuinely cared about, and Whitney, who he now knew he loved too much to let go.

o0o

Whitney sat across from Connor at The Capital Grille. The restaurant was alive with the chatter of the patrons and the sound of dishes and silverware clanking. She studied the menu.

You’re eating for two, she thought.

As if reading her mind, Connor said, “You have choices, you know.”

“Yeah, this is a great menu.”

“I don’t mean with that. But let’s order and then address what has to be dealt with before the food comes.”

They both ordered club sandwiches and sparkling water.

When the waitress left, she faced Connor, and her issues, squarely. “I know I have choices. I don’t have to have it.”

“Let’s lay out both sides. You don’t have to have the baby. But we need to find out how far along you are.”

She frowned. “I can’t be past the legal date for an abortion.”

“No, you probably aren’t. It’s…”

“What?”

“If you’re around ten weeks, you could hear the heartbeat now.”

Her eyes filled. And Whitney never cried.

“You have to know the reality of what you’re doing, honey.”

“Are you against abortion, Connor?”

“Not in theory. But now that I know you’re pregnant with a baby that could have fingers and toes and a heartbeat, the whole thing looks different to me.”

“That breaks my heart. But I can’t get out of my head that I could put it through what I went through.”

“Whit, life is full of ups and downs. No one can be sure a kid is going to be safe.”

“Rationally, I know that. But the notion terrifies me. If I can’t even deal with one of you getting hurt without falling apart, think of the treacherous pregnancy I’d have.”

“Then find ways to deal with your fears, honey. Manage them.” He hesitated. “Get counseling.”

“I already did that.”

“You have more at stake now.”

“I don’t know, Con. I keep going over this in my head. I’d be a terrible mother, waiting, watching for the worst to happen.”

“Then make an appointment with your doctor. That’s the first step.”

“What will happen there?”

“She’ll want to discuss options. If you choose not to bring the pregnancy to term, it’s a relatively simple procedure. You might have to go to the hospital or surgery center, depending on how pregnant you are. If you’re only a few weeks along, the abortion can be done right in the doctor’s office.”

The word made her go cold.

He reached across the table and took her hand. “At least we’ll have all the information on what we’re dealing with.”

“That’s sounds like something I could handle.” She took out her phone. Before she punched in the doctor’s contact, she said, “Thanks, Con. For being here for me.”

“I’m always here for you.”

“After this”—she held up the phone— “we can talk about Calla, if you’re ready.” Whitney knew her cousin was suffering for her and also over whatever the little bombshell, Calla, had dropped on him.

He said only, “Make your call.”

o0o

Max pulled over onto the street and a ways down from Whitney’s condo. He didn’t want her to see his car and not let him in. He checked the dashboard. One o’clock. God, how things could change in a morning. He felt like a horrible person, selfish and unkind, and worse, for what he’d done to Angela. Why, why, hadn’t he known that he couldn’t leave Whitney? Why hadn’t he known how much he truly loved her?

And now, he was terrified he wouldn’t be able to make it right with her. Her words haunted him.

No, Max. I’m not ready to get married or have a family. But I’ve had an epiphany over the last month and I know one thing. I’m in love with you.

Man up, he told himself. You broke this. You have to fix it. If he could. If she’d let him. His only hope was how upset she’d gotten over their split. She loved him, a lot, he knew that. He prayed her feelings were enough.

He made his way to the front door. He couldn’t tell if her car was in the garage because the attached space had no windows. He’d brought his key, but he’d ring the bell.

No answer.

Since he wore only a sweat suit with a light jacket over it, he shivered. He rang again. Nothing. Well, hell, she’d gone out. With Connor maybe. Then Max would wait. He let himself into the condo. The interior was quiet. No one was here.

But he called out in case, “Whitney, it’s Max. You didn’t answer the bell.”

No response. Kicking off his sneakers, he crossed into the living area. He liked her modern furniture and sleek decor here. But he didn’t sit. Instead, he went to the kitchen. Opened the fridge. Considered a beer. No, he needed to think clearly. Maybe they could celebrate with the champagne nestled on the top shelf. In bed would be good. Very good.

Not if Connor was still here. Well, that didn’t matter. Having her back in his life was the only thing that counted right now.

Connor was still here, he saw at the doorway to the spare room. His bag was on the floor, some clothes thrown on the bed.

He went down the hall to her bedroom. The sheets and blankets were still messy. Hmm. He’d never known her not to make her bed in the morning. The pillows were propped up on the headboard, with indentations from two bodies. He sat down on the mattress, against the pillows and stretched out. Through the window, he saw the wind pick up outside, then studied the layout of the room. When he noticed a book on the nightstand, he reached for it, but something rolled off as he lifted up the novel. Huh! A thermometer. Oh, man, he hoped she wasn’t sick. His eyes narrowed on a white strip of plastic. The thing didn’t look like a thermometer. He picked it up. A stick with a plus sign.

Alarm bells went off in his head. She’d had all the symptoms of pregnancy.

She’d been nauseous and explained it away with their situation.

She’d been dizzy.

She couldn’t drink coffee.

She took naps all the time.

And peed frequently.

Wildly, he felt around the rest of the bed. Nothing. He bounded off the mattress and strode to the bathroom. There was the box. On the counter. He read the label.

Early Pregnancy Test Kit.

With trembling hands, he checked the instructions. Minus for negative, plus for positive.

Oh, dear God in heaven, Whitney was going to have his baby!