14
Promise you won’t tell anyone.
The familiar rapid rhythm of my heart transports me back to my sister’s bedroom in my parents’ house, and for a minute the delivery room fades away and all I see is the fear in my sister’s eyes as she tells me she’s pregnant at eighteen...a statistic. After catching her with her head in the toilet one Saturday morning and calling to Mom for help, she’d shushed me, wiped her mouth and dragged me into her room with the promise of a secret written in her fearful eyes. I never expected what she’d tell me next or the impossible position she would put me in.
“Dylan, say it out loud,” she told me. “You have to promise you won’t tell Mom and Dad. Not yet. Mom’s going to kill me.” Her green eyes had pooled with water. I was in too much shock to cry. I’d looked down at our hands, clasped together on her baby-pink bedspread. Ironic, I remember thinking.
“Abby, I don’t want to. I don’t think it’s a good idea. You know I can’t lie to Dad.”
“I’m not asking you to lie. I’m just asking you not to say anything. If Dad specifically asks you if I’m pregnant, I give you full permission to tell him.” A nervous laugh escaped her lips. She tucked her silky blond hair behind her ear. “Sis, please. You’re the only one I can trust. I need you.”
And that was the clincher—she hadn’t told her friends, she’d told me. I bit my lip, and going against my better judgment, I nodded. When she swept me up into her arms and told me I was the best sister a girl could ask for, I thought I’d made the right decision. What kind of sister threw her best friend under the bus in her time of greatest need?
But three days later, she pulled me into the bathroom and locked the door. She’d been holed up in her bedroom since after lunch. Under the harsh lighting in the bathroom, she looked like a ghost. “Something’s wrong,” she whispered frantically. “I’m cramping. I don’t know what to do.”
“Why are you telling me?” I asked her, my voice rising with panic. I was only sixteen. What did I know about pregnancy? I’d hardly kissed a boy. “You need to tell Mom and Dad now.”
“No, Dylan. No,” she urged. She pulled me farther into the bathroom, holding on to me like she expected me to burst out of the bathroom or take flight. But she was my older sister, and she trusted me. I would never risk that. “I just need to go to the doctor. Will you take me?”
It was eight o’clock. I didn’t know how I’d get her to a doctor at that hour, but I knew I wasn’t going to let her down.
“Wait here,” I told her. I stepped toward the door, and my hands slipped from hers. I’ll never forget her wide eyes, her reddened cheeks.
By the time I made it to the bottom of the stairs, I had a plan. I told Mom I was going to spend the night at my friend’s house around the corner and that Abby was going to drop me off. I told her Abby would probably hang out for a while before coming back home. Mom was so happy to hear I had a friend that she agreed to the lies without any further questions.
While Mom was cooking and Charlie was in his room playing video games, I packed a bag and sneaked Abby down the stairs. She had her arms wrapped around her middle and walked hunched over. Every once in a while, a low moan escaped her lips, but she kept quiet. We tiptoed past Dad’s study, where he was reading the newspaper. We slipped out into the night, and I helped her into the passenger side of the car, then drove her to the nearest hospital.
We sat in the waiting room for an hour before someone finally called us into the back. By that time, Abby had broken out in a sweat, her cheeks were more flushed than before and her moaning had grown uncontrollable. I had to wrap her arm over my shoulders to get her back to the tiny room with little more than a shower curtain for privacy.
“What seems to be the problem?” the gruff doctor asked, looking down at the paperwork I’d filled out for her when we arrived. He must have been in his late fifties, his jowls hanging from his jaw like his cheeks were melting and his shaggy silver hair as tired as he was.
“She’s cramping and nauseous,” I answered for Abby, rubbing her back as I spoke. In a thinner voice, I said, “And she’s pregnant.”
“Have you been to an OB/GYN yet?” he asked.
Abby focused on her lap and shook her head.
The doctor looked over her paperwork a moment longer, unconcerned. He saw bleeding head wounds and gunshot victims and people with exploding appendixes on a regular basis. What were a few stomach cramps?
“All right,” he said. “Go ahead and lie back, and I’ll take a look.”
I helped Abby onto her back, though she was reluctant to uncurl herself. The paper crinkled beneath her, and I stood behind her head, using my fingers to pull her hair away from her face and blowing on her forehead to cool her.
“How far along are you?” the doctor asked.
“Just a few weeks,” Abby said through gritted teeth. “Five, I think.”
“And how long have you been feeling the symptoms?” The doctor pushed his fingers into her abdomen, and she winced.
“Since after lunch,” she said.
He asked her a few more questions and gave her a quick examination. Finally, he said, “Miscarriages can happen this early on, but if you’re not bleeding, I’m not concerned. It’s probably just that stomach flu that’s going around. We’ve seen a lot of cases in the last few weeks, and it’s all the same symptoms. I can’t do anything for it. All you can do is stay hydrated. If you start to bleed, come back right away.”
“That’s it?” Abby asked.
“That’s it. And get an appointment with your OB/GYN scheduled.”
He tipped his head toward us, then disappeared.
The drive over to my friend’s house was silent aside from Abby’s occasional moans.
“Do you want some Gatorade? Crackers?” I asked her, trying to convince myself the doctor was right.
“No. I just want to sleep.” She had her eyes closed, and her head leaned back on the headrest.
“I don’t want to leave you when you’re not feeling well. Especially if no one else knows. Someone should be there in case you need to go back to the hospital.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “You go to Lauren’s. Her parents won’t care if you just show up. Their house has a revolving door for the neighborhood.”
I wanted to argue with her, but that had never worked in all our sixteen years of being sisters. “Let me at least drive you home. I can walk to Lauren’s.”
“Dylan, if we don’t stick to the plan, Mom will be suspicious.”
“We should tell—”
“Don’t,” she said, cutting me off. “You know if Mom and Dad know, they will want to involve Christian’s family, and I never want to lay eyes on that asshole again.”
So we stuck with the plan. She dropped me off at Lauren’s and drove herself home. I made her call me when she got there. I tried to focus on the scary movies we watched that night, boy talk, be a normal teenager who wasn’t worried about pregnancy and babies. But my mind was on Abby. As soon as the sun rose the next morning, I sneaked out of Lauren’s house and walked home. I saw the flashing lights of the ambulance down the street, and my heart went wild. I ran the rest of the way home, getting there just in time to see the paramedics bringing Abby down the stairs on a stretcher. Mom had her hands covering her mouth as she followed them, sobbing. Dad gripped Abby’s lifeless hand with one of his own and reached out for mine with the other. I didn’t take it, too stunned to grasp the simple gesture. Charlie clung to me from behind, and we watched them disappear out the front door, slamming it behind them.
Three days later, as we stood over Abby’s grave, and the minister droned on about the loss of a young life, Mom leaned toward Dad, and I heard her whisper, “Why didn’t she tell us? If we’d known, we could have gotten her to a doctor a month ago. We could have stopped this.” She’d dissolved into tears, and as a single tear slid down my own cheek, I vowed to keep Abby’s secret—now my secret—forever. When Abby was admitted the morning of her death, the hospital visit from the night before was on her records, but there was one detail that never made it on paper: I was there. I could have stopped this. My parents assumed she went after she dropped me off at Lauren’s. If they knew, they would never forgive me for not telling them...for letting her die.
The delivery room door opens, jarring me from the memory of Abby that has been replaying in my mind on repeat. I vaguely remember stitching up Erika and leaving her in recovery. I even more vaguely remember grabbing a stack of charts and visiting other patients in various stages of labor.
Did I perform a C-section?
Everyone around me shuffles to allow Enrique to reach me. The nurses in the room are all looking at me with uncertainty and pity in their expressions. I’m shocked and terrified to realize I don’t recognize the woman on the delivery table, and I’m not sure how I got here. How many hours have passed since I left Erika’s delivery room? How many days? My hair feels greasy against my scalp, and my forehead and underarms are sweaty. My vision is blurred from lack of sleep, and I’m jittery from too many cups of coffee.
What am I doing?
“Dr. Lu said you were taking the rest of the week off,” Enrique says. The laboring mother moans, another contraction taking hold. The woman who must be her mother is holding her hand and is as white as the hospital walls behind her, clearly afraid for her daughter and her grandchild. Afraid of me. Enrique takes hold of my arm, but I shake him off.
Despite my panic, I say, “I don’t need the rest of the week off. I need to get back to work.” I reach for the forceps, but he pulls them out of my reach.
“There are other doctors who can handle this,” he says. In a lower voice, he adds, “Did you sleep at all last night?” Last night? I’ve been working for over twenty-four hours, and I don’t remember any of it? My heart pounds faster.
“Where are we at?” I hear Dr. Galloway’s voice say from the sink, where he’s scrubbing up with the clear intention of taking over.
“What’s going on?” the soon-to-be mother in front of me asks. I try to respond, but I realize I don’t have the answer. I look at the nurses, one by one, each of them silently encouraging me to go with Enrique. After working so hard to earn their trust, I’ve lost it in a single night. My vision blurs around the edges.
“How did I get here?” I whisper.
“Dylan, come on,” Enrique says in my ear. He grabs me by the elbows and lifts me off my chair. “Vamanos, muñeca. Dr. Galloway can handle it from here.”
I allow myself to be pulled away from the scene in a daze. The patient never even looks up, doesn’t notice the transition, or that I’m no longer there. She doesn’t need me, she just needs someone.
“That’s it,” Enrique says when I finally put my weight on my own two feet. The door seals off behind us. In the hallway, he says, “Dylan, go home,” in a firm whisper. He holds my chin between his thumb and forefinger, bringing his dark features into focus. “You didn’t do anything wrong yesterday. Shit happens. There’s no shame in taking a couple of days to deal with it. But don’t come in here like this and make an actual mistake. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, hot tears stinging my eyes. “What did I do, Enrique?”
“It’s okay, Dr. Michels. Just get home safely, okay? She’ll be fine. We’ll see you next week.” Enrique squeezes my arm one last time, then goes back into the delivery room. I nod and stumble to the elevator.
I don’t know how I make it home. I don’t remember getting to my car or driving across the city or pulling into the garage. I’m just suddenly bursting through my front door and fumbling in the dark to find the light switch. I yank my shoes off and walk to the kitchen for some water. I’ve never been so thirsty in my life. I fumble with the glass, almost dropping it, then fill it up under the tap. I gulp down the first glass, then refill it. As I’m swallowing the last of it, I see the empty flowerpots lining the windowsill. I’ve been watering them every few days for months, making sure they get the right amount of sunlight, even talking to them. I followed the instructions on the package precisely and yet, nothing. Why do they bother giving instructions at all if you can do everything right and still get it wrong? Why do I try so hard when in the end, everything comes down to chance? No matter what I did, I couldn’t save Erika’s baby, I couldn’t save my sister and I couldn’t save the goddamn daisies.
I set my glass on the counter, pick up the pots and stare at them for a long moment before I hurl them across the kitchen. They hit the refrigerator and explode into a thousand pieces of shattered dreams and shattered lives.
* * *
I wake up at 5:00 a.m. the next morning in a cold sweat, to a cold, empty house, not sure what’s left for me. I stare up at the ceiling, my limbs filled with cotton, my mind filled with white noise. I can’t think of a single reason to get out of this bed. I gave up everything for my patients, and in the end, I couldn’t save them all anyway.
Eventually, I drag myself to the kitchen for my first cup of coffee, ignoring the broken shards of ceramic and soil strewn across the floor, settling my attention on Cooper’s book still on the counter. I stare at it as I sip my coffee, focus in on it for a long time, those haunting eyes staring back at me, accusing. I dump my coffee in the sink, throw on my jeans and a T-shirt and snatch the book off the counter on my way out the door.
Rain starts to sprinkle as I pull into the parking lot of Cooper’s office, and I bring my car to a stop in the space reserved for me, rarely used. I reach for the book on the passenger seat. Before I get out of the car, I clutch it close to my heart. Before I rid myself of it, I latch on to the reminder that there are no happy endings.
I jump out of the car and duck my head from the rain, taking long strides to the front door.
“Dylan?” A man’s voice says my name, but it isn’t Cooper’s. It sounds familiar, yet out of context here. I look up from beneath the shield of my hand to see Reese standing there at the edge of the sidewalk, between me and the entrance. He smiles and my heart stops.
It takes me a moment to put the pieces together—Reese, here to see Cooper. I never thought about them speaking to each other away from the house, without me. A nagging discomfort digs at the pit of my stomach, feeling oddly like betrayal.
“What are you doing here?” I breathe.
“I’m...” He motions toward the door but trails off.
“Is Cooper trying to change the plans for the yard?”
“No. Of course not,” he’s quick to say.
“Oh. Are...are you here to tell him about us?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Tell him what about us?”
I take a few deep breaths to steady myself, and once my frazzled mind clears, I realize I’m overreacting. Nothing has happened with Reese. Not really. And even if it had, what would it matter to Cooper?
Cool rain lands on Reese’s dark skin, and his eyes soften in a new way. I drop my gaze, suddenly feeling exposed.
“Why are you here?” I ask in the direction of my feet.
Reese hesitates for another moment. “I’m here to pick up paperwork for my brother.” He lifts the stack of papers as evidence. “Dr. Caldwell is my nephew’s doctor. I take Patrick to some of his appointments.”
“Some of his appointments?”
“He was recently diagnosed with leukemia.” Before I can react, he barrels on. “My brother is busy at work. He’s working a lot these days, so he doesn’t have to think about it. And so he can afford the best treatments for Patrick. I try to help where I can.”
“Oh, Reese,” I sigh. “I’m so...”
Forgetting where I am, I reach up to place a hand on his cheek. He closes his eyes and turns into it. His lips brush my palm, and it sends a shock through me.
My hand falls to my side as I remember the boy Cooper told me about the other night. I remember the way Cooper was searching for something out the kitchen window. He was searching for Reese—the uncle of the patient who was breaking his heart.
“Is that how you two met?” I mumble. “You and Cooper.” Of course, I’d never thought about that before, too caught up in my own concerns.
Reese nods, his mouth a grim line.
“I’m so sorry.” Tears fill my eyes, still burning from yesterday’s tears. It’s too much. It’s all too much.
“Are you okay, Dylan?” he asks.
I nod, unable to speak. I turn back toward my car.
“Dylan.” He stops me with a hand on my waist. “Where are you going?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Go somewhere with me.”
I shake my head in disbelief.
“Reese, I—”
“Don’t say ‘can’t.’ You can do anything you want, Dylan. You either will or you won’t.”
I search his face for an indication of what he wants from me. The crease between his eyebrows. His eyes, smoky with longing. His lips drawn together in anticipation.
I feel it, too. It’s been there all along between us. I was oblivious to it at first, then in denial.
But I’m so tired of fighting.
“I know a place,” I say. “Follow me.”
I get in my car, and Reese in his truck. As we pull out of the parking lot, Reese close behind me, I start when I catch Cooper’s reflection in the rearview mirror. He stands in the doorway of the office, his keys in his hand as he heads out for lunch. His eyebrows are furrowed. Behind the screen in my mind, the disappointment of him seeing me this way stings. I tear my gaze away from the mirror to my hands that are surprisingly steady on the steering wheel. Because this is who I really am, the woman I should have accepted all along.
I look up and pull out into the street.
* * *
As I stand at the edge of the forest along the Sandy River, I look down at my cell phone vibrating in my hand and see Cooper’s name on the caller ID. I silence it and set it on my hood. The door of Reese’s truck slams behind me, and with a few steps, he crosses the old dirt road and stands behind me. He touches the back of my neck, but I move forward into the trees without looking back.
He follows close behind me on the thin trail. I step over the rocks, duck below branches, feel his hands on my hips, guiding me. When we break through the brush and into the clearing, I stop, and he comes to stand beside me. I feel his presence there with every cell in my body.
“What do you think?” I ask. I try to look at the clearing with new eyes—the way Reese would see it with his artistic mind. The treetops are dense enough to create a canopy to protect us from the drizzling rain and the melancholy sky and the rest of humanity. It’s like a world all its own—a fairy tale—green, with fern and moss climbing the length of each trunk, and hidden below, the Sandy River rushes through. There’s not another living soul here to tell us what’s wrong or right.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs.
“There’s more,” I say. I tentatively reach out my hand for his. I worry he won’t take it. Maybe his feelings for me have all been in my head. But he does. He laces his fingers between mine, rough with calluses, and warm.
I smile from deep within and then bound forward down the slope. We run free like children, laughing and calling out to the heavens. I hear the water ahead, smell it, taste its pureness in the otherwise dry air. Across the clearing, through the fire pit, I pull back a few overgrown branches and reveal the clear, inviting water. He gives me a half smile that makes me weak in the knees, then steps through.
“This is incredible,” he says, raising his voice slightly over the sound of the water.
This part of the river is deep, but a hundred feet down, it narrows and hopscotches down a bed of stones. Reese walks forward and dips his hand into the water. I watch him with eyes from a different time, a previous life.
“Feels good,” he says.
“Want to stick your feet in?”
He shakes his head, steps toward me and reaches out his hands. I take them and let him lead me forward, closer to the water, closer to him.
“Do you trust me?” he says softly. I nod. He releases my hands, takes the bottom of his shirt, and pulls it up over his head. Instinctively, I look away, but I can’t help my eyes as they wander back to him. He looks at me, waiting for my reaction. His body is more than I imagined.
I open my mouth to ask him a question. Anything to slow this down. But now is not the time for words; it’s the time for action.
I’m letting go.
I step out of my shoes and close the space between us. I stop before I touch his bare skin and look up at him, then I let my eyelids flutter shut and surrender. There’s a long moment when nothing happens, as if he’s waiting for me to change my mind, but I stand there until I feel the tips of his fingers reach beneath my shirt. I shudder as they trace lines over my hips and up my body as he lifts the hem higher and higher. I raise my arms, and he pulls it over my head, dropping it to the dirt below.
My breath is heavy and his chest swells, too. Our bare skin is so close it leaves little room for restraint. He never looks away from my face, but I know he sees all of me, and I feel his physical response. To solicit such a reaction from him fulfills a need I’ve ignored for so long. My skin tingles with the desire to be touched by his knowing hands.
He unbuttons his jeans next, and I’m acutely aware of the sound of his zipper moving downward. His face reveals no abashment as he leans forward to pull them off. He lost his shoes at some point, but I was too distracted to notice when. Wearing nothing more than boxer briefs, he awaits my next signal, but unable to wait any longer, I unbutton my own slacks and let them pool around my feet. I smile, step out of my pants and dash toward the water. The last thing I hear is his laughter and then I’m under.
Goose bumps and air bubbles ripple over my skin, awakening every nerve in my body. The water explodes with bubbles again when Reese jumps in next to me. I come up for air and open my arms wide to the steady rain that showers down on me. The beauty of the moment is surreal.
Reese surfaces and shakes out his hair with a laugh. The expression on his face as he wades toward me proves I’ve surprised even him.
“Who knew you had it in you, Dr. Michels?”
“Not me,” I say.
We swim for a while, up and down the river, splashing each other. It reminds me of being at the beach with Cooper in Hawaii, but I push that thought from my mind. The sun turns orange in the sky as it starts its descent behind the trees. Once we’re tired, we find a place where our feet touch the ground and steady ourselves like stones in the stream, listening to the sounds of nature that surrounds us. But I’m more aware of the fluttering in my chest and the way the sunset lights up Reese’s bronze skin.
“Thank you,” he says softly, like he doesn’t want to disrupt this faraway world either. “Thank you for sharing this place with me.”
“I’ve never done this before, you know. Skinny-dipping.”
The gravity of the situation finally hits me. When he sees the seriousness on my face, his expression turns from playful to lusting, one degree at a time.
“Come here,” he says.
We’re only a couple of feet from each other, but my body is an anchor against the strength of the current and my uncertainty. Beneath the water, my hand grazes his chest, so smooth and flawless. His eyes close for a moment. He takes my offered hand and reaches around blindly until he finds the other one. Then, finally, he pulls me against him. My bare stomach is pressed against his, his chest against mine with only the thin fabric of my bra to separate us. Raindrops land on his face, and I watch them bead on his eyelashes or streak down his cheek and rejoin the water between us.
The part of me that isn’t comfortable with the truth in silence wants to speak, but I can’t. Instead, I open myself up to the honesty on his face, to what he’s been trying to tell me from the beginning: that I am a woman worth being fought for—not only by him, or by Cooper, but by myself.
The stillness presses in on us until Reese lifts a hand and runs his thumb across my bottom lip. I close my eyes, feel him move closer. His lips—those full lips I have so longed for—touch the skin of my neck. I sigh. He breathes a path across my collarbone as his hands move down my back, trying to pull me closer even though it’s impossible. His lips move farther down, and I know where he will go next.
Up until now everything I have done with Reese has been borderline. But if I let him continue, that will be it. I will be carried away, unable to stop myself. I will return to being the girl I left behind nine years ago—the one who refused to love, who took the easy way out. If we give in to our desires, the line will be crossed forever, and even if no one ever knows but the two of us, I will face the consequences every time I look in the mirror.
He moans against my skin and traces the tip of his nose upward until it finds mine. His breath is warm and moist. His lips brush lightly against my lips—an almost kiss—and hover there, his eyes closed, ready. His hands cup the back of my head, his fingers laced into my hair, pulling a little too hard.
It’s animalistic.
It’s sex.
It’s not making love.
“Reese,” I breathe.
“I know,” he says, his disappointment apparent, but I exhale my relief. As much as I want this—as much as I want him—I can’t do it. Because even when I’m wrapped in the arms of everything I’ve been needing, the only man I can think of is Cooper.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Don’t be.” He rests his forehead on mine and lets his hands fall to my shoulders. He squeezes me tightly like it’s taking all his strength to stop, then he lets me go.