Chapter 38
Daniel
With dithery steps, I enter the kitchen. Grace is standing in front of the sink, facing the window overlooking the back yard. An orange leaf falls lazily from the maple tree out back and my gaze follows its leisurely trajectory.
I don’t know how to say this. I don’t know how to tell her.
I just got her back and when I drop this bombshell, I’ll lose her for sure.
When Brittany came to my office yesterday and she told me about our child – Oh, god. Our child – I needed to see it in writing. I needed proof. That’s why I marched her down to the Planned Parenthood clinic with me. The test results were conclusive. I have a daughter.
With Brittany Fucking Delaney.
My marriage is over for real this time. I feel my breathing cycle speed up and my limbs go numb just as my head gets foggy. The floor seems to weave a little bit and I brace myself against the doorframe, closing my eyes briefly to regain my balance. I feel a panic attack coming on.
Without turning around to watch me, without even glancing at me over her shoulder, Grace sets down the half-empty bottle of red wine.
"Is it chancroid...?" she whispers in a voice that's barely audible.
My brows furrow at her odd question. "What?"
"Is. It. Chancroid?" she repeats in a loud, unsteady tone. She finally spins around to face me. Her cheeks are red and her eyes are swollen. She wears the expression of a wild animal about to go into a fit of hysterics. "Or trichomoniasis? God, I hope it's not trichomoniasis. I don't deserve trichomoniasis...Mucopurulent cervicitis?" Her gaze moves to the ceiling. "Ah right, you don't have a cervix." Her eyes are back on me in a flash and her tone is laden with the sting of betrayal. "Wait – do you have a cervix?!"
"Grace – what on earth are you talking about?"
“Don’t play dumb with me. I know where you were this afternoon, you tricky little bastard. I know about Brittany Delaney. I saw you with her…” Her voice gets lost in her tightening throat. "How long do I have before the symptoms show up?" she blurts out quickly.
I hold a hand out protectively in front of me. "Grace – I don't have a some obscure STD."
"Do you have a common STD?" Bewilderment colors her brown irises.
She might be a little drunk. Just a little.
"No, no STDs at all. And no cervix, either." I almost want to laugh but the situation is far too grave.
"Oh. Thank god," she exhales rapidly, her whole body heaving with relief. "I was going crazy with worry." She grabs the wine bottle and her head jerks back as she brings it to her lips, taking a long swallow.
I wish that this was just one of those times where Grace is just overthinking everything and working herself up into a frenzy for no reason. It isn’t.
"I have a daughter," I blurt before I chicken out.
She freezes with the wine bottle lifted to her face. "You have a...?"
My heart beats double-time and my fingers tingle. How am I going to make her understand? How am I going to get her to forgive me for this? Grace just took me back and it’s over already.
"Angel, let me explain!" I take two steps toward her but her expression warns me not to get any closer.
A fury so dark and penetrating permeates her features. It chills me. "With Brittany Delaney?"
"It's not what you think." It's suddenly very hot in here. I feel sweat crawling down my back.
“Another woman with your child, Daniel?” she hisses. “The thought of it makes me sick!”
“Let me explain,” I beg, “Please.”
She’s going to leave me. She’s going to take Sebastian and she’s going to leave me. She won’t stay in Reyfield. And I won’t see either of them ever again.
“You told me you hadn’t been with anyone else when we were separated!” The accusation dripping from her tone is heavy and noxious.
My voice is weak. “That’s the truth!”
She snaps. “So, how the hell did Brittany Delaney end up pregnant?!”
My regret is so deep. My chest aches. “It was a stupid mistake. I was so dumb.”
She waves the wine bottle menacingly. “So again – how the hell did she end up pregnant, Daniel?”
“We were both teenagers when it happened. We were stupid and horny and dumb.”
Something in her falters. For a split second, her rage is replaced by confusion. “You’re not making any sense!”
My eyes narrow on hers. “I don't know exactly what you think you saw today—”
“I know that I saw you with Brittany outside of the family planning clinic this afternoon. You both had that 'oh shit' look on your faces. And you still haven’t denied that she’s having your baby. So what the hell am I supposed to think?”
“Wait – Brittany isn’t pregnant right this minute, Grace. Not at all. I had sex with her once, years ago. We have an eight-year-old girl.”
My wife’s face goes white as her eyes widen in disbelief.
“I have an eight-year-old daughter. Her name’s Bella.” I repeat the words for Grace’s benefit and for mine. I think I’m still in shock.
Her fingers touch her lips and she stands completely frozen. Even her tears seem to be frozen partway down her cheeks. “You have an eight-year-old daughter…?”
“I’m sorry, Grace, but before I met you I was a young, dumb jock who wasn’t thinking about his future. I wasn’t thinking that I’d meet someone like you and that one stupid night with a girl like Brittany would come back to haunt me all these years later.”
I can’t read her expression. I don’t know if she’s angry or sad or upset. I should give her time to process this situation. But I don’t have time because I’m not done explaining things to her and this next little bit of information is urgent.
“Grace?” Her eyes move slowly to my face. “There’s more…”