Wethering the Storm

“Every damn day is more like it,” she says, laughing. “Six years married, reminding him more times than I care to mention, and the man still can’t remember to hang his bath towel up! I’m sure he just does it to drive me crazy.”



“You know me, darlin’, I live to drive you crazy.” Smith puts his arm around her neck. He pulls her to him and presses a kiss to the top of her head. Giggling, Carly chastises him with a hand to the chest for ruffling her hair.



Their love for each other is so obvious, it’s infectious. I hope Jake and I are still that much in love six years into our marriage.



The thought escapes me, paining me, because I know when I tell Jake I’m pregnant, we probably won’t even have six more minutes together.



Especially when I tell him I’m keeping the baby.



“I’m just using all my notes from the tour,” I say, answering her question. “So Jake’s bad habits, like never cleaning out his stinky ashtray that he leaves out on the patio, are sure to be left out.” I slide him a look.



“You just clean them so much better than I ever could, baby,” he says, giving me a doe-eyed look.



It hits me right in the chest with a sharp twist, leaving me feeling breathless.



“Yeah, that works.” I give him a mock-stern look, forcing my façade back up.



Jake gives me one of his sexy smiles, the ones that let him get away with anything, as he leans over and plants a kiss on my cheek. My skin burns long after his lips have left me.



“What do you do for a living, Carly?” I ask, putting my focus on her.



“I’m an interior designer.”



“Best damn interior designer California has,” Smith says, proud.



“Do you have your own company?” I ask.



“I do.” She smiles. “It’s small, but I do okay.”



“We’ve just recently moved into a new house, and I could really use some help decorating it. If you’re not too busy, I’d love to hire you to help me. I haven’t got a clue where to start. That’s okay with you, isn’t it?” I ask Jake.



Why am I making plans to decorate?



I suppose the baby will need a nursery…



What the hell am I doing, getting all moony-eyed over this when I don’t even know if Jake wants this baby? He won’t, I know he won’t. I remember the look on his face when the subject came up on the island.



“Of course. I think it’s a great idea,” Jake answers, bringing me back to the present.



“Then I would love to.” Carly beams. “How about I come round to your house on Monday, and we can start from there?”



“Sounds great, I can’t wait.” If I’m still living there, that is. I force another smile.



“So you guys have been married six years,” I say, needing the subject change.



“Yep, and together for ten,” Carly answers. “We are the stereotypical high school sweethearts.”



“Maybe ‘stereotypical’ is pushing it a little far, darlin’. I was the lame grungy emo kid, and she was the hot cheerleader,” Smith explains. “It took me five years to get her to notice me; then, once I had her attention, I lured her in with my wit and charm, and we’ve been together ever since.”



“It was the persistence,” she says, laughing. “I figured a guy who had kept at it for that long must have some serious stamina.”



“So it was my persistence and stamina, not my hot body and charm?” Smith says, feigning shock.



“No, those are what got me to marry you.” She grins at him.



As I watch them interact, it warms my unsteady heart, and I feel Jake take hold of my hand under the table. When I look at him, smiling, he smiles back, but there’s something off about it.



Or maybe that’s just my own paranoia setting in.



“Have you guys set a date for the wedding?” Carly asks.



“July twenty-first,” Jake answers, beating me to it.



“How’s the planning going?” she directs her question to me.



“Slow,” I say with a grimace. “I just haven’t got a clue how to get started. So far, I have some wedding magazines, some dresses highlighted as maybes, and a drafted guest list.”



“Well, I’ve planned a wedding before, so if you need a hand at all, you let me know.”



“I might have to take you up on that offer.” I smile.



“Just call me interior designer and wedding planner extraordinaire,” she jokes with a flourish.



I laugh.



It’s easy to laugh when, for that moment, I’ve forgotten I’m pregnant. Then I remember I have our baby growing inside of me, and my mood drops like a rock in water.



The waiter comes over with the bottle of wine, and it’s at that moment Jake brushes my hair back revealing the nape of my neck. Leaning over, he whispers into my ear, “You look so sexy. If I could, I’d take you on this table right now. Dining table, later, at home?” He moves back, staring at me. His eyes are dark and fixed.



I nod mutely, forcing another smile.



He presses a soft kiss to my lips and moves back in his seat, then starts talking to Smith.



He wants to make love tonight.



Of course he does. We have sex every night. And morning.



But I can’t. Not with this on my mind.



I’m going to have to tell him before we get home.



Fuck.



We’ve said our good-byes to Carly and Smith and have just gotten in the car when I blurt out, “We need to talk. And it’s not something we can talk about at home.”



Pausing before he starts the car, he turns his head to look at me, his face full of myriad questions. “Why not?”



I know how important it is to Jake that our home remains untarnished by fights. And I feel this conversation isn’t going to be a happy one.



“Just because,” I reply. “Is there somewhere private we can go to talk?”



“Just because?” He frowns. “You think that’s a fuckin’ answer, Tru?”



“I don’t want to talk about this in the car, Jake.” I wrap my arms protectively around myself.



“But you don’t want to talk about it at home. So I’d say here is as good a place as any.” He turns his body toward me, bending his knee to rest on the seat.



Shaking my head, I stare out the passenger window. I can feel the fear trembling through my body, the words clotting in my throat.



“Is this what was up with you earlier? Why you were crying? What I’ve felt simmering under the surface all night?”



I feel my eyes swell with tears.



“Will you fuckin’ answer me?” he demands. His tone is so sharp, it turns me to face him.



“Are you leaving me?” He looks in pure pain. It’s like a blow across my face.



“No,” I say in a rush. “Why would you think that?”



“Because of the look on your face right now, Tru. You look like you’re grieving. Like you’ve lost something big. Everyone you love is safe and well, so the only thing you could be mourning right now is the death of our relationship.”



“No, Jake, no.” I shake my head. A tear rolls down my cheek, and I brush it away. “I would never leave you. Never. But…you might leave me when I tell you what I have to tell you.” I clasp my hands in my lap.



I see a mix of anger and pain flash across his face, tightening his beautiful features.



After a beat, he says, “Have you—” He pauses. Turning from me, he grips the steering wheel, looking out the windshield. When he speaks, his voice is so low, so heartbreakingly low. “What you have to tell me…if it’ll break what we have right here, this love between us, then don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. I want you, Tru, and anything that could for one second make me feel like I don’t…then…just don’t tell me.”



My heart shatters into a million tiny pieces. I know what he’s thinking. I hate that he thinks that.



“I’m pregnant.” The words fall from my lips. For a moment it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the car. My world pauses. I wait. Wait for him to say something. Anything.



But he doesn’t.



And when he starts the engine, putting the car into drive, and pulls out onto the street, I feel my world slip from my grasp, bottoming me out hollow.



A tear escapes. A whole lot more want to follow, but I hold them back. Brushing the stray one away discreetly, I stare out the window.



It’s a long fifteen-minute drive back home. In all that time, Jake says nothing and neither do I.



I feel a distance settling between us, widening with each passing minute, to the point where there may as well still be twelve years and an ocean between us.



Jake pulls up on the drive. I get out and slam the door.



I fumble to get my keys out of my clutch as I approach the front door. I wrap my fingers around them, shove them in the lock, and let myself in.



I slam this door too. I’m angry and hurt that he’s said nothing. I want him to know.



I take a step forward, and that’s when I hear his car reversing out.



Moving quickly, I yank the door open and catch sight of the taillights speeding back down the driveway.



Pain tears through me, so fierce that my legs buckle. I fall back against the wall, clutching my chest. I feel wide open. Broken. Devastated.



He’s left.



Hot tears sting my eyes like pokers.



Don’t cry, Tru. Keep it together.



I press my palms to my eyes, forcing the tears back.



He’s supposed to love me. So much so that when he thought I had cheated on him he didn’t want to know.



But I tell him I’m pregnant and he hotfoots it out of here like his ass is on fire, without so much as a word.



Bastard. Motherfucking bastard.



Then I get angry. Really fucking angry.



Fine, he doesn’t want this baby. Then I don’t want his sorry ass.



I march to our bedroom. I grab one of Jake’s holdalls and some jeans, T-shirts, pyjamas, and underwear. I stuff them in the bag.



I get my passport from the safe in our walk-in wardrobe. I get my phone from my clutch.



I need a cab.



I do a quick web search for local cab companies on my phone and call the first one that comes up.



They tell me it’ll be fifteen minutes for the cab.



I go to the foyer, take the handset off the wall, and dial through to the main gate to let them know I have a cab coming.



Ready to leave, I stand a moment, holdall at my feet, handbag on my shoulder.



I’m not really sure what I’m doing right now.



Twisting my engagement ring on my finger, I pause. I lift my hand to look at it.



“Trudy Bennett, I love you beyond any lyrics I could ever write or any words I could ever say. I always have, and I always will. Marry me?”



A tear slides down my cheek, and I pull my engagement ring off.



Taking a slow walk back to our bedroom, I place the ring on Jake’s pillow.



Then I head straight to the foyer, pick up the holdall, swing it over my shoulder, and let myself out into the warm California night.



I lock the front door, and keeping the keys in my hand, start the walk down the long driveway.



Jackson, one of the night security guards, jumps out of the booth when he sees me.