Authors: Melissa Foster
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Beau paced outside the entrance to the hospital emergency room, favoring his left leg and sweating, despite the cool air. His hands reflexively clenched and unclenched. He’d never allowed himself to think about what Tess might do if she’d believed he was dead. He’d never gotten past the thought of coming home.
Tess has a boyfriend
. He reached up and rubbed the ache in his arm. He’d calculated and recalculated at least one hundred times—he’d been gone for almost twenty-eight weeks. There was no way the baby was his. He sank down onto a bench, grasping the sides of his head.
“There you are,” Alice said, exasperated.
Beau flinched at the sound of Alice’s voice.
“We’ve been looking all over for you.”
Beau stood and backed away.
“Beau? She’s okay, they stabilized her,” Alice misread his distress.
Beau turned his back and mumbled, “Get away from me.”
Alice, unable to hear him clearly, approached.
Beau spun around and seethed, “Get the hell away from me.”
She stiffened, her jaw slack.
Beau brushed past her and stormed into the hospital, taking the elevator up to the NICU.
Beau’s anger renewed with each
Ding!
of the elevator announcing the floors between the lobby and the NICU. By the time the doors opened into the NICU, his jaw was clenched so tight his temples throbbed. He stepped out of the elevator and into the bright hallway, squinting to the left where the babies were kept behind an enormous window. Louie stood with his back to the elevators, his forehead resting against the window. Next to him, Carol was enveloped by Robert’s embrace. She looked up at Robert, said something, then raised a tissue to her face. Beau’s throat thickened, the veins in his forehead ached. He stepped backward into the elevator and watched the doors close, remaining unseen by the others.
The cabbie pulled up in front of the small yellow house. Tess’s mangled car had been removed, traces of glass and splinters of metal lay beneath the injured willow. Beau stared at the traumatized tree as if in a trance. He felt his anger—and perhaps his life—being sucked from him, one image at a time.
“This it, buddy?”
Beau nodded, paid the cab driver, then pushed himself out of the vehicle. He stood on the front walk until he was sure his legs would not fail him, then dragged himself to the shed in the backyard where he retrieved the spare key to the house.
Beau stood in the foyer, disturbed by the unfamiliar smell of his home. He set the keys on the table next to the door and closed the door behind him. Silence permeated the house like an unwanted visitor.
The coziness of the home he’d left had been obliterated. He opened the foyer closet to grab the zip-up sweatshirt he’d kept there and was startled to see only Tess’s blue windbreaker and winter coat. He walked past the coffee table in the living room, once littered with photography magazines and snapshots, now bare. The den looked like one in a model home, stripped of all personal effects. He sat in the leather chair, inhaling deeply. His lips curled up at the ends. At least his chair still smelled familiar. He ran his thick fingers along the edge of the desk, exhaling in a way that said,
This is more like it. This is home.
He opened the top desk drawer—then quickly shut it. He pulled the other drawers open, one by one—all empty.
Beau bounded up the stairs two at a time. He threw the bedroom closet open. “What the—”
He ripped open his empty bureau drawers, sending them crashing to the floor. Beau sank down onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. He’d been erased from Tess’s life, and it cut him like an ice pick to the heart. He ignored the ringing of the house phone. He clenched his eyes shut and rocked back and forth, unable to cry and wishing he could.
“What the fuck,” he mumbled.
The phone rang incessantly.
The muscles in Beau’s arms flexed. He crossed the bedroom in two steps, yanked the phone cord from the wall and threw the phone, sending shards of plastic across the bedroom floor. He pushed Tess’s books and perfume off the bedside table with one swipe of his arm, then ripped her closet doors open and tore out every piece of clothing, hurling them across the room. Panting like a wrestler after a brawl, he stomped downstairs, grabbed his car keys, and burned rubber out of the driveway, hoping someone would hit his car and wrap him around a tree.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The purple bruises had deepened and begun yellowing across Tess’s jaw, tugging at Beau’s heart. He stood in the shadows of the room, every fiber of his being pulling him toward her. The rage in his chest stopped him. She’d abandoned him. Beau wrung his hands together. His head throbbed, and his shoulders ached. The pain in his leg had become an angry reminder of all that was bad in his life. He punched his thigh, wincing at the pain. His eyes darted around the cold room bouncing from the sterile flooring, to the white walls, and settling on the medical equipment standing sentry at her bedside. His heart raced. He didn’t know whether to ravage her room or climb into the bed like a needy child. He was stuck in a middle ground that was neither safe nor sane.
Tess’s chest rose with each aided breath.
Wake up,
he silently urged her.
Tell me I have it all wrong,
he pleaded. He hoped for a flutter of her eyelids, for her finger to twitch, some mystical sign that she’d heard him, that she knew he needed her. Even the air in her room remained still.
Beau crossed the room out of the shadows and into the streak of light from the monitors. He hovered above her. The longing to touch Tess’s skin was so strong, he could almost feel her softness on his fingertips. He reached for her, then pulled his hand back slowly, holding it under the bicep of his other arm, as if his hand had a mind of its own and might betray his anger. The hand won. He ran a trembling finger along her skin, shivering with the soft familiarity of it.
He took the photo of Tess that he’d carried with him in Iraq out of his pocket and laid it on her stomach, watching it rise and fall. Tears filled his eyes. He closed his eyes and breathed in the antiseptic smell of the room, his teeth grinding against each other. His hand squeezed Tess’s arm until he felt the sharpness of her bone press against his palm. He released her, leaving an indented white streak where each finger had laid and a twinge in his wrist. The lump in his pocket silently beckoned, pressing against his thigh. Beau shoved his hand deep into his pocket, making a fist around the circular memory.
“How could you do it?” he fumed. He withdrew the watch, raising it to his forehead and imprinting the cold engraving into his mind, his eyes clenched shut. Thoughts of Tess and Louie assaulted him. His stomach burned, bile rose in his throat. Beau bit the acrid taste of hatred that grew within him, a guttural sound pushed from his lips. He lowered his fists and stared at Tess’s battered body, steeling himself against the guilt that drew his shoulders down. He wiped his hand up and down his face, forcing the tears to stop. He shoved the pocket watch under the edge of the blanket.
“Hey there, sugar,” the cheerfulness of the southern nurse’s greeting was in sharp contrast to the storm brewing within Beau.
He pushed past her, muttering under his breath, “I should’ve never come back.”
The hall was suspiciously quiet. Beau’s gait was stiff, threatening, every footstep determined. The nurse looked up as he neared the desk. He lifted his eyes above her gaze, set his jaw. The nurse answered the telephone as Beau passed the desk.
“Yes, sir, I’ll check.”
Beau slowed, peering over his shoulder as the nurse left her station for the supply room. His eyes bounced wildly down the empty hallway, settling on three pill bottles left next to the nurse’s computer. Beau’s nostrils flared, his heart raced. Those pills, any pills, would do the trick. He pushed forward, reached a sweaty hand over the counter, pocketing the pills, and spinning toward the exit. A nurse exited a patient room, smiled at Beau. Beau looked down at the floor, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he pushed through the doors and into the corridor. He took the stairs two at a time to the ground floor.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The lights in Tess’s room had been turned down, barely lighter than the darkness of night outside the shaded window. Alice sat rigid, her eyes downcast, Tess’s hand in her own. “Do you think she can hear us?” She turned to face Kevin. “I’m glad they let us both come in this time, but I’m not sure if that’s a good sign or a bad one.”
Kevin shrugged, the bags under his eyes pronounced, his lips set in a hard line.
The grooves between Tess’s eyes had faded, leaving her skin smooth, an attribute that had been missing since Beau had left for Iraq. Her almost translucent skin sent a shiver down Alice’s back. She cleared her throat in an effort to stifle the sobs that had lodged in her throat.
“I couldn’t take another second with Beau’s mom,” Alice whispered. “She’s a doll, but it’s just so sad. What the hell is Beau thinking? Where is he?”
Kevin shrugged again. He knew she wasn’t looking for an answer, and he was in no shape to make one up. His best friend had returned from the dead only to abandon his wife and child. Kevin sighed, slumped into a chair.
“Do you think they’ll stay all night with the baby?” She didn’t wait for an answer, “I do. God, I hope she makes it. The baby, I mean.”
Kevin lifted his eyes.
“Tess, too, of course,” she rubbed her neck, wishing the day had never begun. “What do we do now?” she stared at the darkened blinds. “Maybe you should try to find Beau.”
Kevin stood, headed for the door.
“Are you not talking to me now?”Alice snapped.
Kevin closed his eyes, turned around slowly. He shook his head, his voice calm, low, “There’s just nothing to say.”
Tears slipped down Alice’s cheek. “Why?” she hissed. “Because I called Louie? Because Tess is dying? Because her baby’s dying?” She threw her hands up, sending the chair toppling behind her.
A nurse appeared in the doorway.
“All of it, I guess.” He walked past the nurse and out of the room.
The nurse walked gently into the room and righted the chair. Alice leaned against the wall, her hands covering her face.
“Are you okay, sugar?” the “ar” sounded like “ah”.
Alice sniffled, shrugged.
“I’m Mary, hon, Ms. Johnson’s nurse, and if you need anything at all, I’m right here.” Mary hummed, giving Alice her space and checking each of the lines that led from the machines to Tess’s body and arms. “Poor thing. She’s been through an awful lot,” she said.
An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Alice shifted against the wall. “Do you think she’ll make it?”
Mary waited one beat too long before answering. Alice’s hands trembled.
“We’d like to hope so,” Mary said. She replaced the IV bag and headed for the door.
Chapter Thirty
Beau sped along Route 15 North, dodging cars like bullets. Suburbia fell away behind him, replaced with placid pastures. The storm brewing within him did not ease with the scenery. His muscles remained tense, his jaw clenched, knuckles white-gripping the steering wheel.
The tires screeched as he careened onto an unmarked dirt road just outside of Thurmont. He eased off the gas, and the car rolled toward the darkened forest before him.
He parked in front of a small wooden shack, just a mile from the main road, though the thick woods felt like another world altogether. He climbed from the car, wound so tight he breathed in short, clipped bursts—a tiger ready to pounce. He slammed the door and placed his hands flat upon the hood of the car. Images of Tess exploded in his mind: Tess’s eyes holding his gaze for a split second before her car was rammed, Tess’s battered body pulled from the wreckage, her face torn and bloody. He hadn’t seen her swollen belly, he’d been so focused on her breathing.
Her belly. The baby.
Goddamned baby.
Why couldn’t she have waited? Was she in that much of a hurry to have a family? He’d have reconsidered his goddamned five-year plan if he’d known she wanted a baby so goddamned bad. Or would he, he wondered? It didn’t fucking matter if he would or wouldn’t have changed his plans. What kind of wife gets pregnant weeks after her husband leaves the country? Had she been cheating all along, just waiting for him to go away so she could be alone with another man? With Louie?
Fucking Louie!
Who the fuck was he, anyway? Some goddamned prick who has to sleep with another man’s wife, that’s who.
The sour, woody smell of the cabin hung in the stale air. He threw his aching body on the matted and worn plaid couch, his eyes drawn to the gun mounted above the ancient wood-burning stove, a gun Kevin had used several times. Kevin’s grandfather’s hunting cabin had served as a place of contemplation for Beau many times in the past—when he had been thinking of proposing to Tess, and more recently, before he’d accepted the assignment in Iraq. In both of those cases, he’d been in control of the decisions. He knew what he’d wanted when he’d arrived, and he’d used the cabin as a sort of driving-home of his decisions, a place to rationalize his thoughts. Now, his world was spiraling out of control, and he couldn’t stop it. Fatigue clouded his mind, his nerves burned. He had no idea what he wanted, and to make matters worse, the woman he loved most in the world may not live long enough for him to decide. The realization startled him. He leaned forward and ran his hand through his hair. How would he live without her? It was one thing to get a divorce. She’d go her way and he’d go his, leaving town if he had to, to escape the pain of seeing her with
him
. She’d still be around, safe, even if hate bore a hole in his gut. She’d be
alive
. If she died, he’d no longer be able to reach out if he wanted to. There’d be no chance. No chance for what? Reconciliation? For him to steal her back from
him? Fuck that!
His head swam in circles.
The warped wooden planks creaked beneath Beau’s weight as he paced the floor, each heavy step an echo of his pain. His nostrils flared. Veins rose across his forehead and down his neck. He lifted his eyes to the gun. He crossed the room.
His fingers fit perfectly around the smooth wooden stock of the gun. He ran his other hand along the barrel. Beau backed onto the couch, the weight of the gun comforting across his lap. He worked his jaw muscles until a stabbing pain shot up past his ear, snapping him out of his stupor. A deep breath later he retrieved a shotgun shell from the bureau in the corner and loaded the gun. Beau hoisted the gun over his shoulder, holding the butt of the gun in his right hand, and walked out back.
Moments later, a single shot rang out and echoed within the umbrella of the forest.