The Swallow's Nest. Emilie Richards
I really don’t, but you need an answer. I don’t think you can leave without knowing.”
“Do you know what she said to me? What Marina said? She said I might hate her, or something to that effect, but at least she’d given that baby life—” her voice broke “—when I couldn’t even be bothered to have Graham’s baby.”
“Lilia...”
She cleared her throat. “I wanted children. Before he got sick I thought we were ready. Graham was the one who held back. We had that possibility of a television show, and he kept saying the time should be exactly right. Then when it wasn’t, when it was the worst possible time to have a baby, when we had absolutely no idea whether he would live or die, he begged me to get pregnant. Just like that. After the diagnosis and before chemo. Out of nowhere. He wanted me to do everything to keep us going and have a baby, too. And we had no idea if he would even live to see it born!”
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Although I guess that question was answered. He did live to see his son, didn’t he?”
“You have to talk to him.”
“No, I’m going home. I stayed in San Jose the whole time he was sick. I missed a wedding, a christening. I need my family.”
“Plan to come back.”
“Are you speaking as my lawyer? Can Graham divorce me for desertion if I leave?”
“Not in California. I’m talking about The Swallow’s Nest, Lilia. You’ve built your whole business on making a home and a happy marriage, and you need to figure out how you’re going to explain this to your readers. If you leave Graham and leave this house, everything crumbles to dust. And we both know your financial situation is beyond precarious. You can’t afford to walk away.”
He was right. The house was her one real asset, but she couldn’t sell it to fund a new life because it was heavily mortgaged, first to pay for renovations and the audition tape she and Graham had made for a potential television series, then refinanced yet again to help with medical bills and the loss of his income. If she sold it now she would be homeless and still in debt.
Then there was her life’s work, her reputation as a designer whom local and internet clients could count on. And what about the readers who loved her website because she shared her own stories to help them gain the confidence to share theirs?
She was too confused to think it through. She spaced her words for emphasis. “I am too angry to talk to him now.”
“Then just listen. Regan has the baby. Your guests are gone—”
“No surprise.”
“Graham’s a mess.”
She hoped it was true. “Apparently I’ve used up my store of sympathy.”
“You don’t have to sympathize. You need facts. After you hear what he has to say you can take time to think this over.”
“What is Graham going to do with that baby? I’ve never seen him hold one. Does he know he’ll have to support his head? Put him on his back to sleep? When he’s with my nieces and nephews he watches them like he’s at the zoo.”
“I guess he’s about to learn fast.”
“Right, or maybe he’ll go back to his baby-mama and ask her to take them both in. A happy little family.”
“I don’t know what Graham was thinking when he slept with Marina Tate, but I do know she’s not the one he wants.”
“Well, I don’t want him. I don’t want a husband who sleeps with somebody else, finds out she’s pregnant and forgets to tell me.”
“He’s been suffering. The depression? The way he pushed us both away at times? He was ashamed and probably torn up about what to do.”
“You’re defending him!”
“No, I’m just struggling to figure it out. And it is a struggle, but then nobody’s ever told me I might only have months to live.”
Still clutching the T-shirt, she met his eyes. Part of Carrick’s nature was to see both sides of every situation, which made him an excellent lawyer. But while he was fair, he was also human, and she heard anger resonating in his voice. Now she saw it shining in his green eyes. And he wasn’t angry at her.
“Will you drive me to the airport? If you feel that’s taking sides, I’ll ask Regan.”
“Of course I will, but do you have a reservation?”
She gave a shake of her head. “I just want to get out of here.”
“I’ll see what’s available and when.”
“I would appreciate that.”
He got up, but he didn’t move away. “Please, take your time making big decisions.”
“It’s too bad you didn’t give Graham that advice, what...a year ago?”
“He didn’t make a decision. He made a mistake.”
“That poor little baby.” Despite everything, Lilia felt a stab of sympathy for Toby, whose entrance into this difficult world had been doomed from the start. A mother who didn’t want him, a father who hadn’t acknowledged him, and a stepmother who until today hadn’t even known he existed.
She was a stepmother. For as long as she stayed married to Graham, her relationship to the little boy who had been dumped into her arms as unceremoniously as a bag of garbage actually had a name. It seemed inconceivable, like everything else that had happened in the past half hour.
Carrick started toward the door. “I’m going to send him up.”
She wasn’t going to stay in the house a moment longer than she needed to, so it was now or not at all. She finally folded the shirt. “You do that. But tell him he only has as long as it takes me to finish packing.”
She was returning from the bathroom with a bag of travel-sized toiletries when she saw Graham had come into their bedroom and closed the door behind him.
He looked as pale as she had ever seen him, paler than the terrible day in the hospital when his heart had stopped, and she had been evicted from his room as hospital staff revived him. His blue eyes were almost startling against his white skin, and his forehead was dotted with sweat. He leaned against the door, as if he was afraid his knees might buckle without support.
For the first time since his diagnosis, she felt no trace of sympathy and no surge of love. She only felt anger, cold and deadly.
He didn’t quite meet her eyes. “I don’t even know where to start.”
She was shaking with emotion, but she managed to hold her head high. “How about this? You slept with Marina and she got pregnant. And you decided to keep that little tidbit to yourself.”
She went to the closet, took down her largest purse and slipped the bag of toiletries inside it. When he didn’t answer she took a deep breath to steady herself before she turned.
“How many times did you sleep with her, Graham, or have you become such a practiced liar you’ll lie about that, too?”
“Once, Lilia. Just once, I swear. The night you and I fought about having a baby.”
“As a kid you probably got everything you asked for. I guess having somebody say no to you didn’t compute.”
“There are no excuses or explanations good enough.”
“Just tell the truth then. All of it. And quickly, because I’m leaving in a few minutes.”
His speech was halting, as if he were dragging the words from a deep well. “I was an emotional disaster. I guess I can’t say ‘was.’ I still am. I saw a black hole instead of a future, and all I could think about that night was that I was going to die and leave nothing important behind. I was going to die and