Could Bella have mistaken him for her father?
They’re roughly the same height, same build, and now that Christian seems to be shaving his face on a regular basis, maybe a three-year-old could draw some parallels.
I try again, will myself to picture Micah’s face. Just as it comes to me, it’s gone.
How is it possible that I could be forgetting all the details that make him Micah? And so soon? Think, Veronica. Think about him. Make him stay.
Stay with me . . . stay some more . . .
I hear his version of “Sway,” nearly feel his offbeat cha-cha.
I have to remember him for our daughter.
After another deep breath, I get to my feet with Bella still in my arms.
“Down,” she says.
Reluctantly, because all I want to do is hold her close, I put her down.
“Looks like you could use a drink,” Christian says.
I probably could use more than one.
“I’m heading out to the Rum Barrel tonight,” he continues. “Pretty good band playing. Want to join?”
“Oh. Thanks, but I’ve got Bella, so . . .”
“I’ve got nieces,” he counters.
“We don’t mind taking her for a while,” Emily says.
Bella swings between the twins again, and for a few seconds, I fixate on the sight of it. One, two, three . . . fly. Like double-dutch jump rope, it’s definitely a game you need partners to play. And I no longer have a partner. It’s just Bella and me.
“Your daughter seems to like the girls,” Christian says.
“Listen, I appreciate the invitation, but I have so much to catch up on . . .” Starting with a phone call to Guidry. I just hung up on him at the height of his accusations. I can’t imagine that’s going to go over too well.
“Anytime you want to tackle that pool, you let me know.”
“Yeah, all right. Thanks. Maybe next week?”
A smile slowly spreads onto his face. “Yeah.”
“I hate to take you away from your writing.”
“Writing?” Emily giggles.
He gives his niece the hush sign, an index finger pressed to his lips. “Em’s right, actually. I haven’t been too productive lately. Maybe you can help me with that.”
I hear my phone ringing. “Rock-a-bye baby . . .” A quick spin in place, however, doesn’t reveal its location. Where was I when I dropped it?
“Here you go.” Christian’s located my phone a few paces away. By the time he retrieves it, it isn’t ringing anymore, but I know from the ringtone: it was a call from the fertility center.
He locks me in a staring contest that probably lasts only a few seconds but feels like an era and a half. He probably saw the name on the caller ID. Great. That’s all I need for him to know that my life is even more complicated than he originally thought.
In the periphery: “One, two, three . . . fly!”
“Come on, Veronica. How long have you been doing this? All on your own? Christ, have you even slept through the night since the accident?”
I still haven’t filled him in. I haven’t told him there were no federal agents, that Micah might be alive. I shake my head. “I couldn’t possibly . . .”
“I’m giving you permission. Let yourself off the hook for an evening. Just . . . tell me you’ll think about coming out tonight,” Christian says.
“Okay.” I close my fingers around my phone when he slides it into my hand. “I’ll think about it.”
He gives me a nod. “Good. You know where it is?”
“Front Street, right?”
“Don’t look now, Veronica, but you’re almost a local.”
I crack a smile and turn to walk back up the drive. “Come on, Bella. Let’s get some food in that tummy.”
“Chocolate pudding?”
“Sure.” I glance up at the archway through which we’re about to pass.
GOD LAND GARDENS
I look over my shoulder at Christian. “You wouldn’t happen to have a ladder?”
“Sure do.”
I’m going to take the letters down off the arch.
I don’t want to be at God Land anymore.
Chapter 37
“He was in the trees,” Elizabella says. “He called my name.”
“Are you sure?” I open my wedding album and prop it up on the kitchen countertop. Micah’s smile zaps me in all the places that have gone dormant since he left.
The trust I had in him, the devotion and dedication we shared . . . If I went back in time to do it all again, I wouldn’t change a thing. Everything we endured resulted in our daughter, but if I knew it would all turn out like this, would I have walked down that sandy path to the shore of Lake Michigan, where he awaited me with a wedding ring? Would I have agreed to love him, had I known I’d have less than a decade of forever?
“Yes, Mommy. I saw Daddy, and he gave me a hug. He kissed my nose.”
“Well, that’s a nice treat, then.”
“I miss my daddy.”
“Me too. But now is snack time.” With Elizabella seated at the table with a pile of scrap paper and a box of crayons, I dole out pudding cups.
“For Nini, too?”
“Yes.” I put out an extra. One for my daughter and one for the apparition.
I wonder if Dr. Russo was right. Maybe the imaginary friend bit is a sign of Bella’s creativity. If Mimi is a real little girl, as Christian Renwick seems to think, and if Bella met her here in Key West, she’s placing characters she knows—including her father—into situations in her head. And if Guidry can learn more about Connor and Brendan—if they’re the twins in the photos—it would be one less thing to worry about: maybe she isn’t talking with alternate personalities or demons in her head . . .
“Mommy has to make a phone call.”
“Call Daddy!”
My heart sinks a little. I’ve been calling him every day, just to hear his voice on his voice mail. The phone doesn’t ring; it goes straight to his recorded message. “He won’t answer, baby.” I dial the fertility lab instead.
“River North Fertility Center.”
“Veronica Cavanaugh, returning your call.” I put out spoons for Bella and Nini. As the call is transferred, I take a seat at a counter stool.
“Mrs. Cavanaugh, I was calling because the credit card on file for the storage fees won’t go through.”
Of course it won’t. “What is the storage fee?”
“We’re storing two embryos in cryogenically—”
“I know what it’s for. I mean, how much?”
“For the embryos, your husband opted to pay month to month, which is a little more expensive, but then you can implant at any time and you aren’t paying for the entire year if you don’t need storage.”
“Okay.”
“The embryos were batched together, so it’s one hundred fifty a month for the two. If you wanted to pay annually, that’s fifteen hundred. As for the sperm—”
“Wait. I’m still unclear as to why we’re freezing sperm. I’m not sure that’s necessary.” Although . . . now that he may be gone, this stuff could be the last specimen of Micah Cavanaugh Jr. ever procured.
“Your husband elected to do so, Mrs. Cavanaugh.”
“I’m sure he did.” And I guess it makes sense. If he had to be on a flight—what flight? On what plane?—when it was time to batch, we would’ve needed his sperm to fertilize. “Okay, how much to keep the sperm frozen, too?”
“Same. One fifty per month or fifteen hundred per year. Your husband has been paying annually for that, but the payment just came due.”
Do I need the sperm if I have two embryos?
If the embryos fail, there’s a chance I can batch another round of eggs, and if Micah isn’t here for the fertilization, I’ll need the sperm on hand. I stop midthought. For years now, my focus has been on propagation, increasing our numbers.
But . . . why continue?
I’m tempted to tell her to thaw and destroy everything.
But one glance at Bella silences the logical forces in my brain. Loving a child isn’t rational, and those embryos could be my children. And I want a big family, for my sake, for Bella’s. Lowering my mother into the ground with no one by my side but the paramedic and cop who’d come to answer the call had been devastating. I want better for my daughter.