Miss Me When I'm Gone

chapter 37



“I’m getting up at six tomorrow,” I told Sam two evenings later. “My alarm’s gonna go off before yours.”

“Why?”

“I’ve got an appointment.”

“They gonna do another ultrasound ever? Are they gonna let you bring home the pictures?”

“Not that kind of appointment. I had my last doctor appointment yesterday morning, and it was uneventful. She basically just listened to the heartbeat and told me my belly’s getting sufficiently bigger. No, I’ve got something set up in New Hampshire. A little south of Emerson. Forty minutes less of a trip. Willingham’s this little city not far from UNH. And you know where that is, right? Didn’t your friend Alex go there?”

“But . . .” Sam looked confused. “Wait, that’s all they did for the appointment? What’ll they do for the next one?”

“I don’t know. Probably the same thing.”

Sam looked dubious. “You’re driving all the way there and back before work? For what?”

“Someone’s agreed to talk to me. It’s about Gretchen.”

“Well, I figured that. Another one of her sources?”

“Sort of.”

“This couldn’t wait till the weekend? I could help you drive on a weekend.”

“This lady doesn’t work on weekends. I could only catch her on a weekday.”

“What does it matter when she works? Did you tell her you’re over seven months pregnant?”

“Why the hell would I tell her that?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. But, Jamie . . .”

“Yeah?”

“How long is this going to last?”

“Till my time runs out, Sam.”

“You make it sound like you’re about to die. You know, you don’t need to give up on Gretchen once the baby’s born. I’ll be helping you. It’ll be both of us. You’ll still have time.”

I pulled one of Gretchen’s notebooks from the small stack on my bedside table, deciding not to bother reminding Sam that time was going to be a different animal for us in a couple of months. He would have time to “help” after work. I would have time to take an occasional shower. There didn’t seem much sense in holding this against him, since it was biology and our current financial situation that dictated the terms, not him.

“It feels urgent now, though . . .”

I stopped myself before elaborating, unsure whether or not I should tell him about Gretchen’s purse in the lake. I hadn’t yet. I hadn’t wanted him to worry. And now I was pretty sure it wouldn’t convince him of anything, except that I shouldn’t go anywhere near Emerson again in my condition.

Sam closed his eyes.

“Okay,” he whispered.

I examined the notebook. It was red, with an especially worn cover. On the first page, Gretchen had scrawled Tammy 2?

Sam rolled over and turned off his lamp.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too,” I answered.

I opened Gretchen’s notebook. After a few minutes, Sam began to snore softly.