I didn’t go straight to the hospital, though. I drove to Edward's office in a daze, dialing his cell phone twice, but he didn't answer. On the passenger seat in the front of the car was a little gift-wrapped box in shiny pink and blue paper, my "Surprise, we're going to have a baby!" box. It seemed tainted somehow. I contemplated not bringing it with me, but decided I couldn't keep it a secret, even if I were intermingling the news with the news of my father's death.
When the elevator reached the thirteenth floor, I stood there, staring at the number like it was some kind of omen. The floor was empty, lights glowing under the doors of a couple of the offices down the hall. Edward's secretary had gone home, and I wondered if he was at the golf course. Maybe Edward was with my father when it happened, I thought. Except that wasn't true. My sister said Edward was missing at the hospital. Not like that's any big surprise, she said bitterly.
My family had never liked Edward. But that was all going to change after this news. More than anything in the world, my father wanted a grandchild. Even if it the child would be Edward’s.
Past tense, I realized. My father would never see his grandchild. The thought brought a fresh wave of tears to my eyes, and I didn't care that they were streaming down my face when I reached the door.
I didn't bother to knock before turning the handle.
I should have.
I stood there, holding the pink and blue box with the ribbon on the top, the one that contained all of my hopes and dreams. Our hopes and dreams – or what I thought were ours. The words lingered on the tip of my tongue: I have news. Good news and bad news.
I'll take the good news first, Edward would always say. Because I'm an optimist.
My mouth formed the words before my brain was able to even process the scene before me: I'm pregnant.
But I didn't speak those words. They stuck in my throat, and I thought I might choke on them.
I stood there, my mouth open, unblinking and unmoving. Edward's pants were around his knees, his pale ass thrusting against the woman on the desk.
His secretary. Brittany.
Her legs were wrapped around his waist, her bright red heels digging into the small of his back.
"Oh shit," she said. I wasn't sure at first if the words were meant for me or for him. Her arm flailing, she slapped Edward's forearm repeatedly.
"Oh yeah, your fucking * is so tight," he groaned. “Squeeze it for me, baby. I love being bare inside you. I’m going to come so hard.”
"Your wife," she squealed, slapping him again.
His head finally turned. "Oh, shit."
I stood there, holding the box that contained everything I’d wanted my entire life, watching my husband fuck his bimbo secretary.
When I finally opened my mouth to speak, the words fell out. Good news and bad news. "I'm pregnant," I said. "And my father is dead."
CHAPTER TWO
West Bend, Colorado
Autumn
"Do you see the colors on the trees? There are red, and brown, and gold. We're almost home, Liv-bug." I'm babbling, giving Olivia the play-by-play, trying to distract her on the car ride home from town with my not-very-creative scenery descriptions. Olivia has never done well with car rides, not since she turned a year old; she hasn't wanted to stop moving, ever since she learned to crawl. Sitting in a car seat, even for fifteen minutes, is too unbearable for her little toddler self.
Olivia gives me a little warning howl of disapproval, the precursor to the full-fledged meltdown I know is on the horizon, and I sing softly to her while my phone buzzes again -- for the fourth time on the drive home.
I should answer, but I ignore the phone, feeling slightly irritated. I’m running an orchard. I’m not a surgeon on call. Sure, it’s the middle of harvest, but really, nothing can be that important that it can’t wait five minutes until Olivia and I get home. Besides, I know it's just going to be my foreman and I can't deal with him right now.
Today is already stressful enough just because of what day it is to begin with -- the anniversary of my father’s death.
And the death of my marriage.
Of course, to be accurate, my marriage died well before the day I walked in on Edward and his bimbo secretary going at it on the desk in his office. I just didn't want to admit it to myself. And really, I should be sending that bitch regular thank you cards and flowers for saving me from my train-wreck of a husband.
Especially after Edward was arrested four months later. He's now serving an eight-year sentence in a minimum-security federal prison for embezzlement. As it turned out, schtupping his secretary wasn't enough for him; he was stealing from my father, too.
Hell, I can pick a real winner, can't I?
I exhale heavily, suppressing the curse on the tip of my tongue for Olivia’s benefit as I round the corner toward the orchard. I see the grey haze in the air, smell smoke before I even pull down the long gravel drive that leads to my house. But even if I couldn't, the fire truck blocks the driveway, crowded with firefighters. My eyes immediately go to the house, and I breathe a sigh of relief at the fact that it's intact before I even begin to process what the hell is going on. Thank goodness.