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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

HER — PRESENT DAY

When Norma and George arrive, I’m still reeling over the fact that she’s gone. That I saw her again in the first place. Since we cut off contact, I blocked her number and haven’t heard from her a single time.

Now I have to wonder if she’s been stalking me all this time, and if she decided getting close to Calvin and selling him this false narrative about who she is was what would help it all.

What have I done?

A bundled-up Norma stands next to George as he checks under each sink in the house for a leak, tinkering around, feeling this and that. He’s dressed warmly, with thick, canvas overalls, a winter coat, and heavy boots that are tracking mud across the floor everywhere he goes.

Cal and I follow them from room to room with Cal making small talk, though I’m mostly too out of it to be paying attention. My mind is too focused on her and what her plan might be.

When all of the pipes seem to be in order with no obvious leaks, George says he’s going to check under the house, leaving Norma inside with us in awkward silence.

I still can’t describe the unease she gives me. The way she’s watching me, her eyes lingering on my stomach. Perhaps it’s just that she looks so familiar still. Maybe she looks similar to someone I’ve seen on TV. Either way, I wish they would just go home. Though I’m glad they gave me a reason to send Ellie—er, Janelle —away, I wish they’d leave, too.

I want to ask her about seeing them outside the window in the snow yesterday, but I can’t decide how to approach the subject without seeming as if I’m accusing them of something, which might lead to a confrontation I’m not ready for. All I have to do is let them check everything out, and then they should go away.

I force a shaky breath through my lips, glancing at Cal, wondering if he’s feeling just as uncomfortable as I am or if I’m alone in this.

Norma paces the kitchen, staring out the small window over the sink and then the large one beside the door. Finally, she turns to face us, resting her back against the wall. Inhaling deeply, she says, “Sure smells nice in here. You must’ve been cooking something.”

“We had chili for lunch,” Cal says.

“That’s what I thought.” She smiles. “Perfect day for it. Nice and chilly.” I’m not sure if she was aiming for a pun, but as if to prove her point, her arms go around herself and she shivers. “My mom used to make cinnamon rolls with our chili. It’s the perfect little treat.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of people doing that,” Cal says, moving to the door to peer out. “We try to watch our carbs, so we couldn’t, but I’m sure it was delicious.”

The woman scowls at him. “Oh, she doesn’t need to be watching her carbs.” She crosses the room, touching my stomach without permission. “She’s growing a little angel in there. She needs whatever her tummy tells her she needs.” Chills line my skin when she smiles up at me, and it takes everything in my power not to shrink away from her. “Isn’t that right, pumpkin?”

Cal hums. “Women only need to gain about twenty-five pounds during their pregnancy, and Sadie’s already gained more than that.” My eyes cut to him, shocked and hurt by his words, but I know he didn’t mean them to be harsh. Cal is direct, even with the most sensitive topics. I’ve learned to get used to it. “She only needs about four hundred extra calories now that she’s in the third trimester, and a cinnamon roll would be all of that.” His face is still. He’s not looking at either of us, but peering out the window instead, as if he’s not even aware he’s talking but rather thinking out loud to himself in response to her. “So do you think we should talk about heading home? Will you have to shut off the water?”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” She waves away his concern, stepping back from me finally with a wary look. I get it. Cal can be a lot sometimes, but on the other hand, there are plenty of fathers out there who can’t be bothered to go to a single doctor’s appointment or make an effort to do any of the research involved in pregnancy. Most days I’m convinced Cal knows more than I do about this whole thing. He’s constantly reading some new book, telling me some new tidbit of information about our growing baby. He hasn’t missed a doctor’s appointment and usually texts to remind me about them a few times on the day of. He’s studious and intense, but he loves our child, and he loves me, and I’m lucky to have what my mother didn’t.

Cal turns his head to look at her finally, his expression dubious. “How can you be sure? If we need to leave, we need to make those plans now. Before it gets dark.”

“You shouldn’t worry so much. You’ll get wrinkles.” Norma bursts out a loud laugh. “George will be able to fix it right up unless it’s something major. He’s handy.” She winks at me. “That’s why we keep ’em around, right?”

I laugh softly, thinking the only thing Cal knows how to fix is a cup of coffee, but there’s no use pointing that out.

“We saw you two had a visitor up here earlier.” Her words catch me so off guard they’re almost menacing. When I look at her, one wiry, gray eyebrow is quirked up higher than the other. The smile that was on her face moments ago has disappeared.

“A friend,” Cal says, a twinge of frustration in his tone. “She came over for lunch and stayed for a quick visit.”

“Well, that’s nice,” the woman says. “Where’d she run off to?”

“We had her leave when we thought there might be a leak.”

The woman’s wrinkled lips press together. “Well, now, there was no need to run off on our account. We’ll get the leak all fixed up and be out of your hair in a jiffy.”

Glancing back out the window again, Cal says, “Well, we know how home projects go. You start fixing one thing and find ten more that need to be addressed.”

She stares at him like she wants to say something else, but she doesn’t. Instead, she turns back to the window, and her face lights up. “Oh, look. There he is now.”

Sure enough, George is walking up onto the porch. His arm is slicked with mud as he pushes open the door, but this time, he doesn’t enter. “Eh, just a little hairline crack on one of the pipes.” He pulls a cloth from his pocket and rubs it across his face. “Looks like it’d been leaking for a while, but I’ve got it all fixed up now. Shouldn’t give you any more trouble, but we’re just a phone call away if you need anything. You have my number.” He nods toward the fridge before wiping his face again. “Come on, now, hun. Let’s get home before it gets dark.”

“Have a good night, you two,” the woman says, shuffling across the room. “Don’t forget to lock the doors before you go to bed, and you should probably leave some warm water running in the sinks and tubs, just in case the pipes try to freeze.”

“Got it. We’ll be fine,” Cal says, shutting the door behind them with a wave. Once we’re alone, he locks the door and closes the blinds before turning back to me and shoving his hands into his pockets. “Well. Interesting day, hmm?” He laughs under his breath as he pulls me against his chest with a quick hug. Then he opens the fridge and takes out a beer and a naturally flavored seltzer water for me.

In the living room, he sits down on the couch, propping his feet up. When I sit down next to him, he asks, “Well, what did you think of her?”

“Her?” I ask, buying time more than anything.

“Janelle.”

“She…well, I don’t know. I didn’t get to know her that well, did I?”

“Just first impressions, then.” He takes a swig of his beer. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Do you think she looks anything like me?”

I think about it, replaying her features over and over in my head. “Not really,” I admit. “Actually, now that you mention it, have you thought about asking her for a paternity test?”

He lowers the beer bottle from his lips, his brows drawn down. “What? Why? You think she’s lying?”

“I think…she could be. It would be nice to know for sure.”

He scoffs, looking away. “What on earth would she do that for? We certainly don’t have anything she could gain from this. An assistant professor of literature and a part-time publicist for struggling artists are hardly cash cows.”

I hate when he calls my clients struggling , but he’s not exactly wrong. Neither of us make more than average. We’re lower middle class at best. “I didn’t say she was trying to get money out of us, just that I don’t know if she’s being truthful. For all we know, she has the wrong person in the first place. I just think it wouldn’t hurt to be certain before you get too attached.”

“Is that what you’re hoping for? That she’s either wrong or lying?” His accusatory tone sets my nerves on edge.

“I…I have no opinion either way. Is this the most convenient thing to ever happen to us? No, but I’m trying to make it work?—”

“Trying?” he demands, standing up from the couch. His face is already flushed from the alcohol and anger. He rarely drinks for fear of liver damage and an increased cancer risk. “What the hell are you talking about—trying? What happened to the woman who set all this up in the first place? You were the one who suggested inviting her here, and now you’re acting like I’ve done something wrong.”

“I’m not saying you’ve done anything wrong. I’m just saying we should be cautious.”

“But where is this coming from? I don’t understand. Did she say something to you? Or…or did she do something that made you feel like she was lying?”

“No, I—” My voice catches in my throat because there’s absolutely no way I can tell him what I need to without everything becoming so much worse than it already is. “I don’t want to fight with you.” And then I do it—the thing I hate to think about, the thing I swore I wouldn’t do—I put my hand on my stomach and wrinkle my face at him. “Stress isn’t good for the baby.” It’s not a lie, but I’m also using our daughter in this fight against him—to protect myself and my lie—and it’s not fair.

At once, though, it works. He crumples like an accordion, shoulders slumping, body folding inward as he lurches toward me with a look of pure regret. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to fight with you either. I’m just…this is a lot.” He kisses my cheek, then my neck in the place where he knows I’m most ticklish, until I giggle.

He presses his lips in closer, tickling me until I scream for relief. “ Stop! Stop! Please! Cal! ” I laugh, jerking away. Still in his arms as I catch my breath, I pat his chest, studying him.

He kisses my nose. “Thank you for being here with me for this. I know it can’t be easy, and I appreciate you trying.”

I wrap my arms around his neck, smiling sadly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says, kissing my lips. “And now…” He scoops me up in his arms like a baby doll. I hadn’t realized he’d even put his drink down, but now, both of his hands are under me as we make our way into the bedroom. “Now, we can just forget about all the rest of it for a while and focus on the reason we’re here.” He drops me on the bed, kissing my forehead. “Rest and relaxation for Momma and baby.” Next, he drops down and kisses my stomach before standing up and retreating to the bathroom.

Alone, I slip out of my clothes and into pajamas before climbing back into bed. It isn’t until I hit the mattress that I realize how tired I am. Now my entire body feels made of liquid metal, like I’m melting and hardening into the mattress and will never move again.

I sink and melt and close my eyes, allowing the exhaustion to truly set in as he comes out of the bathroom.

Sometimes I forget I’m this pregnant. I catch myself running into things more often, underestimating how much stomach I have when I approach counters or try to roll over in bed.

Calvin draws near to the bed with a chuckle. “Someone’s sleepy.”

“Mmm.” I groan, too tired to make a human noise. I feel him lift the covers and slip into bed next to me, then his hand comes around my stomach, tugging us together.

“The question is…are you too sleepy?”

I try to open my eyes, I really do. To be here and present for this man I love, but I can’t. I physically can’t move.

He kisses my shoulder, dropping back on the bed with a sigh, then—a strangled gasp. “ What the hell? ”

I jerk my eyes open with a start, and my heart lodges in my throat.

In the doorway, Norma’s and George’s shadowy forms can just barely be made out.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Calvin demands again, jumping out of bed and crossing the room. He grips on to the door like he’s prepared to shut it, but George holds his hand up.

“We knocked,” Norma says. “You must’ve not heard us.”

“It’s the middle of the night. You can’t just walk in here. We could call the police,” Calvin says.

In the bed, I pull the covers tighter around me.

She looks at him as if it’s the most ridiculous idea she’s ever heard. “Honestly, I’m sorry. We had an alert that the door was standing open. We tried to call you but didn’t get an answer. Then, on our way up, we thought we heard a scream. I wanted to make sure everything’s okay.”

Cal puffs out a breath. “What are you talking about? The door was shut. Whose phone did you call? Mine never went off. I would’ve heard it.”

Lord knows he’s not wrong about that. Still, he walks over and checks his phone anyway, as do I. There are no missed calls on my screen.

“We called both numbers you gave us. Service up here can be spotty at times, so maybe the calls didn’t come through. Anyway, maybe you thought the door was closed, but I can say for sure it wasn’t. It was standing open when we arrived.”

“Surely one of the calls would’ve made it through, though,” I point out.

Cal rubs a hand over his forehead. “What do you want? What are you doing here? This is completely inappropriate.”

“As I said, we had an alert that our door was standing open. Obviously, we can’t have that with the weather like it is. We called both of your phones and got no response, so we came to check that everything was okay. On our way, we thought we heard a scream. When we got here, we found the door open, so we walked inside. I called your name, but there wasn’t a response. We were worried. We had just walked into the doorway when you saw us.” She huffs, like she’s the one who’s been wronged here. “Now, if everything’s okay, we’ll just go. But please make sure to lock the door.” She says it like a practiced schoolteacher chiding us for doing something wrong.

Cal follows her to the door, and from here, I listen as he locks it, then unlocks it, and locks it again.

“I don’t like that,” I whisper when he comes back to me. “What if they were trying to watch us or something? Maybe we should leave. Or call the police.”

“I’ve got you,” he promises, snuggling up against me. “They’re just a lonely old couple. The door is locked this time for sure.” He kisses the side of my head.

It doesn’t take long for him to start snoring, but as the hours pass, I’m aware of every sound the cabin makes—the roar of the heat, the tip-tap of the water dripping in the sinks like we were instructed to do to keep the old pipes from freezing, and the rustle of the wind outside.

Though there are no other sounds to warn me of anything being wrong, as I lie in bed, every once in a while, I’ll catch a hint of movement out of the corner of my eye. The door to our bedroom is shut and I know it’s probably just a shadow from the window, but sometimes, I swear I still see them standing there. Watching us.