Brooke didn't wantto talk to me in the waiting room at the doctor's office. She flipped through a magazine, the pages moving at a pace incompatible with reading. If there was anything to gather from this morning—and every morning since the funeral—it was that I could stay close if I didn't require anything from her.
It wasn't until that fire of hers cooled to embers that I realized how much I needed it, thrived on it, savored it.Lovedit. I missed her yelling and cursing about every little thing. Missed her silver-tongued demands and her piercing glares. Missed her fight most of all. This chilly silence almost drove me to shake her out of it, to bait her the way she'd always baited me. But antagonizing the woman I loved days after her father died and she found herself unexpectedly pregnant struck me as profoundly wrong, even if that was our first and finest mode of expression.
I followed her into an exam room, staring at a wall of baby photos while the nursing assistant ran through a list of questions. I listened as I studied the round faces, desperate to glean some information, but I didn't know how to use any of it in a meaningful way. The first day of her last period sounded like a riddle no one saw necessary to solve for me.
So many little faces on this wall. Some bald, some with as much hair as I had today. Some smiling, some mad as fuck.What will our baby look like?I turned, stared at Brooke as that thought simmered in my mind. She sat on the exam table with her ankles crossed and hands balled in her lap. She glanced up at me for a fleeting moment, tipped her head to the side, and held her hand out.
Moving away from the wall, I stepped around the nursing assistant and stationed myself beside Brooke.
"It's fine. I'm fine," she said, her gaze glued to the floor as the nurse wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her arm. "You don't need to do this."
"I'm going to do it anyway," I replied.
The nursing assistant left parting instructions about changing into a gown and a promise the doctor would visit shortly. When the door closed, Brooke hopped off the table and turned her back to me as she undressed. She pushed her arms into the gown and shuffled back to the table, one hand fisted around the cloth to keep it closed.
"I've seen you naked. Don't hide your ass for my benefit."
"I know what comes next with these appointments," she said. "Covering my ass is all I can do to make this bearable."
"Is there anything I can do to make this better than bearable?"
"Do you want a baby right now?" she fired back.
"Do you?"
She was silent long enough that it seemed she didn't intend to respond. But then, she said, "I don't know."
The doctor bustled in, full of smiles and enthusiasm Brooke couldn't match. She dimmed the lights and dropped onto a short stool after instructing Brooke to lie back on the table. The sonogram screen flickered to life. Brooke grabbed my hand.
"There's your baby," the doctor chirped, circling a black and white area on the screen. "See that little strobe light? That's the heart. And this string of pearls? That's the spine. Based on these measurements and the dates you provided, you're about nine weeks along. Here, let's print out some pictures."
Brooke's grip on my hand tightened. There was no way to interpret the meaning behind that gesture, but I leaned down, kissed the top of her head. We'd figure this out.
* * *
The first halfof the drive back to Talbott's Cove was agonizingly quiet until Brooke asked, "What do you want to do, Jed?"
As it turned out, I couldn't stop myself from antagonizing her. "Are you asking what I want to do right now, this morning? Because I need to get some breakfast and then run to a meeting at the cider house." I glanced over at her. "Or are you asking about something else, Brooke?"
"It's good of you to loop me in on your plans," she replied.
"I want to do whatever you want me to do," I said. "But I can't do that if you won't talk to me. I'll tell you this much, Brooke. Whatever you want to do, I'm going to support you. Whatever you want. There's nothing you can say to change my mind on that."
She reached into her purse and retrieved a water bottle. She took several sips before asking, "Who are you meeting at the cider house?"
I didn't want to have this conversation. I wanted the one about our baby and the rest of our fucking lives, but this one had to happen eventually. "I'm showing some potential investors around the site."
She whipped her head toward me. "Why? Is Barry renegotiating the terms?"
"You could say that," I murmured. "Barry decided to step away from this project. I've been reaching out to new funders."
I saw the exact moment she added up the pieces, her expression shifting like an unlocked door blown open by a gust of wind. "Why didn't you tell me? I've told you I am willing to connect you with other investors. Real, serious investors. People who do this every day rather than Barry's weekend hobby approach to business."
A humorless laugh tripped over my lips. "You've had your hands full, don't you think? I wasn't about to bother you with this last week."
"Why don't you trust me enough to let me help you?" she asked, her words losing their edge. "Why is that so terrible? Do you think I'd lead you around by the purse strings? Or that I'd lord it over you? What is so terrible about me? Why can'tIhelp you? You're sitting here, saying you'll support me no matter what but I'm not allowed to do the same. I'm not allowed to help in the one way I'm able to because—because why? I can't be trusted because I ditched you behind a barn a long, long time ago? Because I can't react to death and babies and love the right way? Why am I terrible, Jed?"
"There's nothing terrible about you. Don't think that, please," I replied.
