“Just breathe, buddy.” Gabe brushes Jasper’s curls. I want to believe I’m safe with Gabe too. As I glance down at the intake sheets, the sweet faces smiling up at me, I admit for the first time what’s been plain all along. He’s already killed two people to keep these secrets hidden.
Once Jasper has calmed, Gabe plops him into his gated area. Jasper finds blocks and begins stacking them, the fear of moments before so quickly forgotten. Gabe’s steps are heavy and measured as he returns to the kitchen, where he bends down and gathers the folders.
“I thought we were better than this.” His disappointment borders on heartbreak. “I thought we trusted each other.”
This is what he does, what he’s been doing to me all along. He uses concern to manipulate me into thinking I’m irrational or overreacting, impulsive. When I’ve been clearheaded about everything except for him.
Before either of us says anything, another impossibly acute contraction cuts around me. I grunt before I can hide it. It’s too painful. I lean down, rest my hands on the counter. In my periphery, I spot my phone.
“We need to get you to the hospital.”
“It’s only prelabor. It’ll stop.” I breathe into the contraction as it lingers.
“Tessa, you can’t go into active labor.”
He’s right. I know he’s right. I reach for my phone to call 9-1-1. When I swipe up to unlock the screen, Laila Ruiz’s face stares back at me from when I’d shown Barb the article on her pregnancy. Barb. She knew I wasn’t safe with Gabe. I start to dial 9-1-1.
Gabe grabs the phone from my hand, hits End, and puts it in his back pocket. He shakes his head, and with that deliberate movement, I know I’m in danger.
“Come on.” He reaches for my arm.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” I try to pry my arm away, but his grip holds firm as he leads me to the couch.
Sitting does nothing for the pain, for my racing heart, for the thought that drums on repeat through my head:My husband is a killer. My husband is a killer. He killed Aram. He killed Regina. He might kill me too.
“I’m not sure what you think you’ve uncovered here.” Gabe crouches down, rests his hands on both my knees, his face too close. “It’s all perfectly normal. I’ll explain. For now, we’ve got to get you to the hospital.”
I want to argue that I won’t leave until he tells me if Jasper is Regina’s, when another contraction pelts me. If my husband doesn’t kill me, this pregnancy will.
“Jasper,” I manage to grunt.
Gabe’s face falls as he realizes what I’m thinking. The plan was for Marisol to watch him when I go in for my scheduled C-section. We didn’t prepare for an emergency. We didn’t imagine we’d find ourselves in this situation. Any of it.
“I’ll call Marisol,” Gabe says.
I pace, trying to breathe through the pain as I listen to Gabe’s side of their brief conversation.
He hangs up. “She can be here in an hour.”
I’m about to protest that I can’t wait that long when another contraction hooks me, tearing at my insides.
“I’ll call her,” Gabe says, and I’m about to protest that he can’t call Barb. I don’t want her anywhere near Jasper. He holds a finger up, motioning me to wait. “She’s not picking up.” He calls again and again, and all I can think is,Please don’t involve Barb. I don’t trust her.
When he speaks her name into the receiver, it knocks the wind out of me, literally sends me falling to the floor. “Hey, Claire. Sorry to be calling you like this.”
Of course he didn’t call Barb. He doesn’t know about Barb. Reaching out to Claire is hardly a reassurance, even though I know she’ll watch Jasper, that she’ll tend to him like she always has. I gather the energy to stand and shout to her to help. Gabe squints in my direction. He must intuit what I’m considering because he scurries into the garage to talk to Claire. Another contraction takes hold, and I lean back on the couch, incapable of anything but enduring it.
Gabe triumphantly strides into the living room. “She’ll watch him until Marisol can get here.”
He starts toward the stairs, then hesitates and returns to the kitchen, bends down, and collects the files from the floor. He shakes his head at me as he neatens the pile, then carries the files upstairs.
Above us, footsteps creak in the office. I can hear the filing cabinet open and shut. Then his footsteps thump into our bedroom, where drawers open and close as Gabe starts to put together what we need for the hospital. I don’t have much time.
I take a few deep breaths, preparing my body to move. In one swift motion, I lean against the sofa’s arm to push myself to standing. As soon as I’m up, I’m forced down again by the pain. Jasper glances over from the gated area, a precarious pile of blocks before him, decides I’m okay, and returns to his construction. I am okay. My eyes flit toward the ceiling, where I can hear Gabe above, still in our bedroom. He has to pack a bag for Jasper too. The contraction recedes. The calm it leaves in its wake is fraught and charged, hardly gentle. I manage to get back on my feet and lumber across the living room toward the door. At the door, I breathe for a moment, peek at Jasper, who’s too busy to notice me. I sense the contraction before it hits, bracing my abdomen for the jolt. It doesn’t come, not yet, and I muster all the energy I have left to throw open the door and step outside.
I stagger into the garden, scanning the walkway. I don’t see anyone. Every time I want a moment of privacy, there’s always someone lurking, and now that I need those voyeurs, they’re nowhere to be found? A contractionwallops me. It seems dramatic, how intensely my body reacts, but it really is that painful. I lean against the outdoor sofa and breathe.
“Miss, are you okay?” I lift my head to find an older couple monitoring me, the wife clutching her husband’s arm. This white-haired husband and wife walk the canals as I’ve imagined Gabe and I would after a lifetime together.
