“You mean a bitch?” I said in a gravelly voice.
“Exactly.” Bette smiled, but her expression sobered after a second. “Are you okay? I mean, I can connect the dots, so I know why you’re here.”
She was still holding my hand, which should have been awkward since we didn’t really know one another, and I wasn’t a very touchy-feely person. At least not with anyone but Trevor. For some reason, though, it wasn’t, and I had a strange feeling I could confide in this woman. Although that might have been from the anesthesia since I was still groggy.
“Okay,” I said, my words slightly slurred. “But not exactly sure how to feel since I didn’t want the baby and hadn’t been planning to keep it.”
“That’s understandable.”
“Not to everyone,” I muttered.
“Well, most people are stupid.” Her smile returned. “At least in my experience.”
Hilary cut the conversation short when she came back into the room, and when she passed me the cup, I quickly gulped the water down. Once I had, exhaustion settled over me again, and I closed my eyes.
I dozed, half aware of what was going on around me, of Bette having a quiet conversation with either Hilary or a nurse, of someone saying I should be okay to leave soon. Then I was roused from sleep by a gentle shake of my shoulder, and the next thing I knew, someone was helping me dress. Who, I wasn’t even sure. I was still too out of it.
Once I was in my original clothes, Hilary helped me into a wheelchair. Bette was nowhere in sight, and as my fertility counselor pushed me down the hall, I began to wonder if I’d dreamt she was here, but was too tired to ask. Keeping my eyes open was nearly impossible, and since I trusted someone else was on top of things, I didn’t even try.
When hot air swept over me, I opened my eyes to bright sunshine and found Bette standing beside a shiny black car, the passenger door open.
“Can you stand?” she asked, her hand out in case I needed it.
“Yeah.”
I stood on wobbly legs, clinging to the wheelchair in case they gave out. When I was sure I was okay, I moved, already reaching for Bette’s outstretched hand. She clung to me, one hand on my back as she helped me in, and her gentleness was so touching, I actually teared up.
Once I was safely seated, Bette shut the door and hurried to the driver’s side.
It wasn’t until her door was also shut that she said, “I just realized I don’t even know where you live.”
“Downtown,” I replied, aware that the word was slightly slurred but too tired to care.
“Oh, yeah! I remember you saying that now.” Bette hesitated then said, “Are you on the second floor?”
I nodded slowly in response.
“Oh.”
I didn’t know what her reply meant and was too exhausted to try to decipher it. Sleep was trying to drag me down once again, and even though it was a short drive, I didn’t put up a fight.
I dozed as the car rocked and music flowed from the speakers, the volume low and soothing, and in what felt like no time, the car had come to a stop. Only then did I open my eyes, but the sight I was met with was confusing.
“Where are we?” I asked, staring up at a huge, white historical home with massive pillars.
“My place.” Bette climbed out of the car, slammed the door, and hurried to the passenger side, continuing the conversation once she’d opened the door. “I was concerned when you said you lived on the second floor, so I brought you here instead.”
Here. Her house. Herhugehouse.
Still groggy from the anesthesia, I was grateful when Bette offered me her arm. She’d parked in the driveway even though there was a detached garage, and I clung to her as she led me to a side door, my gaze sweeping over the massive house in the process. It was so stately and beautiful. I only wished we could go in the front door instead of the side one. Although considering the long walkway, multiple steps leading up to the front porch, and my wobbly legs, this was probably better.
The door she led me to wasn’t locked, which I found odd considering how nice the house was and the state of the world, but Bette acted like it was a normal thing as she led me into a mud room. Hooks lined the wall to my right and beneath them was a bench with storage for shoes. A picture was mounted on the wall above the hooks, the wordsStay Awhilescrawled in elegant black cursive set on a white background.
“This way to the living room,” Bette said, urging me to keep walking. “You can lie down there.”
She led me through what was the very definition of a gourmet kitchen, complete with the largest refrigerator I’d ever seen, double ovens, two sinks, and shining granite countertops, then into an elegantly decorated hall. We passed a formal dining room large enough to entertain a dozen people and what appeared to be an office with wall-to-wall dark oak bookcases filled to the brim, before reaching a beautiful yet cozy living room.
“Here you go,” Bette said, waving to a soft-looking teal couch.
