Page 88 of Bombshell

“Great,” I lie. There’s no way I’ll be able to eat a bite, even after I tell her the truth.

“Couldn’t stay away for Christmas?” she guesses, filling in the awkward silence between us.

“I guess not,” I force myself to say.

“I can’t blame you,” she says, continuing to do the heavy lifting of small talk. “I’d want to come meet my new niece, too.”

“New niece…” I repeat with a slight shake of the head like a wire’s crossed inside my brain.

“I’ve heard their back with the baby,” Poppy says as though this is obvious. “I mean everyone is talking about the cancelled Christmas party. No one can blame them. Having a baby and half of Valmont in the same house—-even Windfall—is a bit much. Ginny is probably exhausted.”

The room constricts with each word she speaks until I feel like I’m about to implode. The heart I thought I’d left behind beats so rapidly that I can’t bring myself to stop her—to correct her—before my brain begins frantically piecing together what she’s saying.

“Where did you hear they were back with a baby?” I finally manage to ask, hoping news is traveling slowly, hoping that this is all a misunderstanding, hoping that the dread I feel is unwarranted.

“Everyone’s talking about. Probably since no one’s seen them since they arrived,” she says. “Is Ginny a really paranoid mom? Or are you two still on bad terms?”

I’m on my feet before she finishes the last question.

“I have to go,” I blurt out. Only then remembering that I don’t have a car. I whip out my phone and request a ride, trying to swallow against the bile threatening to spill out of me all over the scuffed tile floor.

“What’s wrong?” Poppy says, her eyes wide as if my obvious panic is wearing off on her.

But there’s no time. No time to explain. “I have to go. Why are there no Ubers?”

“I can drive you.” She grabs her purse.

“No, I should…”

A confused employee in a black apron appears with two trays full of food, stepping back before I nearly knock him over in my attempt to run out the door. Poppy yells a thanks and follows after me.

I don’t think I just start heading toward the street, planning to run in the direction I came from, hoping I can remember my way.

“Adair!” Poppy’s frantic cry slices through the air, and I stop instinctively. “What are you doing? Let me drive you.”

I turn to look at her, my teeth sinking into my lower lip and realize she’s my best option. She doesn’t ask any questions until we’re both inside her car.

“Where am I going?” It’s simple. It’s to the point.

“The Half-point Motel. It’s about ten minutes away,” I say, punching it into my phone to get directions. I wait for the questions that I’m sure will follow this information, but she starts driving, even though her brow furrows.

“I’m sorry,” I say, between panicked pants. “I should have told you. We just have to get to her. Maybe it’s all a mistake.”

“Darling, you aren’t making sense,” Poppy says soothingly. “You can explain later. Just try to breathe. We’ll be there soon.”

Poppy’s driving is anxiety-inducing on the best days. Today, she barely stays on the road, leaving me to clutch the door handle as we swing recklessly between lanes, but I don’t say anything because we are flying and right now, I can only think of reaching Ellie.

It’s all a misunderstanding, I tell myself. But I’m a MacLaine. I always know a lie when I hear it. The trouble is that I haven’t been listening. I was so desperate for a solution that I didn’t see what’s right in front of me. The skeevy motel. Ginny’s overly helpful attitude. Her willingness to help me get home and sort through this.

“Please be wrong,” I mutter under my breath over and over. Poppy casts a worried look in my direction before jerking the wheel hard to pass a slower vehicle at breakneck speed.

“There it…” I start to point out the faded, old motel as it comes into view but my words die from my lips when I spot the flashing red and blue lights. Two police cars and an ambulance occupy the spots in front of my room. Poppy slams on the brakes and we skid to a halt in the parking lot. I’m out of the car instantly, running toward the police officers and the open hotel door. I’m nearly there when one steps in front of me, holding out his palm.

“Miss, I’m going to need you to—-”

“My baby!” I yell, trying to push past him. “Is something wrong? Is she okay?”

“Your infant was inside?” he asks.