Sound of the Tide (9 page)

“Change of scenery,” I repeated faintly. It was a less-than-helpful explanation. “How long will you be gone?” I asked, hoping this new hurdle would turn out to be only a tiny bump in the road and not as big as it seemed at first glance.

Kevin’s eyes wandered to my baby bump, and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t know yet. Until spring, perhaps.”

“Until spring? But Kev
. . .
”

“You won’t even notice that I’m gone. Christmas, New Year’s, one party after another.”

I brought my fist down on the dashboard and angrily glared at him.

“This is bullshit! I’m going to have a baby in a few weeks, an
d . . .
Look at me! I’m literally blown up like a balloon! Partying is not at the top of my list right now.”

I shook my head and tried to blame the strange pain in my chest on my baby’s kicks.

“I was hoping you’d come with me when the day comes,” I whispered.

Kevin looked at me, surprised. “Me? Are you out of your mind? What about Jenna? You should take Jenna.”

“Are you kidding me? I can’t even go and buy a pair of shoes with her around because she’s so hyperactive all the time! Jenna’s crazy chattering is the last thing I’m going to need when I’m pushing a tiny human out through my va-jay-jay!”

He gave me a crooked smile.

“Now that you mention it, it actually does sound quite entertaining.”

“Oh, shut up! I’m being serious.”

Shit! How was I going to tell him that I needed him? That I was afraid of being alone with Daniel’s child? That I was worried I’d be overcome with pain and grief over his death if this tiny human resembled Daniel in the slightest?

I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye and raised the coffee mug to my trembling lips.

“Piper.” Kevin put his hand on my thigh and looked at me with a very serious expression on his face. “I can’
t . . .
I just can’t.”

I knocked his hand away and rammed the mug into the cup holder.

“You know what, Kevin? You’re right! I need to figure out a way to fix my own screwed-up life.”

I yanked open the door and scrambled out, trying to move confidently but failing because my big fat pregnant belly kept getting in the way.

“Go pack your stuff! I’m going to ask Marcus to help me with the bed.”

I wanted nothing more than to slam the car door in his face, but I managed to just about pull myself together.

“Thanks for last night!” I whispered and then gently closed the door.

The snow underneath my feet crunched as I made my way down the driveway without turning back. Which would have been useless anyway, since I could hear that Kevin wasn’t getting out of the car to run after me.

That night I stood thinking before my new bed, which I had bought with Marcus’s help. I had been thinking for an hour, but without any result.

Did a double bed require one or two pillows? One pillow seemed uncomfortable and ludicrous considering the width of the bed. Two pillows, on the other han
d . . .
I mean, why? And what would I do with the other half of the bed anyway?

I pushed my pillow into the middle, but this looked stupid. If I were lying in the middle I wouldn’t be able to reach my alarm clock (not that I had any appointments these days that required me to set the alarm—but I figured it was a matter of principle).

Undecided, I got a second pillow and placed both on the side, one on top of the other. This, too, was unsatisfactory because it looked as if I were limiting my use of the bed to one side. I could see it in my mind’s eye. In a few years, when I had come to terms with living out the rest of my days alone, forever mourning the love of my life, one side of the mattress would be worn out and sweat-soaked, while the other side—the one reserved for my love—would still have that new-furniture smell. What a nightmarish thought!

Another question: Would I need to include the extra pillow case in the wash, given that nobody was ever using it? Or could I save myself the trouble and remind myself every single night that the man I had made that side of the bed for would never lie in it?

“Shit! I should have bought a single bed after all!” I cried, yanking both pillows from the mattress.

The doorbell rang, and I didn’t want to answer it because I wasn’t feeling too well.

I tore at my hair.

I wasn’t feeling too well?

Who exactly was I trying to kid? It was the understatement of the century! I was a shipwreck—no, that wasn’t right. I was a wrecked car pressed into a cube by a car crusher! No, that wasn’t right either. I was a rusty bicycle tire, bent out of whack and lying in a ditch by the side of the road, the last remnant of the metal recycled from a metal cube created by a car crusher!

Yep, exactly! That was me!

The doorbell rang again, and it took all I had to climb out of my ditch by the side of the road and drag myself downstairs.

I hadn’t expected Catherine, but I couldn’t say that I was surprised either. Somehow she always managed to catch me at the most inopportune moments.

“Marcus told me about your new bed, and I thought maybe I could cheer you up a little!” she said, explaining her late-night visit. “I don’t want to force anything on you, but if you like, I’ve got a car full!”

“A car full of what?” I asked cautiously, trying to untangle and fix my curls a little in the meantime.

“Don’t call me crazy, but I was having a hard time trying to imagine you alone in your new bed, and so—”

“You’ve got a man in your car?” I asked, horrified, and looked at her in disbelief.

Cat’s eyes grew wide, then she started chuckling—which made me laugh, too.

“A man!” she gasped through tears of laughter. “Yes, sure, I brought you a nice selection. I figured you could just pick one that you liked, you know, one that goes with the colors of your new bed!”

“Well, the bed has a lovely headboard and artfully carved legs,” I squealed. “Do you have something that would go with that?”

“Let me take a look. Men with lovely
heads
are quite easy to come by, but the carved leg
s . . .
”

Minutes passed, during which we gasped and giggled like silly schoolgirls, and in the end our stomachs hurt and we were lying in each other’s arms. Like girlfriends, almost. Something I would have thought impossible only a few months ago.

“Seriously, though, what do you have in your car?” I asked, out of breath, and wiped tears of laughter from my face.

“Pillows! Dozens of them!”

And all of a sudden the solution to my pillow conundrum presented itself. We layered most of the bed in pillows. Big ones, little ones, soft ones, not-so-soft ones—and, when I finally lay down in them, it felt wonderful. I could lie wherever I wanted to lie, and it was nice and soft, and it was all mine. They hugged me, surrounded me—and suddenly I didn’t feel so lost lying in this giant bed anymore.

It was incredible to admit, but Daniel’s mom had saved me. I knew that I had been close to losing myself in the throes of depression, that I had stood pretty darn close to the edge of the abyss only moments before. Why hadn’t I thought of this sooner? Why hadn’t it occurred to me to cram this deep, dark abyss—this black hole—chock full of pillows and cushions? Maybe you had to be a mom to come up with an idea like that. I really was grateful for Cat’s visit.

Nevertheless, I cried myself to sleep that night. In a way, I baptized my new bed with my tears, making sure it knew what it was getting into right from the start. Only, this time I cried because I couldn’t believe that Kevin was leaving.

I cursed all the men in my life and hugged a pillow against my chest.

C
HRISTMAS
G
IFTS

Late December

T
he blue, star-studded curtains fell to the floor in long, soft waves. Satisfied, Catherine climbed down the ladder.

“So? What do you think?”

I ran my hand over my belly and grimaced when I could feel it tighten.

“Don’t you like it?” Cat asked, anxiously tugging at the fabric.

“No, no, of course I do! It looks great! But these false labor pains are really uncomfortable.”

“Then we better hurry up and get this done. Marcus is coming this afternoon to attach the electric heater above the baby’s changing table. Anything else you need?”

I looked around the nursery. Everything was perfect. A mobile featuring little giraffes and elephants was suspended above the crib, and diapers and baby wipes were at the ready. Everything was ready. If only I wasn’t feeling so goddamn uncertain.

“A father would be kinda nice,” I mumbled.

Catherine sat down in the armchair which I had designated as the place where I would feed the baby, and looked up at me.

“If you need help, we’re here for you, you know that.”

“Of course! But I can’t be bothering you day and night with my problems. I need to be able to figure this out for myself.” I threw my hands up in the air. “I’ll be fine, really, it’s just tha
t . . .
This is not how I had imagined it.”

Daniel’s mom looked at me with compassion in her eyes. These past few months had left their marks on her, too. There were deep shadows under her eyes. She looked tired.

“I need to get back to the store. Are you sure you don’t want to have Christmas dinner with us? Nobody should be alone on Christmas Day.”

“No, honestly, it’s fine. I don’t feel like celebrating, and I especially don’t feel like seeing long faces at the table because nobody’s really getting into the Christmas spirit. Please don’t be mad.”

“Of course not. But, if you need us
. . .
”

“Yes, for the millionth time: if I need anything I will call—I promise.”

But then, when I really did need help that night, Daniel’s parents were the last people I wanted to call.

Shivering, I sat in my living room and stared at the fireplace.

“You piece of crap!” I cussed, not sure whether I was addressing the fireplace or the heat that wasn’t working yet again. It was enough to drive me up the wall because, according to his answering machine, the heating guy would not be back until after the holidays. And he was the only one in town.

So, if I wanted to keep my house from getting even colder, I would need to make a fire in that there monstrous fireplace. I cursed myself for having put this off for so long. Why hadn’t I tried this out while the heat was still working?

Furiously, I struck a match and threw it into the belly of the beast, and just then I heard barking outside. To my anxious ears, it sounded like a rescue signal.

Ewan was outside with his dog. Without further ado, I rushed out onto the back porch and looked over the railing and down to the beach.

As always, the dog was chasing waves, and Ewan jumped out of the soaking wet animal’s way, laughing.

“Dr. Palmer!” I called against the wind, wrapping my arms around my body. “Hello! Dr. Palmer!”

He looked up at me, waving as he came closer.

“Hello, Piper! Merry Christmas!” he called back in an affable voice.

“Yes, yes, Merry Christmas to you, too! But can I ask you for a small favor?”

Still shivering, I started climbing down the set of stairs leading onto the beach.

“Dear Lord, Piper! You are freezing! What’s up?”

Embarrassed, I suddenly became aware of my soot-covered sweater—and of the fact that tomorrow was Christmas.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you, but I have a problem with my old fireplace and was hoping you could help.”

“Were you hoping I would keep you warm?” he suggested with a seductive smile, which almost made me stumble and fall down the last of the steps.

“
Uhhh
, no, what I meant was
. . .
”

He gave an affectionate laugh and shook his head.

“I was kidding. Do you want me to take a look at your fireplace right now?” he offered, and I nodded weakly because I suddenly felt overwhelmed by even the simplest activity, such as breathing.

“
Uhhh
, yes, please—but only if it’s not too much trouble,” I stammered, already regretting my impulsiveness.

“Let’s go, then. We don’t want you to freeze in place.”

Ewan offered me his hand because the wet stairs were slippery (never mind my soft-as-jelly knees) and started leading me up the stairs, when suddenly he stopped.

“You know what, let’s try something different. My shoes and pants are full of sand, and Google, my dog—I better get him home.”

He was still holding my hand, and his smile was like a friendly promise.

“Google?” I asked, because it seemed such an unusual name for a dog.

Ewan nodded.

“Google used to be a search and rescue dog for the police. Now he’s retired. Search, Google. Get it?”

“Yes, of course! That’s really quite original!”

Ewan grinned, rubbing my cold fingers between his hands.

“You go back inside, and I’ll be there in ten. Sound good?”

“Of course—that would be great! Thank you!”

I followed him with my eyes as he called Google with a single whistle and walked off across the sand.

As soon as he was out of sight, I scampered up the stairs (as well as I could near the end of a pregnancy) and into the house.

“Crap!” I said when I saw the general mess. I nabbed the empty pizza box from the desk, feeling a bit frantic, and carried it into the kitchen—where I was faced with the next fire that needed putting out. But that mess was too big to handle within ten minutes. So instead, I pulled the door closed behind me, hoping he wouldn’t insist on getting a tour of the house.

Back in the living room, I picked up the pair of socks I had carelessly tossed aside that afternoon in exchange for a warmer pair and rammed them into the nearest drawer. Next came a quick plumping up of the sofa pillows—we wouldn’t want Ewan to think I had spent the entire day lying here and feeling sorry for myself (which, in fact, was exactly what I had been doing right after Cat left).

I gathered up the magazines and arranged them in a neat pile, catching a glimpse of the topics and article titles splashed across the cover of the one on top. Postpartum depression. Stretch marks caused by pregnancy. Lochia. “Perineum Massage for Easier Childbirth.” I clenched my teeth and pushed that issue to the bottom of the pile.

But things weren’t improving. “Incontinence after Childbirth—A Common Problem” was the headline on the next magazine down.

“Jesus, why am I even buying all this depressing crap?” I muttered and grabbed the entire pile. With a full load up to my chin, I staggered up the stairs to my bedroom and threw the magazines onto my unmade bed.

“Well, he won’t be seeing them in here,” I said, only stopping briefly to give myself a critical once-over in the mirror. That was a mistake, though, because I suddenly felt way more pregnant. It was incredible how many times a day I tended to forget that I looked like an inflated balloon and walked leaning backward. Every time I saw myself in the mirror, I winced.

“Not much I can do about that,” I said out loud, pulling and tugging my curls into shape. At least I liked them—they were shiny, and they nicely framed my face. Next, I pulled my sweater down a little to take advantage of pregnancy’s only visual benefit: my unbelievably full breasts.

As I waddled back downstairs, I wondered why it was so important what Ewan might think of me. I mean, it wasn’t like I had a crush on him or anything. I just didn’t want to look more unattractive than absolutely necessary compared to such a knockout guy.

The doorbell rang, and I hurried so as not to let the savior of my fireplace wait.

His cheerful mood wouldn’t last very long anyway once he got irritated and covered in soot—and regretted having so generously offered his help.

“Hi, Dr. Palmer, come on in!”

Ewan shook his head and pointedly remained standing in the door.

“Only if you start calling me Ewan,” he demanded.

I bowed and stepped aside.

“Come on in, Ewan. Better?”

“Much better! Here, I brought us some chocolates. I hear women usually like that sort of thing.”

“Usually? And how much experience exactly do you have in that area?”

“I have a sister, which of course doesn’t mean that I don’t try my luck with the ladies from time to time. But, honestly, I just wanted something I could put under your tree, which
I . . .
can’t seem t
o . . .
see.”

He wiped the snow from his boots and scanned the room.

“I don’t have a Christmas tree—I didn’t feel like celebrating this year. Thank you, though—it’s very nice of you, but you shouldn’t have,” I said. I asked him to follow me into the living room, where I pointed directly at the fireplace.

Without letting my stress rub off on him, he glanced at me, and his blue eyes sparkled with happy contentment.

“So I guess we’ll be getting to know each other after all.”

I caught myself grinning stupidly, which he would hopefully interpret as pregnancy brain.

Ewan took off his scarf, looking perfectly relaxed, and slipped out of his jacket. His shirt was tight over his athletic chest, and—Jesus! Could I really count every muscle of his perfect six-pack underneath the fabric of his shirt? This had to be a dream! I blinked a few times, trying to wake up, but nothing happened. He was still there—and still just as gorgeous. My perception must be impaired by the hormones running riot at this late stage of my pregnancy, because it was
impossible
for someone to be as hot as he was. And probably illegal, too!

“I know, but I was hoping that the chocolates would distract you from the fact that I’m rather inept when it comes to mechanical things. A diversion, if you will.”

He bent over the fireplace and frowned.

I grinned. As if his butt inside those jeans wasn’t
diversion
enough. I probably wouldn’t even notice if he used fluffy white bunnies to light the fire.

Besides, I no longer needed a fireplace—I had been a lot less cold during the last few minutes.

“I don’t think it takes a lot to get that piece of crap going. Daniel never had any problems with it. It’s really just me it doesn’t seem to like.”

Ewan nodded and played around with the vent. A puff of soot whirled up.

“Daniel was your husband?”

His question sounded casual, and he didn’t look at me but busied himself restacking the logs.

“My boyfriend. He didn’t want to get married.”

Ewan sat down in front of the fireplace and finally looked at me.

“He died from a brain aneurysm?”

I sat down, too. I didn’t need to look in the mirror to know that I had turned pale.

“Ho
w . . .
how did you know?”

He seemed embarrassed, because he ran his hands through his hair and then looked at them, all covered in soot. We were only an arm’s length apart, but still I felt very alone.

“I overheard it at the hospital. I am very sorry.”

My hands were shaking. I hadn’t spoken about Daniel’s death in weeks. Even Jenna, Kevin, and Daniel’s parents had tried to avoid the subject.

“I had no idea that people were still talking about it,” I muttered, opening the box of chocolates. Maybe a piece of chocolate would help me regain my composure.

“I have to confess that I’ve made inquiries,” Ewan said, looking conscience-stricken. “After we ran into each other at the furniture store, I was curious.”

I nodded. At least he was being honest.

“You could have just asked me.”

Ewan took the piece of chocolate from my hands.

“Careful, this one’s got alcohol in it.” He slipped it into his own mouth and gave me an apologetic smile. “I should have asked you first—but I’m making up for it now.”

I ran my hand over my belly and tried to smile.

“Why don’t we talk about something else? I’ve been trying really hard to look ahead, you see, an
d . . .
to somehow keep going.”

“Of course! I didn’t mean to offend you in any way. I came here to fix the fireplace. Do you have a lighter? I would like to try my luck.”

“Matches. I only have matches.”

I held the box of matches out to him, and as he took it, he very briefly held on to my hand. It was a soft touch, a touch meant to give comfort and courage, and it actually made me feel better.

He struck a match and threw it into the kindling he had carefully arranged.

We sat in expectant silence, watching the tiny flame lick at the kindling, hoping it would eat its way first through the wood chips, then through one of the logs, but after a second or so it died and left behind only a wisp of sad, gray smoke.

“Huh!”

I grinned, and Ewan rubbed his forehead, an action which painted a dark smudge right across it.

“Did you say
piece of crap
?” he inquired and pushed his sleeves up before opening the hatch one more time.