Stay Tuned (22 page)

In the span of thirty minutes, I’d actually talked myself into having another baby. I was ready to pick up a prescription for prenatal vitamins, Zofran, and a brand new copy of
What to Expect When You’re Expecting.
Saltines for morning sickness, a new fluffy pillow for sleeping.

Except now, there was no reason to.

After I sat in my car in the doctor’s office parking lot for a good twenty minutes, I decided I should drive. Not home, not work, but somewhere.

When I managed to leave, everyone I passed and everything I saw had to do with
babies
. New moms pushed strollers, toddlers laughed in the playground I passed. I noticed the colors of pink and blue with new intensity, especially on all of the baby stores, which seemed to pop up out of nowhere.

One in particular called out to me, I slowed the car. The sign said
Sweet Baby.
Cute little boy clothes hung on one side of the display window, embroidered little girl dresses and hip maternity clothes on the other.

Candace’s name flashed on my caller ID. I hesitated. I had to answer.

“Hey! You feeling any better?” I asked.

“Much,” Candace said. “No one’s throwing up. My fever’s gone. Marcus is back at work. Hey, what about you? You had the doctor’s appointment. What’d she say?”

I made my voice low and calm. “The vampires there took about a pint of blood, but everything’s okay.” I wrestled with not telling Candace, though I felt like I’d burst if I didn’t. Chris really needed to know first.

“What is it, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t give me that
what do you mean
,” Candace lectured, wary of not getting the full story. “The must have said something. Your voice is funny. Tell me.”

The phone crackled.

“I’m-
not
-having-a-baby.” I rushed the words just as the phone crackled.

“Melissa, you’re breaking up. I couldn’t hear a word you said!” Candace yelled into the phone. “Try again.”

“She did a pregnancy test. I got all excited, thinking it was for real.” I explained. “It was negative.”

Silence. I strained to hear if she had fainted and fallen to the floor. I rolled the car to a stop, cracked the windows, and shut off the engine.

“Oh sweetie.” Candace clucked her tongue. “If I was there, I’d give you a big hug. Have you talked to Chris?”

“Not yet.”

“So, you’re pretty disappointed, huh?”

“Honestly, I had myself convinced. I was thrilled. All of the excitement, the fun…”

“Aw, Mel, I am so sorry.”

“Me too.” I sniffed back some tears.

“Anything I can do?”

“I wish.”

Candace clucked her tongue. “Think about this. No sleep. Breastfeeding twenty-four-seven. Spit-up. No drinking wine or coffee. Did I mention no sleep?”

Leave it to Candace to set me straight. “I know. It was just wishful thinking. Dr. Freeman said I was too stressed. Needed to slow down. Exercise. Eat right.”

“They never prescribe doughnuts and lattes.” Candace said ruefully. “Listen, I have to run to the salon. We’ll get together later and talk about it, okay? Just the two of us.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Dr. Phil and I love ya, gal!”

“Love you, too.”

We hung up and I dialed Chris’s office. It clicked over to voicemail.

The
Sweet Baby
window display caught my eye again. It wouldn’t hurt to look inside the store. I could get something for Sharice’s little boy and gifts for Jaden and Addie.

I picked out a cute tee-shirt with a dinosaur on it for Darius and matching smocked dresses for Candace’s girls. Adorable. Just the thought of seeing them open the gifts made me feel better.

“Could you wrap these up, please?” I asked the salesgirl.

Back in the car, I tucked the presents behind the seat. I decided to try Chris again. His cell clicked over to voicemail immediately. I pressed zero for the company operator, who picked up seconds later. “Macon Financial. How may I direct your call?”

They’d hired more new people lately; I didn’t recognize the woman’s voice.

“Chris Moore, please.”

“May I take a message?

“This is his wife, Melissa. It’s rather important.” Okay, that was a stretch. “Could you please let him know I’m on the line?”

Musak filled the phone.

Then, “So sorry, Mrs. Moore. He’s in a private meeting offsite with Tyler Johnson.”

I willed myself to be polite, but slipped into frustrated mode when I heard Tyler’s name. “Offsite?”

“At the Crowne Plaza, I believe.”

That’s a hotel. What is Chris doing at a hotel in the middle of the day? What’s going on?

At my extended silence, the operator’s voice softened. “Is it an emergency?”

“Not exactly,” I admitted. I hesitated, then backed down. “It can wait.”

“Mrs. Moore, please be assured that I will give him the message as soon as Ms. Johnson wraps up the meeting. Now that she’s made partner, she’s very peculiar about these things.”

Wait.
I bit my lip. My heart thumped.
She?

I had to ask. I had to make sure. “Tyler Johnson is…
a woman?
”

My husband is having an affair. With his brand-new boss. Oh, I am such a fool.

I locked myself in the dressing room of the station to blow off some steam. I paced, I ranted. I cried a little.

At one point, Rick knocked on the door. “Melissa, what’s wrong?”

I didn’t answer. Like he was going to make it better.

“I know you’re in there. Your car is in the parking lot. Besides, Drew is bound to ask where you are, so I need to be able to invent something that’s going on.”

I still didn’t answer.

“Melissa, don’t force me to come in there and make a scene. I’ll break the door down if I have to,” Rick threatened.

The thought of Rick ninja-kicking anything humored me slightly. I reached over and twisted the lock.

“Come in,” I mumbled. A quick check in the mirror showed my face was blotchy. Great. Now, I’d need a freezing-cold shower and a slab of makeup to look halfway decent.

“You know I’m seven steps away from being a black belt,” Rick added.

 
I opened the door. “You are a terrible liar, Rick.”

“Worked, though, didn’t it?” He slipped in and shut the door behind him. He clicked the lock into place. “What in the hell is the matter with you?” He frowned. When I didn’t answer, he continued. “Well, whoever it is, I’ll hire Chuck Norris to hurt them.”

I held up my hand for him to stop asking questions. “I can’t tell you,” I snuffled and blew my nose into a tissue.

“I’m not leaving without a good explanation.”

I leaned back in the chair and pressed my fingertips onto my head. “Everything. It’s everything.”

Rick shifted his weight against the door. His voice was soothing. “Can you be more specific? It can’t be everything. Did you talk to Drew about the anchor job?”

“Not yet.”

“Did you tell Chris about the other night? About me?”

“Oh, Lord, no!” I sat up, my back ramrod straight. I’d actually thought about coming clean to Chris about the Rick situation, but now I wasn’t sure I’d ever breathe a word. What was the point, if our marriage was over?

“Right, right.” Rick nodded vigorously. “Okay.” He thought for a moment. “It’s not work. It’s not me. It’s not your daughter?”

I shook my head.

“Chris has a girlfriend?” he guessed.

The word rattled me. I clenched my hands into fists to keep from shaking. I couldn’t look Rick in the face.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Do you know if it’s true?” he asked. “Do you have any proof?”

That stopped me. Well, I didn’t know for sure. He had been working late, though that wasn’t unusual. And Chris hadn’t lied about Tyler, but he hadn’t told me the whole story either.

And they were at a hotel. Today.

“Melissa, listen to me,” Rick urged. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I can speculate on a few things.”

He pushed away from the door, took a step closer, and crouched down to eye level. “All I’m going to say is find out for sure what’s going on
first
. You go home early tonight if you need to, I can handle the ten. But for right now, pull yourself together,
especially if you want this job
.” Rick emphasized the words for effect.

I swallowed hard and squeezed my hands together as tight as I could. He was right. I had to get composed and be professional. “We’re supposed to have dinner tonight after the six. I guess I can talk to him then.”

Rick nodded.

If Chris left, I
had
to have a job. Kelly’s tuition, a house payment, the car. Mother. My mind zigzagged with dizzying speed.

How can I face him at dinner tonight? What will I say?

Rick patted my shoulder. “Melissa, I’m not telling you what to do. But if you don’t want every single person at the station knowing your business, figure out a way to keep your feelings in check until after the show. You’ll have plenty of time this weekend to figure it all out.”

He paused at the door and looked at me for a long time. “Pull yourself together. You can do it.” He checked the clock on the wall. “You’ve got an hour. I’ll see you downstairs.”

“Thank you.”

“Hey Melissa?” Rick paused.

“Yes?”

“Maybe it’s not what you think.”

As Rick predicted, I made it through the six o’clock newscast unscathed. Now, on to round two.

I parked my car and surveyed the scene. Even from the outside, Blue Bistro looked unusually crowded for seven o’clock on a Friday night. People milled around outside on the stone-covered terrace, glasses of wine in their hands, waiting for a table. Reservations were hard to get, even a month in advance. Chris must have pulled some strings to make it happen this soon.

Inside, the restaurant bustled with activity. The servers carried huge trays, high in the air, loaded down with shrimp, steak, and cocktails. Whispered conversations and soft piano music blended together at the bar.

“Moore, party of two,” I said to the petite hostess who wore a headset and too much black eyeliner. She wrinkled her forehead and scanned the long list in front of her, using her pencil. “Seven o’clock,” I added, trying to be helpful.

“Your table’s ready.” With a blank expression, the hostess tapped the pencil tip on the paper, circled our name, and motioned for me to follow. She slipped two menu cards into the crook of her arm and headed for the back of the restaurant without another word. As I trailed behind, she shuffled her feet along the dark wood floor and bobbed her head like she was listening to an iPod.

Every few steps along the walkway, people at tables on either side looked up from their dinner conversations. Some wiggled their fingers hello. I smiled automatically and lifted my hand to wave back, hoping I’d composed myself not to look upset.

Chris was running late. He had called and left a message during one of the hundred trips I made to the bathroom that afternoon. When I played it back, he sounded upset. Shaken up, if I had to describe it.

Well, that makes two of us.

But Rick was right. Jumping to conclusions was not going to help. We made it through the six o’ clock show. Now, I needed to get the facts. I added my own mantra:
 
There was plenty of time to be hysterical later.

“Your server will be with you shortly,” the hostess said, and pulled out my chair. She stared at me intently. As I slid into my seat, the couple at the next table began to whisper.

“Are you Melissa Moore, from WSGA?” The hostess screwed up her face, curious, and handed me a menu. Her voice was low, but apparently, the people nearby could hear just fine. They waited for my response, too.

I smiled and nodded.

The hostess brightened and leaned in to whisper, still clutching the other menu. “You’re doing such a good job!”

“Thank you, it’s been a wonderful experience.” My face flushed red.

The couple at the next table went back to sipping wine. I pressed my lips together and glanced down at my lap. Now, I was thankful to be in the very back of the restaurant. At least the only audience behind me was a row of leafy palms. I inhaled deeply and opened the menu.

I scanned the entrees while the couple at the nearby table got up to leave. The woman caught my eye and walked over cautiously.

“Sorry to disturb you, but we couldn’t help overhearing that you’re Melissa Moore, who works at WSGA?”

She was about my age, with a pleasant face, dark hair, and glasses. Her husband tugged at her arm and looked mortified that she was interrupting me.

The woman ignored him. “Are you celebrating? What’s the happy occasion?”

“We’re having a date night,” I explained. Surely, he’d be here any minute. What was keeping him? I prayed Chris would come up behind the couple and tap the woman on the shoulder. No such luck.

“Oh, fun!” the woman gushed. “Have a good time.” Her husband practically carried her away from the table.

The server appeared at my side. “Wine, ma’am?”

“A bottle of Pinot Grigio, please.”

I checked my cell phone. Half-past seven. Was it really that late? I debated calling, then put the phone away. If some sort of work crisis kept him, Chris knew better than to let me sit here. Didn’t he?

The server appeared with a huge ice bucket and the bottle of wine. He poured my glass, and let me sample it.

“Perfect,” I said. He nodded and re-corked the wine. The ice crunched and crackled as he nestled the bottle down to chill.

“Will your party be much later?” The server frowned. “May I bring you something else?”

My stomach rumbled. Up until this point, I hadn’t given food much thought. “He’ll be along any minute now.” I gestured at his empty seat. “You know how Fridays can be, trying to get out of the office, all of the last minute projects and phone calls.” My voice wavered.

I realized my waiter probably had no idea what I was talking about, since he looked like he was still in college. He nodded politely anyway. “Of course.”

The menu bobbled in my hand. “How about an appetizer? The bruschetta?” It was a trusted favorite of mine, not Chris’s, but he had lost his vote on this one.

“Sounds delightful.”

I shifted in my chair, which was beginning to get uncomfortable. Was he seated at another table and I didn’t know it? Without being too obvious, I scanned the restaurant, looking for a familiar face. Across the room, my doctor, Jennifer Freeman, was having dinner with her staff. She caught my eye and waved.

At least another fifteen minutes ticked by. I was beyond upset and annoyed. The waiter returned and filled my water glass again while I checked my cell phone for messages. Nothing.

By now, half the ice had melted in the champagne bucket. Chris wasn’t coming. It was time to go home.

“May I have the bill, please?” I asked quietly when my waiter walked by.

On command, he produced a slim black folder from his pocket and handed it to me. I opened the case, glanced inside. It was blank. “There’s nothing here,” I asked, confused.

“Taken care of,” the waiter answered. “A friend.”

“Oh my goodness.” Who?
My doctor? The lady with the glasses?
“Thank you,” I murmured, glad someone wanted to take care of me.

I pushed back from the table. My chair slid back easily. The moment I stood up, Chris ran into the restaurant.