Accidents Happen (Forever Happens Book 1) Page 8

  Mallory looked to John and then back at me. Even though I shook my head, everything inside of me wanted the opposite. Glancing at John, I could tell he might have felt the same as I noticed how uncomfortable he appeared. Or maybe it was anger that she’d crashed our dinner. I wasn’t sure, but at least he seemed to feel the same as I did. Despite all these feelings, I gestured toward the other seats at the table. I guess it was our luck we were already sitting at a table for four.

  Mallory took her cue and strutted around the table. My eyes were drawn to her hourglass figure immediately. The way her tight, navy cocktail dress hugged her curves had me seeing red. Was it because I would lose my figure to the little one I was carrying inside of me, or because she seemed to be sashaying a bit too much? Or was it all of my pregnancy hormones mixed in with all my emotions from having amnesia that hit me all at once?

  Sitting back in my chair, I quickly straightened my cream shift dress as best as I could, banishing my feelings of inadequacy. Earlier in the week, I’d studied my body in the reflection of my bedroom mirror. There were no feelings of shortcomings then, other than I’d had a fleeting thought that my breasts were a little on the smaller size. But I was proportioned with slim hips and thin thighs—something I was sure most women would wish for and I had woken from a coma having. But it wasn’t until I was faced with this woman that these feelings hit me out of the blue. My eyes wandered to John, searching to see if he was gazing upon Mallory with interest. There was something deep within me that wondered if they had some sort of history together.

  I mentally slapped myself for thinking that way. After all, I was the one having an affair. But seeing his eyes roam over Mallory’s body immediately made my heart drop into my stomach, and I couldn’t help but think he’d probably want one with her.

  It’s your hormones making you crazy, I tried to yell at myself.

  "Well, Andrea. Maybe I can help fill in the details for you." Mallory's smile was fake along with everything else on her. Obviously I had her in our wedding, so at some point we were best friends, but I wasn't sure how close we had been before my accident. Deep down I knew that we couldn’t have been too tight. Or maybe we were and I was just as fake as she was. The thought sickened me.

  As much as I wanted to stand up and walk away from the entire conversation, I shoved my feelings down deep and hoped I could at least learn something about my past from these two. If I could make it through the evening. “Tell me how we became friends."

  Mallory threw a quick glance at John before she began her story, and again my stomach dropped.

  It seemed like a normal enough story. Friends in college, met through another mutual friend I hadn't remembered, but should see whenever she gets back to town. According to Mallory, Sarina was on vacation with her latest beau. She had gotten divorced and since then had hopped around living off her alimony and dating much younger, tastier (as Mallory put it) men.

  The boredom of her stories continued. Not once did I feel any sort of kinship with her. There was no feeling of us having such a special sisterhood bond in the least. If anything, my stomach churned at the thought of having to deal with her day in/day out. I wasn't sure how much better friends I'd be with Sarina, but if she was anything like Mallory, I was sure I'd never call either of them when I needed moral support.

  The entire time I wondered if I’d told her or Sarina if I had other boyfriends. Did they know about Cal? Whatever job I had? Another fleeting thought I had was what if we all cheated on our husbands? Was it the norm in my world to do such a thing? I glanced at Mallory’s left hand, noticing she wasn’t wearing a wedding or engagement ring.

  Dinner was finished, but we sat there for coffee as I listened to Mallory ramble on about some party we had gone to in college.

  Unsure of what prompted me or why I had such a horrible feeling, I couldn’t help but ask, “Why didn’t you come to the hospital? Or even visit me after?” It had been a question on my mind throughout dinner.

  Everyone at the table stopped speaking and turned. Mallory’s face flushed red.

  “I hadn’t meant that in the rude way it came out. I…was curious.” I turned to John, looking for support.

  “Darling, I thought you told me you had,” Phil spoke up.

  John broke in quickly. “Actually, I had asked Mallory not to come.”

  “You did?” I asked as I turned quickly to look at him. “Why?”

  Mallory cleared her throat. “Well, he didn’t want you to be bombarded with all of us making you try to remember, of course.”

  “Right. The…umm, the doctor said not to upset you since you were already in turmoil about me being your husband.”

  My heart sank as I looked at John. I covered his hand with mine and whispered, “I’m sorry. You’re right. It would have been more than enough.” I chuckled as I added, “Especially after being told I was pregnant too.”

  “Pregnant?” Mallory spat out. Her voice could have been heard throughout the restaurant, I was sure of it.

  “Well, congratulations!” The senator stood quickly to come around and give me a hug. “You two have been trying for so long. What a wonderful surprise.” He looked to Mallory. “Isn’t it, Mallory?”

  All color had drained from her face. She seemed like I must have looked when Cal had told me we were having an affair. Yet she swallowed and nodded, glancing quickly at John. “Yes, that’s…incredible.”

  John appeared a little more than merely uncomfortable, but I could still see the pride in his eyes. He reached over and squeezed my hand, making me smile. I turned to Mallory. She was no longer even trying to fake a smile. The anger was palpable, and for some odd reason that made the jealousy I had felt earlier disappear.

  When we finally finished our dinner, Mallory and Phil left while I continued to wait in the lobby. John finished discussing his business with a gentleman he’d been introduced to by Phil after dinner.

  I wandered toward the entrance. The moment my hand touched the brass handle, my stomach dropped. It wasn't a flash of memory. A need to escape and a sensation of dread had washed over me. I pulled my hand back as if the handle had caused an electric shock. Immediately, the doorman opened the glass entry. If he'd have opened the door a moment before, would I have felt that same reaction toward it? I stepped out into the cool night air, unable to shake that feeling. The dark sidewalk had some type of allure to me. The crisp air cooled my cheeks, and I pulled my coat tighter around me. There was no thinking in my momentum as my legs continued to carry me down the sidewalk.

  "Darling? Are you all right?" John's voice should have snapped me from that need to walk down the street. But it didn't.

  I walked only a few blocks down as John kept pace next to me, asking questions I didn't know how to answer. And that's when it hit me. I stopped cold in front of a bar. Not a bar I felt like I'd ever go into, especially at night. Maybe during the day I'd venture in if I had a friend inside, but alone? Never. At least I hadn't thought so. Maybe my old self would have before the accident?

  "Did you want to go inside and look around?" John asked. His voice wavered as if he didn't want to go in there.

  I shook my head, knowing I wouldn't venture inside when the name of the bar caught my eye.

  The Freckled Maiden.

  Twelve

  Andi

  Spending the night tossing and turning was not good for the baby. I knew that. My doctor had told me that several times during my hospital stay. However, no one had explained to me how to deal with stressing out about having an affair on my husband, finding out I had a job, and jealous thoughts that my husband might have been having an affair with my best friend. Add in trying to remember any details of my life itself and I was probably one of the most stressed-out pregnant women my doctor had seen. Although he didn’t know about the affair part. Or did he? It was a vicious cycle of trying to figure out who knew what, and who wasn’t telling me something and me thinking I was insane for having all these crazy thoughts to begin with.


  I tried to keep my heart rate down, taking in slow, deep breaths while trying to clear my mind as the nurse at the hospital had instructed me to do, but none of that had worked.

  You’ll search and find inaccurate answers and cause yourself unnecessary worry. Call our office instead, no matter how crazy your question. Don’t get your answers from the internet. Those were the words my doctor had said to me before I left the hospital. Which was stupid, because sitting there in the dark, all I wanted to do was search and find out everything I could about what stress would do to my unborn child.

  The enormous book John had purchased for me didn’t have any answers, and I wound up throwing it across the room in a tantrum. Tears pricked my eyes as I hugged my stomach, praying he or she was healthy.

  Tap, Tap. The sound seemed to echo in my bedroom. My bedside lamp gave me very little light, which annoyed me even more since I was the one who probably purchased it, and merely for decoration. I was convinced I had been the worst decorator in the world.

  “Andrea?” My door cracked open as John poked his head in. “Are you all right?”

  A wave of unnecessary doubt and fear washed over me. I burst into tears. The dam had broken. “No!” I wailed. “I’m not all right. I think I’m going to have a miscarriage!” I held my stomach, doubled over, and hoped I would be okay. Not even able to inhale deeply, my breath stuttered as the tears rolled down my cheeks. I wasn’t even bothering to control my sobs.

  John rushed over to me and pulled back the covers. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but seeing the fear in his eyes, I knew he was only reacting to my stupid outburst.

  “I’m not miscarrying nowwww! But I’m scared I will. I can’t remember anything and all this stress is going to hurt my baby.” It was dramatic and I knew it, but there was no use trying to hold back my tantrum—although I kept to myself the other reasons I was stressed: that I’d had an affair and the baby might not even be his.

  The force of being pulled to John’s bare chest made me gasp. His strong arms wrapped around me as his hands sifted through my hair. “Shh. It’s going to be okay,” he said, climbing onto the bed with me. His pajama bottoms were soft white cotton, and I wondered if I had been the one who shopped for clothes for him. My head nestled to his chest, I continued to let out everything I had in me, my tears running down his bare skin. The slow strokes of his hand through my hair made me snuggle closer to him as my cries began to even out. I inhaled deeply, wondering if this was how it felt before our marriage fell apart. Or had it fallen apart? Maybe it was me not allowing John to be a part of my life that kept me from feeling this comfort.

  Gently, he scooted my body over. Propped up against the headboard, he pulled me back to him tighter than before, which I hadn’t thought possible. My eyelids felt as heavy as the guilt that was crushing me. At the same time, the way he was comforting me, I couldn’t help but think what a great father he would make. Promising myself I’d close my eyes for only a moment, I still gave in to sleep when John’s arms tightened around me.

  With the pelt of rain against the window glass, my eyelids fluttered open. Even though there was a storm outside, the comfort from John last night lingered on even as I woke up alone. The warmth still enveloped me and I sighed, thinking that things might be all right. Maybe I hadn’t opened enough doors to let John into my life, not giving him the opportunity to be the husband he might be to me. I pushed away the thought of my affair and wondered if John and I could start again. Maybe that’s what he had hoped for now that I was carrying our baby. Or was it…I didn’t let my mind ask the other question; I was too comfortable and content right then.

  Lifting my head, I noticed a note on the pillow next to mine, reinforcing that feeling of starting over—that we might actually have a chance to make things work. Until I read it.

  Call the doctor to make sure the baby is okay.

  ~John

  Obviously he also believed all this stress was going to hurt my baby, which only added to the anxiety still lingering inside of me. Staring at the note, I wished for more encouraging words. What would Cal have written? Would it have been such a bland note? There was no “love, John” …only “John.” I clutched my stomach and fell back to the bed, my mind immediately doing a one-eighty, wondering what kind of marriage I was bringing my child into. John had comforted me until I fell asleep, and that was something. So what if he hadn’t written a more loving note after I had an outburst?

  I opened my notebook, jotting down my feelings, worries, and what had happened the previous night. Each moment retold on paper from the pen in my hand brought on a new onslaught of concerns and worries.

  I wanted to call Cal even though I hadn’t told him about the baby. He had no idea he might be a father. How would he feel about that? Would he even want the baby? Would he definitely turn me away then?

  The recounting of our stories had told me so much about him—well, that he had really, truly loved being with me. We hadn’t even gotten to any stories of us being together.

  A raging headache throbbed at the back of my head, which seemed to match the weather outside. Angry thunderstorms surged as I sat up in my bed. The cream-colored drapes gaped at the center, allowing me to see a hint of the gray outside as I listened to the rain pelt the glass. I stood and walked over to the window, and jumped as thunder boomed in the distance.

  What would Cal and I have done on a day like this? Would we have stayed in bed together all day long? Or was he a quick affair, so we would have had sex during the night and he’d leave me in the morning? The desire to talk with him grew with every question I had. I wanted to know more about our relationship, but the fear inside me was that it had been a casual fling. However, the look in his eyes had told me that maybe it had been more.

  And then there was John, who had comforted me the night before. He could have easily ignored my tantrum and gone back to sleep. Although what if, for him, it was all about the baby and not about comforting me? The way he was angry about Mallory at dinner nagged at me. Was he angry that she’d shown up? I grabbed my notebook and wrote more questions that I wasn’t sure I’d ever get the answers to.

  Then I thought about all the strange events from the previous night at dinner. Mallory appeared to be taunting John with her presence. The way she was angry about my pregnancy could have been for different reasons. Maybe she’d been trying to have a baby and couldn’t. Another loud crack in the distance made me shiver, and I pulled the blankets back over me and snuggled back down to my pillow.

  I thought about John, having to sleep in a different bed than his wife out of courtesy. How long would he allow that before he’d want me back in his room with him? He hadn’t pressured, nor had I even made a move to ask. But then again, I hadn’t felt any attraction between us—nothing like when I had seen Cal.

  I thought about visiting John at work, but maybe I'd go the following day. Making it a surprise might be a good thing and possibly stir up some excitement between us. I wasn’t sure if it was something I’d done in the past, but surely bringing lunch to my husband would be a good idea. I also had high hopes that being in his familiar office might spark some sort of memory for me.

  Another burst of lightning outside my window made me jump. I picked up my phone to check the weather, wondering why I didn’t have a laptop or some computer in the house. Don’t most people have that? At least a tablet so I could search the internet.

  Staring at all the apps, I checked the weather, noting the rain was supposed to settle down soon. Clicking out of that app, the internet app drew my attention and was a little too hard to resist.

  Why did I start looking at things on the internet? Whatever possessed me to go against what my doctor had told me was in full force now. The discussion boards were horrible, and reading through all the things that were probably happening to my baby was more than I could take. I needed a brown bag to breathe into right that minute. My anxiety was through the roof from information overload. Stress could cause miscarriage, and th
e effects of having amnesia itself could cause one. Hell, the accident should have forced my body to miscarry, and one woman went on to describe how it had happened to her and her baby.

  Researching the signs of what to look for was even worse. As my fingers typed on the small phone keyboard, I hit the search button. Why wasn’t I throwing up? I should be nauseous from the smallest smells and running for the bathroom. My heart pounded as tears pricked the corners of my eyes when one woman told me I needed to rush to the hospital because I wasn’t throwing up. Swiping at my tears only so I could see more words on my phone and try to figure out what else was wrong with me, I clutched my stomach again and wondered why I hadn’t felt the baby kick. Was it too early? I looked that up too, the panic in me rising with every tap of my fingers on the screen.

  The fear was more than I could bear, and immediately I pressed on the phone app. I called the doctor’s office, frantic that I was going to miscarry and that they had to squeeze me in. I wasn’t sure if it was because they actually had an opening or because I was hysterical and insisted I was going to miscarry that they gave me an appointment.

  Dressing in record speed, I didn’t even bother to apply makeup, even though a quick glance at my reflection showed a woman who hadn’t slept in forever, eyes rimmed with red. My fingers ran through my curly locks, and I grabbed a ponytail holder and pulled my hair back. My hands shook as I reached for my phone, keys, and purse. Pulling on the handle to the condo door, I tried to compose myself but there was no use. I had to get to the doctor—now.

  The elevator wasn’t moving fast enough, and staring at the numbers and willing them to go down faster wasn’t working. The moment the doors opened, I ran over and begged Walter to call a cab for me. Driving wasn’t even an option since I still hadn’t thought about it, nor would I have any idea how to get to my doctor’s office.