Page 3 of High Frequency

Pippa shoves her arm through mine, as we follow along behind him, and gives me a squeeze.

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

Not sure the same can be said for my uncle. I’ve been so worried coming here might turn out to be another in a series of mistakes I seem to be making.

That’s the problem when you start off with one lie, even if only by omission. It leads to others, until you’ve created a situation where anything you do or say simply compounds on your problems.

So yes, I’m grateful for Pippa’s show of support. I had a feeling she may understand better than most why I made the—arguably unwise—choices I made, which is why I’d dialed her phone number instead of my uncle’s last week when the shit hit the fan. Like a coward, I’d left it to her to inform him.

It’s no wonder he’s pissed. I’m surprised he even hugged me, given I just showed up with a daughter he didn’t hear about from me.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

I almost laugh at his exasperated question. One I’ve asked myself countless times over the past ten or so months since seeing that second red line appear on the pregnancy test.

The truth is, I wasn’t thinking. Or maybe I was thinking too much. Hell, why not blame it on hormones. The result is the same; the giant mess I find myself in now.

“Sully…” Pippa, who just walked in, puts a gentling hand on my uncle’s rigid shoulder. To me she directs, “Hope you don’t mind, Carmi is sitting on the floor next to the Pack ’n Play, watching Aspen sleep.”

“That’s fine. Once she’s out on a full stomach, there’s little that’ll wake her up.”

The full stomach was courtesy of the bottle Pippa volunteered to give her while I helped a brooding Sully empty out the Jeep before the dark of night set in.

I was able to nurse Aspen the first eight weeks after her birth, but I weaned her before I had to go back to work. Working as a detective with the very busy Billings PD doesn’t exactly lend itself to pumping breast milk. My heart still aches at that decision, but I didn’t really have a choice at the time.

Now, barely two months later, none of it matters anymore.

“I’m still waiting,” Sully grumbles.

This is the part I hate most; disappointing him. God knows I did plenty of that in my younger days. But I’d earned his respect in later years, which makes coming clean now a bitter pill to swallow.

“I thought I had a handle on things,” I offer meekly.

From the flare of his nostrils, I deduce that was not a satisfactory response.

“Aspen’s pregnancy was not planned,” I try again, starting at the beginning this time. “At first I kept it to myself because I needed time to figure out what I was going to do.”

“Of course,” Pippa agrees, earning her a sharp look from her husband.

“Fine, but clearly you figured it out at some point because she’s here. Except you failed to inform your family.”

I don’t know whether it’s his sharp tone, or his accusation that ends up pushing my buttons, but in an instant I’m twenty years old again, and all my defenses are up.

“And what?” I snap. “Have Mom give up on her and Steve’s dreams? Because you know she wouldn’t have left had she known, and this was my problem to solve, no one else’s.”

“What about the father?” Sully demands, not backing down.

It was inevitable the question would come up sooner or later. It doesn’t shock me, but his next comment does.

“If you even know who it is.”

“Sully!” Pippa scolds. “That’s out of line.”

She’s right, and I can see from the way he winces he knows it, but that doesn’t make the sting any less. The sad part is, I almost wish I didn’t know who her father was, since he turned out to be the biggest mistake of my life.

Sick to my stomach, I get to my feet.

“I need to go to bed.”

---