Page 78 of Waiting for Tuesday

I rubbed my hands down my face and turned to face her, knowing she wouldn’t leave until I explained. “Tuesday’s pregnant,” I said. “She fell out in the rain and started bleeding. We left because I took her to the hospital.”

“Oh, my God.” She sat down beside me and touched my arm. “Is everything okay?”

I nodded, knowing it was the baby she was asking about, then I shook my head and met her eyes. “The baby’s not mine, Lisa.”

Her brows knit together. “What?” Her breathing slowed, as though she couldn’t quite understand what I was trying to tell her.

“It’s not my baby. She’s pregnant with another man’s child.”

She covered her lips and shook her head. “How do you know?”

I stood up, raking my hands through my hair. “Because she’s twelve weeks along and I only met her eight weeks ago. That’s how I fucking know!”

Lisa didn’t deserve my anger, but I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I was so mad I could hardly see straight. So broken I didn’t know if I’d ever be whole again. The scene at the hospital played in my head over and over, shredding me further than I ever thought possible.

“I asked her what she wanted, and she said she wouldn’t choose. I didn’t even care that it wasn’t my baby, Lisa. I didn’t even care.”

I heard her sob behind me but I couldn’t turn around. I couldn’t handle seeing her cry when I was so close to losing it myself.

“What did she say?” she whispered.

Tuesday’s words ran through my mind for the thousandth time.You can’t ask me to do that, John.That’s not fair.

“She said she couldn’t choose.”

“Is she still seeing him? The father?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, the thought of her with another man turning my stomach. “I don’t know,” I said in a low, distant voice. “I didn’t ask.”

She put her hand on my shoulder and pressed her forehead against my arm. “Don’t you think you should find out?”

“No.”

“Why?” she asked between tears.

“Because she needed to choose.”

* * *

Tuesday

Becky stood behind the couch, gripping my shoulders as dozens of new customers filled the shop. She softly kneaded, trying to ease the tension in my muscles that hadn’t felt normal since she picked me up from the hospital two days ago.

“You okay? Feeling good?” Becky asked.

I pulled in a breath, knowing she was asking about the baby, and I nodded. “I’m fine.” The baby was fine. There had been no more bleeding since that night at the cabin, but I still couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t sit in my own shop without missing him, without something, everything filling me with memories of our time together.

Becky had insisted on setting up the grand opening so I could rest. She even pulled the couch out of my office to the very middle of the product floor so I could interact with the customers during the party. But it hurt so bad to be here, to remember, and all I wanted to do was go home.

My eyes shifted to the entrance as I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. John promised me he’d be here, that he’d stand by my side, hold my hand. The door had opened hundreds of times in the last few hours, but none of them had been him. Not that I expected him to, but I was prolonging my hurt with hope. I needed to explain, I needed him to know the truth. I wanted him to know that what we had wasn’t a lie. I loved him. And I would never stop.

A little old lady stepped into my line of vision, blocking my view of the entrance and pulling me from my thoughts. I looked up to her kind face, her hair so white that it glowed from the sun streaming through the windows behind her.

“Hi dear,” she began, her voice quiet and hoarse as she twisted a tin of dried herbs between her crooked fingers. “I was wondering if you could help me. I don’t see very well. Would you tell me how much this is?”

I smiled and nodded. “Of course.” I took the tin from her hand.

Her eyes were soft, but there was something in them that made me feel uncomfortable as if she recognized me, although I was certain I’d never met her before in my life. I quickly took the tin and flipped it over. “Um, nine dollars and ninety-nine cents.” I met her eyes again as I handed it back. “They’re very good. Grown locally by a farmer, not thirty miles away.”

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