Page 68 of Find Me in California

I nodded tightly.

“Good. We need to get Liza to lie down before she loses the baby.”

I could barely register where I was, and for a split second, I couldn’t focus on anything. I forced my head to clear. “Is there another room she can sleep in?”

“Across the hall.”

Sally and I half carried, half guided a devastated Liza into an immaculately decorated guest room. Sally whipped back the covers, and I gently guided Liza under them.

“He’s gone, Magnolia. My darling husband is gone.” Liza cried into the pillow.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, unable to look at her, fearing she’d see my own misery.

I pulled up the covers and Liza grasped my hand. “Don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” As soon as I spoke the words, I knew it as truth. I would stay until my condition kept me from staying. Matty had been rushing home for me. His daughter would never meet him because of me. I owed that baby and Liza whatever time I could give them.

I crawled underneath the covers and spooned her back as Sally bustled about the room, drawing the curtains and dimming the lights.

“He was so excited to be a father,” Liza whispered.

Her words cut like a knife. “I know.”

“Aubrey.”

“Who?”

“Aubrey. That’s the name he wanted for a girl. What do you think of it?”

“Of the name?”

“I didn’t like it and I told him so. Now, though ...”

I choked on the sob swelling in my throat. “I think it’s a beautiful name.”

“I think so too. I can tell her, when she’s old enough and understands, that her father named her. That he loved her very much.”

I was going to die from the strain of holding on to my tears. “She’ll treasure that knowledge.”

Liza murmured her agreement and soon fell asleep.

Behind her, my face crumpled, and I silently grieved for Matty. For the life we wouldn’t have together.

For the next month, we lived harmoniously. I gardened a few days a week. On the other days, I helped Liza prepare for Aubrey’s arrival. I’d moved into the big house, but I never had the chance to meet her. Five weeks after Matty’s death, I found Liza in the guest room I’d been using. She was sitting in the armchair by the window that overlooked the circular driveway reading this journal. The goodbye letter I’d written her when I planned to leave with Matty was open on her lap.

I stopped in the doorway, and my heart landed in my stomach. Liza picked up the letter when she felt my presence. “Ironic that you apologized for everything but the one thing you did that would have gutted me. Matty was going to leave me? Withyou?” She spoke with disdain, referencing what I’d written about us in my journal.

“Liza,” I implored, stalling. Really? What argument did I have? None.

She dropped the letter, and to my mortification, she read from the journal, “‘He sucked my breast into his mouth, and his tongue swirled my nipple. His teeth nipped at the raised bud, and my hips rose to meet his. He pushed into me repeatedly, and I was lost. I clung to him as he whispered in my ear, “It’s you. Only you,” and I fell deeper in love with him.’ Oh, please. This reads worse than the smut they printinCosmopolitan.” She slammed the journal closed. “Do you know how many women he said those exact words to? You’re looking at one of them. I’d bet there are dozens more.”

“Please don’t.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t what? Don’t speak the truth? Don’t read it? Then you shouldn’t have written it.”

I only meant for her to stop tormenting herself. I didn’t want her to put too much strain on the baby. Matty hadn’t loved Liza, not like she thought he had. But Liza was right. I sounded utterly selfish.

“I was looking for a matchbook,” she said quietly.

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