Page 133 of A Moment for Us
“He’s having dreams,” I tell her.
“Of?”
“He won’t talk about them, but he was screaming and thrashing. I think he was back in the flood.”
She sighs. “I’m so sorry. I would offer help, but I think he’ll just shut down. I’ve never been able to get through to him. Only advice I have is to talk to him and try to make him see how much you both need each other before it’s too late.”
“And if it already is?” I ask hesitantly.
“Then you let him go.”
* * *
Day turns to night and still no Josh. My fingers have hovered over the call button, yet I won’t do it. It’s like a part of me already knows what’s coming, and I’m putting it off.
The baby kicks, and I get up, pacing around the room. I don’t know what to do, but it feels like each minute that passes is an hour.
Finally, I press send, only to have it go right to voice mail.
“Josh, I don’t know where you are, but . . . call me.”
I grab the blanket and curl up on the couch, unable to do anything else. After another hour, the door opens, and Josh walks in.
“You’re still up?”
“You’re finally home.”
He tosses his keys onto the table. “I was busy at work.”
“Busy avoiding me is more like it.”
“Please don’t start, I’m exhausted.”
I get to my feet. “And I’ve been worried sick! You storm out of here this morning and are gone for over twelve hours with nothing. I called, no answer. I didn’t even get a text after that cryptic one this morning.”
“I shut my phone off.”
I let out a puff of air. “Yes, why would you keep your phone on when your pregnant girlfriend might need you.”
“You’re fine. I’m fine. All is well. Not completely because we’re clearly being punished, but . . . semantics.”
My eyes widen as I stare at this man I don’t know. “What do you mean being punished?”
“I’m going to bed. I need to go to work early.”
He starts to walk away, but I chase after him, grabbing his arm. “No, what did you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. You’re being punished because of me. It’s clear that this is just the beginning, so I’m preparing.”
I don’t understand what he’s saying. What punishment is because of him? “You’re not making sense.”
“What part isn’t clear, Delia? You were fine before I showed up. You had the perfect house, new job, and life was great. Now . . . you’re suffering.”
I blink a few times because, yes, I’m sad. Yes, I’m struggling with the loss we’re enduring, but I’m not suffering. “No, I’m not. I’m dealing with things. I’m grieving, Josh.”
“And so am I, but at least you don’t have the added layer of hell of knowing who is the cause.”
“You believe that this is your fault?”
