Page 51 of All In
An hour later, I know it’s going to be time for Brielle to eat, and even though I don’t want to, I need to get going. We make our way back to the pavilion, taking slower steps, neither of us wanting this to be over.
“Hey Sam, would you mind waiting with Brielle?” I ask before our time together is over. “I really need to use the restroom. It’ll just be a minute, promise.”
“Of course not. Go right ahead.”
As I turn and head to the pavilion, I can feel his stare burning into me. But I won’t turn around. I can’t.
As soon as I take care of business and leave the pavilion, I am met with a sight that stops me in my tracks. A sharp intake of breath fills my lungs because there, standing on the sidewalk, holding my daughter, is Sam. He’s swaying and humming a soft tune as he stares at her with soft eyes. Instantly, I’m sick to my stomach, so I clutch my abdomen. The sight is too much. Feeling the cries ready to escape my mouth, I cover it with my other hand.
Brielle should be his daughter. We, Sam and I, should be her parents.
Fearing that he saw me, I turn on my heels and make a beeline for the bathroom, where I lock myself in the stall I just left.
And sob.
Chapter eighteen
Sam
Trying not to make a sound, I tiptoe into the house, hoping not to wake my mom or Erica. Also, secretly hoping Erica isn’t awake because I’m not sure I can look her in the eye right now.
Ever since Maria and I spent the afternoon together, my mind has been in a haze, unable to focus on anything else. I shouldn’t have met her. Mom thought it would give me closure. It didn’t. I got no answers as to why she left me in the shed, and Maria didn’t offer any. And I didn’t ask.
Instead, it opened a part of my heart that I thought I had closed with Erica. It wasn’t until I held her daughter that I almost lost it. But then I remembered the promise I made to myself … to never cry over Maria again.
Brielle’s wails began as soon as Maria stepped away, as if she sensed that her mom was gone. The loud cries stabbed my heart. I made a pathetic effort to console her, of course, but it didn’t work. So, I made the last-minute decision to pick her up.
My nerves were in overdrive as I reached into that obnoxious stroller thing. With gentle hands, I lifted her to my chest, adjusting her blanket along the way. Something about cradling her, knowing she was half Maria’s and not mine … not ours.The realization did a number on me. Brielle is gorgeous and everything I pictured when I would think about Maria and me starting a family. A girl that would look just like her and a boy who would look just like me.
Maria took longer than I thought, and before I knew it, Brielle was asleep in my arms. I rocked her and hummed a lullaby my mom would sing to me. She was out like a light.
Gotta say I was quite proud of myself.
I should have laid her back in her stroller, but I didn’t. I continued to stare at her, taking in her delicate features, watching her sleep without a care in the world. Her eyes fluttered as she slept. But then reality came crashing down around me.I can’t get attached to this baby.
She isn’t mine.
Maria walked out of the bathroom just then, with bloodshot eyes, and I knew she had been crying. I’m pretty positive she saw me with Brielle, and it affected her like it did me. We stood there, time standing still as we exchanged a silent, lingering stare. The unspoken words and feelings hanging in the air.
Once we parted ways—and awkwardly, at that—I called Ricky, and I hung out at his place until right now. He didn’t ask questions. He’s known me long enough to recognize that something was off. I called Erica and told her that Ricky and I were going to hang, and she understood. Apparently, she and my mom were having a great time, which made me happy since that was the focus of this entire trip.
Somewhere, more than likely this afternoon, my focus changed.
On light feet, I walk into my old bedroom, and lying asleep on my childhood bed is my wife. She looks so peaceful and gorgeous. Her clothes are crumbled up on the floor. Yet there is one thing that stands out in the room.
The smell of alcohol.
Knowing my mom, she went to bed right after she and Erica got home. She is not a night owl but will be awake at the butt crack of dawn tomorrow. So, this makes me wonder what Erica did, or where she went, after my mom went to bed.
After brushing my teeth and stripping down to my boxers, I pull back the covers, but then something catches my eye. Erica’s water bottle resting on the nightstand, half full. Or half empty, depending on how you want to look at it.I need to know if my suspicions about what she was drinking when we arrived are valid.
Other than Erica’s soft snores, the room is eerily quiet, as I grapple with my decision. I won’t be able to sleep until I'm sure. While making my way around the bed, I curse under my breath as my toe meets the unyielding bed frame.
Dang it!
I’ve stubbed my toe, and the sharp sting is forcing me to clench my teeth. The motion must have stirred the bed because Erica moans and turns onto her side. Motionless, I stop, my body tense, as I pray for her to stop moving and fall back asleep. After a few moments, she does, and I cautiously move forward and reach her side of the bed.
I grab the bottle and unscrew the top, smelling it, then taking a quick sip.
