Page 70 of Forbidden Pregnancy
My eyes burned with exhaustion, but I swore that Michael walked into the door with lighter energy than I would expect. CC was bubbly and hugged Delphine, revealing that they met eachother at Delphine’s wedding. CC did seem a little drunk, but they never explained where they were honestly. I don’t think I’ll ever get the truth, but they were so committed to their story, that I knew it was what I had to believe happened that night.
Delphine called her husband, Michael’s cousin, and drove herself home while on the phone with him. She didn’t seem as tired as I was, and I appreciated her gentle patience and stamina while I was anxiously and impatiently waiting for Michael’s return.
CC’s explanation for their mysterious disappearance was half-hearted at best.
“Michael took me out to celebrate,” she said. But she neverreallyexplained what she meant by that. Michael held me close that night and all he said was, “I will always keep you safe.”
Four days later, police officers showed up at Michael’s front door. They found a body in the Old Harbor and needed him to identify it. CC calmed me down when he left with the cops. I made her promise to me that Michael didn’t do anything stupid and she told me that there was nothing I had to worry about.
Michael didn’t return for two hours. When he did, he came with an announcement.
“I’m sorry, CC. Our father has been killed.”
Her face fell, but as I watched both of their reactions, I could read nothing. I didn’t expect to read Michael, but I expected to read CC. She didn’t exactly seem sad, but she wasn’t elated either. If I had to guess, they both appeared… relieved. I can’t prove their emotional state and I have no evidence beyond my emotions, but they both seem relieved.
“I have to leave to plan the funeral,” he said. “Stay and look after Myra for me.”
CC was solemn the rest of the day, but she didn’t cry and she didn’t appear too severely bothered by her father’s death. I thought maybe it just didn’t hit her and she was in denial over it, but then she tried to wear red to the funeral, which Michael shut down.
I didn’t know his father and Michael didn’t want me to come, which I was just fine with. Who likes funerals? Plus, I was pregnant enough that leaving the house for very long was just out of the question. I got tired far too quickly.
After the funeral, I told myself that I was wrong for suspecting Michael and his sister of committing any illegal acts. CC didn’t end up wearing red to the funeral. She returned home, and both she and Michael were laughing when they walked through the door. I never got an update on what was so funny, but there was nothing truly out of the ordinary.
If they were suspects in a murder, they would be nervous, not happy. Also, the cops would be treating them like criminals, not victims. I heard in passing that Pino Corsini died of a heart attack while drinking heavily and he happened to be near the harbor the night he passed away. I have no evidence to prove or disprove the story. I shouldn’t let the what-ifs haunt me, but I guess it just seems so… strange. For it to all be over.
Just when I quell my suspicions, a couple weeks after the funeral, two new headlines cross my path – two more men wash up on the harbor shores – or more likely, they were thrown to shore in pieces. The stories drop one day after another, with no connection presented between the two.
Several years of graduate school to get my dual masters degree in French and Economics, I don’t need a news anchor to add up the pieces of evidence.
Both dead men have Italian names and one connects so strongly to Michael’s family that I know instinctively this is more than a random tragedy. The first man dead is named Salvatore Amato, known as “Sal” to his friends. The journalist shows footage of him at the finish line of a 5k run he hosted for cancer, and mentions his longstanding membership with a local biker club before moving on to another headline about a black bear seen eating donuts out of a trash can behind Tim Horton’s.
The second man washes up a few days later, from Pittsburgh. I don’t immediately recognize the connection to anything connected to Michael’s family until the newscaster identifies the victim. When I hear his name, my blood runs cold. Michael is busy in the gym and CC has been taken up with searching for an apartment ever since her father passed, so I watch alone with goosebumps running up my forearm as the newscaster names the latest “victim” – Dario Corsini.
Again, she calls it a suicide and not a murder. This man, Dario, shot himself in the head, allegedly, and I guess he dumped himself in the harbor too.
Local news doesn’t bother asking that follow up question and I watch the rest of the story desperate for details and unsure of what would bring me more comfort to believe. Michael had nothing to do with this. He was home and when he wasn’t, he was with CC and despite all he’s done, Michael would never get his younger sister caught up in a murder.
I spend so much time in the garden watching the sunrise and ignoring physical sensations as I turn over the possibilities in my head. I don’t hear Michael coming up behind me, but I can tell from the hand on my shoulder that he’s behind me.
“You’re up early.”
“Yup.”
“Hm,” he says. “It’s our due date. Worried?”
I might be worried, but it’s less about the due date than the future. Am I really about to pop out a baby for a murderer out of wedlock? I know that Michael isn’t exactly a stranger and that what we feel for each other is real, but now that the baby’s almost here and this is all getting even more real than before, I have to question if this is smart.
Just because it feels good to be with Michael doesn’t mean it’s a good decision for my future. Except…
He bends his head to kiss my neck. I can’t help but lean back and allow him more access to whatever parts of me he wants to kiss and touch. His hand reaches for my cheeks after he kisses me and the warmth spreads. Our baby will know this man’s love – but they will also know the truth about his family. Especially if that baby is a little boy.
Michael takes my hand and lifts me to my feet. Our warm embrace highlights how cold our garden really is. Michael’s body soothes me instantly and the warmth makes me hesitant to pull my body away from his. The muscular arms wrapped around me feel like home.
Even if he’s a killer – and the more time that passes, the more that explanation for everything makes sense.
“You’re cold,” Michael whispers. “How long have you been out here alone?”
“Not long.”
