Page 62 of The Surrogate Mother
“Well, I… I just thought…” His face turns bright red as he stammers out the words. “I thought maybe it was something with the baby…”
“No, Monica’s fine,” I snap at him. “The baby’s fine. But I…”
His brow creases, looking down at me. “What?”
“I… I got fired!” I sob.
He pulls me close to him, even though I’m ruining his dress shirt with my tears and snot. He doesn’t seem to mind. He holds me until my shoulders stop shaking.
“That Denise is unbelievable,” he says. “You need to fight this. Take them to court for wrongful termination. What was the bullshit reason they gave for firing you?”
I pull away from him, wiping my eyes. “My drug test came back positive for methamphetamine.”
Sam’s mouth falls open. He drops his arm from my shoulder and takes a step back. “What?”
“Denise told me this morning,” I say. “They did this urine drug test yesterday and apparently it was positive for meth.”
He takes another step back, shaking his head. “You’re not serious.”
Oh my God, does he think I was actually doing meth? He can’t possibly. “It’s a false positive, Sam. I’m not doing meth!”
But he doesn’t say anything. He just keeps staring at me.
“Sam!” My heart is pounding. “You don’t really think I’m a meth addict, do you?”
“No…” He squints at me through his glasses. “But… you have to admit, it does explain a lot of your behavior lately. The way you’re up pacing every night. The paranoia.”
“Yes, but the insomnia is from stress.” I frown at him. “And I’m not paranoid.”
“You’re definitely paranoid.”
“No, I’m not!”
“Abby.” He shakes his head at me again. “You went on a long rant last night because you were trying to get through to Monica’s roommate on the phone and couldn’t. You thought something terrible was going on.”
“You don’t think that’s at all suspicious?”
“No, I don’t! And you can’t seem to keep track of any of your meetings. You mixed up the times for Monica’s appointments. Plus you’re constantly talking about how you think Monica is up to something…”
“She almost got me fired!”
“No.” He takes another step back. “You gotyourselffired.”
My stomach sinks. “Sam, I swear to you: I’m not taking meth.”
He doesn’t say anything.
“Please.” The tears spring to my eyes again. “You’ve got to believe me. You’re my husband. Ifyoudon’t believe me, then…”
Sam blinks a few times. “I… I’ve got to get to work, Abby.”
“Do you believe me?”
He lets out a long sigh. “Yeah. I guess so.”
I try to reach for him again, but he jerks away. It’s obvious that in spite of what he says, he doesn’t really believe me. My own husband thinks I’m a meth addict.
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