Page 31 of More Trouble
“Are you…?” I stopped myself. Of course, she wasn’t okay.
“I spoke to Patsy this afternoon.” Her voice shook and I rushed over to sit beside her. “They’ve been delayed getting a flight back to the US. They don’t know if they can get back in time for the funeral. Willa, I can’t do this on my own.”
Oh, Scar.” I gripped her hand. “Don’t panic. I’ll be here for you.”
I rubbed her back. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll whip us up something for dinner.”
“I can’t eat. I’m not hungry.”
While that may have been the case, I was playing bad cop now. She had to think of her health and the baby. Missing out on food wouldn’t be good for either of them.
“You will. Remember my famous tomato soup?”
The soup was my go-to meal for whenever either of us were feeling down. We’d gotten over bad test results, crappy haircuts and arguments with boys with my soup. It wasn’t going to fix this situation, but it was nutritious and healthy.
“You made it after Andre told you about the twins.” Scarlett remembered. “Funny how one of them turned up at the coffee shop.”
I didn’t want to think about it. The whole situation was crazy. “Mmm,” I answered, noncommittally. “Go and lie down.”
Reluctantly, Scarlett did as she was told. I sat there for a few minutes, listening to the silence, still trying to process everything.
Scarlett was gone all of three minutes before returning. “I can’t. I don’t know how to sleep in there without him.” She collapsed on the sofa again, resting her head in my lap instead.
And we sat like that for hours, me stroking her hair, listening to her breathing, neither of us speaking, until finally Scarlett drifted off to sleep.
We never did get the soup.
The following morning Andre was there waiting when I emerged from the bedroom.
“Willa, I can explain,” he began.
I held up my hand. “Today is about Scarlett. We can talk about this later. Maybe.” I quickly made myself some toast and a coffee while we waited for Scarlett.
The funeral director was a lovely man. He had an air of calmness and strength about him, which suited his line of work perfectly. He talked us through everything we needed to know, and we were headed back home in little over an hour.
“We were supposed to be picking a crib, not a casket,” Scarlett whimpered. She was sitting on one of the chairs at the table in the living room, partially slumped over.
“I can take it from here,” I assured Andre, standing in the center of the room, hands resting on my hips.
“I don’t doubt that, but I’m trying to help.”
“Oh, you’re trying all right.”
He studied Scarlett for a moment. “She doesn’t look right. She’s too pale.”
I followed his gaze. He was right. “Well, she’s mourning the loss of the man she thought she’d spend the rest of her life with.”
“I know, but there’s something else.” He moved over and leaned down beside her. “Scar? You okay?”
She nodded and stood, then wavered and fainted into Andre’s arms. When I glanced at her seat, there was blood. My body went cold. She couldn’t lose the baby.
“We need to get her to hospital,” I urged. “Now.”
Andre scooped Scarlett up into his arms and flew out of the door. He settled her into the back of his car, and we rushed to the hospital.
They whisked her away immediately, leaving us alone to wait, wonder and worry.
A nurse came over to check Scarlett in and her eyes narrowed as she looked at Andre. “Weren’t you here yesterday?”
