Page 81 of Method for Matrimony

“I’ll be back to check on her, and we’ll keep her overnight for observation, but after that, it’s likely we’ll be discharging her.”

“Can I see her?” I half yelled. My voice was hoarse and sounded feral. That’s how I felt. Like a barely restrained animal who had once been domesticated but never fully tamed.

She nodded.

Rowan clapped my shoulder. “I’ll be waiting for Nora. She’s on her way. So is Calliope. You go to your wife.”

You didn’t have to tell me twice.

fifteen

Gabbie and Evelyn

fiona

I rememberedthe crash pretty vividly. I thought people’s brains were meant to protect them from the memory of trauma. Or maybe that shit only happened in the movies. Hollywood didn’t want to depict the reality because it would scare the shit out of people. And not in a good way, like with a guy in a hockey mask or a weird clown on a tricycle. No, reality scared them in a real way. That didn’t sell tickets. Better to leave it a nice surprise when a person was in a horrific car crash and itwasn’ta blur.

There was the shock and surprise at seeing a car veer into the lane, a second of disbelief that this was actually happening to you, and then there were the instinctual moves you made—the slamming of the brakes, the wrenching of the steering wheel, the stark realization that impact was coming.

My hands had left the steering wheel then, knowing there was nothing I could do but try to protect my child. This miracle baby who I finally let myself believe was going to exist.

Metal crushed against metal, the sounds grating in my ears as I shook in the car like I was on a roller coaster. My mouth tasted of copper as my teeth gnashed into my tongue and my body struggled against the seat belt. Then came the realization that not only was I going to die, but my baby was going to as well, because my reaction time was bullshit these days, and I’d been too busy thinking about what flavor ice cream I was going to eat when I got home instead of paying attention to the road.

My life didn’t flash before my eyes—there were no flashes of all the good, all the bad, all the people I was going to miss. No, I didn’t get a break from the terror and the wrenching of the car and the fucking fury that this was happening. Then my head slammed forward and I didn’t feel much of anything.

For a handful of minutes, at least.

I did not wake up in the hospital—again, another bullshit Hollywood depiction that was so wrong. I woke up in my smashed car, with the airbag half suffocating me. My body might’ve been screaming in pain, but I didn’t feel anything other than cold, numb panic. First, because I couldn’t fucking breathe, and second, because I’d just been in what seemed to be a pretty bad fucking car accident while five months pregnant.

People had arrived quickly. We were inside Jupiter proper, outside Main Street, where the speed limit was barely thirty, and out toward the entrance to the highway, where you could go slightly faster. Even though it was a crisp Spring day, people were still out for walks, tending to their gardens.

It was bystanders first, then paramedics. Some people I recognized, all of whom were in varying states of panic. Which only made everything worse.

Until Frank turned up. My old landlord and favorite customer.

“Get outta the fuckin’ way,” he grumbled at one of the moms who had book club meetings at the bakery once a week. She’d been crying and babbling into the phone.

He literally pushed her out of the fucking way, and she stumbled a couple of feet before righting herself. I wanted to smile. If I hadn’t been half trapped in my ruined car with who knew how many injuries, with a baby inside me who was most certainly dead.

His wrinkled gaze flickered over me, and it didn’t pinch in worry or horror as the mom’s had. I could only imagine how I looked. My blood had been warm and running down my face, but now that the flow had stopped, it was cold and crusty. But it was safe to assume there was a lot of it.

“You’re in a bit of a pickle, aren’t you?” Frank said, sighing like I had a flat tire and no jack.

“You could say that,” I wheezed. My hands were still on my stomach. “I’m pregnant,” I rasped. Tears stung my eyes, and panic crawled at my throat.

Again, his expression didn’t change. It was strong, resolute. He nodded once. “Figured it. You were a delightful shade of green for about three months, and then you were eating everything in sight containing sugar whenever I saw you.” He reached in to gently tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Which, in that bakery, was a fuckload of stuff,” he added. “My money is on a girl. My wife had three of them, and every damn time, she was sick as a dog for the first trimester and survived on gummy bears, ice cream, and chocolate for the rest.”

I blinked at him, unable to fathom how we were talking about gummy bears while I was still strapped in my ruined car.

“Girls tend to give their mothers a hard time, starting from the womb, then the teenage years,” he joked. “They’re tough cookies.” His gaze went to my stomach again. “I think you know better than anyone, honey, that girls are always tougher than we’ll ever be, even when we think they’re at their most fragile.”

I let out a hysterical sob. “Let’s hope so.”

“I know so, darlin’. How about you tell me about all the times you gave your mother hell so we’ve got an idea of what you’re in for with this one.” He nodded to my stomach.

It seemed too ridiculous to recount it now, but what else was I going to do?

“Well, once, I was at this concert, and to get backstage, I…”

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