Page 38 of Hotshot Mogul

“I’ll be just outside.” I shut the outer screened door and sat on a bench out of their sight.

“I’m pregnant, Bruce, three months along,” I heard Beth say.

My life force ran cold.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Bruce’s tone was sharp as knives. “And how is that possible? I used a condom every time and you said you were taking the shot.”

Tears slipped down my cheeks.

“And three months ago, I was in Chicago,” Beth said. “Remember, I came in on the train for St. Patrick’s Day, to see the river dyed green. We got a room at the Drake, or I did. You didn’t stay over.”

“I want a paternity test. Dammit, Beth. We weren’t exclusive. We were not in a relationship. We were clear on that.”

“We were clear on that. Shit happens. No, I don’t mean it that way. Our baby is not… Bruce, the thing is, this is a high-risk pregnancy. My cervix…I need to be on bedrest. I should be in bed right now, so I don’t miscarry, lose the baby. I need help.”

I doubled over. My chest hurt. The pain at losing our child, never far from me in this stupid human body, coursed through me, as if I’d lost our baby yesterday.

I had to go. I fumbled in my bag for the key to the scooter, stumbled toward it in the driveway, and straddled it.

“Anneliese?” As Bruce opened the door; I jammed the key in the starter and turned it. I blinked hard to clear my vision. He ran toward me. I sped past him.

Callie—should I go to her? No. Bruce would follow, somehow. I drove toward the glade. The vivid blue sky, the same shade as Bruce’s eyes, was wrong today. There should be fierce winds and pounding rain twisting in the wind.

I turned toward the path to my beloved tree. The sun climbed higher. The scooter sputtered. I left it and fled on foot, hoping Callie would understand. A vehicle approached me. It was Callie and Rufus.

I stopped, turned my face into the blazing sun, inhaling the scent of my sister pines, uncertain if I would stay in my human body or retreat. Retreat? Is that how I thought of returning now, as retreat?

Callie rushed toward me. “Sweetie, what’s wrong? You look like someone died.”

My words rushed out like a cloudburst. “Bruce—and Beth. They made a baby. And she must have bedrest, so she doesn’t lose it.”

“So she says.” Callie spoke so softly I had to strain to hear her.

“She needs Bruce’s help. I can’t be here, be part of that, if being with Bruce will cause her distress, cause her to lose the baby.”

Rufus was beside us, shaking his head. “Damn hotshot. That’s tough, kiddo.”

Callie hugged me hard, then wiped my tears with a scratchy tissue. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

“I have until midday to decide.”

Callie pointed to the stand of pine. “Oooh!” Fairies, the kind ones, wearing snow white, fluffy gowns and wreaths of summer flowers in their long, flowing hair, danced to celebrate summer solstice. It was almost time.

“What in Sam Hill are you pointing at?” Rufus asked, bewildered. Grenmann and Isolde came toward us.

“Hey Ruf,” Callie said, “could you go back and pick up the scooter? The cell reception is better there. You could check on the nature conservancy stuff we talked about earlier.”

He nodded to Isolde and Grenmann, then turned his puzzled gaze back to Callie. “What?” he said, so softly she could barely hear Callie shook her head. “I know, you’ll explain all this later.”

After he left us, Callie greeted Grenmann. Isolde embraced me. I wept as I had in my grief over Nigan’s death and the loss of our baby, until Callie said, “I have an idea.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Bruce

A year later

I ran my fingers over the craggy, soft bark of the massive oak. I couldn’t cut it down in case Anneliese, or any of what happened, or what she told me, was real.

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