Having already brewed a half-strength cappuccino for herself, she'd just finished making an espresso for Abe when he walked in. From the fresh soap scent of him, he'd had a quick shower before he changed into crisp blue jeans and a black T-shirt with a V-neck. The tee pulled across his chest, hugged his biceps.
And her stomach, it wanted to flip again.
"Thanks." He picked up the espresso and threw it down his throat like the liquid wasn't even hot.
He'd always done that--and she'd always winced, just like now.
Looking away, she took more careful sips of her coffee while nerves began to twist and knot in her gut. "You want another one?" Abe had always loved espresso.
"I can do it." He moved to the machine, got it started before turning to her. "You look good in that dress."
Sarah could feel color rising to her cheeks, hoped her skin tone hid it. "Um, thanks." She'd learned how to dress herself as a businesswoman by looking up articles online. Before that, she'd been all short, ass-hugging skirts and glittery tops, the perfect rock-star groupie. Not that there was anything wrong with that look--Sarah still liked to pull out her glittery tops now and then--but it had never quite been her.
"I guess I finally found my style," she added when Abe didn't say anything further, his eyes lingering on her curves with open appreciation.
Her nipples ached.
Frustrated with herself and her susceptibility to this rock star who'd never loved her, she put her cup on the black marble of the freestanding counter in the center of the kitchen. "We might have a problem."
Abe raised an eyebrow in a silent question as he leaned back against the counter opposite where she stood, his hands braced behind him.
"I missed my period."
CHAPTER 17
HER WORDS FELL LIKE a bomb into the silence of the kitchen. Suddenly the ticking clock on the wall was all she could hear, each movement of the second hand a jagged, bright sound that scraped across her already raw nerves.
"It's probably nothing. I'm probably just late... only, I'm never late," she said past the slightly sick feeling in her gut. Having this conversation with Abe, it was a nightmare repeating itself. "I wasn't lying about being on the pill. I did everything right this time!" She'd made sure to take the pill like clockwork, having no intention of ever again falling pregnant. Not after Aaron. "But I was on the final day of some antibiotics for--"
"Sarah." Abe strode forward to grip her gently on her upper arms. "I know you didn't lie about being on the pill."
"Right, okay." She nodded her head like a marionette. "I just didn't want you to think I'd been trying to trap you or anything." Her body began to shake. "I can't do it, Abe. I can't be pregnant again. I can't." She'd lost two babies already, her womb an apparently hostile place.
"Hey, hey." Abe drew her close, but she couldn't allow herself to rely on him. Not when he'd thrown her away so easily. Not when he'd forgotten her in a heartbeat.
Wrenching back, she touched a trembling hand to her face. "It might just be stress-related." Sarah hoped that was it. "But I can't face going to the doctor alone." Yet instead of calling one of her friends for the needed moral support, she'd come straight to Abe.
She couldn't explain why except that her head had started spinning when she'd realized she was late enough for it to matter, and the spinning hadn't stopped since. Her brain clearly wasn't firing on all cylinders. "What was I thinking? You can't come with me. If the media--"
"Fuck the media." Abe's harsh tone sliced through the air. "I want to be there for you."
Sarah took a trembling breath, glanced at that ticking clock. Abe's mother had given it to them as an anniversary present, and Sarah had always loved it. Simple wooden hands on a carved background of a darker wood polished to a shine, it had been handmade by an artist who worked with the natural grain and patterns of his chosen medium.
"Sarah, let me do this."
Regardless of her panic at the idea of being hounded by the paparazzi, Sarah knew Abe deserved to learn the truth alongside her. She cleared her throat, said, "The appointment's in thirty minutes."
ABE TURNED ON THE RADIO TO COVER the silence in the SUV as he drove Sarah to a doctor in the suburbs. Whatever her original reasoning for choosing that doc, a man she'd told Abe was her normal GP, the unintended result was that the media was unlikely to spring them. Good. Because he was not having anyone upset Sarah today.
His heart boomed like David's drums.
The idea of a kid...
Emotions crashed through him: joy, fear, grief, excitement, sheer terror... and shame.
He squeezed the steering wheel. "I'm sorry about our first time around." Sarah's miscarriage had been early on in the pregnancy, but she'd known, been devastated. It hadn't felt as real to him--maybe because he'd already been going down the rabbit hole, but still, he'd done okay then. He'd held her, listened to her talk out her grief, made sure she ate. But none of that mattered after the ugly words he'd flung at her the night he drove her away.
How the fuck did a man make up for that?
"It's fine." Sarah smoothed her hands over the skirt of her dress, her voice quiet. "Let's just get through this."
Abe wanted to reach out, touch her, convince her she never had to worry he'd repeat his drug-fueled behavior. "Whatever happens, I'll be there." Stopping at a light, he turned and spoke to her profile. "I won't cut and run. Not now, not ever."
Another jerky nod, her hands twisting on the strap of her handbag. "Light's green."
He drove on. The two of them didn't speak again until he'd brought the car to a halt in the small underground garage of the building where the doctor had his office. "Which floor?"
"Third."
He put his hand on her lower back as they got into the elevator, kept it there as they stepped out. Their luck held. Miracle of miracles, there was no one else in the waiting room.
Smiling, the white-haired receptionist said, "You're in luck, Sarah. We've had two cancellations in a row, so you don't have to wait. The nurse will be right out to fetch you." A pause, her eyes on her computer screen. "Oh, wait, I see the doctor said for you to see him directly--he wanted to check up on that flu of yours. I'll have the nurse show you through."
"How did you end up with a country doctor in LA?" Abe murmured to Sarah as they waited for the nurse, his hope to make Sarah smile.
That smile was shaky. "Dr. Snyder is a country doctor--and the receptionist is his wife," Sarah whispered. "They only relocated to LA because their daughter and grandkids are here. I'm going to miss them both when he retires like he's threatening to do."
"Does she always call him 'the doctor'?"
Sarah nodded. "She's very proud of him."
Then the nurse, a short no-nonsense woman with a warm smile, was there.
Once inside the doctor's office, Sarah took a seat in the chair nearest a fifty-something male who sported a bushy black mustache and kind brown eyes above the white of his medical coat, his pale skin dotted with freckles.
Abe shut the door before taking a seat in the chair next to her.
"Sarah." The doctor's eyes scanned Sarah's record on the computer. "How's that flu you couldn't shake off? Any problems?" He put on his stethoscope and pressed one end to Sarah's chest.
"I'm--"
"Breathe deep," the doctor interrupted. "Now out." He made her do that several times before nodding. "Excellent. All clear."
Sarah's smile was tight. "The antibiotics took care of the chest infection in the first couple of days, but I finished the whole course like you said."
"Good, good." The doctor typed a note into her medical file using one finger on each hand, pecking at the keys as fast as a bird hunting for food. "So you just came in for the follow-up?"
Sarah swallowed, her hands gripping at her purse. Abe couldn't stand to see her so distressed. Putting one hand over hers, he met the doctor's eyes. "She thinks the antibiotics messed with the pill and she might be pregnant."
"The ones I gav
e you shouldn't have counteracted the pill unless... Did you throw up at any point? That could've had an impact on the effectiveness of the pill."
"Yes." Sarah swallowed, her fingers curling over the side of Abe's hand. "It was the night before the monthly anniversary of Aaron's death. I just couldn't keep anything down."
"Ah." The doctor looked gently at Sarah, and in his expression, Abe saw a deep understanding of Sarah's loss, compassion for the little baby boy who had never breathed. And he realized the kindhearted man had asked to speak to Sarah directly not simply because he'd wanted to check she was over the flu: Dr. Snyder was a rare being--a true healer, one who cared about his patients' mental as well as physical well-being.
"I'm guessing you want to confirm as soon as possible?" At Sarah's nod, Dr. Snyder said, "Home pregnancy tests are surprisingly sensitive, but if you want absolute certainty, I'd recommend a blood test."
Sarah nodded. "The blood test. I want to know beyond any doubt."
"Our blood test results usually come back overnight, but I can put a rush on it." The older man was already pulling up the form on his computer. "It probably won't be covered by your insurance."
"That's fine," Abe said.
Sarah was in no shape to handle any kind of a delay.
Squeezing her hand again when she parted her lips as if to disagree with his implicit offer to pay, he continued to speak. "Are we talking a couple of hours, half a day?" he asked Dr. Snyder.
"I'll draw the blood myself, send it by rush courier to the laboratory. You should have the results this afternoon."
SARAH WAS BACK IN ABE'S SUV WITHIN fifteen minutes of the start of the consultation, a tiny square bandage in the crook of her arm where Dr. Snyder had taken the blood sample. She felt as if she were living in a dream world, everything surreal. "I have a meeting scheduled for later today."
"Can you postpone?" Abe pulled out of the underground garage and into the searing sunshine of an LA day.
Sliding on her sunglasses, Sarah found her phone, made the call, still feeling oddly distant. "I should've kept it," she said after hanging up. "I don't know what I'm going to do while we wait to hear back from Dr. Snyder."
Abe placed one big hand on her leg, the touch one of comfort rather than sexual. She knew she should push him away, but she closed her hand over the warmth of his. She needed comfort today, needed to hang on to something or someone lest she shatter.
"We could watch a movie," Abe suggested.
"No, I need to do something or I'll lose my mind." She rubbed her face. "I'm going to clean my house from top to bottom." It would keep her hands and legs busy, hopefully distract her brain.
"I'll help."
"There's no need." She had to grit her teeth to make herself break the connection between them, gently nudging his hand back to his side of the vehicle. "I'll call soon as the doctor gets in touch."
"I'll go nuts waiting on my own." Abe shot her a look that hid none of his own tension, and she remembered there were two of them in this.
"And," he added, "I bet you never shift all the furniture to clean underneath because some of it's too heavy."
The chambers of her heart seemed to fill with nails, sharp and painful, at the same time that stubborn flickers of hope whispered awake inside her. She tried to shove them aside, the pain and the hope both. "I'll make you vacuum."
"I can take it."
Sarah wasn't sure she could.
Having Abe home, the two of them doing a domestic chore together, had been one of her stupid daydreams during their marriage. Instead of dreaming about going to big, glamorous events as his date or experiencing exotic vacations by his side, she'd dreamed small, domestic dreams.
And today, when she was at her most vulnerable, her most defenseless, one of those dreams was going to come true.
CHAPTER 18
TWO HOURS LATER, Abe felt like he'd moved every piece of furniture in Sarah's home. His arms ached, but the ache was a glorious one. In spite of her threat, she hadn't actually made him vacuum, but she had made him pick up and individually dust each of her books as well as her bookshelves. Sarah had a lot of bookshelves.
She, meanwhile, had changed into shorts and a tee and vacuumed with a vengeance.
When he saw her getting ready to spray some cleaning liquid on her already squeaky clean bathroom tiles, he grabbed the bottle. "Wait a minute. This type of stuff has all kinds of chemicals in it." He scowled at the laundry list of impossible-to-pronounce ingredients. "I don't think you should use this. Just in case."
Leaning slightly against him, Sarah looked down at the bottle with a worried eye. "Do you really think so?"
"Go. I'll do it."
When her face dropped, his wife obviously lost with nothing to occupy her, he said, "How about you make those egg-and-spinach things for lunch? I've got a craving for them."
Her eyes lit up. "I think I have everything I need to whip up a batch."
REFUSING TO NEUROTICALLY CHECK THE PHONE in her pocket for missed calls, Sarah concentrated on cooking the frittatas. They weren't difficult to make, but she took precise care with every one of the steps, from blanching the spinach, to setting the oven to exactly the right temperature.
When Abe came into the kitchen a half hour later, having stowed the cleaning supplies and washed up, she pointed to the table where she'd just put a jug of fresh lemonade and a glass. "Thanks for doing that."
Abe shrugged and poured himself a glass of the cold, refreshing drink. "It was pretty easy since you're so hyperclean anyway."
Sarah knew she was a bit OCD on the cleaning front, but when you'd spent time on the streets, cleanliness took on a whole new importance. At least she'd channeled her tendencies into a successful business. "What time is it?" It just slipped out.
"Just past noon." Putting down his glass after finishing his lemonade in one go, Abe hummed a tune. "Tell me what you think of this."
Butterflies erupted inside her at the slow, bluesy sound of his voice. Abe rarely sang on Schoolboy Choir albums, but she'd always loved listening to him when he mucked around at home. The sound sank into her bones, the lyrics wrapping around her, a man speaking of dreams that shatter under the weight of harsh reality.
"It's sad," she said after he finished. "But... it gets you right here." She touched her fingers to her heart. "Did you write it?"
Abe shook his head. "David--in his pre-Thea period, when he thought he'd never have a shot with her. He and the others want me to be lead vocals on it."
A smile took over Sarah's face, her obsession with the phone pushed aside for the moment. "That's wonderful."
"There's a reason Fox is lead singer," Abe pointed out. "The man has serious vocal range."
"Yes, but Fox's voice wouldn't work for this song." Sarah could see exactly why his bandmates wanted Abe to take lead vocals. "You should do it."
Abe tapped his finger on her kitchen table. "I'll think about it." A quick flash of white teeth. "I don't want to become a showboat like Fox and Noah."
Laughing at the old joke, she turned off the oven timer when it buzzed, then pulled out the tray with the frittatas. Abe helped her throw together a green salad, then the two of them sat down to lunch. Sarah tried to eat, she really did, but her stomach wasn't in the mood to cooperate.
Abe's dark eyes dropped to where she rubbed at her tummy. "You think it might be--"
Sarah interrupted before he could finish his question. "Just nerves." She picked up her phone, stared at its mockingly silent face. "I'm going to take a shower."
Abe didn't attempt to stop her, and she spent twenty minutes in the shower, another forty minutes drying her hair and putting on makeup, before pulling on tailored black shorts and a short-sleeved top in deep orange, a thin gold chain around her neck her only ornamentation. When she padded to the living room on bare feet, she found Abe sitting on the sofa with his feet up, Flossie beside him.
The two of them were engrossed in a documentary about penguins.
And her heart
, it went all mushy at the cozy sight she would've given anything to witness during their marriage. Fighting the soft, squishy feeling, she left them to it and walked into the kitchen with the vague idea of baking something.
The phone rang.
Sarah had it in her hand with no knowledge of having pulled it out of her pocket, but she couldn't make herself answer it, though Dr. Snyder's name flashed on the home screen. Abe was suddenly beside her, his arm strong and warm around her waist.
He took the phone from her unresisting hand, put it on speaker, said, "Doc, we're both here."
"Sarah?" Dr. Snyder said in his slightly gravelly tone. "I need your permission to share your medical results with Abe."
"Yes," she whispered, then coughed and answered more clearly. "I'm here, Dr. Snyder. Please tell us both."
"There's no doubt--you're pregnant."
Sarah's knees buckled. Only Abe's quick response, the arm he had around her waist locking tight, stopped her from crumpling to the floor. She was barely aware of him thanking the doctor and promising to get back in touch; the noise inside her head was a swarm of angry bees.
Shivering, stunned, she only snapped back to herself when Abe swung her up into his arms. "Abe, I--"
"I've got you." His grip tightened.
Sarah hadn't been afraid he'd drop her. Abe carried her like she weighed nothing, and she wasn't a small woman. She'd been about to say that she was better, could walk. But seeing the hard line of his jaw, feeling the rigid strain of his body as it moved against her, she kept her silence until they reached the sofa and he sat down with her in his lap.
Scrambling off to curl up at the other end, her arms around her knees, she forced herself to ask, "Are you angry?"
"What?" His eyebrows drew together over his eyes, his body angled toward her. "No, of course I'm not angry. I'm worried--about you."
"Oh." She swallowed, tried a wobbly smile. "Can't blame you when I nearly pulled a Scarlett O'Hara impression."
Abe stretched out one arm on the back of the sofa. "So." His tone said he wasn't about to be distracted. "We're having a kid together."
Sarah's hand crept over her abdomen, her terror as brilliant as the sudden burst of love in her heart. "I'm no good at keeping babies alive, Abe." Hot and wet, the tears locked up in her throat began to fall. "They die inside me."