Page 67 of Not a Strong Enough Word

Ryan

“Good news,” I call out as I enter my apartment laden with grocery bags. “The design team is mocking up a new cover, and they’re sending it over to us tomorrow morning to approve.”

After the cover debacle yesterday, I invited Scarlett over for dinner to make it up to her. Thinking it might be nice for her to get out of her apartment for a little while, I had told her where I leave my spare key, and she had texted me a few hours ago telling me she was headed to my place for a change of scenery.

I dump the bags onto the kitchen counter before I realize that the whole place is kind of dark. The shades are drawn, there aren’t any lights on, and it’s silent. I don’t even hear her telltale keyboard tapping from the bedroom.

That’s strange. Her car is parked outside, so I know she’s here.

“Hello?” I call, coming around the counter to peek in the bedroom to see if maybe she fell asleep or something. The bed is empty, but she’s sitting cross-legged on the chair, her hands in her lap, and her eyes fixed on a black computer screen.

My heart thuds in my chest. She’s so still. The rhythmic rising and falling of her chest is the only reason I know she’s not a statue. Casey’s warning rings through my consciousness, but I shake my head to dispel it. She seemed fine on the phone. There’s nothing that could have put her over the edge, as far as I know. The cover issue was inconvenient but not insurmountable, and she told me she didn’t have any difficult scenes coming up.

“Scarlett?” I ask cautiously from the doorway. “Is everything okay?”

She takes in a shaky breath, then lets it out through pursed lips. “No.”

In an instant, I’m on my knees in front of her, my hands resting comfortingly on her thighs just under the hem of her shorts. Now that I’m close to her, I can see her cheeks are shining with tears. “Beautiful, what’s wrong?”

Scarlett presses her eyes closed, her face still turned to the screen. Why won’t she look at me? What the hell is going on?

“There was a baby,” she says finally, not opening her eyes. “Not a baby. An embryo, probably. They’re called embryos for the first eight weeks. I looked that up because I was trying to feel better about it. I thought that if I didn’t call it a baby, it wouldn’t be as confusing for me, I guess. I don’t know. It felt like something one of my characters would have done, but it didn’t really work. How could I be upset about a cluster of cells? But I was, even though I didn’t want to be.”

She’s rambling, her eyes still pressed closed. Is she trying to work out a scene? Is she so lost in her words that she doesn’t know I’m here? That wouldn’t be unlike her. Maybe I misunderstood what this new book is about.

I rub her thighs with a little more pressure, trying to draw her out of whatever trance she’s in. “Scarlett, look at me.”

She furrows her brows and squeezes her eyes shut further. “I can’t.”

Okay, so she does know I’m here. I can work with that. “Why not, beautiful? Is this about your story?”

“No. It’s about me. Us? I’ve been alone with it for so long, I don’t even know anymore.”

My hands go still on her legs. I blink a few times, trying to get my brain to catch up to her words.

Alone with it for so long…

Baby… Embryo…

“You were pregnant?” I whisper, afraid that speaking it aloud will make it more true than it already is. My stomach drops as a pit of anger forms like dead weight in my belly. Is that what kept her away for all those years? “Whose?”

She finally looks at me, her blue eyes flying open, her frown intensifying in her own offense. “Yours.”

I jump to my feet and move away from her. Right away, I know it’s a mistake, but I can’t think. I can’t breathe. Space. I need space.

Running a hand through my hair, I pace a few steps, then stop. “When?” I manage to choke out.

“I miscarried in New York.” Unlike her earlier ramblings, she says those words plainly. They’re flat. Factual. As if she is familiar with these. She must be, if she’s lived with it for five years.

Realizing my hand is lodged painfully in my hair, I drop it to my side with an angry slap. “You went to New York pregnant, and you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know. I found out in New York when I realized my period was late, and then I wanted to tell you in person.”

There was a phone call. It comes rushing back to me, the memory of it weakening my knees enough that I sink to the edge of the bed.

I was barely able to contain my excitement. The ink wasn’t even dry on the draft of the contract yet. But the desire to see the look on her face when she saw it was stronger than my need to tell her. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you all day. I have some amazing news.

“Oh yeah? Well…I have news, too.” She sounded more nervous than excited, but that was okay. I was nervous, too.