The Killing Game(38)

“Just listen then. Soon as you’re better, head on down to the local sperm depository and pick yourself out a baby daddy. Pick one with really good genes. Or how about that guy you’ve been seeing? Luke?”

“No. It’s not . . . no . . .” She didn’t have the energy to explain.

“I’m just sayin’. He wouldn’t leave the hospital even when the staff told him to. He finally took a break about an hour ago to get some sleep, but I bet he’s back ASAP. He’s like . . . built for sex, and I hope you’ll tell me it’s just as good as it looks.”

“Stop,” she said weakly.

“I’m not saying right now, obviously. But later.”

“I’m not having sex with Luke,” she said with certainty.

“You should. I mean it.”

“Don’t make me smile, Trini. I feel too miserable.”

“Smiling is good. Smiling means you’re improving.”

“No, I’m too sad.” Her voice trailed off, small and loaded with pain.

“What can I do to help?” Trini asked in all seriousness.

“Nothing. Thanks. But nothing.”

Trini sighed. “Okay, what if I tell you about my relationship with Bobby? You don’t have to talk. You don’t even have to listen. Just try not to think too much.”

Andi closed her eyes. There was wisdom in that. Let Trini just talk. She could tune out. She needed some kind of distraction or she would be swallowed up by the dark. “Okay.”

“He first came to my Pilates class. Did I tell you that he’s not my type? I did, didn’t I? He looks more like Greg than Tim . . . you remember Tim? My last serious guy . . . relationship . . . whatever you want to call it, that I thought could turn into something more. Not that I necessarily want that, but you know what I mean. Tim had that tattoo that ran down the side of his neck? You told me you thought it looked like Pinocchio’s nose, but it was really a flute because he was a musician. Anyway, Bobby’s not like Tim at all. He’s very corporate, although in a nerdy way. Wears glasses and not cool ones, but I’m working on him. Hard to believe I fell for him, but I have. When you take away all the trappings of nerdom, he’s really sexy.”

Andi was drifting. The conversation came to her through a watery filter.

As if realizing it, Trini said, “Go ahead and fall back asleep. And relax. I’m just talking here . . . let’s see . . . Bobby and I haven’t had sex yet. We’re still kind of circling each other, y’know? I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this, but he wears a hairpiece because he’s going bald.”

Andi made a strangled sound.

“I know! I just know he’d look great if he shaved his head, but as I said, I gotta work on him. Time will tell. You gotta meet him and you’ll know what I’m talking about. . . .”

The next time Andi woke up it was night, and she felt like she was weighted down by an invisible blanket. Her chest hurt and she didn’t want to move. She kept hoping it was all a nightmare from which she would awaken.

She ran a protective hand over her abdomen. How many days had she known she was pregnant? Four? She wanted to bury her face in her pillow and make it all go away, but she sensed there were others in the room. She opened one eye and saw she was alone. The voices she’d heard were from people in the hall, just outside her door, talking softly.

“. . . Greg sure could get ’em pregnant. They just can’t hang on to the babies,” Emma was saying.

A man’s voice answered in a mumble and Andi caught part of it. “. . . lucky for us about Mimi and now this . . . Greg stuck his dick in way too many . . .”

And then Emma again, even softer, “Think she knows?”

“Nah.”

Carter, she realized dimly. Talking about Greg’s indiscretions. Of course she’d known about Mimi, but not that there had been many more. A sharp stab of pain. Surprising, even so many months after Greg’s death.

Or maybe it was just that she felt so low.

Their voices diminished as they moved off. Andi flung an arm over her eyes, willing herself back to sleep.

She awakened with a start to realize it was night. There was someone sitting in the only chair and her heart flipped over until she recognized her psychiatrist, Dr. Knapp.

“What are you doing here?” Andi asked.

“I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“How did you know?”

“Your sister-in-law called me.”

“Emma?”

“She said she was with you and called nine-one-one. How are you doing?”

Dr. Knapp was a tiny woman in her forties who leaned toward the bohemian look with long hair, flowing skirts, and dangling silver earrings. At her first appointment, Andi hadn’t been sure they would be a good match, but she’d come to trust the doctor implicitly. “I didn’t know Emma knew about you,” she murmured. Carter was the one who’d named her the “guru shrink.”

“You know about the baby, I take it,” Andi said.

“I heard you just found out. I’m so sorry, Andi.”

The doctor’s commiseration made Andi’s throat go hot, her nose burn with gathering tears. “I’m . . . disappointed.”

Dr. Knapp pulled her chair closer to Andi’s bed. “This is another big blow. You have a right.”