Last Girl Ghosted(109)

But I don’t need Dear Birdie—that wiser part of myself—to answer my question.

And then I tell my father that I am carrying your child, Adam. And how I know in my heart that this child will be well and good, and that she will have a safe place in this world.

One that I have created.

I pull the sonogram printout from my pocket and press it up to the glass. If he is unsettled by any of this, it doesn’t show. He accepts it all.

“What will you call her?” he asks.

“I’ll call her Emily, the girl who is in Robin’s grave.”

“That makes sense,” he says. “A rebirth.”

“That’s right.”

“The past is gone, little bird. Go forward, don’t look back.”

Funny. I think that’s exactly what Dear Birdie would say.



fifty-five


In the end, all we have is each other.

The drive home is long and hard, and I am exhausted when I return to the town house. The door swings open when I get to the top of the steps, and there’s Jax waiting with open arms. I fall into her, my best friend, and as of this week, my roommate. She’s smells of patchouli and lemongrass; her arms are soft and strong.

“You didn’t call,” she says. “You promised you’d call when you were on your way home.”

“I needed the time to process.”

“I tracked you.”

“I know.”

She’s leasing out her apartment and has moved into the town house. We’re not getting married, our long-standing joke, but she’s going to be my family, our family. She’s going to help me raise this baby. I am going to help her write her book. She’s going to be a regular guest on my Dear Birdie podcast. And sometimes she’s going to be Dear Birdie—a tougher, more kick-ass version of my Dear Birdie. She and Ben—are seeing each other, a lot. How is that going to work? We have no idea. One moment at a time.

I find Ben at the dining room table, going through the Dear Birdie letters for our podcast tomorrow. He rises to embrace me.

“Need to talk?” he asks. He has a way about him, something gentle and yet strong, quietly present, easy. He’s Jax’s opposite, but also her match, in every way.

“Not right now,” I say, squeezing him and releasing.

“Anytime.”

“Uh,” says Jax, lowering her voice to a whisper, “he’s in the kitchen. Were you expecting him? He brought groceries? And he just looked so—eager to be here? I couldn’t turn him away.”

Bailey Kirk. I was expecting him. Hoping to see him.

“I think he’s—cooking?” she says with a smile.

Something about that guy. I return her grin.

When I move back over toward her, she rests her hand on my belly. “How’s our girl?”

I put my hand on hers, our fingers entwine. “Good.” I’m talking about the baby and about myself. “Healthy. Whole.”

If my best friend thinks it’s strange that I want to have your child, she hasn’t said so. Her mother gave me the side-eye, but then she started stocking the freezer with all manner of soups and stews, lasagnas, casseroles.

Life wins.

Love wins.

Love and life always win.

In the kitchen, I find Bailey at the stove. I didn’t have him pegged as someone who could cook. But I didn’t have him pegged as someone who would stay on a case after he was fired, and come after me with Jones Cooper and Jax.

“What are you making?” I ask, seating myself at the kitchen island. My back is aching and I just want to go put on my pajamas and crawl into bed.

“Spicy white bean soup with pancetta.” The wafting scents of garlic, onion, olive oil fill the air.

“Sounds like heaven.”

“Heaven in a Dutch oven. It’s done. Just needs to simmer for a while.”

He wipes his hands on a dish towel and comes around to me.

“How was it?” he asks.

“Strange, sad,” I say, feeling the tug of sorrow. Love doesn’t always feel good. “But I’m glad I went. It was past time. I’ve been running from him for so long, from that night, from that place. Time to stand and hold my ground.”

Bailey and I have been dancing around each other since the night he found me. He stayed. Rode in the ambulance with me, was always there when I opened my eyes. Was in the room with Jax and I when the doctor told me I was pregnant. He helped us get back to the town house. He’s come for dinner, twice.

Every morning I get a text from him: Has the world ended yet?

Not yet, I answer.

That kiss, it’s on my mind. The feel of his arms, the sound of my name on his breath.

When he quit Turner and Ives, he and Jason decided to form a partnership and open their own agency. A nice combo of old-and new-school detective skills; I think they’ll learn a lot from each other.

He never questioned my decision to keep the baby either. The other day, he touched my hand when I walked him out to his car. We both drew back as if there was an electric shock. And I’ve been thinking about that touch ever since.

That boy’s in love, warned Jax.

Stop it, I told her.

What, are you blind, my friend?

Please. I’m damaged goods.

Jax got mad. I really got the riot act. Don’t you dare say that. Not ever. Truly. That’s so fucked on so many levels. You are who you are because of everything that made you and that’s beautiful. You’re a survivor.