Unmissing(49)

That said, I don’t resent her.

None of this is her fault.

“Maybe when this is over, the two of you can be friends,” Delphine says. “Real friends. Once the dust settles, I mean. If you value your relationship with her, write her back. Tell her the baby is beautiful, that sort of thing. Leave any mention of Luca out of it.”

“And then what?” I envision the police storming her hospital room, leaving with her handcuffed husband, her newborn screaming, some detective filling her in. Premature sympathetic betrayal sours my mouth.

It’s probably best I ignore it. I can’t, in good faith, send her a sweet message knowing I’m on the verge of tearing down her entire world. Besides, I don’t think there’ll come a day when we’ll ever be friends, even if Luca’s behind bars. There’s too much baggage to unpack. Too many intricacies. We’ll look at each other and only see him. He’ll color every facet of that friendship. The constant undercurrent.

After this, I need to move on.

“I don’t know, angel.” Delphine rubs my back, and for the first time, I don’t recoil. Not even a little. “Wait right here, will you?”

Grabbing her shop keys off the counter, she disappears downstairs before returning a few minutes later with a small beaded necklace in hand.

“You’re going to think I’m silly,” she says with a half laugh. “And I’m sure you already do. I can tell you’re not into this stuff . . . but I’d feel better if you’d wear this.”

Seven polished, bead-sized stones strung on a gold chain rest in her palm, finished with a metal clasp.

“It’s for protection.” She massages the stones one by one between her thumb and forefinger. “Bloodstone, red jasper, black tourmaline, white howlite, tiger’s eye, moonstone, and smoky quartz. These are the big ones. Will you wear this?” Her pale brows raise. “For me?”

The rocks are small, the necklace unobtrusive enough.

I certainly can’t imagine it’d make anything worse . . .

“Sure.” I lift my hair, turn, and let her secure it. It’s lighter than I expected, the beads smooth and cool against my hot flesh. “Thank you.”

Her warm palms rest on my shoulders as she whispers words so slight I can’t hear them. A quiet prayer, perhaps. Something to soothe her own nerves.

“Please think about what I said . . . about going to the police.” She lets me go. “Sleep on it if you have to. I just . . . I have a terrible feeling.” When I turn back, I find her clutching at her stomach, her hands balled into tight fists. “You might think you have the upper hand in this situation, but it’s only because he’s letting you think that.”

My blood turns to ice with her words.





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE


MERRITT

The baby doesn’t sleep.

Sometime in the middle of the night, he decided to stop latching. It always starts with the same agonizing screams, his little face turning plum purple and bloodred. Sooner or later a nurse rushes in to save the day, insisting I send him to the nursery so I can rest and assuring me that a couple of Similacs here or there aren’t going to sabotage my breastfeeding efforts.

The instant they wheeled him away, I was flooded with a cocktail of guilt and relief with a pain garnish thanks to my incision.

I don’t remember Elsie being this fussy. We had our little health scare with her in the beginning, but after that she was content, as if she were simply happy to be here. Everett doesn’t seem to want to be here at all . . .

The clock above the TV reads 2:34 AM. Luca sleeps soundly on the foldout guest couch in the corner. At least I think he’s sleeping. It’s hard to know from over here, alone in my rock-hard hospital bed, too helpless to reach my water jug.

I texted Lydia a picture of the baby two days ago.

No response.

Yet another concern to add to the pile . . .

Tomorrow morning we’ll be discharged. The last few days have lacked an undercurrent of tenderness that should accompany these life moments. And Luca’s quietude has only magnified that. When Elsie was born, he called everyone he knew. He talked nonstop, manic almost. He sang to her. He came alive.

With Everett, he’s merely going through the motions.

He’s here, but he’s also a world away.

I need my husband back—the man he was before, the man I know he can be again.





CHAPTER THIRTY


LYDIA

The parking lot of sea bats is vacant Monday morning—save for the sous chef’s hybrid Honda, random Lexus, and Luca’s glossy Maserati.

I spent all weekend digesting Delphine’s advice, waxing and waning and changing my mind every five seconds. Some moments, I was overwhelmed with a sense of calm, certain that Delphine’s path was the right choice. Other times, that calm would be overridden with a burst of anger so hot my skin burned from the inside out. I promised myself I’d reach a decision by Sunday night—and now I’m here . . . but only because Luca still owes me two thousand from last Thursday and Friday, and I’m not about to let him skip out on that.

After he ponies up, I should have enough for an apartment deposit, some furniture, and a little something extra. It isn’t as much as I’d hoped to glean from the bastard, but after talking to Delphine over the weekend, I’ve decided to go to the police sooner than later. No sense in drawing this out or staying on his level any longer than necessary. All I’m doing is giving him more time to plan his escape.