Woman on the Edge(3)
At the seventeen-week sonogram, his sweaty hand gripping her clammy one, the technician had announced, “It’s a girl!”
Greg kissed her cheek and whispered, “I’ll never let her date, you know.”
And Nicole closed her eyes, letting the news wash over her. Her life had come full circle. One girl lost, and one gained.
Now at almost forty weeks, the end of her pregnancy, the bean had grown into a baby whose sharp, little limbs jabbed Nicole daily, letting her mother know she was there. She was alive.
Nicole felt so much gratitude for Greg. For the kind of man and husband he was. For the way he had given her a family once again. She looked at the photo she’d snapped that morning. It was of the gorgeous creamy-white crib she’d dog-eared in the Petit Trésor catalog. Greg had surprised her by setting it up in the nursery the night before while she was sleeping. It must have taken him hours.
This morning, he looked ready to drop when he led her into the room. “Surprise!” he said.
“Oh, Greg, I love it. Thank you!” And she hugged him hard, hoping he’d be able to stay awake for his full workday. Yes, Breathe had made them rich, but Greg was successful in his own right, a stockbroker, not a kept man.
Her reverie was interrupted by Holly, who walked into her office. She placed Nicole’s mail in a neat pile next to her purple computer. “Tessa’s on her way.”
Nicole shook her thoughts from her personal life and all the changes that were about to happen. “Great. I reviewed the updated website, and we’ll need to make a few tweaks. The Chaos to Calm program looks too busy.” She thought for a second. “Can we get the e-team to streamline it to five yoga poses instead of seven? And check with sales for the latest orders on the fall line of track jackets. If they’re where they should be, Tessa can roll out the app with marketing to coincide with the release of the brochure.”
Holly nodded and handed her a white envelope. “I opened all your business mail but not this one. It looks personal, and I didn’t want to pry. Maybe it’s just a fan letter after the feature in the Tribune?”
Nicole’s pulse instantly sped up. She could hear her heart pounding in her chest. She saw the familiar shaky scrawl across the front of the white envelope that Holly held out to her. It bore her maiden name—Nicole Layton. It was postmarked Kenosha, Wisconsin. The place where her life had fallen apart nineteen years ago. Not a fan letter. Not in the least.
Nicole hadn’t wanted her pregnancy mentioned in the Chicago Tribune for precisely this reason. She didn’t want anyone from her past to know she was having a daughter. Lucinda insisted the article would be great PR: Nicole, a powerful, pregnant CEO who touted balance, would prove women really could have it all. The story was about the company’s visionary accomplishments: Breathe’s empowering and healing mindfulness workshops, its singular line of body products created “for women by women,” and the company ethos about women leading balanced lives. A portion of the proceeds of all Breathe products went to a foundation that provided support and counseling for orphaned teenagers—teens just like Nicole herself. Her parents were killed in a car accident during her senior year of high school, so she knew what it was like to feel alone, to have nothing and no one. What she didn’t know was that the newspaper would fail to respect her wishes, that it would mention her pregnancy and that she was expecting a girl.
The story had come out a week ago, and every day since, she wondered if another letter would arrive. And now it had.
She reached for the envelope and clutched it. “Thanks, Holly,” she said, managing to keep her voice on an even keel. She hoped the sudden sweat coating her skin wasn’t evident. “Can you get me the latest numbers from San Francisco for the Stream collection? The tankinis aren’t selling as well as they should. I need the numbers before my board meeting. This is my last one before my leave.”
“I can’t imagine a board meeting without you. How are we going to do this?”
“You’ll be fine. You’ve got Tessa and Lucinda, and the entire staff here. You won’t miss me at all.”
“Just promise you won’t Skype in wearing a Breathe nursing bra.”
Nicole laughed. “Not much chance of that,” she replied.
Holly left, closing Nicole’s office door behind her.
The false smile on Nicole’s face faded instantly. She debated ripping the envelope into little pieces. Not reading the words inside meant not knowing what threats lay ahead for her. But something in her made her want to know. Her throat tightened.
The first such letter she ever received was delivered the fall of her freshman year to her residence at Columbia College. It contained three typed sentences.
I know what you did. You were supposed to keep her safe. One day you will pay.
Razor-sharp fear had sliced at her chest, and her fingers had gone numb. One white envelope arrived every year after that, without fail, until five years ago, the letters suddenly stopped. She’d hoped Donna had finally healed from that horrific summer, like Nicole had tried to, and that she’d really stopped harassing her. But it seemed that wasn’t the case. Nicole’s hand shook as she held the envelope now. Donna, who’d draped herself over her baby like a protective cloak. Who’d fretted over her child’s every sneeze. Who’d repeatedly pop into little Amanda’s room as she slept, making sure the remote-control-operated butterfly mobile spinning above the crib still played its lullaby on a continuous loop. Donna was a mother who loved her baby girl as much as Nicole already loved her unborn child. But Donna had lost hers forever. How could any mother ever heal from that?