Open House(40)

“Not yet,” he says. “Look, I’m sorry.” He runs a hand over his hair, and I can see how crystalline his eyes are, practically glowing in the dark. I think of how he was in bed, so sure of himself when we’d start taking off our clothes, like seducing me was part of an act. But then as the sex went on, he always lost himself in it. His hair would fall into his face, and he’d close his eyes like I wasn’t even there. It made me feel hollow, like I wanted to slip away, to sink into the sheets and sleep. I didn’t always feel that way, but it’d gotten way worse lately. Maybe I need to go back to that psychiatrist again. Or maybe I just need to break up with Brad.

Brad steps closer, and for a beat I think he’s going to kiss me. “You’re absolutely sure you didn’t tell her?” he asks, almost coyly. It’s so incredibly dark out here, but I can still make out a small gash above his eyebrow. I reach for it, but he grabs my wrist and stops my hand so quickly it makes me start.

“Ow! You’re hurting me.” His hand is still on my wrist, his grip too tight. “I didn’t tell her,” I say, just wanting him to let go of me. I’m relieved when my phone vibrates. I wrench my hand free and pull my phone from my pocket to see that it’s my dad calling. All I can think about is how much I wish I were with my parents right now. “I have to take this.”

“No you don’t,” Brad says.

“Now you’re acting like my teacher, and I’m not into that,” I say. “Maybe some of your other students are.”

His face twists with what might be genuine hurt, but it’s too hard to tell, the night is too black around us. “There aren’t other students,” he says as my phone keeps buzzing. “There’s only you. And you’re not my student.”

“Only me? Really?” I ask, feigning surprise. “You mean only Priya and me?”

“You know what I mean,” he says through a tight jaw.

I shrug, over this. “I’m pregnant,” I blurt.

He blinks, considering me. “No,” he says, slowly shaking his head. “No way.”

“You’re a doctor, so you understand how science works, right?” I ask, because I’m really getting sick of people and their disbelief today. Sex equals baby, even sometimes with a condom, and definitely without one, which was the incredibly stupid decision made by Noah and me.

“I also understand how birth control works,” Brad says. “And we always used it—I always used it.”

I should just say the baby is Noah’s, but I have to admit that a part of me is enjoying the sweat that’s breaking out on Brad’s forehead, glistening in the moonlight now that the clouds have passed. He’s always been slightly smug, like he knows so much more than me. It was an undercurrent in all our interactions, but it never bothered me enough to stop sleeping with him. But now I realize the power I hold over an older, almost-married man, and it makes me heady.

“Like I said, I’m pregnant,” I say. My phone stops vibrating, and I put it back into my pocket, my hand bumping against the pregnancy test I stashed there, and then I do something I didn’t plan to. I take out the test. I didn’t bring it to show to anyone tonight; I just didn’t want to leave it in my room where anyone could find it.

Brad grabs the test from my hand. He takes out his phone and uses the flashlight to read the word pregnant. His brow folds, and his face scares me. I’m about to tell him it isn’t his when my dad calls again. “Listen,” I say to Brad, wanting this to be over.

He looks up from the pregnancy test. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “You listen to me, Emma.” He goes to pocket my test, but I snatch it back.

“That’s mine,” I say, and he doesn’t argue. He quickly moves toward me, his hands reaching for my neck. I try to back away, but he’s too fast. I stumble, falling to the ground, and he does, too. He crashes on top of me, and the wind gets knocked out of my chest. The baby’s not yours, I try to say, but I can’t get my breath back to push out the words. Brad’s hovering over me now, and I see fear glinting in his eyes as he stands and pulls me into the brush. I kick and scratch at him, still trying to catch my breath.

What have I done?





THIRTY-TWO

Haley

What have you done, Dad?” Haley asked. He was still sitting on Emma’s bed, perched forward, his eyes filled with tears.

“You’ll only hurt her,” Liv said softly.

“Please don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Haley said, inching away from her mom. She dropped Emma’s stuffed cat and steeled herself. “Dad?” she asked again.

A shiver passed over him—Haley could see it in the way his shoulders and arms twitched. The physical grief Emma provoked in all of them was a beast. Liv hid it the best, crying every so often and then letting it pass. But Haley could tell that for her dad, the grief got trapped inside his body just like it did for her. He might not tap or perform the same OCD rituals, but Emma was there inside all of them.

Her dad finally spoke. “Emma called me on the night she disappeared,” he started, his words slow at first. “She called me because she was scared. I could hear it in her voice when I finally listened to her voice mail.”

“Okay, Tim, that’s enough,” Liv protested. “It’s off your chest now.”