The Wife Who Knew Too Much(21)

Enough. The Suburban hadn’t found me yet. Better get the hell out of here before it came back.

At home, I double-locked the door, pulled the blinds, and turned down the lights. I had to talk to Connor—to tell him about being followed and ask if he had any news about the blackmailer. But he’d said not to call. Crap. I didn’t know what to do. I started pacing. I was feeling sick. And strange, like my breasts hurt. Actually, they hurt a lot, come to think of it. With every step, the pressure of the bra made them ache. Maybe my period was coming.

Wait a minute, when did I last have it?

Crap. I was late.

I sank down onto the sofa and tried to remember the precautions we’d taken. I wasn’t on the pill. I had sex so rarely that it didn’t seem worth putting those hormones in my body on the off chance. Connor’d had condoms. We’d used them. But we’d had sex a lot, and maybe— Shit.

Okay, calm down. Stress could make you late, right? Lord knows, between Derek coming after me, the Suburban following me, and the crazy emotions caused by my affair with Connor, I was under enormous pressure. That could explain it.

Or else I was pregnant.

Nausea overwhelmed me. I ran to the bathroom and threw up. That could only mean one thing. I needed to take a pregnancy test to be sure. It was after midnight, and the only open pharmacy was a fifteen-minute drive over dark, empty roads. I hadn’t seen the Suburban since my stunt-driving maneuver on the highway an hour earlier. But it could still be out there. I hesitated, rinsing my mouth. When the cardboardy taste of the water in the Dixie cup made me gag, I knew this was urgent, and grabbed my keys. All the way to the pharmacy, I kept an eye on the rearview mirror, relieved when the hulking black SUV failed to materialize.

Back in my bathroom, I ripped open a foil packet, sat down on the toilet, and peed on the stick. One line in the window meant you weren’t pregnant.

Two lines.

I did the second test in the box, hoping against hope. Two lines again.

Fuck.

I lay down on my bed and stared at the ceiling, dry-eyed. For the first time in my life, I was pregnant. That should bring me joy. Instead, I was terrified. I knew my options just like every woman did. But from the second I saw the two lines, I knew I wanted this baby.

His baby. I wanted to have a baby with Connor.

What if he’d lied? What if he had no intention of leaving his wife—and her millions?

Then I’d have to raise this child alone.

I knew what it was like to live through an unstable childhood, with absent parents. I wanted the baby, but not with upheaval, and insecurity, and lack of resources. I wanted this baby to have two parents, and a good home. I wanted it with Connor by my side.

He’d told me not to call.

Screw that.

I dialed his phone. It went straight to voicemail. I left a message saying I needed to speak to him right away, that it was extremely urgent. Then I waited. An hour passed with no word from him. Where did he say he was, again? I Googled the time zones of the Mediterranean. It was two here now, which meant it was eight there. Eight A.M. He could goddamn well answer. Another hour passed. Nothing. I made some herbal tea to settle my stomach, but the flowery smell of it just made me throw up again. There was nothing left in my stomach, and no word from Connor. I texted him—Please please please call, emergency.

Morning came, and I was late for work. I stared at the computer screen at the insurance company, billing codes blurring before my eyes as I struggled to concentrate. Dizzy with hunger, yet constantly nauseous, I managed to choke down a few saltine crackers. At the restaurant, working the dinner shift, the intense food smells made me gag. I was running to the bathroom so often that Liz eventually came looking for me. She found me standing at the sink, pale and wan, wiping my lips with a paper towel. After looking under the doors of the stalls to make sure we were alone, she demanded to know what was going on.

“Are you sick?” she said, sniffing the air.

“I might be coming down with a stomach bug.”

Liz knew better. She’d borne four children, after all. She frowned at me skeptically. I couldn’t meet her eyes. I wasn’t ready to tell anyone—except this baby’s father, who refused to return my calls.

“Go home,” she said.

I didn’t protest.

The road from Lakeside, where the restaurant was located, to my apartment in Baldwin had been widened in the years since I’d traveled it by bike. Still just two lanes with strips of grass and then woods on either side, it was now spacious and smooth, with a forty-mile-an-hour speed limit instead of twenty-five. It was around six, still full light outside on this pretty summer evening. I was driving on autopilot, caught up in my problems and ignoring the rearview mirror, when the Suburban suddenly emerged from my blind spot, hurtling at me like a demon. I braked to let the SUV pass faster. Instead of passing me, it slowed and veered toward me. He was going to run me off the road. I floored the Toyota, managing to slip out of the way a split second before the SUV sideswiped me.

Now he was behind me. In what felt like slow-motion, I pressed the pedal to the floor, my eyes on the mirror. My poor old Toyota was not up to the task of outrunning the Suburban. Stunned, I stayed on the gas as he rammed me from behind. Metal was grinding, sparks flying. I leaned on the horn, screaming uselessly at him.

“Stop! Stop it! Asshole!”

Cars came at us from the opposite direction, and the Suburban fell back. But the minute they’d passed, he was on me again. I heard the low roar as the SUV came up beside me, its dark bulk looming until it filled the driver’s-side window. I strained to see my aggressor’s face, but the tints were too dark. Who would do this? Holding the wheel steady, I refused to cede the road. But my Toyota was no match for that behemoth. The SUV sideswiped me once, with a screech of metal. Then it hit me again, and the second impact sent me hurtling onto the grassy shoulder. Bouncing forward, bones rattling, I fought to keep control of the car, finally managing to skid to a stop just short of the tree line. The airbag didn’t deploy, thank God. Hyperventilating, I stumbled out onto the grass, my legs like rubber. The driver’s-side door was crumpled and scratched.