The Wife Who Knew Too Much(49)
“Does he know about the lawsuit?”
“Everybody knows. It’s been all over the news. He offered to hook me up with his team of lawyers. He says they’re real killers. We need to get aggressive. Fight back. Like, how do we even know this nutjob Is Nina’s sister? Hank knew Nina for thirty years, and never met her. We have to discredit her claim any way we can.”
“Could that really work?”
“It’s worth a try. We’re not going down without a fight. You keep a low profile, like I said. Don’t leave Windswept unless you have to. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“Hey, I’ve been missing you all day like crazy. Do you miss me?”
“Mmm, so much.”
As we sweet-talked, one thing led to another, and before I knew it, we were having phone sex. It made me feel close to him across the miles, and by the time we hung up, I wasn’t as afraid. I’d forgotten to ask him about changing rooms. But I didn’t feel the need to quite so urgently anymore. That portrait was only paint on canvas. Connor loved me. I lived here now, and Nina was gone.
* * *
For the rest of that week, I did my best to settle into Windswept on my own. The weather was chilly and bright, and I took long walks on the beach every day. Nobody stopped me. Nobody cared where I went. In my new life, I had no responsibilities, no shifts to miss, no hours that I needed to log. And I was grateful. My life had been a terrible grind, almost unbearable through the first trimester. My energy returned now that the morning sickness was gone, and I walked for miles, feeling at home in my body for the first time in months, mesmerized by the ocean. The waves bubbled and churned on the cold sand, every color of blue and green and gray and silver. Gulls reeled overhead. Geese were beginning to fly south. There were plovers on the beach, and crabs, different kinds of seaweed, shells. The wind smelled fresh and briny. When I came back indoors, my nose would run in the warmth, and I’d make my way to the library, with its elegant walnut paneling and plushly upholstered sofas and chairs. I’d mock-salute the Warhol of Edward Levitt, fall into a chair, press a buzzer, and Gloria would come and bring me tea.
Gloria was in her fifties, with hair of such jet-black that it must be dyed, and brown eyes that always looked tired and sad. The soft, jowly roundness of her face reminded me of Grandma Jean. She moved about quietly in her sensible shoes and starched uniform, always calm, never seeming to mind my questions or requests. She was there with a hot drink when I needed one, but when I said I preferred to cook for myself, she showed me the kitchen, and left me to it. When my boxes arrived from New Hampshire, she laid out my jeans and sweaters in the small corner of Nina’s dressing room that had been cleared for my use by Juliet. My old clothes looked incongruous among the furs and ball gowns, but Gloria treated them respectfully, the same way she did me. I sometimes got the sense that she felt sorry for me—the new bride knocking about alone in this giant house, her husband gone off to some exotic land—but always, Gloria accepted me without judgment.
Toward the end of that first week, Dennis drove me into the city. I asked him to drop me off at Bergdorf’s, a place that Juliet said Nina had liked to shop. I wasn’t planning on buying anything. It was a ruse, a cover, for the visit to the obstetrician whose name Connor had gotten for me.
Dr. Jennifer Klein had a kind face, graying dark hair, a degree from the Yale School of Medicine, and an office on Park Avenue decorated in soothing pastels. Lying on the examination table as she did the ultrasound, I wished so much that Connor was with me that there was a catch in my voice when I spoke.
She patted my arm.
“Cry if you want to. It’s emotional, the first time you see the baby,” the doctor said.
And I did—just a few tears as I stared at the screen. The doctor spread cold gel on my stomach, moving the wand around to get images of the baby from various angles.
“Do you want to know the sex?” she asked.
I had to choose between Connor missing the big moment or waiting another month to find out.
“Yes.”
She manipulated the wand to get a view of the space between the legs.
“Congratulations, it’s a girl.”
My daughter was perfect. Tiny nose and lips, a delicately round head, little hands balled into fists.
“Amazing,” I whispered reverently.
As I watched, she kicked, and for the first time, I actually felt it—like the rustle of butterfly wings inside me. And with that, the baby was a person to me—someone I knew, loved dearly, and had a sacred obligation to protect. I decided on the spot to name her Margaret, which had been my mother’s name. My mother was Peggy. My daughter would be Meg, a name I’d adored ever since reading Little Women when I was twelve.
Dr. Klein texted me the sonogram video, which I forwarded to Connor, with a text that just said, our daughter. I wanted to save the name and tell him on the phone. I hoped he’d love it as much as I did.
I was in the backseat of the Mercedes on the way back to Windswept when he called.
“Hey, babe,” I said, my smile a mile wide.
His voice was cold. “Tabby, that was a mistake, sending me the video. You have to be more careful. How many times do I have to tell you that nobody can know about the baby.”
Shocked, I glanced up to make sure Dennis wasn’t listening. The glass barrier was up. His reflection in the rearview mirror was neutral, staring at the road.