Dirty Red (Love Me With Lies)(34)

“Is this yours?” I ask, incredulous. He nods, and I feel momentarily affronted that he never told me that he bought a boat. I keep my mouth shut and climb onboard without his help. Sea Cats are a British brand. I'm not surprised; he usually buys European. I look around in disgust. I am allergic to things that are not shiny and new. It looks like he has started to work on it. I smell the sharp tang of sealant, and I spot the can next to the hatch.

I try for a nice, neutral comment. “What are you going to call her?”

He seems to like my question, because he half smiles as he messes with the rope that holds us to the dock.

“Great Expectations.”

I like it. I was prepared not to, but I do. Great Expectations is the name of the book where he chose Estella’s name. Since I gave birth to the screaming pile of flesh, I feel pretty good about the whole thing. So long as it has nothing to do with Olivia. Don’t think about her, I chide myself. She’s the reason you’re in trouble in the first place.

“So are we going to take her out?” I ask the obvious question. His head is still bent, but he lifts his eyes to look at me as his hands work. It is one of those things that only he does. I find it incredibly sexy, and I get butterflies. I sit down on the only available seat — which is ripped — and watch the muscles in his back as he turns on the engine and steers us out of the harbor. I am so insanely attracted to him, even in the wake of our fight, I want to rip off his clothes and climb on top of him. Instead, I sit ladylike and watch as we cruise over the water. We stay like this for a long time, him at the wheel and me waiting. He turns off the engine. The shoreline runs in a parade of sand dunes and houses to my left, the ocean dark and blue to my right. He walks to the helm and looks out over the water. I lift myself from my seat and walk the few steps to join him.

“I leave tomorrow for Denver,” he says.

“I won’t go postpartum and kill your daughter — if that’s what you’re getting at.”

He tilts his head slightly and looks down at me. “She’s your daughter, too.”

“Yes.”

We watch the waves lap against the side of the boat, neither of us speaking our thoughts.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the boat?” I run my fingernails over the pad of my thumb.

“I would have eventually. It was a spur of the moment purchase.”

That’s fair enough, I suppose. I’ve bought shoes that probably equaled the cost of this thing without telling him first. But, spur of the moment meant it was an emotional purchase. The kind I made when I was in depression or worried about something.

“What else are you not telling me?”

“Probably the same amount of stuff you’re not telling me.”

I cringe. So painfully true. Caleb could see through walls like nobody’s business. But, if he really knew what I was not telling him, he’d be gone tomorrow ... and I couldn’t have that.

If he really was hiding more — I was going to find it.

“You know everything about me — all of my secrets and family drama. What could I have to hide?” I say.

He faces me. There is a dark cloud behind him. It seems like an omen. I shiver.

“There is a lot I don’t know about you,” he says.

My mind immediately goes to the fertility monitor and Clomiphene I was using to get pregnant.

His brain is working overtime. I can see the burning behind his irises. When Caleb thinks, his eyes practically glow. I hate that. The benefit is, I always know when he’s on to me. His eyes now dart to mine; they drop to my mouth, and then lift back to my eyes. He narrows his and tilts his head like he’s reading my thoughts. Can you read a secret on someone’s face? I f*cking hope not.

“When you came to me that night … in the hotel … were you trying to get pregnant?”

I remove my eyes from his and stare down at the water. Goddamn, he can. My hands are shaking. I fist them. Then I fist him with the truth.

“Yes.”

I don’t know why I tell the truth. I never tell the truth. Damn it all! I want to suck the words back into my mouth before they reach him, but it’s too late.

Caleb links his hands behind his neck. His eyebrows are up, up, up, creasing his forehead into half a dozen little lines. He’s mad as hell.

I think of that night at his hotel. I went there with determination. I had a plan. My plan worked. I never thought I’d get caught. Caught I was. I flick my thumbnails across the pads of my fingers.

Flick

Flick

Flick

Caleb is biting the inside of his cheek. It looks like he wants to take off running. He runs to think. When he speaks, his words come from between his teeth.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.” He looks up at the sky, the struggle evident on his face. “I love her so much…” his voice cracks. He leans an arm on the side of the boat and peers into the water with me. “I love her so much,” he starts again, “I don’t care how she came to be. I’m just glad she’s here.”

I breathe a sigh of relief and look at him out of the corner of my fearful eye.

He swallows, once, twice…

“You got pregnant on purpose. And now you don’t seem to want her.”

It’s hard to hear … both parts. Chilling and true and ugly.

“I thought she’d be a boy.” My voice is so low it’s competing with the waves, but Caleb hears me.