Closer to the Edge Page 18

  Why the hell would she buy all of these things and set up a room for a baby that was never going to sleep here? A baby that was only in existence for seven weeks?

  “Not seven weeks, seven months.”

  My head whips around to stare at Parker and I realize I said those words out loud.

  “What… what the hell are you talking about?” I stutter, my heart just about ready to explode out of my chest.

  Instead of answering me, Parker walks over to the small table next to the bed and opens a drawer, pulling out a photo album. She walks back over to me, holding the album out in front of her.

  All the anger from earlier is gone. Her eyes are soft and filling with tears. She nods at me, and pushes the album closer. “Take it.”

  I swallow thickly, reaching out and grabbing it. I look away from her as I flip open the first page, a grainy black and white photo stuck behind the see-thru page. I feel Parker move next to me as she looks over my shoulder.

  “That’s the day she had the pregnancy confirmed. See, right at the top.”

  She points to the computer printed numbers in the white border that reads: Olivia Lafierre, 6w3d.

  “There’s not really much to see in that picture but a tiny little bean,” she says, flipping to the next page.

  The following picture is similar to the one before but the ‘bean’ is larger and you can actually make out features.

  “See right there?” she asks, pointing to the middle of the black and white photo. “Those are the eyes and those right there are the teeny, tiny little hands.”

  It sort of resembles an alien to me, but I can make out exactly what she’s pointing to. Hands, legs, feet—things that I shouldn’t be able to see on an ultrasound of a baby less than seven weeks old. There’s also a computer-generated arrow pointing between the legs.

  “That’s the day she found out what she was having,” Parker says wistfully.

  She flips to the next page for me because I’m shaking so fucking hard I can’t seem to get my hands to cooperate.

  The next picture takes my breath away and another sob makes its way out of my mouth.

  Olivia is standing in this very room with a paintbrush in her hands, dripping with blue paint. One finger of her other hand is pointing to her stomach where there is an obvious bump sticking out against her tight shirt. Her face is lit up with a huge smile. Above the picture, in Olivia’s flowing handwriting are the words ‘It’s a boy!’

  I choke on my sobs as Parker turns the pages for me, one after another of Olivia, her stomach growing bigger in each photo. There’s a picture of her and Parker putting together the crib, one of her and Garrett sitting on the couch in their home, Garrett holding up a bottle of beer and Olivia holding up a glass of milk, one of Olivia sitting in the rocking chair in the corner with her hands resting on her basketball sized stomach, her eyes staring down at it with a soft smile on her face. This is the one that cuts me right in half. I bring my hand up to the page and trace my finger over her stomach.

  “She hated herself every day for being so scared in the beginning,” Parker says. “The first time she felt him kick, all her fears disappeared. You always knew when he was moving around in there because she’d get this sappy, faraway look in her eyes while she held her hands against her stomach.”

  Parker chuckles at the memory and I wish I could laugh with her, but nothing about this is funny, nothing about this is happy or good. The things I said to her… the things I accused her of… the way I took her against that fucking wall like she was nothing to me…

  Jesus Christ, what have I done?

  “I don’t understand. I saw the medical report for the abortion. I saw the cashed check,” I mumble, watching as a tear splashes down on the picture, blurring Olivia’s face.

  “You mean that check?” Parker asks, pointing at the wall over the crib.

  My eyes follow her finger and I hand off the photo album before walking forward, stopping when I reach the bed where my son should be sleeping. Resting my hands on the railing of the crib, I try to make sense of what the fuck I’m seeing.

  In a black frame, hanging on the wall over the crib is the check my mother showed me earlier. This one isn’t a photocopy though; this is the real thing with original handwriting in blue ink.

  “She wanted to rip it up into little pieces and mail it back to your mother, but I wouldn’t let her. I told her that damn check is a reminder of just how much better she is than that woman. I bought a frame and hung it up for her.”

  Running my hands through my hair, I turn and start pacing the floor. “The medical report. How the fuck could she fake that? Three different doctors signed off on that Goddamn report. THREE doctors, Parker!”

  I realize I’m yelling, but I don’t care. My entire life has been turned ass over teakettle twice today, I feel like I’m going insane and I don’t know what the fuck to believe anymore.

  Parker calmly flips to the very last page in the photo album, pulling out a folded piece of paper and handing it to me. I snatch it out of her hands and open it up. “Did the report your mother give you look anything like this?”

  The bottom-half of the report is exactly the same, with the same three doctors’ signatures, but the top part is completely different. I read the information written in the middle of the page out loud.

  “Pre-term labor brought on by unforeseen circumstances at twenty-eight weeks gestation. Terbutaline treatment to stop contractions unsuccessful. Fetal ultrasound concluded underdeveloped lung tissue. Antenatal Corticosteroids for fetal lung development immediately administered. Labor progressed rapidly. Delivery occurred at 19:27.”

  It’s so quiet in the room you could hear a pin drop. I hate the quiet. It gives me too much time to think, to process and to hate myself.

  “She was having a little trouble with preeclampsia, high blood pressure, and her OB told her to take a few days off of work, but you know how she is. She’s blamed herself every single day since. Even when we had proof that someone spiked her tea with a drug that induces labor, I could see it in her eyes that she still hadn’t forgiven herself.”

  I close my eyes, the report crumpling in my clenched fist.

  “My mother,” I whisper.

  “We believe so,” Parker replies. “Olivia had a meeting with her that morning and your mom pushed a cup of herbal tea on her. Five minutes later, she was in pre-term labor. The doctors managed to slow it down and we actually thought for a while that she was in the clear. Olivia was completely exhausted after that ordeal, but she remembers seeing your mother in the doorway to her room when she was trying to rest. Almost immediately afterwards, there was another spike in her contractions, and the doctors weren’t able to stop them the second time. I broke into the hospital a while back, got the records and gave Olivia the report tonight. It showed your mother’s I.D. being used to take out the medication needed to induce labor right before she met with her that morning. It also showed her entering the maternity floor right before Olivia’s contractions started for a second time. Obviously, she fudged the reports on her end and made it look like Olivia took out the Pitocin and administered it to herself. A few days after the baby was born, HR came into her room and told her they wouldn’t press charges if she left quietly. She was so upset and exhausted that she didn’t even care about fighting with them.”

  I lean my back against the wall next to the crib and stare off into space. Olivia blamed herself for losing the baby. I know now that’s why she kept apologizing to me the day she told me she’d been pregnant. That’s why she told me she felt guilty. She blamed herself and I fed her fears by accusing her of killing our baby. I fucking looked right at her and called her a murderer. I told her not to speak because I couldn’t stand the sound of her voice spewing more lies. She was never lying, not once. Instead of forcing her to tell me everything, I let her keep the pain and guilt bottled up inside her. I knew she wasn’t telling me everything, but I never thought it would be something like this.

 
; “The drug your mother gave her caused her labor to progress so rapidly that she wasn’t able to get an epidural. Olivia was in labor for a total of ten hours, Cole. For ten hours, she screamed and she cried and she called your name.”

  I clench my hands into my hair and squeeze as hard as I can. “STOP! Please, I can’t…”

  “Fuck you, Cole! She was alone! She was fucking alone and scared and in so much pain. Garrett and I were out of town and we couldn’t get to her. I had the doctor videoconference me in just so she wouldn’t feel like she didn’t have anyone there for her. I saw it all and Goddammit, you’re going to hear it all!” Parker shouts. “She was so fucking exhausted, but she kept going. Her hair was plastered to her face with sweat and her body was shaking, but she kept going because she knew it would all be worth it in the end. I helped her count through the contractions and I told her everything would be okay, but it wasn’t okay! That beautiful, dark-haired little boy came out of her and the room was completely silent. Do you have any idea what it’s like to sit there, waiting for your baby to make a sound, to scream and live and breathe, but nothing happens? Your body is so fucking tired and in so much pain all you want to do is cry, but you can’t because everything you have, everything you are is wrapped up in the tiny little bundle they’ve placed in your arms but is struggling to breathe because his bronchial tubes aren’t mature enough yet.”

  I slide down the wall until I hit the floor, not even trying to hide my sobs. They wrack my body and roar out of me with each word that Parker shouts.

  “I watched her run her fingers through the hair on his little head before they snatched him out of her arms and started CPR. It wasn’t until that very moment she realized something was wrong. I can’t get her fucking screams of agony out of my head, Cole. I can’t. She cried and she begged them to save him and, I swear to God, it was the worst fucking sound in the world. While they hooked him up to oxygen and pumped his little chest, she just sobbed and told him she loved him and begged him not to leave her. I was helpless. I couldn’t do anything but sit there in that fucking hotel room and watch her heart break in front of me on a fucking computer screen.”

  I hear Parker sniffle and I wish I had it in me to comfort her, but I don’t. I have nothing left. There’s a giant, gaping hole where my heart used to be. I don’t understand why my fucking chest hurts so bad when there’s nothing left inside it. My tears are falling fast and my throat aches so bad I can hardly swallow.

  “I didn’t even realize something else was wrong,” Parker continues. “I was so focused on the crowd of people hovering around the bassinet, willing him to take a breath that I didn’t notice all the blood. Jesus, there was so much blood. When the doctors started racing around the room, shouting orders and yelling for help, that’s when I saw it. It was practically pouring out of her. The bed and the whole bottom half of her was covered in blood and they couldn’t get it to stop. I watched her head flop back onto the bed and the heart monitor flat lined. I screamed and one of the nurses finally realized I was still on video. She ran over to the computer, hit a button and my scream went dark. I had to take a four hour flight, not knowing if she was dead or alive.”

  I watched King and Dragon die, knowing in my heart that would be the worst fucking moment of my life, but I was wrong. I feel dead inside, completely numb outside of the ache in my head from the tears I can’t seem to stop. I keep replaying the scenes Parker described over and over in my head. I can see Olivia holding our son in her arms, screaming for him to breathe as they snatch him away. I have no idea how Olivia managed to get up and go on day after day. I didn’t live through it and I want to die. Her strength humbles me. Olivia offering me her heart and her body after I walked away and left her to go through hell alone is a miracle that I’ll never understand and don’t deserve. Recalling the look on her face after I accused her of killing our baby, I realize that I’m the Vargas who finally destroyed Olivia. Nothing my family did to her could’ve hurt as much as what I’ve done. I ruined her.

  This beautiful, amazing, strong woman who went through so much… I took all of that good and I wrecked it. She’ll never forget that I believed my mother’s lies, accepting her twisted version of the truth as fact without giving Olivia an opportunity to defend herself. She’ll never forgive me for the things I said to her or the way I used her body in spite and anger. I don’t deserve her forgiveness, anyway. I hurt her once and I’ll never forgive myself for that, but this time, I broke her. I’ve spent my entire life trying to outrun my family’s legacy, but as it turns out, I’m exactly fucking like them. I deserve to suffer, imagining in my mind the pain she went through, knowing all the while it’s only a fraction of what she felt and will never be enough.

  I’m startled out of my thoughts by the ringing of Parker’s cell phone. Pulling it out of her pocket, she wipes away her tears before she answers and I watch her face fall and her mouth drop open.

  “I’m still with him. We’ll be right there. Call the fucking police.”

  I struggle to get up off the floor and Parker gives me her hand, pulling me up next to her.

  “What the fuck is going on?”

  “Garrett’s at your place. Olivia’s car is still there, but she’s not. Your office is a disaster area, like someone tore the room to shreds in a hurry.”

  Ice flows through my veins and panic bubbles in my chest.

  Parker’s next words bring a whole new meaning to the word fear.

  “He found blood by the front door. He thinks someone took her.”

  I FEEL WATER on my face and I blink a few times, bringing my hand up to wipe it off, but it just keeps coming. Opening my eyes fully, a sharp pain shoots through my head as I press my hands to the ground to push myself up, wondering why I’m lying in wet grass. Slowly looking towards the sky, I realize the water I’m feeling is rain. It’s coming down slowly, big fat raindrops splashing against my face before falling down and off my chin. I see a flash of lightning across the sky, quickly followed by the rumble of thunder and I know I need to get inside. We don’t see many thunderstorms here, but I know enough to get in out of the rain when it happens.

  I gingerly push myself up onto my knees, trying not to jar my aching head, wondering what the hell happened and why I’m outside. When I finally get to my feet, I turn around slowly and notice the wooden frame of a partially constructed building a few feet away from me, the plastic covering some of the wood flapping in the wind and smacking against the beams. Taking in the tractor and bulldozer parked next to the structure, I realize I’m at some sort of construction site.

  The rain starts falling faster now, plastering my hair to my face and neck and my clothes to my body. I bring my hand up to my head to try and quell the pounding.

  Where the hell am I? What happened?

  My mind is full of flashes of words and people, but I can’t make anything fit together.

  “Ahhhh, she’s finally awake.”

  Startled, my head jerks towards the sound of the voice, the pain bringing on a wave of dizziness. I breathe deeply through my nose, trying to steady myself. When my vision clears, I see the vague outline of someone standing in the middle of the structure, protected from the rain by a small roof that juts out in front.

  Everything comes rushing back to me so quickly that my knees threaten to give out. The look on Cole’s face, the words he threw at me, waking up on the floor of his house and coming face to face with the devil who ruined our lives. My hand clutches the back of my head and I rub the knot left behind from the blow delivered as I tried to escape.

  I shiver as the wind picks up and the thunder and lightning rumble and flash all around me, one right after another. The idea of being any closer to the evil that lurks in the shadows makes my blood run cold, but I know I can’t stand out here in this storm.

  “So, how do you like the house? It’s nice, isn’t it? Well, I guess you can’t really tell right now, but I’ve seen the floor plans and it’s going to be amazing when it’s finished,” I h
ear over the hard pounding of the rain.

  I watch arms spread, the shadows giving the vague perception of a bat’s wings unfurling, as the source of my anguish indicates the structure before me, speaking as if it’s just another day and this is the most natural thing in the world.

  “He was building this house for you, did you know that? As soon as he got home, he purchased the land and contacted the construction company. I thought it was a pretty stupid move since he didn’t even know if you’d speak to him again, but he didn’t care. Cole had love in his eyes and you are the only thing he cared about. Isn’t that the most pathetic thing you’ve ever heard? How many times did we tell him to do something with his life and yet, this is what he chose?”

  I want to allow those words to warm me, knowing that Cole planned for a future with me before we even saw each other again. Suddenly realizing exactly where I am, I have to shut down the urge to cry. We drove by this piece of land a year ago, right before he left for the Dominican. I saw the For Sale sign and I made him stop the car, hopping out before he even put it in park. A half-acre right on the cliffs, overlooking the ocean, it was completely perfect and I told him we should build a house here. We stood on the edge, looking down at the waves crashing against the rocks as he wrapped his arms around me and told me he’d give me anything I asked for.

  I take a few steps back, figuring I’d rather get struck by lightning than move any closer to the shelter of the roof and the person standing under it. My feet come to a halt when another flash of lightning spotlights the object pointed right at me.

  “It would probably be wise for you to come in out of the rain, Olivia. Might as well check out your dream home before I put you out of your misery.”

  I see movement and hear the ominous sound of the slide being pulled back on the gun and a bullet entering the chamber. Swallowing nervously, I wish more than anything that Cole was here right now, but I know that isn’t going to happen. He’s been poisoned with lies for years and, when it counted most, he believed them, not even offering me a chance to explain.