Part 3
Leah found her canvas overnight bag beneath the window bench.
Her wedding dress hung from the wardrobe door in a white zippered cover.
She stood looking at it longer than made sense.
The dress had been purchased in a hurry after her stomach outgrew the one she originally chose. It was simple, with long sleeves and a high waist. When she tried it on, Cal had waited outside the fitting room and pretended to argue with the sales clerk about whether babies should be allowed to wear shoes before they could walk.
She had laughed so hard she needed to sit down.
That memory now felt like evidence submitted by the defense.
She packed underwear, a clean maternity top, her toothbrush, and the folder containing her insurance card and prenatal records. Ordinary decisions helped. Socks. Phone charger. Medication. She could decide those things without understanding her life.
Cal remained in the doorway.
He had washed his hands. Pink water had darkened the cuffs of the towel tucked into his belt.
“You can stay here,” he said. “I’ll leave.”
“I’m calling Molly.”
“Okay.”
“She’ll take me to the hospital.”
“Okay.”
“You don’t have to keep saying okay like you’re being reasonable.”
His jaw tightened.
“I’m trying not to make this harder.”
“You already made it hard.”
“I know.”
“No, you know that I’m angry. That isn’t the same thing.”
He looked toward the garment bag.
The white cover stirred faintly in the heat from the floor vent.
“Are you canceling the wedding?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
He nodded once.
She hated him for asking and hated him for accepting the answer.
Molly arrived twenty-five minutes later in plaid pajama pants under a long wool coat. She was Leah’s cousin by blood and closest friend by habit, a practical woman with short black hair who managed the lodge for its owner and could reset a boiler, negotiate with caterers, and hold a grudge beyond its useful life.
She walked into the bedroom, saw the bag, saw Cal, and did not waste time.
“What happened?”
Leah handed her the silver chain.
Molly read the name.
Her eyes moved to Cal.
“You found Thomas?”
“He found me,” Cal said.
“That isn’t what she asked.”
“I’ve been talking to him.”
“For how long?”
“Four months.”
Molly’s mouth flattened. “You need to leave the room.”
Cal looked at Leah.
She gave him nothing.
He picked up his jacket from the chair. At the door, he paused.
“His blood type is O positive. He had surgery on his left knee about six years ago. He says he isn’t allergic to anything, but I don’t know if that’s true.”
Leah stared at him.
“How do you know his blood type?”
“He showed me his VA card and some medical paperwork the first time we met.”
“Why?”
“He wanted me to believe he was who he said he was.”
She held up the tags. “Apparently he had other options.”
Cal looked at them, then at her.
“I’m sorry.”
Molly stepped between them.
“Go.”
He went.
The drive to Mercy Ridge took thirty-eight minutes. Molly kept both hands on the wheel and did not turn on the radio. The road descended through black timber, then widened near the reservoir. Patches of ice shone under the headlights.
Leah sat with the identification chain wound around her fingers.
Molly waited until they reached the state highway before speaking.
“Was he hurting Thomas?”
“No.”
“Was Thomas hurting him?”
“No.”
“What did you see?”
Leah described the open door, Cal’s vest, the way the two men had been pressed together. She heard how it sounded. She also heard what she left out: the blood, the shallow breathing, Cal’s steady hands.
Molly glanced at her.
“You thought they were—”
“I don’t know what I thought.”
“You thought it.”
“For maybe three seconds.”
“That’s a long three seconds.”
Leah pressed her head against the seat.
“He could have been kissing a stranger and I’d feel less stupid.”
“You are not stupid.”
“He has been lying to me every day since March.”
“Not telling you something isn’t always lying.”
“Do not defend him.”
“I’m not. I’m trying to find the shape of the offense before I choose the appropriate weapon.”
Despite herself, Leah gave a brief, humorless laugh.
Molly nodded. “Good. Breathing is useful.”
The hospital emergency entrance was nearly empty. A security guard looked up from a paperback when they entered. Leah gave Thomas’s name at the desk and was told he was being evaluated. Because she was his daughter, someone would speak with her when possible.
The clerk asked whether Thomas had a spouse.
“No.”
“Other children?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Current address?”
Leah looked at Molly.
Molly looked back.
“Ask Cal,” Leah said.
The clerk mistook the answer for irritation with the form and moved to the next question.
Leah sat beneath a television playing a muted home renovation show. A man across the waiting room slept with his mouth open. Two teenagers shared earbuds and passed a bottle of orange soda between them. Somewhere beyond the double doors, a monitor chimed at regular intervals.
Molly bought coffee from a machine that produced something pale and sweet.
“This is terrible,” she said after one sip.
“Then stop drinking it.”
“I paid two dollars.”
“You own half a lodge.”
“I manage a lodge. There’s an important difference involving plumbing invoices and disappointment.”
Leah rubbed her stomach. The baby had settled lower, or perhaps Leah only imagined it because everything inside her felt heavy.
Her phone lit with messages.
Cal: They took him for imaging.
Cal: I gave the nurse what I know.
Cal: I’m in the other waiting area. I won’t come near you.
A fourth message arrived after a minute.
Cal: Tell me if you feel any contractions. Please.
Leah turned the phone facedown.
May you like
Molly watched but said nothing.
A doctor spoke to them shortly after two in the morning. Thomas had two fractured ribs, a deep cut along his side, and a concussion. There was concern about a small collection of air around one lung, but he was stable and would be admitted for observation. The doctor’s careful language did not promise simplicity.
