Page 48 of Blackout-

I call Blackie again, and again, I get his voicemail. However, this time his inbox is full and doesn’t accept another message from me. Ending the call, I scroll through my list of contacts and pause when I spot my therapists name. I can’t bring my husband back to me, but I can honor his concerns by speaking with Dr. Spiegel. I can tell her I’m pregnant and that my doctor is concerned about me being on Lithium. That my husband doesn’t want to lose me to my mental illness, that he fears I’ll have a psychotic break and he’ll be left alone, raising our child.

My thumb presses against the little icon of a phone and I lift it to my ear, not caring about the early hour. Dr. Spiegel picks up on the third ring and sounds just as chipper as she does when I’m sitting across from her in her office.

“Lacey,” she greets. “How are you?”

How am I?

I’m a fucking mess.

My throat goes dry and my response doesn’t come.

“Lacey, are you there?”

“I’m here,” I reply hoarsely.

“Is everything okay?”

The tears fall from my eyes and I hate that they’re not tears of happiness or joy. At the risk of sounding like a spoiled child, it’s not fair. It’s just so incredibly unfair.

“I’m pregnant,” I sob.

The line goes silent for a moment before Dr. Spiegel responds to my news.

“I’m taking the pregnancy wasn’t planned.”

“Oh, it was planned. I don’t think either of us expected it to happen so quickly but nonetheless, it was planned.” Before she can ask me why I’m so upset, I draw in a deep breath and begin to ramble all the details, explaining what happened at the doctor. More tears fall as I reveal Blackie’s concerns and when I’ve finally laid all the truth bare, I release a heavy breath.

“I don’t want to take the Lithium, Dr. Spiegel,” I tell her, gritting my teeth as I furiously wipe the tears from my cheeks. “A baby is supposed to be safe inside their mother. Once he or she is born, I won’t be able to protect him or her from the world but while I’m carrying it, I can.”

It’s hard to admit that, and it feels as if I’m already failing as a parent.

“Lacey, why don’t you come into my office and we can discuss your options. I have time between—”

“I can’t come in,” I say, cutting her off as I rise to my feet. My eyes dart towards the door and I silently will it to open and for Blackie to come striding through. “I have to stay here in case Blackie comes home. His phone isn’t receiving my messages, and we left things badly.”

Giving up, I tear my eyes away from the door and run my fingers through my hair.

“I need you to tell me I’m making the right decision.”

“I can’t tell you that,” she says in that soft monotone voice she uses to talk patients off the ledge. “Anything can happen,” she adds, pausing to sigh. “But I will say this, you’ve been in a good place. We’ve been able to control your mood swings and have kept the depression to a minimum. If you’re set on not taking your meds, we can ween you off and then when you hit the second trimester of your pregnancy, we can revisit the situation. Depending on your mental state, we will either discontinue until you give birth or lower your dosage. I’m not going to suggest you try a different medication because we’re not sure how you will react and that, in my opinion, is too risky.”

I wait for the relief to settle, but it doesn’t come. Nothing she says makes me feel better and I think that’s because Blackie isn’t here. He’s not holding my hand like he always does. He’s not asking the questions, I haven’t thought to ask or giving Dr. Spiegel any imperative information I may have purposely forgotten to mention. He doesn’t tell her I threw my pills out or that just over a week ago I lost my job—two things that she should probably know. Two things he would tell her if he was by my side like he always swore to be but the person I have to blame for his absence is myself.

“I’ll want to see you two to three times a week,” she continues. “That’s effective immediately, Lacey. No calling to cancel because Blackie’s phone isn’t working,” she chastises, pausing for a beat. “Does your father know?”

“No,” I reply. “We wanted to wait until the doctor confirmed the pregnancy and then everything just kind of imploded.”

“Okay,” she says. “I want you to call the office and schedule an appointment first thing Monday morning.”

After agreeing, I end the call and blow out a breath and make my way towards the window. Mindlessly, I stare through the slatted blinds.

“Where are you?” I whisper.

Wishing I could shake the dread churning in my gut, I move away from the window and pick up the phone one more time. With no other option, I call the one person who has covered Blackie’s ass when he’s busy covering everyone else’s.

“Casa del Tiger,” Riggs answers.

“Riggs, it’s Lacey...”

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