Page 63 of Emergency Engagement
“This isn’t about you jumping through hoops to satisfy me. That’s not the right answer. Go to therapy ifyouwant to go to therapy. Attend church if you think faith will help you find what you need.”
“You’re the one putting me in a trap now. There’s nothing I can say at this moment to convince you to stay with me.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat and walked past him into the hallway. “I’ll text you updates on the baby, if you’d like.”
He dropped his head and stared at the ground for a long moment, and she thought he might tell her to go to hell, but when he finally looked up, his expression was impossible to read. “I’d appreciate that.” A few long strides brought him into the hall beside her. “I’d appreciate hearing from you in general.”
She locked the door and then went up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I can do that.” It took every ounce of her willpower not to wrap her arms around him and burrow into his strength. His warmth. The weakness came out in the form of one last, long inhale, to commit his scent to memory. She pulled away before her resolve crumbled. Blinking back tears, she muttered, “Take care of yourself.” And she left.
Chapter Twenty-One
Beau wandered around his living room, unable to sit still. Traps were the theme of the evening, and right now, the four blank white walls of his apartment felt like one. Since Sunday night when he’d come home from work to find Savannah’s things gone, the lack of warmth and energy in the space had hit him like a fist to the gut. How had he lived like this for so long?
Only one splash of color drew his eye. The glass bouquet Savannah had made sat on his end table. The little serpent mocked him from the rim. He looked away, and his gaze snagged on the box his mom had given him for Christmas, which he’d placed on the coffee table days ago and not bothered to move. He walked over to it and lifted the lid. Four photo albums rested inside. One he recognized from his trip down memory lane with Savannah. Seeing the light blue cover brought too many recent memories bubbling to the surface. He grabbed a white album instead and sat on the couch.
A satin ribbon looped into a bow across the front of the album, and something about that made his stomach clench. He opened the cover to reveal a protective parchment paper page with the words “Our Wedding” embossed in silver. Shit. He almost closed the album, but he could already see an image through the thin paper. He turned the page and confronted a black-and-white portrait of Kelli decked out in her wedding gown, standing in front of a large window covered by thin white drapes. Her back was to the camera, her radiant face in profile and a gentle smilecurving her lips. She looked young and happy. Incredibly alive.
The next page featured a funny shot of Kelli and her bridesmaids doing a Zoolander supermodel thing for the camera. He kept flipping—his dad had been busy that day—and paused to look at a picture of his groomsmen and him dressed in their tuxes, playing Texas Hold’em in the suite before the ceremony. He’d gone all-in, and won, thanks to drawing into four-of-a-kind on the river to beat Hunter’s full house. Yeah, he’d been one lucky bastard back then.
There were shots of the reception, him and Kelli feeding each other cake, Hunter giving a best-man toast Beau had yet to live down, Kelli and him in each other’s arms, taking their first dance as husband and wife. The album ended with a picture of them standing in an alcove at the reception, kissing. God, he’d loved her. He remembered the moment clearly, remembered practically bursting with happiness he never once stopped to second-guess. The guy in the picture had no fear. Then again, the guy in the picture had no fucking clue what the future held.
He put the album aside and reached for the next one. The pink quilted cover warned him, but he pulled it out anyway. A tiny pink handprint filled one photo square on the front of the book, and an only slightly larger pink footprint filled the other. Beneath, dark pink letters spelled “Abbey.” He ran his finger over the little palm print. So small and perfect. Acid hot tears blurred his vision, but he wiped them away with an impatient hand and opened the cover.
And there she was.
Hi, baby. Sorry Daddy’s such a mess. I didn’t expect to see you today.
He traced her sweet newborn face, all cheeks, squinting eyes, and pouty little mouth. The barest hint of a pointed chin just like her mother’s.
Jesus. A wounded animal sound wrenched up from his chest,but he couldn’t look away. He flipped the pages, greedily drinking in pictures. Kelli in the hospital bed, holding Abbey in her arms and glowing like an angel despite five hours of labor and no epidural. Him, standing by the window, grinning like an idiot and holding Abbey for the first time.
He kept turning pages. There were a surprising number of pictures considering she’d only been four months old when he’d lost her. The shot of her dressed like a pumpkin for her first Halloween pried a laugh out of him, as did a black-and-white photo of her in her baby bath, splashing herself in the face and giggling. She smiled a lot. And everyone around her smiled, too. Grandma, Mommy…Daddy. He closed the book and ran his hand over the cover. Those four months had been the happiest of his life.
The last album still sat in the box. Curious, he wiped his cheeks and lifted it out. The bright yellow cover shone like a sunbeam. He opened the book, brushed past the parchment paper, and stared at the empty page. A flip through the other pages quickly confirmed they were all empty. He turned back to the parchment page and spotted his mother’s handwriting on the inside corner of the cover.
This album is for you to fill with new memories.
Love, Mom & Dad
…
“Have you talked to Savannah yet?”
Hunter’s question pulled him away from his silent countdown. Tick-tock. Six p.m., New Year’s Eve. By tomorrow at this time, she’d be somewhere over the Atlantic, winging her way to Venice.
“I sent a text to wish her luck tonight.”
“A good luck text? Hell, if that doesn’t convince her to stay, Idon’t know what will.”
If Hunter hadn’t been driving the rig tonight, he would have punched him. “I told her I loved her, and I wanted her to stay.”
“You presented it wrong.”
Really, Einstein?“I presented it honestly. It’s not good enough for her.”
“And you know what? I respect her for calling you on your weak-assed bullshit. Life’s full of risk. Bad things happen to good people. Nobody knows this better than us. But good things happen, too. Savannah, for instance. She’s the best thing to happen to you in a long time. Same goes for the baby. Some people would give up a kidney to fall in love and be loved in return. I have a cousin who’s going through all kinds of crap right now to try to conceive. You’ve been given these gifts a second time. Focus on the good, and muster up some fucking optimism, instead of acting like you’re in love with her against your will—”
A call crackled over the radio, interrupting the Dr. Phil show. Beau picked up and listened as the dispatcher sent them onto the freeway in response to a fender-bender involving a vague report of a female passenger in distress. Hunter turned on the lights and siren, while Beau directed him to the scene.
