At least he wanted the baby, I tried to console myself, even as my heart was breaking at his harsh “I’m done.” I wasn’t sure what that meant. Were we going to continue the charade, or was he going to kick me out and file for divorce? Either way, any chance with him I’d had was gone, although who was I kidding? I’d never had a chance. He’d said so on more than one occasion.
I had to hope that when he calmed down, we’d be able to negotiate something that allowed us both time with the baby. I wasn’t like Veronica. I wouldn’t ever try to keep him away. He didn’t believe that now, which hurt. I’d have liked to think that he knew me well enough to know I wasn’t the sort of person to use a child or to want to hurt him. Then again, considering how strained things were between us, and now knowing what I’d kept from him, it was hard not to think he’d believe the worst.
“Tessa?” My mother knocked on my door. “Are you all right?”
I sniffed, and reined in my crying. “Yes, Mom.”
“Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.”
“I’ll be down.” I stood and went to my mirror. My eyes were red and puffy. As soon as I heard my mother go downstairs, I’d go to the bathroom and see about salvaging my face. I wasn’t ready to tell them about me and Dylan or the baby.
I picked up my phone and accidentally hit the photo app. The picture of Maisie’s passport popped open. I’d forgotten about it, but knew I needed to tell Dylan, so I started to dial his number. Two digits in, I decided he wouldn’t pick up. It was clear he didn’t want to talk to me.
Instead, I called his lawyer, and told him about the passport.
/> “She’d need sole custody to take Maisie out of the country without Dylan’s consent, so now it makes sense,” he said, not sounding nearly as concerned.
“If she took Maisie out of the country, Dylan wouldn’t see her,” I argued.
“She’s a model and her husband is a businessman. It makes sense they’d want that, because they travel a lot. I’m not saying she’ll win; I’m just saying there’s no wrongdoing there.”
“What if she plans to move there? They have a French nanny. A French nanny that I saw with Mr. Baskin’s hand up her skirt.”
“Oh. Now that is something that could be useful.”
I was glad he had something he could help Dylan with, even though I felt like the passport was more significant than the fact that Mr. Baskin cheated on his wife. When I got off the phone, I called the PI Dylan had hired and recounted my story again.
“I know it may not be anything, but it seems like something Dylan would want you to check into,” I’d said when I finished.
“You’re right,” he said. “Why isn’t Mr. Hyatt telling me this?”
“I dropped Maisie off at Veronica’s and saw it tonight. He wasn’t home, so I called you directly. I called his lawyer too.”
Thankfully, he accepted my excuse. Hopefully they’d find something by the court hearing the week following Maisie’s visit with her mom.
I washed my face, although I was certain my mother would still be able to tell I was upset. I’d just have to come up with some excuse like Maisie cried when I left her. I was lying again, and because I was, I realized that Dylan had no reason to see me as an honest person. I’d been willing to lie about my marriage to my friends and family. It wasn’t that far of a leap to think I’d lie about a baby.
When I got downstairs, my father frowned and looked at my mother when he saw me, a good sign that I looked like hell.
“Sit down and eat honey, then tell us what’s wrong,” my mother said, putting a platter of spaghetti on the table.
I sat and scooped food onto my plate. I wasn’t hungry, but I needed to eat because my baby needed it.
“Did Dylan hurt you?” my dad’s gruff voice asked. My dad looked like the typical bulldog-faced, barrel-chested cop, but he was a cream puff on the inside.
I pushed my food around my plate, trying to figure out what to say.
“Did he hurt you?” my mother put her hand over mine.
Yes. “There’s been a lot of tension with the custody case.”
“What’d he do?” my father’s eyes narrowed into piercing hard dots.
“He didn’t hurt me … he’s not abusive,” I clarified. “He’s scared of losing his daughter.”
“I worried you were too young—”
“And married too fast,” my father added to my mother’s statement.