“Not if we tell them we need some time. They’ll respect that.”
Something he should have seen before. Tended to. The sudden consciousness confused him.
Shrugging it off, Winston figured he’d had enough on his plate the past week, what with having to move back in with Emily and finding out that she was pregnant. He could be forgiven for a lapse or two.
“We should call them all,” he said now. And then had another thought. “Do they know about the baby yet?”
When Emily turned, he was struck by the look in her eyes as her gaze met his. The depth there...
He could almost sense it calling to him, saying something...but whatever it was, he couldn’t quite hear. And knew better than to try. Getting caught up in the fantasy would only bring unmeasurable pain. For both of them.
“I haven’t told anyone about the baby except you,” she said, leaning back against the counter. “I want to wait until the first trimester passes safely.”
She wanted to know she wasn’t going to miscarry. Because while he was sitting around looking up olfactory glands, she’d been worrying about the baby she carried. Caring deeply about it.
He was pretty sure that made him a schmuck. Something he’d already figured out about himself.
“So...you want to call them separately or together? To tell them I’m alive, I mean.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. She reached for his hand.
“Together, of course.”
He saw the mistake too late, giving her that choice. Leading her to believe that there was a possibility of “together” for them.
It was a mistake he couldn’t make again.
Chapter Twelve
Funny how when time stood still, it still flew by. Days that were mostly the same passed, one after another, broken up by cacophony on the weekends as her family and Winston’s parents descended upon them. Emily’d known his assertion that they’d give them time was ludicrous. Had figured he’d known it, too. And yet he’d seemed completely shocked when, after their initial phone calls, there were a flurry of texts and more calls—including video calls—as arrangements were made for everyone to visit Marie Cove.
With her mom and brother and the kids it was both easier and harder, because they could just drive up and be there. And they had, the Saturday morning after their Friday night calls. They’d had an hour’s notice, during which Winston had gone into their room dressed in his khakis and come out wearing a pair of blue shorts and an off-white button-down shirt. It was the first time she’d seen him in anything but pajama bottoms or his uniform since he’d walked back into her world. She’d had to excuse herself to the bathroom to wipe away tears and calm her pounding heart.
They’d met her brother’s car out in the driveway, standing there together, though not touching. It had both filled her heart and broken it, as they all had the reunion she’d often imagined for Winston’s return. He’d played his part in front the family. Giving her long looks, referring to her often, staying close to her.
And then they’d be gone and so would he—the part of him that was her loving husband, happy to be back in the home he’d “built” with her. In his stead would be the calm, unemotional though overall kind version of Winston she was coming to know.
The following weekend his parents had been there. They’d tried to insist on coming immediately, the previous Friday when they’d received the call, but they’d been better about listening to Winston’s request for time. They’d given him the week.
And so it went, one week following ano
ther. During the week they’d work, him in San Diego, her in LA, unless either of them had a work-from-home day, which they’d coordinate to make certain that they weren’t both there at the same time. On the weekends, either his parents flew in, or her mother, at least, drove up, and then they’d go to the beach, eat out, do a little trail walking—or even just stream movies. Winston had missed two years’ worth of TV and movies, and her mother made it her mission to see that he got caught up on anything anyone might be talking about so he didn’t feel lost. And she’d also insisted on cooking him every meal she’d ever made for him that he’d said he liked.
As much as Emily normally craved her independence, she was hugely grateful to have her mother around.
The warm family weekends fortified her for the rest of the week, when Winston largely withdrew into himself again.
She’d mentioned counseling several times. Had had phone sessions with a woman referred to her by Chaplain Blaine. Each time she’d suggested they go together, he let her know that his own sessions were enough for him.
And she’d gone to the clinic to see Christine. Just to chat. And had had her first scheduled visit with Dr. Miller, who would be delivering her baby. So far, so good. After that first bout of morning sickness, there’d been nothing more than a few queasy moments taken care of by the soda crackers she kept in her bag. And Dr. Miller said everything looked great.
The nursery was currently nonexistent. Their guests stayed in the spare bedroom that she’d been about to turn into the baby’s haven. And since none of them knew about the baby yet...
Sometimes, on her drives to and from work, when she wasn’t rethinking every nuance of every moment spent with Winston, looking for signs of change, trying to understand and find patience, she played around with baby names. But she always came up empty. Maybe once she knew if it was a boy or a girl.
Maybe when Winston was in a place to have the discussion with her. This was his baby, too—their baby. She didn’t want to choose a name alone.
Her stomach hadn’t changed in appearance at all that she could see. Standing in her bathroom one Thursday night the second week of August, studying her nearly naked form in bikini briefs before pulling on her nightgown, she was hard-pressed to believe she really was pregnant.