The Quickie - James Patterson [40]
Mistake, I reminded myself.
It had all been a terrible mistake. Quick as lightning, just as deadly.
I looked out at the red-eyed police heading back to their cars. That I was fooling them burned like battery acid in my stomach, but I tried my best to believe it was the best thing for everyone under the circumstances.
What result could have been better? I thought. The dehumanizing, demoralizing tabloid circus that was the truth?
I stared out at the casket as Scott’s son raised a hand in salute to the wobbling brim of his father’s hat. Then I looked up at the stunning skyline of Manhattan, at the gravestones in the foreground like a kind of city itself.
My eyes were dry as I turned the engine over.
There was one good thing — undeniable — Paul and I had been given a second chance.
Part Two
COMPLICATIONS
Chapter 59
IT WAS COMING UP ON NINE the morning after Scott’s funeral when the phone rang.
I lay there, hoping that Paul would pick it up. He’d been unbelievably terrific since the shooting. He’d even taken time off work and was cooking for me, fielding my calls, and listening when I needed to talk. He seemed to relish his role as my protector and healer. There were no more naked scotch binges in the garage, at least, so I guess the focus on me was having a positive effect.
And I have to admit, no-nonsense, capable woman that I can be, it was a relief to have someone taking care of me for a change.
The phone kept on ringing, though, and when I turned over, I saw that Paul wasn’t there.
I lifted the receiver and sat up.
I thought it would be either my boss or Mike. Maybe IAB. But I was wrong on every count.
“Lauren? Hi, it’s Dr. Marcuse calling. I’m glad I caught you at home.”
I shuddered, waiting to hear the worst.
“Don’t worry, Lauren. Relax,” Dr. Marcuse said. “The tests came back, and everything is okay.”
I sat there, relief rattling the receiver off my bandaged head.
“You’re perfectly fine, Lauren,” the doctor continued. “In fact, you’re better than that. I hope you’re sitting down. You’re not sick, you’re . . . pregnant.”
Seconds passed. A lot of them actually. Each one filled with stark silence.
“Lauren?” I heard Dr. Marcuse say faintly. “Are you still there?”
I found myself slowly falling back onto the bed. It seemed to take quite some time for my head to actually touch the pillow.
Pregnant? I thought, feeling suddenly as if I were melting.
How could that be? How could it happen now?
Paul and I had only been trying to have kids for years. After an extensive round of fertility specialists and tests, we learned that a pH imbalance was producing an environment not conducive to conception. We’d tried everything short of fertility drugs, which weren’t recommended because I had a family history of ovarian cancer.
“What? Are you sure?” I said. “How?”
“I don’t actually know, Lauren,” my doctor said, chuckling. “I wasn’t there. You tell me.”
My head was spinning. The whole room seemed to be. I’d always wanted to have a baby, of course.
But now?
“I’m pregnant?” I said, stunned, into the phone.
“You’re what?” Paul said. He was just coming into the bedroom with a breakfast tray.
My mouth refused to work, so I handed him the phone. I didn’t know how he’d react. I’d stopped trying to anticipate Paul’s feelings. I stared into his eyes. But I didn’t have to wait long. After a brief moment, a look of ecstatic surprise lit up his face, followed by an ear-to-ear grin.
“A . . . what?” he said. “You’re . . . Oh my God . . .”
Paul dropped the phone and lifted me out of the bed. For what seemed like an eternity, he hugged me.
“Oh, God,” Paul said. “Thank you, God. Thank you, God. This is so great.”
As we embraced, I did some quick mental math. The last time I had my period. What was