What I Should’ve Said
Chapter 46

Wednesday, September 29th

Norah

Josie stares at me while I stare at her, her position in her bed disturbed only by my psychotic, uninvited entrance into her room.

“Let me get this straight,” she says through a sleep-clogged, scratchy throat. “You called a doctor two towns over and made an appointment before normal business hours—before dawn—because you’re worried about someone seeing you going to the doctor and blabbing to Bennett about the impending bundle of joy before you get the chance?”

I follow along with her entire ramble, counting off the words for validity and completeness on my fingers, and then pause briefly when she’s done to consider before replying, “Yes. Exactly.”

“Norah—”

“No, no, Josie. You don’t get to tell me I’ve lost my mind when I’ve already been in the newspaper three times after living here for less than half a year, okay? You know I’m right to do it this way.”

“But today was my only day to sleep in while Todd opens. Whyyyy?”

“Because this was your only day to sleep in, silly. And I need you to go with me. Plus, this is the absolute earliest I could bribe this doctor into opening for me, and I had to promise a one-of-a-kind Bennett Bishop painting to her in order to do it.”

“Norah! And just exactly how are you going to follow through on that one, huh?”

I shrug. “Easy. I’m still doing all the legwork for Bennett’s day-to-day, and Breezy likes me. I’ll tell her where the painting is going, and she’ll send me the label to ship it.”

“Bless it. I need just an ounce of your energy for insane ideas.”

“Please.” I roll my eyes. “So says the woman who is furthering our Grandma’s legacy by selling mass-produced candles in a handmade Ponzi scheme.”

“Norah…”

“Josie, get up. I need a support person with me, okay?”

Josie sighs. “What? Handing me the stick with your pee on it four days ago wasn’t enough for you?”

“I need official confirmation. I need a reason to get up the courage to tell Bennett. I need…this. Can you just get out of bed…please?”

Josie shakes her head, but this time, she smiles. “Okay. But seriously, I’m not looking forward to the harebrained ideas you’re going to come up with while you’re hormonal.”

Twenty minutes later, just as the sun is rising, we’re in the car and on our way to Burlington. The last time I drove this way, I was in Bennett’s truck, following Summer’s helicopter to the hospital. I expect it to hurt like hell, but instead, I feel this weird sense of kismet. Almost like Summer herself is guiding me through this crazy time.

Finally, Josie pulls into the parking lot and shuts off the engine. I make a move to get out of the car, but she just sits there, a blank stare on her face. When I glare at her, she flinches out of it, teasing, “Oh, did you want me to go inside with you?”

I snort and she laughs, though it sounds a little forced. And when I look at her face again, something feels off, but I can’t put my finger on it.

“Are you—” I start to ask if she’s okay, but Josie is quick to cut me off as she hops out of the driver’s seat.

“Come on.”

I don’t hesitate to follow.

It’s a quick walk and no wait, thanks to the hour, so before I know it, we’re in the exam room, and the doctor is coming through the door. Josie sits up straighter in her chair and puts away her phone, and I tuck my arms across my plastic-drape-covered lap.

“Hi, Dr. Vesper. Thanks for agreeing to this.”

Dr. Vesper is a stout woman with a warm smile and a smattering of wrinkles right at the corners of her lips. She’s probably in her late fifties, judging by her skin, but I have to say, she looks to be aging really gracefully.

“Yes, well. I’m used to desperate moms-to-be on the phone, but I have to admit your desperation sounded a little different.”

I cringe a little. Yeah, I imagine it did, seeing as I’m not entirely sure I’m not hallucinating all of this at this point.

“All right, so we ran the urine sample you gave us, and you are definitely pregnant, my dear. HCG levels look good, but since you’re only six weeks or so, we’re going to hold off on the ultrasound. I don’t like to do them until at least eight weeks. That way, we can feel confident we’re going to hear a heartbeat.”

I know Dr. Vesper is still talking, but my brain is too busy doing a buzzing bounce on the words you are definitely pregnant.

I’m not crazy. This isn’t a hallucination—I am carrying a baby that Bennett Bishop and I made together.

Josie covers her mouth with a hand, and tough B that she is, I still see the glisten of a tear in her eye. I swear, if I’ve actually found the way to break through her normally hard shell by getting preggo, I might have to scream.

“So, today, all we’re really looking to do is get some information about family medical history, for both you and the father,” Dr. Vesper updates. “I’ll need you to fill out some paperwork, we’ll get you started on prenatals, and then we’ll get another appointment set up for you in a couple of weeks.”

Family medical history. For the first time since seeing two pink lines days ago, I am struck by the fact that I don’t know what the genetic history of Summer’s diagnosis was. Was it because of a gene carried by her mother? Or Bennett? Or was it a combination of the two?

Josie sees the look on my face and reads it correctly. When she speaks up so I don’t have to, I’m thankful. “The, uh, father has one other child who was diagnosed with Osteogenesis Imperfecta Type III.”

Dr. Vesper’s face is incredibly kind. “Okay. We’ll plan to do a full genetic panel then, at around ten weeks, and that’ll tell us everything we need to know. Until then, I don’t want you to worry. Though osteogenesis imperfecta is a genetic disorder, it’s often caused by a mutation in the type 1 collagen genes. If no one else in the father’s family has OI, it’s likely to have stemmed from the maternal side.”

Dr. Vesper finishes up the appointment with a smile and a packet of information, and I sit there reeling. From low to high and low again, I wish I could replace some footing in this wild, unsteady storm.

I mostly just cry, and when I manage to stop crying, it only takes one thought of Summer or Bennett or this little baby growing in my belly to start crying all over again.

Josie tries to comfort me on our way out and on the drive home, but the truth is, I need Bennett. I need him present and strong and back on his high horse talking some sense into me about all the silly decisions I make.

I need him to tell me that he loves me and that he wants me and that, no matter what happens, we’re going to go through it together.

He’s still on my mind when my phone rings with a call from Breezy as we’re pulling back into Josie’s driveway nearly forty minutes later.

“Hello?”

“Norah, honey, I need you to do me a favor. There’s a painting in Bennett’s studio I need you to go pick up for me. Believe it or not, I’ve convinced him to donate something to an auction happening next week, and I need it overnighted. I know this is a shaky time for the two of you, but do you think you can run over there today? We’re in a time crunch.”

Shaking off all the mixed emotions of the morning, I smile into the phone. “Of course. That’s what you pay me for.”

Breezy laughs. “Thanks, Nore. And listen, I talked to Chet Smith, our lawyer, again this morning, and he says the DA is salivating. Turns out not only were ole Tommy and Eleanor bribing and traumatizing a bevy of young girls who worked for him, they were also involved in a high-end prostitution ring that included underage girls.”

A prostitution ring? With underage girls?

My jaw goes unhinged. “Holy shit, you’re kidding me!”

“What?” Josie asks, overhearing. “What is it?”

“I hate to say it, but I’m not all that surprised.” Breezy is still in my ear. “Too many of these rich frou-frous are sickos behind closed doors. And they’re sooo good at hiding it until they’re not. Anyway, I’d say they’re going to get what’s coming to them, and when I have more updates, I’ll let you know.”

“Jesus. Thanks, Breezy.”

“Of course, babe. Let me know when the painting is with the courier, okay?”

“I will,” I agree, hanging up when she does. An eager Josie is waiting for the news with perked ears.

“What? What’s going on?”

The whole thing is so crazy I don’t know any other way to deliver the news besides just saying it as it is. “Thomas and Eleanor…they were running an underage prostitution ring.”

“That is so fucked up.”

“It’s sick,” I whisper, and my heart feels heavy thinking about all of the victims, all of the poor girls whose lives were ruined because of Thomas and our mother.

“But it’s almost shocking how a large part of me isn’t all that surprised.”

My head whips toward her. “Josie!”

“I know, Nore. I know.” She reaches out to grasp my hand. “But don’t you dare blame yourself for any of it, you hear me? If you hadn’t taken off from that wedding and made all the moves you have, they might still be at it, you know?”

I nod. I know. And if Alexis hadn’t been brave enough to hand me that letter on my wedding day, who knows what would have happened? Who knows how long they would’ve been able to keep doing what they were doing?

I climb out of Josie’s car and then clamber straight into my own, leaving her standing beside the Civic dumbfounded. “What are you doing? You’re going somewhere?”

The words are almost unbelievable as I say them. “Yep. To Bennett’s house. Wish me luck.”

Josie shakes her head. “You don’t need luck, babe. You’ve got Summer.”

Damn straight.

I punctuate the sentiment by pulling her pink sunglasses out of my purse and sliding them on my face.