Our faces are as close as they can be without actually touching.
“You’re staring at my freckles.” I rub my nose against his.
“Because they’re so damn cute.”
“Shut up. Dimples are cute. Freckles are spotty, patchy, and messy.”
“Messy?” He laughs.
“Yeah, like I’m messy right now and sweaty. I need a shower.”
“Bath?”
I grin and nod.
We fill the tub … too much, thanks to us both being incapable of keeping our hands off the other when we’re naked.
“We’re going to have a mess to clean up by the time we get out,” I say as I ease in the water between his legs. I love his deep claw-foot tub.
“We’ll add it to the messy list with your freckles.”
“Ha, ha!” I lean back against his chest and skim my fingers over his legs.
“So how did the weekend go?”
“Great, actually. I feel free. The painful weight of lying to my parents for the past two years has been lifted. They felt bad that I thought I needed to protect them from the truth, but they weren’t mad.”
“And your adulterous boyfriend?”
I laugh. “They think we’re both insane, but they get it.”
“Get it?”
“Yeah, why?”
“How much did you tell them?”
“I told them your wife is mentally ill because your baby died. It’s tragic and something I’m sure you don’t want the whole world to know, but they’re my parents and I had to explain the situation.”
He doesn’t respond.
“Are you mad?”
He wraps his arms around me and kisses the top of my head. “No … I’m not mad.”
After twenty minutes of silence and the dropping water temperature evoking goose bumps, we get out. I wrap my towel around myself and comb through my hair while Oliver goes into the bedroom.
“You’re awfully quiet,” I say while grabbing one of his T-shirts from the drawer and slipping it on.
He sits on the edge of the bed in just his briefs with his head bowed. “I’d been working late … a lot. Being the youngest lawyer at the firm meant long hours. We both knew that when I took the position. That’s the reason I looked for a job in Portland, so her parents would be close by to help when the baby came.”
He’s telling me everything and I can’t move. I want to sit next to him, hold his hand … something, but I’m frozen in front of the dresser, just feet away from him, completely paralyzed.
“She went into labor at five in the morning two weeks before her due date. They ended up doing a C-section. Melanie was tiny but so…” his voice cracks “…strong.” He shakes his head. “God, she was so strong. Caroline had a tough recovery, but her mom stayed with us to help out. The partners at the firm insisted I take a week off and work from home. I thought we were good, tired and exhausted, but good.”
Silence settles over the room. I don’t know if he’s looking for the right words or the right amount of courage. Forcing my body to find its own courage, I move closer and kneel on the floor by the bed, resting my head on his leg. His hand moves to my hair and he runs his fingers through it in slow methodic strokes.
“I went back to work, but her parents came to help every day over the next couple months. They encouraged her to take a shower, a walk, even run an errand or two just to have a break. One day she would scrub the kitchen floor then the next she didn’t want to get out of bed. Her doctor said it was postpartum depression, fairly common. Her mom thought she was starting to hallucinate, but I never saw that side of her. Then again, I wasn’t home much. Melanie was usually asleep by the time I got home, so my only interaction was when she woke in the night, but even then Caroline was usually up. She hardly slept.”
He laughs, it’s a painful, maybe even an angry laugh. “It wasn’t postpartum depression, it was postpartum psychosis. Did you know that point one percent of women get it? And even then, less than five percent of that point one percent are suicidal or …” He swallows and takes a deep breath.
I can’t move … I can’t breathe. I know where this is going. It’s the sickest feeling I’ve ever had in my life. It’s worse than waking up in the hospital with third-degree burns. It’s worse than hearing about Sean’s abusive past. It’s even worse than the news of Kai’s sister dying. One blink and my tears release. They flow freely down my face and onto Oliver’s leg.
“Less than five percent of … Point. One. Fucking. Percent. Her parents had driven down to visit her brother in Salem, just for the evening. I made sure to be home by dinner. I brought food and flowers. It was going to be our special night together, just the three of us.”
His tears fall to my cheek. I look up at him and the pain on his face is like someone’s ripping him apart and he can’t stop them.
I shake my head. “Don’t.” I need him to stop.
“It was quiet … too quiet. So I went to our bedroom.”
“Oli, stop.” I release a sob and grab his tear streaked face. “Please.”
He just stares at me like he’s looking through me, not even seeing me. “They weren’t there. I thought … I thought maybe she was in the bathtub. The floor … so much blood … she was lifeless.”
“Oli … don’t do this.” I cry.
“I called 9-1-1 and went back down the hall to unlock the front door. That’s when I saw them.” More tears fall from his glazed-over eyes. “Her feet … they were bl-blue.” A break in his voice and a single sob … it’s a dagger to my heart.
My forehead falls to his chest and I cry so hard. He places his hands over mine still on his cheeks.
“She was in h-her crib with a p-pillow over her head.” He releases another strangled sob.
I crawl up onto his lap and press my wet lips to his. “No more, Oli! No more.” I mumble between sobs against his lips.
He nods, resting his forehead on mine and holding me tight in his arms.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bared to Boston
Oliver
I gave Vivian the version of the story that showed the monster in Caroline. There’s the version where I’m a monster too. The one I’ve never told anyone. It’s the version that includes my thoughts that night … my regrets. I regretted calling 9-1-1 because Melanie was already dead and Caroline was still alive. Monster.
It’s almost midnight. We’ve both been in and out of sleep but never leaving each other’s arms. The most incredible woman in the world found me … me! Someday I could wake up and discover she is in fact, just a dream. But for now I’m holding on to her with the intensity of a lifeline.
“Do you miss Rosenberg?”
I love her … I fucking love her more than I ever thought humanly possible. We haven’t said a word in six hours, not since I finished reliving my past, hopefully for the last time. Yet, she just knows to ask me about something as random and mundane as her dog.
“Can’t say I’ve given him much thought.”
She brushes her fingernails over my chest in the same repeated pattern. “Well, I think he took a real liking to you.”
“Mmm, I guess I’ll have to go visit him again.”
“Yes, or maybe he could come here … for a visit.”
“Uh … yeah, sure … I guess.”
“Really?” She looks up at me resting her chin on my chest.
I shrug. “Sure. Why not?”
“Thanks, babe.” She leans up and kisses me. “I’m hungry.”
I chuckle. “It’s past midnight.”
“Well, all my tummy knows is that we missed dinner.” She climbs out of bed and looks over her shoulder. “You coming?”