I feel my chest heave as his threat wraps around me like a cold wind. He means it. Caleb has never spoken to me with this much coldness. He’s never threatened me. It’s the baby. She’s changing him, turning him against me. He stops right before he reaches the stairs.
“I’m getting a nanny.”
Words I wanted, but now they don’t feel like a victory. Caleb is conceding to a nanny because he no longer trusts me — his wife. Suddenly, I don’t want one.
“No,” I say. “I can take care of her. I don’t need help.”
He ignores me, taking the stairs two at a time. I trail behind, deciding if I want to be pleading or aggressive.
“I made one mistake, it won’t happen again,” I say, taking the pleading route. “And, you can’t make that decision alone — she’s my daughter, too.” A speckle of aggression for good measure.
He’s in our bedroom, rifling around in his bedside table. He pulls out his “little black book” which I have snooped in often. I follow him to his office, where he retrieves his cell phone from the charger.
“Who are you calling?” I demand.
He points to the door, telling me to get out. I stand firm; hugging myself, worry coiling in my stomach.
“Hey,” he says into the receiver. His voice is intimate, insinuating. Obviously, he is on cozy terms with the person on the other end. I feel an icy chill hit my spine. There is only one person who makes his voice that soft, but why would he be calling her? He laughs at something the person has said and leans back in his chair.
Oh — God — oh — God. I feel sick.
“Yes, I do,” he says all chummy. “Can you make it happen?” He pauses as he listens. “I trust whoever you send. No — no — I don’t have a problem with that. Okay then, tomorrow? Yes, I’ll forward you the address — oh you remember?” He smiles wryly. “Talk to you then.”
I jump to action as soon as he hangs up.
“Who was that? Was that her?”
He pauses in his paper sorting to look at me quizzically. “Her?”
“You know who I’m talking about.”
We don’t ever talk about that — her. The muscles in his jaw clench. I have the urge to crawl under his desk and hide my head between my knees.
WHY
DID
I
SAY
THAT?
“No,” he says, resuming his shuffling. “It was an old friend who owns a nanny agency out of Boca. Someone will be coming over to meet me tomorrow.”
My jaw drops. Another secret part of his life that I know nothing about. How the hell is he connected to someone who owns a nanny agency?
“This is bullshit,” I say, stomping my foot. “Are you at least going to let me meet her?”
Caleb shrugs. “Perhaps, though I assume you are going to have a hangover tomorrow…”
I inwardly shrivel. He always knows. He sees everything. I wonder if my breath gave it away, or if somehow he had seen my banged up car bumper and guessed. I don’t care to ask. I make a quick exit from the room without explaining myself and run upstairs. I stand in the door to our bedroom and glance down the hall. I feel a pang of something. Should I go check on her? I did practically desert her today. I should at least make sure she is okay. I am glad she is not old enough to realize what I did. Kids hold things against you.
Walking quietly down the hall, I push the door to the nursery open with my toe and peer in. I don’t know why I feel so guilty looking at my own baby, but I do. I cross the space to her crib, holding my breath. She is asleep. Caleb has bathed and swaddled her, though she has managed to wiggle one of her hands free and is sucking on it. I can smell her from where I stand — the lavender soap Caleb bought for her mixed with the oatmeal smell of a new baby. I reach a finger down and touch her fist, and then I bolt from the room.
Chapter Six
Past
“Why do you have this?” I held up a pint of ice cream that had been sitting in his freezer since we met. It was Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia. I pried open the lid and saw that it was half eaten with a serious case of freezer burn. “You don’t like cherries. Can I throw it out?”
Caleb launched himself from the couch where he was watching TV and took the container from my hand. I blinked at him in surprise. I’d never seen a man move that quickly for ice cream.
“Leave it,” he said.
I watched him shove it behind a couple of frozen steaks and shut the door.
“That wasn’t creepy at all,” I said.
He looked seriously disoriented for a minute before taking my hand and leading me to the couch. He started kissing my neck, but my mind was still on the ice cream.
“Why don’t we move in together?” I asked casually.
He paused what he was doing and rested his forehead in the curve of my neck.
“No,” he said.
“No? Why not? We’ve been seeing each other for nine months. I’m here practically every night.”
He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end.
“I thought we weren’t doing anything serious?”
My eyes bulged. “Yeah, in the beginning. You don’t think this is serious? We’ve been exclusive for five months now.”
That wasn’t true. I had been exclusive from the day I met him. I hadn’t as much as looked at another guy since the yacht. Caleb had admittedly gone on a few other dates, but in the end, he always landed back in my bed. What could I say? Sexually, I was a force to be reckoned with. Obviously, not enough of a force.