Underwater (10 page)

Candace gave a gentle smile. “Will you always be like this?”

“Always. Now, I know you aren’t fond of surprises—”

Her smile disappeared. “But?”

“But I have one for you, anyway.” He reached into a pocket. “I took the liberty of purchasing something for you. Let’s call it an engagement gift.”

Candace looked down at the turquoise box Rob had placed next to her wineglass. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Ah, but I did. And
I
felt that I should have. Open it.”

A moment later, she held two gorgeous diamond hoop earrings. Not too big, but definitely not too small and exactly what she would have picked out for herself. She removed the pearl earrings she was wearing and put the new ones on. “They’re lovely. Thank you, Rob. I love them, you, and the surprise.”

He sipped his Scotch, a twinkle in his eye. “Not in that order, I trust.”

Candace smiled and sipped her wine. She fingered one of her new diamond hoops, then touched her lobe, as she often did when anticipating being alone, naked, and in bed with this man. She did love him. He was the only person with whom she could share her deepest fears and innermost feelings. Soon, when the time was right, she would share with him the one thing that so far she had kept to herself.

Three hours later, feeling very satisfied, the two of them lay together, legs intertwined, her head resting on Rob’s broad shoulder as she fell asleep in his arms.

Adele was fast asleep in the dark bedroom. In her loose pajamas, Helen tiptoed into the bathroom and peed, then crept into the kitchen for a glass of water. The living room was dark except for the computer and television, which was turned on and playing at a low volume. Monty lay sprawled on the sofa. Helen turned on the faucet, her back to him.

In two seconds, he was behind her, one arm wrapping itself around her waist. She turned with a start, gasping. “Jesus, Monty! You scared me! I thought you were asleep!”

“Baby, I’ve been waiting for you,” he whispered, taking her hands.

Hairs on the back of Helen’s neck stood up. “You’ve been drinking. Let me go to bed. Please.”

He looked into her eyes. “I’m so sorry. Will you forgive me?”

His eyes were red; the streak of a tear stained his cheek. Had he been crying? “It’s not that easy. Let’s just go to sleep. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

“No, baby. We’ve gotta talk now. I need you. I’m nothing without you. I don’t know what got into me. I was hurt, and I lashed out. I didn’t mean anything I said. If you won’t forgive me, I won’t be able to forgive myself.”

Don’t answer him. Address the issues.
“Monty, we’ve got to face our situation. We’ve got to figure out what to do. We don’t have a choice. We
are
in this thing together, but if you don’t face it with me, I’ll have to do it alone.”

“You don’t have to. I
am
with you—I will be, from now on. I promise.”

She braced herself, stiffening. “How am I supposed to trust you?”

He moved one hand up her left arm, caressing it. “I’ll do whatever you want me to. I’m glad you emailed Candace about meeting. It was the right thing to do. I was wrong about it.”

Stay strong.
“Then why were you so angry at me?”

“I was frustrated, Helen. It’s not you who made me angry—it was her. She made me furious today. She’s selfish and she’s evil. Somehow she brings out the worst in me, but I can’t keep on letting her. For your sake, for Adele’s sake”—he glanced down, then drew his eyes back up to Helen’s face—“for the baby’s sake.”

“We’ve got to get on the same page.”

“We do,” said Monty, his voice tender. He rested both of his forearms on her shoulders. “That’s why I was upset about you opening the new bank account.”

Helen closed her eyes.
Don’t back down.
“I have to manage the money I make.”

“Yes! You do. But can’t we do it together? Do a budget, pay the bills—map out a realistic strategy for finishing the house, together?”

Helen looked straight into her husband’s eyes, wanting to believe him. “In the past—”

“The past is over. Let’s just start fresh, tomorrow. Let’s get on the same page. Let’s go to American Trust and change the account a joint one. Let’s go over our budget, like, twice a week. Can we do that?”

Like a brittle twig bent back to its breaking point, Helen’s resolve cracked, then snapped. “Only if we manage
all
the money together—not just our living expenses. And only if you find a job. Bring home a paycheck.”

He dropped his arms around her, pressing into her hips, his hands on the small of her back. “I will, I promise. I’ll start looking tomorrow.”

No, he won’t! He never fulfills his promises!
“Any job, Monty. I don’t care what it is.” Her lungs felt depleted, as if they were collapsing. How was she caving in so easily and so quickly?

“Right,” he said, one hand moving up to her left shoulder, baring it. “Any job.”

“Stop—”

“Don’t stay mad at me,” he pleaded. “I love you.”

Her eyes glistened. Maybe there was a good man inside of him. The man she wanted him to be. “Then why do you hurt me?”

“I have no excuse. Let me make everything up to you.” He leaned in to kiss her, then looked down at her breasts. “Do they feel tender?”

She pushed back, leaning away from him. “Monty, something feels different about this pregnancy—”

“Maybe because it’s a boy. I’m sure it is, baby.” Gently, he pulled her closer, then slowly removed her top, letting it fall to the floor. He looked at her breasts, then at her left shoulder. She flinched for a second, then he leaned down and kissed it. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll be careful.” He wrapped his arms around her, picked her up, and carried her over toward the sofa.

When it was over, she went to the bathroom again, but in the dim light, she didn’t see the blood.

8

Two

D
avid copied and pasted Candace’s questions for her brother into the email draft he had written at her request yesterday afternoon. In light of Monty’s staunch refusal to attend Monday’s meeting, she had changed her mind again and decided that David should go ahead and send the finalized draft, rather than just use it as an agenda at the meeting.

But Candace had called early this morning with updated instructions: David was to write only an intro and a closing, edit her questions for continuity, and send the draft back to her. She would then proof it and send the final version back to him, which he was to send to Monty today, copying Helen and herself. David was bewildered about why she didn’t just write the entire message herself. Was he no more than a glorified secretary in this instance? He shook his head. Whatever the wealthy wanted, they got.

He finished his coffee and set the mug beside his computer. He was sure that Monty would never offer up the income and monthly expense figures Candace was requesting, but there was a chance that Helen might do so at the meeting. Hopefully, she would also provide information about the missing vendor invoices, the status of the application for a certificate of occupancy, and the Carawans’ plan to list the property for sale.

David had a favorable albeit ambiguous impression of Candace’s sister-in-law. Secure in the creative, if unstable, profession of graphic arts, she must possess the talent required in her field. From what David could tell, she had a good work ethic. But on a personal level, she was an enigma. Why had she chosen a scoundrel such as Monty for a husband? She was slim and not unattractive, but her looks were only just above average. David had seen a photo of her with her sister, who was the prettier one by far. Perhaps Helen had been thrilled that a good-looking man like Monty had chosen her, and she’d happily fallen victim to his charms.

Yet Helen could not be happy in her marriage if she had half a brain. Monty’s recent behavior alone demonstrated meanness and cynicism. One didn’t write such emails and leave such voicemail messages and then go home to romance one’s wife. Helen must be living a nightmare with that miscreant.

Did a woman’s chance of finding a good mate—someone who was honest, faithful, and a good provider—depend solely on her looks? David possessed those qualities, and his wife Ellen was beautiful. Their daughter, Olivia, was almost ten years old and very pretty, resembling her mother. Olivia’s future husband would have to be worthy of her—David would make sure of that. He and Ellen had wanted another child, but it was not to be. Her fertility had been affected after she had survived non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. But her spirit never faltered, and David admired her strength. She was his better half, by far.

Helen Carawan, by contrast, seemed weak enough to be blown over by Monty’s shouting. Perhaps she had been rather beaten down by life. Candace had said that Helen was estranged from both her parents, who split up when she was young, though her mother remarried. Helen had worked as a waitress and put herself through art school. Then one day in her twenties, she’d walked away from a stable job and moved to Atlanta, where she knew no one, to accept a new position.

Maybe life had been going well for her at that point, but once she became entangled with Monty—well, David could only guess what she might have gone through. He glanced at the recent photo of Ellen and Olivia that he kept on his desk. He would protect the women in his life—he couldn’t imagine losing either one.

Candace walked up to her assistant’s desk. “Jess, get Paula and Amanda. Immediately.”

Jess nodded as Candace entered her private office. It was eight-thirty. Jess deduced that her boss had risen early to work out before coming in. The heads of design and sales and marketing should be at their desks, though Jess had seen neither of them this morning. The entire company was humming with Candace present—a collective sigh of relief would escape once she was on the plane to New York and safely out of town.

Paula rushed past Jess’s desk and knocked on Candace’s office door before entering. Jess’s eyes shifted the other direction. Amanda was approaching, ten steps behind her department head counterpart.

Jess looked back at her computer screen and focused on her agenda. Candace hadn’t exhibited a worse temper than normal, but things would probably be tense in there. Design and Sales were often at odds, no matter what the project, and now that the new swimwear line was being developed, everyone at the company was a little more stressed. Of course, all employees were under very strict orders not to divulge anything about the line—not even to hint about it—before the unveiling to buyers in New York this September. Secrecy was imperative.

Jess glanced at Candace’s door just as Amanda was about to turn the knob. Amanda was wearing a fitted, short orange top and tight, dark brown pants. Jess’s eye caught on something white poking out of the back of Amanda’s pants at the waist. A tag? No, it was the top of her underwear. Her thong underwear! It was a whale tail. Jess raised her eyebrows and turned back to her computer. Didn’t Amanda know about the unspoken company-wide ban on thongs? Or didn’t she care? Worse than panty lines, Candace hated thongs—they were a product competitor and unladylike (translation: skanky). More than once, Jess had heard her boss say with disdain that wearing a thong was like saying, “Here’s my butt—deal with it!” whereas wearing a SlimZ garment was like saying, “I think enough of my ass to shape and contour it.”

Whatever. Jess was young enough not to have to worry about it. She was slender but not without curves. No issues with underwear choices, thank you. Not all the women who worked at SlimZ were trim, but each one of them had either a pear or an hourglass figure—no one was an apple, with stick legs and a nonexistent ass. Could that be due to a subconscious discrimination policy? Surely some woman with that body shape had applied for a job here. But that type of woman probably didn’t buy SlimZ.

Jess’s phone vibrated. It was Beau Warren. Her “beau.”

“How’s your day so far?” he asked.

She glanced at Candace’s closed door. “Fine, and getting better. She’s off to New York this afternoon. But no one’s leaving early or anything. How about you?”

“So-so.” Beau was employed by Coca-Cola, working in the international distribution area. They had met during senior year at the University of Georgia. “Counting the hours until I see you tonight.”

Jess smiled. Beau was taking her out to dinner at a new hot spot in Buckhead to celebrate their two-year anniversary. Then, most likely they’d hit a bar. “Me, too.”

“How does eight o’clock sound? Is that cool?”

“Perfect.”

“So, are you wearing underwear?”

Jess giggled. “See you at eight,” she said. “I’ve gotta go!”

Just as she clicked off her phone, she heard Amanda’s voice rising, coming from inside the nearby room.
Oh, shit.
Working in a virtually all-female office had its tensions, but all things considered, it was probably better than one with mostly men. Not that she knew what that was like—this was her first real job.

Now she heard Candace raising her voice, which was unusual. “This project is too big for the kind of quarreling I’ve witnessed here,” came the boss’s voice through the door. Jess bit her lip and shook her head. Using the word
quarreling
was just like Candace, who continued: “Amanda, you’ve heard Paula’s issues. I’d like an email response to both her and myself by . . .” Her voice trailed off, the decibel level falling back to normal.

Ten seconds later, Paula left the room with a smile on her face, closing Candace’s door behind her. Amanda stayed in the room.

“Helen Carawan?” the nurse announced to the waiting room. Helen rose from her seat, Monty at her side. They had driven together to Helen’s obstetrician Dr. Joanna Russell’s office, depositing Adele at school on the way over.

Helen felt faint and weak. Over an hour ago, she had awakened to find bloodstains. She woke Monty and told him—he surprised her with his attentiveness and evident concern, but he said few words. She called the doctor and was told to come right in. At eight weeks pregnant, Helen had only been to one appointment so far—the next one was scheduled for over a month from now. But the bleeding meant she was in danger of losing the baby. Monty had fed and dressed Adele while Helen showered and got ready. Now he was next to her, his countenance somber.

After weighing Helen in, a nurse ushered her and Monty into an examination room. Then a brief visit from another nurse who explained that, while the loss of blood was a very troubling sign, it didn’t necessarily mean the end.

“Have you had intercourse in the last twenty-four hours?” she demanded of Helen.

Helen nodded and glanced at Monty. His face was stone cold.

The nurse scribbled down notes on a pad. “Well, before you see Dr. Russell, we’ll do an ultrasound. The technician won’t discuss it with you, but Dr. Russell will. Okay?”

Helen swallowed. “Thank you.” She and Monty followed the nurse out of the small room and down the corridor to another room equipped with machinery.

Moments later, Helen was lying on a hard table between the technician and her husband. A swirly, fluidlike picture appeared on the monitor, but even though she had had a sonogram with Adele, Helen couldn’t figure out what it meant right now or whether her baby was okay.

“Good morning, Mrs. Carawan. Mr. Carawan,” the doctor said upon entering. “Let’s see what’s going on.” She walked over to the screen, focusing on the image. “I’m happy to tell you, first of all, that we don’t have a problem.”

“You mean . . .” Helen began, then stopped, relief taking hold.

“I mean, you’re not suffering a miscarriage. It’s good that you called and came in, because the bleeding you experienced may well have indicated one. However, that’s not the case.”

Monty forced a smile. “That’s great,” he said, his voice wooden.

“But that’s not all,” Dr. Russell said. She smiled and looked from husband to wife and back again. “Helen, you’re carrying twins.”

Helen gasped. For a second, she couldn’t breathe.
Three
children? “Are you sure?”

“Most definitely. Here are the heartbeats.” She motioned to one, then the other. “Here’s one baby, let’s call him ‘Baby A,’ Danielle.” She looked at the technician. “This one, we’ll call ‘Baby B.’ ”

“Did you say
‘
him?’ ” asked Monty. “I mean, can we find out if they’re boys or girls?”

“Not yet. At least, not from this ultrasound. In another eight weeks or so, however, we should be able to—if you like. We’ll probably do a second set of pictures at that point.”

“Another sonogram?” Helen asked.

Dr. Russell nodded, taking Helen’s hand. “Are you okay?” she asked the patient. “I know it’s a surprise. I’m sure you’re happy to know that the babies are doing fine, though.”

“Yes,” said Helen. “But what caused the blood?”

“It’s more common than you think. Danielle’s going to get some measurements, then she’ll send you back over to see me. We have a few things to talk about: what to do about the bleeding, for one. Also, the fact that a multiple birth is a high-risk pregnancy. I’ll see you back in the exam room in a few minutes.” She left the room.

In twenty minutes, the couple was on their way home. Helen was to take the day off from work to rest, and the bleeding, which had subsided, should disappear. She could go back to work on Monday, providing that she experienced no more problems, and they were to take a week or two off from having sex.

They drove in silence for the first five minutes. Then Monty glanced over at his wife. “You look like you’re still in shock.”

“I don’t know how we’re going to manage.”

“Well, it would have been a lot better if you’d had a miscarriage. Who knows? You still could.”

She turned away and stared out the window. The future looked as bleak as the raw spring morning. Clouds had moved in and were threatening rain. She looked back at Monty, her eyes moist. “What a horrible thing to say.”

He shrugged.

Helen took a deep breath and turned straight ahead. “Do you remember what you said last night? The promises you made?”