The Storm (Fairhope) (8 page)

I pulled up to the resort where the convention was to take place around three-thirty, hoping to squeeze in some much needed rest. Parking and rolling down the window, I leaned back and closed my eyes, breathing in the coconut-scented breeze feathering off the ocean. The perfect sunshine permeated my skin, luring me to sleep with its sensual warmth. Just as I started to slide into dreamland, Grace called.

“You’re working a convention with Brooke Bennett? How’s that whore doing, anyway? Who’s she screwing these days?” Grace was chewing gum.

“She’s still the bomb no one wants to set off.” I glanced up at the clear blue sky, wishing I was on the beach with a margarita in my hand. I missed margaritas. “I think she’s sleeping with my boss.”

Brooke’s name was on Jeff’s lips a little too often, and his eyes rested on her a little too long at local area meetings. Considering she was in a different division, there was no good reason for them to spend time together. Also, Brooke had been an associate longer than me … why hadn’t she applied for my position?

Grace guffawed. “Are you serious? That bitch is so deceptive. She comes across as composed and professional, doesn’t she?”

I shook my head. Brooke was the embodiment of the power of deception. “Definitely. Passive aggression at its worst.”

“Maybe you should try that,” Grace offered.

I rolled my eyes. “Not my style.”

“When am I going to see you?” she pouted. “I miss my best friend. Gavin is having another affair with his guitar, and I’m bored.”

“This weekend,” I replied. “I plan to have an affair with my art very soon.”

I daydreamed about my latest canvas on the way to my room. Much to my dismay, I literally tripped over Brooke’s designer suitcase in the hall. She was in the process of opening her room door, directly across from mine.

Without saying a word, I picked it up, set it in place, and dusted off my pants.

Her face transformed into a wide, fake smile.

“Hey, honey,” she said in her exaggerated Southern drawl. “Did you have a good day?” She casually flipped her tight curls over her shoulder.

“Yes, sure did.” I forced a smile back. “I’m looking forward to tonight. We’re going to have a blast!” I rustled through my purse for my room key, desperately wanting to vanish from her sight. I felt like vomiting, unsure if the urge resulted from Brooke’s presence or the extra estrogen.

“A lot of the guys want to go out tonight.” I could feel her evil eyes shooting darts into my back. “You up for it? If I remember correctly, you were quite the diva on the dance floor in college.”

The “guys” she referred to were the young, handsome surgeons, mostly looking for women, who attended every convention. Any invitation to get out of town for these was met with a “YES” RSVP. Normally, I was game for hanging out as long as they understood I was not hooking up. If I had too many drinks, I’d point out which one of their prospective conquests they had the best shot of bedding. Typically, I was spot on with my assessments.

I was confident that Brooke was game for the after-party.

“I don’t know,” I responded a bit evasively. “Depends how late it is. I haven’t been feeling really well lately.” I opened my door, hoping to shake her.

She closed her own door and followed me, uninvited. “What’s wrong?”

I opened my door and set my suitcase down, rummaging through my things, trying to appear very busy. “Stomach issues and fatigue, that’s all.”

“Jana, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Have I done something to you?” She folded her arms tightly across her chest as she scooted to the center of my room.

Oh, great.
I put my makeup bag down and slowly met her gaze. “No, why would you think that?” I sighed, unsurprised at her dramatic outburst.

She feigned concern. “You’ve just been acting differently.”

“Oh, no,” I said reassuringly. “I just haven’t felt well lately. Nothing is wrong.”

“Stomach issues, fatigue…” She cocked her head and gazed at me, pursing her lips. “Are you pregnant?”

I froze. What could have made her suspicious? Had she heard me in our storage unit the week before talking to Andrew on my cell about our upcoming ultrasound, and I failed to notice her?
Damn passive aggressive whore!

“Um, um…” I stammered, wondering where my acting skills had taken off to. I shook profusely, my nerves exploding from head to toe.

She clapped her hands together. “I knew it! That’s why you
always
look
so
tired, and are never feeling well. You’re pregnant! Congratulations. How far along are you?”

Ripples of what must be depression conquered the competing emotions of fear and disbelief.
Not Brooke. Anyone but Brooke.
I collapsed on my bed and crossed my puffy legs with thoughts of Collin’s nasty retorts resurfacing—“She’s at
that
age. Bet it won’t be long.”

“I haven’t told anyone on my team yet, including Jeff. I want to wait until I’m sure we won’t miscarry. Please don’t tell anyone.” It seemed like it was someone else talking to,
begging
, her. Gross.

A sickly sweet, almost sinister, smile played across her pale face. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.” I barely heard the explosion of questions that followed, vaguely murmuring the appropriate responses. There was no way in hell I believed my secret was safe with her.

I retched violently as soon as she left, gasping desperately for air. Why couldn’t I have just lied to her like a good salesperson?

God, please help me.
Don’t cry, don’t cry.
Feeling childlike and vulnerable, I sensed the whisper holding me as I forced myself to dress for the convention.

Three hours after the convention session began, it was over. My palms were soaked with sweat, and my makeup was smeared after hugging the toilet three times. At least the bathroom was new and clean. It could have been much worse.

“You ready to go, Jana?” Brooke sauntered up with her partying posse, all of them dressed to kill. She crossed her arms and stared at me expectantly.

I never told you I
was
going,
I wanted to shout. Instead, I self-consciously dabbed at the streaks of mascara on my cheeks and weaseled, “It would take me too long to redo this junk. It’s been a long night, and I’m turning in, but I hope you guys have fun.”

Some new intern feasted his eyes on my chest (which now boasted a nice, full D thanks to the surplus of hormones). His drunken flirting was obvious and a complete turnoff. “Hey, be my date,” he slurred.

I wanted to reply, “Are you serious? I’m vomiting up my guts, and there’s a baby cooking in here. And you are not half as hot as my husband.” Instead, I laughed it off and ignored Brooke’s icy stare.

When I staggered miserably into bed that evening, my phone blew up with an accusatory text from Jeff.
Why aren’t you going out with Brooke? She does not need to be going out alone … It’s your job to build relationships with your surgeons…

I thought about snapping a picture for him the next time I vomited, with the caption:
This is why.

It hit me what was
really
going on. He was worried about her fooling around with someone else. I laughed at the thought, considering he was married with children. I wondered if he knew exactly how she was “building her business.” Regardless of her tactics, my business had always been more successful than hers.

I fought the urge to wake her up at four AM with a few solid kicks on her door and unleash my inner Grace. “Congratulations, bitch! You are now the queen bee. Hope you had a good time last night! How’s your jaw?” It felt good to safely go off on her in my mind.

Without the energy to rehash the disturbing night to Andrew, I slowly cried myself into an unsatisfying sleep after staring at Jeff’s message, unsure of how to reply. Upset at the onset of yet another conflict, the sound of my tears was drained out by the torrential rain pouring outside. I awoke with caked tears dotting my bloodless cheeks, worried this stress was harmful for my developing baby. My bloodshot eyes squinted to read the glaring clock that was halfway falling off the nightstand.
Maybe
three hours of sleep.

I cowered in the hotel hallway as I spotted Brooke leaving that morning … accompanied by one of the young surgeons who had been at dinner, and obviously the bar, the night before. She flipped her hair over her shoulder until her pale cheek was touching his. I ducked back into my room just in time as she whipped her head around to check her surroundings. Life would only become drearier for me if she caught me catching her in the act.

Oh, but Brooke was
born again.
Those tears sure seemed genuine several months before as she told a group of customers over lunch how Jesus had changed her life. If it wasn’t for Jesus, she would not know which direction to go. If it wasn’t for Jesus, she didn’t know where she would be now. If it wasn’t for Jesus, she would not have been cured of her crippling childhood asthma that hospitalized her for weeks at a time. Jesus was her husband while she waited on the one He had for her. Uh-huh.

Beep, beep.
My text message alert went off as I started my car. Ugh. Brooke.

You may want to tell Collin, or at least Jeff, that you are expecting. That might help it be more understandable why you were not able to take the surgeons out to discuss business.

Discuss business, my ass.

I would bet my new Coach bag that Brooke had already relayed the message for me. But, sighing, I knew what I had to do now and scrolled to Jeff’s contact info. No answer, but he returned my call within minutes. Somehow I got the words out: “I’m pregnant.”

I felt the need to explain, twice, that Andrew worked a traditional eight-to-five most days, and we planned for him to chauffeur the baby to/from our parents’ houses. In other words, my schedule with Covington would not be affected.

I expected Jeff to voice his approval, but his silence was deafening. Finally, he offered a forced “Congratulations” before excusing himself from the conversation.

Andrew, my knight in shining armor, continued to rescue me from my professional hell, surprising me by having Grace and Gavin over to cook out Saturday night. Andrew’s cousin built us a to-die-for grill, and nearly every weekend was enjoyed in our backyard, music blaring and beer flowing. Andrew built our deck with his bare hands; both the handsome deck and him shirtless, muscles rippling with every move he made, could have landed a magazine cover.

Gabbing with my best friend took the edge off my ruminating anxiety. They had recently returned from Destin, Florida and were relieved to take a break from unpacking and fighting about Grace’s wad of credit card receipts. Gavin, a man of personal integrity and few words, only challenged his spendthrift other half when her offenses were particularly offensive, so I was certain she jumped off the deep end in the outlet malls.

“Tell Jana how much those Costas cost.” Gavin pointed at the expensive sunglasses that pushed back his wife’s blond waves, and then at the colorless diamond earrings she sported. “And those.”

“I got a bonus,” she snapped at Gavin, crossing her arms. “Besides, Jana would have bought them, too. This isn’t a ‘bipolar’ thing.”

Gavin had that look on his face that meant he knew his wife was in “handle with care” mode. “What we
got
is a lot of things we don’t need, babe.” He cringed, knowing he shouldn’t have gone there.

Quickly, he turned to Andrew to divert Grace’s backlash. “Man, I don’t know if I’ve told you, but congratulations, Daddy.”

Andrew beamed proudly. “Thanks, man.”

“I cannot wait,” Grace gushed as we nearly salivated, watching our husbands flip burgers. “I want to be a mother, too!” She nudged Gavin affectionately, having rapidly forgotten about their argument.

“Ah … you too?” Andrew teased her, grabbing a handful of paper plates off our outdoor table and placing hamburger buns on each one. “There must be something in the water.” He flipped the last two well-done burgers and announced, “Food’s done, ladies. Eat up.”

“Well…” Grace’s expression was almost shy. “We have not exactly been trying, but we’re not exactly preventing, either … at least most of the time. We’ve been together forever, and what if it takes us years?” She pouted at Gavin. “I want Baby Cook and Baby Milton to grow up together! No more pulling out.” She had
zero
filter.