Beth hooked her arm through Andrew’s as they strolled the three blocks from the 86th Street subway station back to their Carnegie Hill apartment. She was beaming and still keyed up from her time on the ice.
“Thank you for my Christmas present,” she said. “Thanks for making me skate.”
Andrew stopped abruptly, turned her to him. “That wasn’t your present,” he said. “I’m going to get you another present. The real present. You just have to tell me what you want.”
“Don’t be silly. I don’t want anything else.”
“Sure you do. Think. I have to—I mean, I want to prove to you that I love you.”
Beth shook her head. “Andrew, buying me something won’t prove that you love me.”
“Sure it will. I mean, it couldn’t hurt, right? Just tell me. What is it you really want for Christmas? If you could have anything in the world.”
“Well, I know a Christmas present we both got.” Beth took his hands in hers. “I’m pregnant.”
Andrew stared at her. The news was so sudden, so jolting and unexpected, that for a moment it didn’t even register.
“What? When? How long have you known?” he said.
“About six weeks.”
Andrew felt her watching him, searching his eyes for a sign, any kind of indication of how he felt about the sudden news.
“Sorry to just blurt it out like this on the street,” she said. “But I kept waiting for the perfect moment to tell you, and now seems—well, as perfect as it’s going to get.”
Andrew felt frozen, hypnotized, as if he’d slipped into some carnival gypsy’s trance. How could fate be so horribly void of compassion, so unthinkably cruel? When Beth was killed that night, she was keeping this secret. She had died carrying their child, and in a few short hours, unless he could figure out some way to stop it, she would die again. On this terrible night, he wasn’t just losing his wife, his lifelong love and best friend. He was losing his child. Their child.
Beth’s smile vanished. “This isn’t exactly the reaction I was hoping for.”
Then, at the moment when things could have gone from bad to irretrievably worse, Andrew Farmer made the save. He broke into a wide grin, clutched Beth in his arms, and pulled her to him.
“Oh, Beth! This is . . . the most amazingly perfect Christmas present ever!”
“Really, Andrew? You’re really happy?”
Andrew’s agent training was paying dividends. He could lie with the best of them. “Are you kidding?” he said. “There’s nothing on earth I want more.” Andrew took Beth’s face in his hands and gave her a slow, sweet kiss. He whispered into her ear, “This is my dream.”
“Can you believe it?” Beth said. “We’re going to have a baby! We’re going to be parents!” She wrapped her arms around his waist in a blissful embrace.
There on that cold, snowy Manhattan sidewalk on Christmas Eve, Andrew Farmer held his joyful wife and tried to navigate the swell of conflicting emotions swirling around in his head.
If only she knew.
If only she knew the dreadful secret he was keeping.