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Jarret
Jarret decided to stop going back and forth for water and snatched the pitcher from the fridge. With a glass tucked under his arm, an energy drink in one hand and the pitcher in the other, he strolled down the hall, through the great room, and back to Zoe in the family room.
Since his return from California, she had all but moved in. And she had a hundred and one needs. Papa didn’t seem to care that she was here every day, sharing their meals, loafing on the couch, or even up in his bedroom. Of course, they never closed the door and someone else always came upstairs, too. Papa had never spent more daylight hours in his room across the hall than he had in these past couple of weeks.
“Oh good,” Zoe said as Jarret rounded the couch.
He set everything on the coffee table and poured her some water. When he went to hand it to her, she waved it away.
“I need the bathroom.”
“Again? Didn’t you just use it ten—”
She chastised him with her eyes, shutting him up. Then using her hands and some awkward movements, she scooted to the edge of the couch.
He stood and took her arm to help her, since she really seemed to need it. “Isn’t this baby due yet? How much bigger can you get?”
She smiled and kissed his cheek before waddling around the couch and to the bathroom near the mudroom.
He plopped down on the couch, twisted the lid off his energy drink, and snatched the remote. Flipping to a baseball game, his muscles relaxed. She once told him she liked baseball, but since the season began, she hadn’t wanted to watch a single game with him. Soap operas in the daytime and stupid reality shows in the evening. That was all she wanted to watch.
The bases were loaded and a good hitter came up to bat. Then Zoe returned.
“You turned off my soap?” She lowered herself onto the couch.
With a sigh, he surrendered the remote and took a swig of his drink.
“It’s getting dark in here. Why don’t you open a blind or turn on the lamps?” Her eyes stayed glued to the TV even though a commercial had come on.
“It’s not dark in here. It’ll just make the place hot. It’s a hundred degrees outside.”
She shot him a glare. Maybe her head hurt or something.
“How’re you feeling?” He tried to look compassionate, but his limit had drawn near and it probably showed in his eyes. For the past few days, he had to keep reminding himself she had only two more weeks. The baby would come and life would return to normal. He would never let this happen again, at least not until he was older and ready for it.
“I still get lightheaded every now and then,” she said. “But I’m fine now.”
The other day she had totally freaked him out, telling him she thought she was having contractions. His heart had stopped. He’d wanted to call an ambulance or rush her to the hospital, but she’d only wanted to call her doctor. He forgot what the doctor had called the contractions but, apparently, they didn’t matter.
“Are you hungry?” she said.
They’d eaten lunch an hour ago. “No.”
She clicked her tongue. “I wish you wouldn’t look at me like that all the time. I’m not crazy, I’m pregnant.”
He snickered. “That’d make a nice slogan on a t-shirt. Maybe a bumper sticker.”
She didn’t laugh. “Ever since you’ve gotten back, you’ve been so grumpy and anxious around me.”
He rolled his eyes and sighed. Here she goes again.
“You don’t show any compassion for what I’m going through.”
“Sure I do.” He got up to get her drinks fifty times a day, fixed her food when Nanny wasn’t around, brought her pillows, rubbed her back . . . What more did she want?
“It’s not easy being pregnant, you know, especially at this stage. Maybe this is all a shock to you, I mean, we were together when it was easy to hide, but then you left—”
“Not my fault.”
“. . . and when you return, my belly’s grown. It’s not my fault either.”
“I mean, it’s not my fault that I left. I didn’t want to go.”
“I know. But it’s not my fault that I’m pregnant. It’s not all my fault. You were there, too.”
His chest muscles tightened. “Do we have to do this?”
“I’m just tired of you acting so put out by everything. I feel like you force yourself to put up with me, like I’m so unattractive to you because I’m pregnant.” Her voice wavered and her breath caught in her throat.
He found himself reaching for her, rubbing her shoulders, leaning his face close to hers. “Don’t feel that way, baby. I don’t want you to think that. Things will go back to the way they were soon. I’m just—I’m scared. This is too much for me.”
My gosh, did he just tell her he was scared? He pushed away and breathed deep to compose himself. He pulled out the band in his hair and remade his ponytail, wishing he’d taken a shower in the morning and vaguely aware that she was sniveling.
“You still need to sign the adoption papers,” she said.
“I’m not ready.” He finished his drink.
“When are you going to be ready?”
He shrugged, refusing to look at her. “Maybe never.”
“I think you’re just being possessive. You’re not thinking about what’s best for the baby. Are you going to raise the baby yourself?” Her tone had taken a sarcastic turn.
He glanced at her and got up. “I’m gonna go have a smoke.”
She huffed. “Whatever.”
He opened the veranda door and stepped from the dark of the house. The noon sun reflected off the sidewalk and driveway by the garage, making him blink and squint. Inhaling a deep breath of warm, fresh air, he brought out his cigarettes and lighter.
The stables called to him. How he’d love to take Desert for a ride . . . go off down the longest trail, maybe even cross over a distant neighbor’s land and see where he’d end up. It would feel good to have a horse under him, the reins in his hands, and the wind on his face.
With a sigh, he returned to the steps outside the veranda and sat in the shade. He lit a cigarette and relaxed as he took a puff. Maybe he needed a break from Zoe. If he took a few breaks now and then, maybe he wouldn’t rub her the wrong way. She was right. He did put up with her now, not that he loved her any less, but he wanted things back the way they were. He almost hated having her around, knowing that the baby could come any day. What if something went wrong?
At the far edge of the backyard, a horse and rider emerged from the woods. It was too far to see if it was Roland or Keefe. Not wanting to speak with either of them, he considered going back inside. Then he got an idea.
With his eyes on the rider, Jarret pulled out his cell phone.
The horse clomped through the yard toward the stables. Keefe was the rider. It figured. For whatever reason, he’d been taking the horses out a lot lately.
“Hey, Keefe.” Jarret jumped up from the steps and jogged over to him.
“Yeah, what’s up?” Keefe brought the horse to a standstill and stared down at Jarret, genuine concern showing in his eyes.
The look gave Jarret the urge to back off, although a part of him longed to open up to his twin. He needed someone lean on. He had no one anymore. “Hey, I . . . Give me Caitlyn’s phone number.”
Keefe hesitated, so Jarret told him why, revealing only enough to influence him. He needed a break, and since Caitlyn loved to be around Zoe and talk pregnancy and baby things, he wanted her to come over.
A moment later, he had it arranged, and he jumped into his red Chrysler to get his liberator.