Epilogue

 

It’s five AM, August first. The kids are upstairs here in Adam’s house, sleeping in their new rooms. Once Mike settled down and accepted that we were well and truly over as a couple, Adam hired him to do some remodeling on his tiny house. He added bedrooms for my kids when they sleep over, and a couple of extras for future use. Since Ben and Rachel have rooms in both houses, they come and go mostly at their own choosing.

Mike’s dating a nice girl and asked for an evening alone, so the kids didn’t have a choice last night. His new girlfriend might change things some, but right now Mike spends more time with the kids than he did when we were married.

I’m in the master bathroom, killing time while I wait for the results of a pregnancy test. I swear, I’m no less nervous now that I want it to be positive than when I was young and single, and wanted it to be negative.

Adam and I were married the end of June, just three weeks after my divorce was finalized. I know it seems fast, but we’ve been waiting for what seems like a lifetime. We had a pretty ceremony at his family home in Aspen. It wasn’t a huge or fancy wedding, but neither of us needed one. Though his mom wanted to make a society event of it, Adam prefers to keep his financial status low-key.

We honeymooned all over Europe for two weeks, and then spent a week at the house on Maui, hardly coming out for anything but the beach. I’m pretty sure that’s when I conceived–if I conceived. I went off the pill before the wedding.

Adam’s showering, getting ready for work. I doubt he’s noticed I’m in here yet. By my calculations, I’m two weeks late. I couldn’t bring myself to take the test “as early as the first day of a missed period.” I’ve been down that road before, running back to the drugstore for a new test every two days, waiting to be late enough for it to finally register.

I’m as tense this morning as I was back when Mike and I got up after just four hours of sleep to take a test for Ben. It seemed better this time to wait and spring it on Adam.

Brenda had a baby girl the end of January, and now Adam’s parents are anxious for him to produce another grandchild. They’ve been great with my kids, having them up to ski Aspen Mountain and swim in their indoor pool.

It’s so strange, dealing with new in-laws after all those years with the Lawsons. They’re not racist and obnoxious like Mike’s family, but I sure felt uncomfortable around them at first. It was mutual, I guess, since Adam didn’t forewarn them that Laura and I looked so alike. I’m much more talkative, though, and Laura was painfully shy, from what I’ve heard.

It will be years before Adam knows me well enough to finish my sentences, or until I know all his childhood stories. We’re still learning how not to annoy each other with silly habits.

Mike and I managed what I would call an amicable divorce, using a mediator and as little bickering as possible to speed things through. He was much more understanding and calm than I’d expected after New Year’s. Sometimes when he behaved himself, I’d find myself resenting him for spoiling what we’d built together all those years.

On the flip side, if Mike hadn’t cheated, I may have never come to be here, now, hoping I’m pregnant with Adam’s baby. Every move we make, every choice, big or small, bad or good, is irrevocable. Opportunities are passed our way and we decide what to do with them.

Did fate or God make Adam stay home alone for Thanksgiving when I so badly needed someone who appreciated me that I’d be willing to talk to a complete stranger in a cemetery? And what made me go out to Brad’s garage at exactly the right–wrong?–time? I don’t know. All I know is what we chose to do with what we were handed.

Speaking of what I’ve been handed: He’s turning off the shower and stepping his glorious body out. I might make him late for work–again. If pregnancy makes me horny like it has before, we’re in trouble. Behind me on the counter is the test. I’m afraid to look now. I mean, of course we can keep trying if it’s negative. Of course. Lord knows, we’re good at it.

I’m excited though, you know? Two weeks I’ve been keeping this inside, noticing pregnant women everywhere I go, calculating what my due date would be. How close it would be to what holiday. This would be a St. Pat’s baby. And Adam would be so happy. I want that for him, more than anything.

The big pool of sadness he used to lug around has receded so there’s only a puddle left. I know it wasn’t only Stevie, but also his wife he lost. I’ve never wanted to replace her, just make him as happy as possible. She and I are different, as are Adam and Mike.

So Adam’s coming toward me now, slipping his hand inside my robe, kissing me with his newly shaved face. I’m lost in him, his hot, damp skin, the shampoo smell of his hair, his strength. The dimples tell me he knows I’m up to something and he likes it, very much. Which reminds me what I was up to…

He nuzzles my neck. “Did we do it that fast?” he asks. Must’ve spied the test. He’ll be so proud of himself if he managed to impregnate me in only a month. “What’s a plus sign mean?”