I wake from a gruesome nightmare covered in sweat. The dream rushes back to me. I’m in the emergency room. Jason is bleeding out on the floor in front of me. Children surround me, their tiny arms raised, begging me to pick them up. The shooter has his gun trained on my belly. My baby.
Last night’s shocking revelation hits home. I’m pregnant with Calvin’s baby. The man who can’t stand to even look at me. Thank goodness I have the next two days off. I need time to make decisions and prepare for my inevitable meeting with Captain Winnie. She’ll demand an explanation, and I’ll tell her the truth. I don’t regret breaking the rules to save that child. I’d do it all over again, even if it costs me my job.
I can’t stop thinking about the feel of that child in my arms and the baby growing inside of my belly. Four months ago, I wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of it. Is it possible what Stacy says is true about God closing a door and opening a window? What if Jason sent me this baby for a reason? Does he mean for me to give it to Stacy?
This concept takes seed and grows legs. By the time Stacy calls to check on me late morning, I’m convinced this is what should happen, and I tell her as much.
Stacy sighs into the phone. “I’ve been thinking a lot about it. If you decide not to keep the baby, I’ll definitely raise it as my own. Even though Jason isn’t the father of your baby, you are his twin, which makes this child as much a part of him as I’ll ever get. Besides, I’m a pediatrician. I’m a sucker for a baby.”
“You’re in a better position to raise the baby than me,” I say. “Not only do doctors make way more money than cops, you have plenty of family in town to help you.”
“Don’t let the absence of family prevent you from keeping the baby, Jolie. I will be the doting aunt.”
“That means a lot, Stacy. You’re a wonderful person. I understand why my brother loved you so much.” My breath hitches, and I croak out a goodbye.
A thought occurs to me as I end the call. There will come a point in Stacy’s life when she’s ready to move on from Jason’s death. She’ll meet someone new and start a life with him. How will my baby fit in? And how will I feel watching another woman raising my child? Giving the baby to Stacy has too many complications to be a viable option. A desperation I’ve never felt before brings on a torrent of tears. I’m tired of crying. I cry now for no apparent reason. Then I realize that some of these emotions may be related to pregnancy hormones.
An hour later, I’m eating a salad at the kitchen island when someone bangs on my door. My pulse quickens. Is it Calvin? Did he somehow find out about the baby? I tell myself that’s impossible. Only two people know I’m pregnant—Stacy and me. When the banging continues, I slide off the barstool and cross the room to the door.
I’m stunned to see Drew standing in the hallway. He looks adorable in khaki shorts and a polo shirt. Despite the fluttering in my chest, I’m not in the right frame of mind to talk to him. “Now is not a good time,” I say in a deadpan tone.
He jams his Allbirds sneaker against the door so I can’t close it. “Please, Jolie. I went to a lot of trouble to get your address.”
I tilt my head to the side. “How did you get my address?”
“I went to the police department. I refused to leave until they told me where you’re living. Your friend Mel took pity on me. Just tell me why you’ve been avoiding me. Then, I’ll leave.”
“You wanna know why I’ve been avoiding you.” Taking a step back, I hold my hands out by my side. “Look at me. I’m a mess. You deserve better than this, Drew. You deserve my best self, but I can’t give that to you right now. I’m trying to figure out my life. And it’s not going very well. With every three steps I take forward, I take two backward.”
“Although we were just getting to know each other, we had something special. I felt it. And I think you did too.” Drew’s hangdog expression tugs at my heartstrings. “If you think we have a chance, I’m willing to wait as long as it takes.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing the tears to hold back. “I can’t ask you to do that. It’s not fair.”
“Let me worry about what’s fair. I’ve never met anyone like you, Jolie. You’re special. You deserve a man who treats you like the rare gem you are.”
From anyone else, the line would sound corny. But I know Drew means it. His sincerity causes the tears to flow. He takes me in his arms, and I bury my face in his chest. I think back to the day Jason died. I had dinner plans with Drew that night. We were finally going to make love. During the days prior, we’d teased each other into a sexual frenzy with our naughty texts and phone calls. That chemistry between us still exists. But there’s something else between us. Something I haven’t noticed before. I have the oddest sensation this is where I belong. I’ve finally come home after a long journey.
I lift my head and push him away. “I need a little more time, Drew.”
He smiles down at me, his blue eyes twinkling. “And I’m fine with that as long as you respond to my texts. I won’t blow up your phone. I’ll just check in periodically to make sure you’re okay.”
“I promise I’ll respond.” I kiss his cheek. “You’re a good guy, Drew. I won’t string you along.”
Drew turns toward the elevator, and I watch him disappear inside. Closing the door, I move to the sofa and stare out the window at the cloudy day. September first is less than a week away. The days are already shorter. An autumn chill will soon be in the air. I’ll spend my first Thanksgiving and Christmas without Jason. I imagine the long winter nights alone in this condo with only my swollen belly to keep me company. My unborn baby. The child I never wanted to have. I never wanted to be a mother—the only lesson I ever learned from my mother.
I made a mistake. Why should I spend the rest of my life paying for it? Why give up a career I enjoy and a man who makes me happy? In my defense, I wasn’t in my right mind when this baby was conceived. To hell with Stacy’s closed-door-open-window theory. I need to get a grip, stop looking for signs from Jason. He isn’t guiding me. He didn’t plant this seed in my womb. He’s playing golf in heaven, and I am down here facing life’s challenges alone.
I jump to my feet and grab my laptop off my desk. I search for the nearest Planned Parenthood location and schedule an appointment for first thing tomorrow morning.
Eager to put this episode behind me, I arrive at Planned Parenthood early for my appointment the next day. The nurse who greets me is an older woman with a clipped tone and smug smile. “You’ll need to speak with a counselor before the procedure,” she says.
“Nothing anyone can say will make me change my mind. I just want to get this over with.”
She hands me a clipboard with several forms attached. “Fill these out. One is a waiver stating you declined counseling.”
“Fine,” I say, snatching the clipboard from her.
Once the forms are complete, she shows me to an examining room and gives me a hospital gown. I change out of my clothes and sit down on the bed. The doctor enters the room, followed closely by the nurse.
He’s an elf of a man with a bulbous nose and thick glasses. He explains the procedure and orders me to lie down. I plant my feet in the stirrups and close my eyes. Jason’s image flashes before me, and his voice rings out in my head. Don’t do it, Jolie. You’re a survivor. Be strong and fight for keeps.
I clamp my legs together and sit up straight. “I can’t do this!”
The doctor shrugs and leaves the room without another word. The nurse says, “You should’ve talked to the counselor. Would’ve saved us all some time.”
On the way back to the condo, I stop at the grocery store for a gallon of salted caramel ice cream. If ever there was a time for comfort food, this is it. Perched on a barstool, I spoon ice cream straight out of the container. I don’t feel guilty about splurging. If I’m gonna get fat, I might as well enjoy it.
I need to break the news of my pregnancy to several key people. And I know a way to tell them all at once.
Placing the ice cream carton in the freezer, I sit down at my desk, open my laptop, and turn on my microphone. Going live on my social media platform takes away my option to edit the content before posting. I’ve made my decision. This guarantees I won’t change my mind.
As I recount the events of the previous forty-eight hours, the number of listeners ticks into the thousands and then tens of thousands. I briefly describe the gang war, saving the child, and the bullet wound that sent me to the hospital where I learned I was pregnant.
“In my darkest hour, I turned to a friend for comfort. The child’s paternity isn’t in doubt. I wasn’t with anyone else before, and I haven’t been with anyone since. I’m not in a relationship with the baby’s daddy, and I expect nothing from him. It won’t be easy, but I am determined to go it alone. Although I won’t be alone in spirit.”
I take the microphone in hand and lean back in my chair. “Those of you who have lost loved ones in the past will understand this better than others. Since my brother’s death, I’ve sensed him watching over me, guiding me. He was with me the night I busted the child trafficking ring, and he was with me last night when I saved the little girl in the gang war. Yesterday, I convinced myself this was a ridiculous notion. There’s no such thing as guardian angels. I scheduled an appointment for an abortion, but when I got to the clinic this morning, I couldn’t go through with it. I felt Jason’s presence greater than ever before.”
I pause a beat to catch my breath. “Jason and I grew up in foster care. On our tenth birthday, we were told we were being separated. We made a plan to meet at The Alamo on our eighteenth birthday. Jason said to me, ‘You’re a survivor, Jolie. Be strong and fight for keeps.’ Fortunately, our social worker performed a miracle so we could stay together. But those are the words that ran through my head this morning, in the minutes before I nearly ended my baby’s life. I am a survivor, and I am strong, and I will fight to keep my child no matter the cost.”
I straighten my chair and return the microphone to the desk. “Like a wise woman recently reminded me, when God closes a door, he opens a window. Jason’s life is over, but a new life is just beginning. I will cherish this life, just as I cherished my brother.
“The time has come for me to face my new reality. I’m moving on with my life on my own terms. What does this mean for my career as a police officer? I won’t risk my child’s life by remaining on patrol. I haven’t spoken with my captain yet, but I’m optimistic she’ll allow me to work a desk job until the baby comes. As for my podcast, I’m not going anywhere. I hope you won’t either. I’ve worked hard to establish a following, and I won’t let you down. I have an idea for future content, and I think you’ll like this new direction. Stay tuned in the days ahead for more information.”
I glance at the computer’s clock. I’ve been talking for nearly an hour. “That’s all for now. Until we meet again, here’s wishing you Godspeed in all your endeavors.”
I end the live chat and turn off the microphone. When my phone blows up with texts, I power it off. I’m not ready to face those closest to me. Calvin’s wrath. Drew’s hurt. Mel’s interrogation. But I spend hours responding to the online comments from strangers. Their support is overwhelming. Their kind words comfort me, and I keep the tissue box nearby. My Patreon membership doubles and triples, and the money rolls in.
Around nine o’clock, I crawl into bed and fall into a deep and dreamless sleep. I wake after eight o’clock the following morning feeling rested and more like myself than I’ve felt in weeks.
I summon the nerve to power on my phone over a cup of herbal tea the following morning. No more coffee for me. I have many voice and text messages, but only three are noteworthy. A voice message from Captain Winnie, ordering me to get down to headquarters first thing this morning. A text from Stacy, saying she’s proud of me for making the right decision and she’ll be by my side until the child goes to college. And a text from Drew. If only you’d trusted me. There’s no word from Calvin. Based on the way he’s been behaving lately, I’m not surprised.
I expect a lecture from Captain Winnie. Instead, she embraces me in a bear hug and congratulates me. “I realize you didn’t plan for this, but it will change your life and you will love this baby to pieces. You can count on me to help you in any way.”
“Thank you for being so kind and understanding,” I say. “I realize I’ve only been on patrol a few weeks, but I’d like to be transferred to a desk job until the baby comes.”
“Of course. On the day shift, so you can get plenty of sleep at night.”
I find desk duty uninspiring, and do my real work at night, networking with cops in nearly every major metropolitan city across the country. As a result, on the Tuesday evening after Labor Day, I interview the first guest on my podcast. Kathleen Griffin is a beat officer from Chicago who recently busted a crack house. She rescued a six-month-old baby, the child of an addict. A crack baby. Kathleen, the mother of two teenagers, has taken the child in and is petitioning for adoption. I break into tears when she talks about the medical challenges the child might face in its future.
My audience loves her. At the suggestion of one of my listeners, we set up a GoFundMe account, which raises tens of thousands of dollars for Kathleen and her baby.
My podcast—now titled Inside the Lives of the Men and Women in Blue—is an overnight success. My inbox is flooded with cops sharing their stories and hoping to get an interview. While I’m no longer patrolling the streets, I’m making a difference. I’m spreading the word about the impact cops are making in America.
I call Drew dozens of times. When he doesn’t answer, I leave rambling messages, asking for a chance to explain. His silence is payback for all the weeks I ignored his texts and calls.
I see Calvin nearly every day at headquarters. He doesn’t speak to me, but I feel his eyes on me, lingering on my thickening midsection—my developing baby bump.
Stacy hooks me up with a colleague who’s an obstetrician. I have to wait two weeks for an appointment with Dr. Debra Reid, and when I go for my first checkup in mid-September, I hear the baby’s heartbeat. The sound of a living being growing inside of me profoundly affects me. God has entrusted me with this child’s care. I’m responsible for raising this baby from infancy until adulthood. That responsibility weighs heavily on me. I will never, under any circumstances, do to my child what my mother did to me.
Stacy and I text back and forth nearly every day, but in late September, we finally find time to meet for dinner at Cocadilla, the new upscale Mexican restaurant on Grove Avenue. A cold front has ushered in the first taste of autumn, and we request a table outside near the fireplace.
I study Stacy across the table, and I’m encouraged to see that life has returned to her warm brown eyes.
“You look good,” I tell her. “What gives?”
Her lips curl into a smile. “I’ve been invited to join what I deem to be the best pediatric practice in the city.”
“That’s outstanding, Stacy! Congratulations,” I say, offering her a high five.
The server brings our drinks—a margarita for Stacy and a limeade for me. Stacy takes a sip of her margarita and puts down her glass. Tilting her head to the side, studying me, she says, “Why do I get the feeling you want to talk to me about something?”
“How can you tell?” I ask, stirring my limeade with my straw.
“Your brow pinches right here,” Stacy says, touching her forehead between her eyebrows. “Just like Jason’s used to do.”
The mention of my brother brings a smile to my face instead of tears to my eyes. While I’m saddened to be moving on with my life, for the baby’s sake, I have to look toward the future.
“Actually, a number of your facial expressions remind me of him,” Stacy says.
“Really? That’s interesting. I never saw much of a resemblance between us. I can’t wait to see if this baby looks like either or both of us.”
A faraway look settles on Stacy’s face. “Me either.”
I fold my arms on the table. “But you’re right. I do need to talk to you about something important. I’m planning to return to patrol when my maternity leave is over. Because of the danger associated with the job, I have to make plans for the baby in the event something happens to me. With no family of my own, I was wondering if you would consider adopting my child if I were to die.”
“I’d be honored,” Stacy says without hesitation. If she were anyone else, I’d worry about her hasty response. As a pediatrician, Stacy knows what she’s getting into.
I give her hand a squeeze. “Thank you. That’s a load off my mind.”
The server brings our chips and guacamole, and we place our order for the main course.
“I’d like to make our agreement official,” I say when the server leaves. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll have Jason’s attorney friend, Chris, draw up a legal document.”
“That’s smart thinking.” Stacy dips a nacho into the guacamole. “You haven’t told me much about the baby’s father, except to say you’re not in a relationship with him. If I’m to be the baby’s guardian in the event something happens to you, I should probably know a little more about the father. Does he know you’re pregnant?”
“He knows. If he didn’t hear my podcast, he heard about my podcast. I see him nearly every day, and he hasn’t said a word to me about the baby. Which I take to mean he’s not interested.”
“His interest in the baby doesn’t matter. He’s the biological father. He’s equally responsible.”
I shake my head. “Not really. I told you, I practically raped him.”
“Puh-lease! You were in distress at the time. He could’ve stopped himself. But he didn’t. If you ask me, he took advantage of you.”
She makes an interesting point that I haven’t thought of. “Maybe.”
“You should talk to him, Jolie. At least find out if he ever plans to be a part of the child’s life.”
I promise Stacy I’ll think about it, and over the course of the next few days, I think of little else. I conclude I don’t want Calvin Ingram in my child’s life. He has too many issues to be a positive role model. But Stacy is right about one thing. I need to clear the air with Calvin so we’re on the same page about expectations.
After work on the following Wednesday, the first week in October, I find Calvin waiting for me outside the main entrance at headquarters.
“Jolie, we need to talk.” I let him lead me out of the stream of people entering and exiting the building. “Am I your baby’s father?”
“I assume you saw my podcast,” I say, and he nods. “Then you know you’re the father. You also know I don’t consider this baby a mistake. This baby is a gift from God. Or Jason. Or both. My baby is better off without you as its biological father, which means you’re off the hook. Have a nice life, Calvin.”
I take off across the street, but he catches up with me. “Jolie, wait!”
I glare at him. “What do you want, Calvin?”
“I don’t know. To talk. To make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine and dandy. Look, I’ll never forget your kindness during the weeks after Jason died. But I’ll also never forget how quickly you turned on me when I tried to kiss you after the child trafficking bust.”
A smirk tugs at his lips. “Why did you kiss me?”
“I’ve asked myself that a million times. I’ve yet to come up with an answer. I acted on impulse. Maybe I wanted to have sex with you. Maybe I was expressing my gratitude for your support during a tough time. Maybe I was simply an emotional wreck and needed comforting. Regardless of the reason for my behavior, you could’ve just told me you weren’t into me. You didn’t have to sever our friendship. You turned out to be the jerk I always thought you were.”
I turn my back on him and run up the stairs of the parking garage. I’m almost at my truck when I hear footfalls behind me. I spin on my heels, expecting to see Calvin. “Leave—”
I’m dumbstruck at the sight of the woman standing in front of me. Something about her is eerily familiar. She’s stunningly beautiful, with golden hair and dazzling blue eyes. Jason’s eyes.