Lie To Me. J.T. Ellison
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seen it.
He thought he’d known coldness from her before. Now he was face-to-face with an Antarctic glacier. His own fault, too. That breach started them down the long path, unraveled their relationship quickly and neatly. The things that followed—the affair, the death of the baby, the book cancellation, now Sutton’s disappearance—were all because he’d decided to be an arse and profit on her back.
Oddly, they never discussed what they both knew—he’d been spying on her, and had taken her work for his own. Her work on herself. She mentioned casually she’d changed her passwords, citing a hack of her email, but they both knew she was furious. So angry she couldn’t even confront him. An anger so righteous and pure he deserved to be divorced.
And instead, she’d gotten pregnant.
Why hadn’t he just told her the truth then? Would honesty have stopped the progression of their disastrous world?
Ethan, you are responsible for this.
Back from his remembrances, sitting at her desk, he really, really didn’t want to snoop. After all that happened, it made him terribly uncomfortable. He knew better. But under the guise of the police might be called, I need to do my homework, he started opening drawers.
Top drawer: ink, Post-it notes, Clairefontaine notebooks, all pristinely kept.
Second drawer: stapler, scissors, checkbooks, and deposit slips.
Third drawer: her current files.
And one from the past.
The folder was labeled—Brother P-touch labeled; Sutton was nothing if not organized—Baby.
The pain seized his heart and he gasped aloud. The baby was always in the back of his mind. A whisper on his lips. But seeing the file, he knew what was inside, and he lifted it carefully, as if it were a bomb that might explode and shatter all the windows. He couldn’t help himself. As he pulled it from the drawer, something hard and white slipped out and landed on the floor, and he fumbled the file, and all the contents spilled out onto the white oak planks.
Doctor’s files, an ultrasound, and a pregnancy test.
God, she’d kept the pregnancy test. The pregnancy he’d forced on her after he’d broken her trust.
Sutton was right in her silent reproaches. He was a reprehensible creature. Who did that to their wife? To the one they loved more than life itself?
What the fuck did the word love mean, anyway?
Then
Sutton was green.
They sat together at the kitchen table, and Ethan watched his wife over the rim of his teacup. She was truly green around the gills.
“Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”
She gave him a panicked look, made a horrible noise in her throat, then bolted from the table. He was right behind her. She made it to the half bath in the foyer, started retching the second she was above the toilet. He caught her hair, held it back, crooned, and rubbed her back.
After a while, she collapsed in a heap next to the toilet. He handed her a cold, wet washcloth. She wiped her face and turned those huge eyes on him.
“You must have had something bad at the event last night. I hate those catered parties. You never know how long the food’s been sitting out. Those bacon-wrapped scallops—”
“Ethan.”
“—I never saw anyone change the tray. I’m going to call and complain, they shouldn’t be allowed—”
“Ethan!”
“What? What?”
“I don’t think it was the food.”
“What else could it be?”
There was a long pause, searching looks, then dawning comprehension. A spark of joy built in his chest. “Oh my God, Sutton. Are you...?”
“Pregnant,” she said, the word dripping with contempt and hate.
“Pregnant!” he cried, dropping to his knees, gathering her in his arms. She was stiff as a board, didn’t move. “My darling, this is brilliant news. Brilliant! We have to call the doctor, we need to decide which room to use as the nursery, we—”
“Stop. Just stop. There will be no baby.”
Ethan froze. Her tone was so coolly detached now he almost didn’t recognize her. If he could see into her head, he’d realize his beloved, crouched on the bathroom floor, a string of vomit in her tangled hair, was slowly plotting the demise of their child.
“What do you mean, no baby? Of course there will be. You’re healthy, this will go wonderfully. How far along are you?”
He didn’t say he’d suspected all along because the trash can hadn’t filled with the usual monthly accoutrements. He didn’t tell her he’d noticed her breasts were a touch fuller, the nipples gone the color of wine. He couldn’t, because if he did, it would be clear to Sutton he’d been paying attention to her cycle, and if she knew that, she might realize more about her “surprise” pregnancy, and right now, all he cared about was getting her mind wrapped around a little one.
“A baby, Sutton. We made a baby.”
She stood up. “I don’t want to have a baby. I have absolutely no interest in having a baby. I can’t do this. I can’t.”
“So...what? You’re going to do what?”
“I’m going to have an abortion.”
Ethan reared back as if slapped. “Over my dead body.”
There was something in her eyes when she looked at him. He should have taken a moment and tried to understand what she was telegraphing in her gaze, but he was panicking. It couldn’t happen. She couldn’t get rid of their child. He had to find a way to convince her this was meant to be, that a baby would be everything to them.
Purged, she headed to the kitchen, and he followed, pleading, demanding.
“You can’t. I forbid it.”
“It’s my body, Ethan. I’m the one who has to deal with this. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“It’s our child. Ours. You can’t just make a decision like this without my input.”
“The law says I can, Ethan.” She took up her teacup. Wrinkled her perfect nose and dumped it into the sink. Pulled out a bottle of Diet Sprite, the only soda she’d allow herself, and poured a glass. Took a sip and turned green again.
“Ugh.” He saw her glance at him, sideways, under her lashes, measuring, and knew the discussion was still ongoing. Thank God.
“Come here.” Ethan led her to the table, got her seated gently in the chair, knelt in front of her so they were face-to-face. “Darling. My sweet brave girl. I know you’re scared. I know you don’t think you want this. But a baby... Sutton, we have so much to give a child. We have freedom and money and a beautiful home. We were born to be parents.”
“You might have been. Me? No. I’m not interested in diapers and sleepless nights and car pools and the PTA. I just can’t figure out how this happened. I’m religious about my pills.”
He looked away, bit his lip. Do not tell her, Ethan. Don’t make that mistake. His knees were beginning to burn. He stood and pulled a chair close, pulled her limp hand into his.
“Sutton. I want this child. I want us to have a family. Like you said, you’re religious about your pills. Sometimes, things happen, and you know I believe everything happens for a reason.”
“How will I write? How will you write?”