3: 3
My mother snatched the phone away first.
"You're seeing things."
Her face was flustered, and she shoved it into her bag without even turning off the screen.
I stared at her. "Corinne's pregnant?"
My father rapped his chopsticks hard against the rim of his bowl. "She just went through a breakup. She's suffering enough. Stop prying into her private business."
"Whose child is it?"
"None of your concern."
The birthday dinner ended in a rush.
My parents wouldn't leave Corinne be, and they insisted on dragging me back to the Matthews villa to wait for news.
I sat on the living room sofa for two hours, my ankle swollen and throbbing until it went nearly numb.
At eleven at night, the front door finally opened.
Gilbert walked in, his collar askew, his sleeves carrying the smell of hospital disinfectant.
Corinne came in behind him, held up by an assistant, her face still pale.
When he saw me sitting there, Gilbert's steps faltered.
I ignored my parents' warning looks and asked him straight out. "Did you know she was pregnant?"
He was silent for two seconds. He didn't deny it.
"Yes."
"The father won't take responsibility, and she's in a bad way. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you reading into it."
"Were you afraid I'd read into it, or afraid I'd find out?"
Corinne heard that, and the tears came at once.
"Faith, the baby is Dick James's. He disappeared the moment he found out I was pregnant. Gilbert was only helping me find a doctor."
"I never meant to come between you two. I was just so scared, all alone overseas. Besides Gilbert, I didn't know who else I could turn to."
I asked, "Why not come to me?"
Corinne stopped short.
"Because all you ever want is to find him."
I took out the project file. "I can hand Skyhaven over for seven days, and I won't get involved with the baby. But starting today, stop letting Gilbert take care of you."
My father sneered. "What gives you the right to make decisions for Gilbert?"
"The fact that I'm his wife."
My mother spoke up suddenly. "Faith, Corinne's carrying a child. She needs a man around to look after her. Gilbert's steady, and he's family. Don't be so petty."
I looked around at the whole roomful of them and understood, all at once, that they'd settled this among themselves long ago.
I was the last to know.
Gilbert closed his hand around my wrist. "Let's go home first."
On the way back, he drove himself, with Corinne in the back seat.
As we passed a baby store, she suddenly told the driver to stop.
"I still don't know if I can keep the baby. I just want to look. I won't buy anything."
Gilbert checked the time. "Ten minutes."
I sat in the car, my ankle throbbing in waves.
Twenty minutes later, they still hadn't come out.
I got up on my crutches and went into the store, and I saw Gilbert holding a pair of pale yellow baby shoes.
Corinne stood beside him, smiling. "You said it before. A daughter should wear yellow, like the sun."
He'd said those words to me once.
Two years ago, when I was pregnant, he'd picked out a pair of yellow shoes, full of joy, saying our daughter was sure to be like the sun.
Then I lost the baby, and the doctors declared it would be nearly impossible for me to conceive again.
He put all the baby things away and never mentioned them.
I thought he was afraid of hurting me.
So it turned out he had simply handed that hope over, untouched, to another woman.
Gilbert turned and saw me. He crossed to me in a few quick steps. "Why did you come in?"
"My foot hurts."
He bent to check the cast. "I'll take you to the hospital."
But Corinne came over with the baby shoes in hand. "Faith, don't misunderstand. I just picked these out. Gilbert only said they were pretty."
Gilbert stepped in front of me, blocking my view. "Corinne didn't mean anything by it. Don't make a scene in front of everyone."
I raised my hand and slapped him.
The store went silent in an instant.
Gilbert's face turned aside. It was a long moment before he looked back at me.
"Feel better now?"
"No."
I reached for the shoes, and Corinne instinctively shrank back.
In the tug of it, the paper bag dropped to the floor.
A prenatal test slip slid out.
In the field for the father's name, three characters were written, clear as day.
Gilbert Winfield.
