"No, this is a mistake!" I argue for the umpteenth time, as Doctor Santos's words zip right over my head, my ears refusing to take anything she says into account. "I'm not pregnant. I can't be pregnant. Do another test. Do something!"
She regards me with cautiousness, clearly judging by my horror that this is something I neither planned nor wanted to happen. "I could do another test, Ms. Bardot, but I'm telling you. We will receive the same results."
I jump onto my feet, having trouble breathing. My head is light, my fingers wild and unable to keep still. "No, no. I have always been diligent with my birth control. I have never had this problem before!"
"Scarlett, typical use of birth control is only ninety-one percent effective, meaning there's still that nine percent chance of conception. It's true that using it guarantees a very small chance of becoming pregnant, but in this case, you are in that small nine percent group of people who have taken it and still conceived."
"Nine percent? Are you kidding me?" I hear my own fits of madness wheezing from my lips. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
She eyes her clipboard, strumming her fingers along the desk. "I have experienced many, many moments just like this one. I can assure you that nearly every single mother who was hesitant at first now views this circumstance with fondness."
Sweating now, I push my hair back, tugging on the locks, aggravated. "Forgive me, but those people do not have the life I have right now."
"Scarlett, this is a good thing—"
"Good?" I hear a loud, obnoxious, insane chuckle break through the barrier of my lips. "Good? I've just become CEO of a goddamn franchise, the top firm in the country. I'm sitting by watching a person I care about live their last weeks on earth. I'm fighting off an ex-husband who won't leave me alone and to top it all off, the father to this baby is not in my life anymore! So, tell me now how this is a good thing!"
She stares at me, calm and professional as ever. "Listen...have a seat. Let me get you some water."
"I don't want water, Doctor. I want you to tell me how this happened!"
"The body is a strange, complicated thing. Nothing is ever certain." She treks over to her mini fridge, and pulls out a cold water bottle. I regard it with distaste and spin around, stalking over to the other side of the room before heading to another corner, rubbing my mouth in thought.
God, have I ever forgotten to take it? I'm sure I haven't.
Have I truly missed a cycle?
Scarlett, think back. God damn it, think.
The moment her hands press on either side of my arms, and I attempt to suck in a gulp of air, I'm frightened to come up short. I try again, and again, but each time, like a time watch rapidly approaching its limit; I am deprived of the relief. Fear grows like a pit in my stomach and for the first time, in a long time, I begin to feel the beginning effects of a fledged out panic episode.
Fuck.
My mind is spinning a mile a minute, my heart pounding in my ears loud enough to shake my entire body. I can't move, I can't speak. I can only gasp for air I cannot seem to inhale.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She spins me, her eyes wide. "Scarlett, breathe. Focus on my breath. Breathe."
I can't breathe. I turn away from her, reaching for a shelf in her bookcase for support. But as if someone's placed blurred film over my eyes, I miss the mark. It's scalding hot, so hot my blazer seems to constrict around me, like a boa seizing its prey. Except this boa is my life, and I have no chance of escaping it. I feel every inch of me, every bone, every muscle, every nerve trembling, and I find it hard to stand.
Thankfully, the doctor is more forceful, grabbing my atrophied limbs, urging me to the closest chair. Tears pour down my face, hoarse, shallow gasps coming from my throat, which is set on fire, burned by the lack of oxygen.
I can't see anymore. I hear her urges, her demands, although she sounds miles away.
"Scarlett. Place your head between your legs, breathe. Listen to my voice. Anne! Anne, come here!"
My head swells, and I realize blindly after a few moments that it's because I've done as she's told me to do, and my head is hanging. Her hand is on my back, rubbing hard in wide circles.
"That's right. Concentrate. Ground yourself to something. Your shoes."
"I-I can't," I hear myself finally say, through hysterics. The sound of my voice is a relief, for it makes me believe I'm not actually going to suffocate. A door slams open.
"What? What is it? Oh, shit. What happened to her?"
"Nothing. We've got it under control." I hear her saying something else about the cabinet but my ears drown out the rest. Her hands leave me but return moments later, urging me to sit up. I grip the sides of the chair with all my might as I try to regain control of my lungs, praying I don't pass out.
"Here. Take this."
She places a pill in my hand, covering it with my fingers so I won't fling it across the room. I don't even question her. I don't wonder how the hell I'm going to swallow it. I take back the pill, doing my best to urge it down my throat. When I think it's down, I go back to my original position, relieved when I am able to take my first clear breath in minutes. It's a process, and I'm not sure how long I sit in one place, but when I finally have the strength to open my eyes, I can see again.
I can't move, too weak to but I can see.
I blink a few times at the cold, sterile ground, as uneasiness drifts through my cold veins. One of my shoes is in the corner of the room. I must have not felt it come off. I sit up slowly, stunned by how calm I feel. And then I remember taking the pill.
I wonder what it was. Probably a valium or Xanax.
My eyes swivel around the empty office as I lift myself onto my feet, groaning softly at how much it hurts to be standing. Every bone in my body feels broken. After hovering for quite some time, trying to get my body to work in time with my brain, I retrieve my things one by one, suddenly desperate to be out of this place.
The door opens then, the doctor making her grand entrance again. She looks very glad to see me standing. I glance around for a clock, finding none in sight.
"What time is it? How long—?"
"About forty-five minutes. The Xanax finally kicked in." She shuts the door and crosses her arms with a deep inhale. "That was a...strong episode. Have you ever experienced anything like that before?"
I swallow and grimace at the fact that there's no saliva in my mouth. "Yes. Not as bad though and it was back, back when I was a child."
She frowns, nodding to herself. "I don't think I have to tell you that you have too much on your plate, Scarlett. What just happened to you was your body's way of saying to stop."
The woman has no idea what my life is like, so I don't answer her, not wishing to be short or rude. I honestly just want to leave.
I grab my purse by her desk and start for the door.
"This isn't good for the baby. You are nearly six weeks in. This is an extremely fragile time for you and your baby. Please, take it easy, as easy as you can."
"Thank you, Doctor," I whisper, opening the door without a second glance back. Thankfully, the waiting room is nearly empty, and everyone is focused on magazines or the show on TV. I slip past them on liquid legs, just needing to make it to the car to be safe.
I push on the door, relieved to find Norman's driver still waiting at the curb. He asks me if everything's alright the second upon laying eyes on me, holding open the backseat. I do my best to reassure him and climb inside.
...
"Scarlett, can you come here when you have a chance?" I hear Norman call out when I open the front door to the apartment. Without delay and without care, I drop my bag on the floor and kick off my heels, because at this point, I'm running on fumes. The apartment is dark, apart from a warm light coming from his office. When I poke my head inside, I find him seated behind his large desk, although, strangely enough, he's in his pajamas.
Uncomfortably, my arms find each other behind my back. "Is Monica in bed already?"
He sets down his glasses, shaking his head. "No, that's what I actually want to talk to you about."
His will is on the desk in front of him in a perfect stack. I look from them to his face, waiting. I grow gradually more nervous the longer he takes to say what he has to say.
"Monica has decided she's not going to postpone her book tour...and I've encouraged her to go."
The time ticks by me, leaving with all reason. "What are you talking about?"
"Her book tour is very important to her—"
"The tour lasts three months, Norman."
"I am aware of that."
I approach his desk, bracing myself against the smooth wood. "Did she ask for this?"
"She came to me very apologetically and told me that she couldn't afford to cancel it all—"
I hear myself laugh. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."
"Scarlett—"
"You'll be dead before she gets back, you realize that right?" I snap, holding his gaze firmly. He doesn't even falter at my bluntness, because of course he knows. "She can't do this!"
"She's already left."
Oh, fuck. I slump down into the seat directly behind me, lightheaded. Filled with emptiness, a hollow slump within me, I attempt to recover my shock, failing miserably. I lift my hand from my mouth so I can speak. I don't even know what to say.
"Norman, I'm so sorry."
He shakes his head, looking down. "What is there for her to stick around for? To watch me die? I'd rather her go now than go through that. I've realized this is going to be unpleasant—"
"It's cancer, Norman. We all knew that!"
"But, I feel it! So, forgive me if I spare myself from watching her cringe every time she's near me. She's not the nurturing type. This is out of her comfort zone!"
"This is no one's comfort zone!"
"Which is why I'm going to check into the hospital at the end of the week." He holds up his hands when I gape in disbelief. "The doctor told me I'll need around the clock care soon, and the hospital is the best place to take care of that."
"I've told you I'll take care of you. Norman, we've hired nurses."
"This is too much for you. This is too much to ask anyone to take on, but especially you. You can still come see me—"
I jump out of my seat, shaking my head. "Oh my god."
"Scarlett, please. Listen. This place is like a fortress. Dixon cannot come anywhere near you here. I've informed the security staff to remain with you at all times. You are safe."
I start towards the liquor, but my legs halt me in my tracks. The Xanax is wearing off fast. I bring my hand to my head, closing my eyes. "Norman—"
"I know you, Scarlett. You only care about others instead of yourself. I know this will be too much for you, with taking on the firm and everything going on with Dixon and Giovanni—"
I suddenly remember he had dinner with Giovanni tonight. I pin a sharp gaze on him. "Did Giovanni urge you to do this?"
He chuckles, looking down. "No, no. He told me to expect hell from you."
"Why the hell did you even have dinner with him?"
"To offer him money."
I'm taken aback, clearly, because my mouth snaps closed. After a beat, soaking in the tension, I whisper, "Money?"
He nods, once. "To sustain his business if he were to go to the feds." He holds up his hands, placating. "Don't worry. He said no."
"He can't say yes, Norman," I emphasize. "It's not about the money. He'd tear up his family's life; he'd knowingly destroy his father's legacy if he told anyone this."
"I know. I had to try though, Scarlett. I had to."
I blink at him, stunned by his determination. "I'm not going to let you do this."
He takes forever to stand, grimacing the entire time. He finally sighs.
"This isn't your decision."
He begins to walk, obviously thinking this conversation is over. I watch him closely, my heart thumping painfully.
"You're taking the easy way out."
"Damn right I am," he replies, chuffed, without looking back. My legs start after him, my teeth gritting in anger.
"If you leave now, Norman, you're abandoning me."
He stops, and if he were wearing shoes, they'd have screeched. It's a low blow, but at this point, I could care less. He turns slowly.
"What?"
"You're scared and embarrassed and determined to do this with dignity. And I applaud you for it. But, I will not abandon you."
He closes his eyes, looking away from me. I see his fear, his anger, his despair so easily now.
"Scarlett—"
"I want to take care of you. I want to be here."
"You don't realize what is coming!"
"Maybe not. But what I do know is no life should end in a hospital if it can be different. No one should die alone because they want to spare the people who love them the pain. We will hire nurses. We will pay whatever we have to so that the doctor makes this as painless as possible. And we will do this—together."
He gasps when I rush in to hug him, stiffening at the unusual affection. It feels odd, as I have never really embraced him this way, but I don't want to let go.
After a moment, he hugs me back, with just as much fierceness.
And the closeness doesn't feel so odd anymore.
...
I shut myself into the bedroom I've been staying in for weeks, not bothering to turn on the light. Pulling off every article of clothing on my body, discarding them wherever they fall, I walk to the bathroom. The shower water is scalding hot when I step into it, but I don't have the strength to readjust the temperature.
The bottle of body wash shakes beneath my hands unstably. My eyes drift from the label to my stomach, but the moment I even begin to think of what happened today, the news I received, my mind shuts itself down, knowing I'm unable to deal with the reality I must face sooner or later.
Later. I must deal with it later.
...
"Just one more signature."
My uneasy expression descends upon the notary, Norman's lawyer and then unto Norman, who is seated beside me at the conference table. His signatures are already marked and witnessed. All that remains is one more scribble from me and his entire life's work will be placed into my hands for good. Norman White Public Relations will be mine. I get a reassuring nod from Norman, the go-ahead, as he smiles proudly, hiding any solemn feelings he may be experiencing right now.
The sun is pouring into the room, dawning a new day. The room smells of fresh, expensive coffee, which is placed before every person seated here.
The pressure, the sheer expectation of this moment doesn't escape me. Without the ability to think any clearer, I sign my name across the line and set down the pen with weighing hesitation, leaning back in my seat as the lawyer takes the contract to check through it all.
This is not a pleasant moment. Maybe someday I'll smile at the thought of the position I've obtained, this gift Norman has bestowed upon me, but today, I can only look away, wishing to be alone so I can collect my thoughts.
"I'm going to show them out," Norman tells me, which tears me momentarily out of the daze I had been successfully holding. I nod, urging him to go. The minute they are gone, I place my head into my hands—and weep.
...
"Are you alright?"
I meet Ed's worried expression as I stand up from the bathroom floor, flushing my sickness with a sigh. Heading to the sink, I nod to him, beaten by exhaustion. I hear Carlos and Rebecca screaming over the TV show from the living room. As I brush my teeth silently, I continue to look at Ed, watching me from the doorway.
"I'm alright," I mumble through the mouthful of toothpaste.
"Are you taking something for the cold?"
I nod.
"That is what this is, right?"
I nod again, refusing to acknowledge the question he's smartly asking.
"Scarlett."
I meet his gaze, more firmly this time. "Yes, Ed. I'm good. I'm just... reeling. That's all."
I spit out the toothpaste, and reach for the hand towel. He closes the door halfway and approaches me.
"I'm really worried about you. Scarlett, talk to me."
"I don't want to talk," I respond, quietly, turning to him with finality. His brows curve together as we stare at one another. "I'm sorry."
The man refuses to budge, observing me closely, as if he were working and I were a sickly patient under his care.
"The circles around your eyes are blue."
"I'm having trouble sleeping."
He gestures to the linen towel hanging from the rack. "Your skin is the shade of that towel."
"I've been sick. I haven't been in the sun."
"So, you are telling me my worry for you is completely unwarranted? I'm crazy to think there is something going on with you?" My refusal to answer only frustrates him further. "A month ago, you were coming back from Italy with Giovanni, and you were glowing. But the night I bailed you out, everything changed. You've never told me why it ended between you and Giovanni. I don't get what's happened, but I want you to be open with me."
He grasps both my arms, smiling softly. "You know we are all here for you."
"I know. I know you are, and I appreciate it," I grovel, running a hand through my thick hair. "I just...really don't want to talk about it right now. I will at some point, but not now."
With a nod, he accepts that answer, however vague it might be, but doesn't completely drop the subject.
"Tell me about the sleeping."
He tucks his hand beneath my chin, urging me to look at him.
I nearly tell him. I nearly tell him how impossible it is to close my eyes, a million thoughts swirling around in my brain, knowing the mattress space beside me is empty. Or how I'll wake in a cold sweat and reach out to my side, expecting to feel warm, smooth flesh beneath my hands, hands that naturally pull me in, but always come up short. I nearly tell him that wandering the house, trapped in my own mind, has been the sum of my nights since Giovanni has been gone.
The separation from someone I've made myself depend on emotionally and physically has finally begun to get to me.
And I can't ask him to come. I can't call. I can't tell him anything—anything about what's happened. If he knew, there would be nothing that would keep him away. I'm sure of it.
"Scarlett?"
I shake my head at him, slowly, at a loss. I don't know anything anymore.
I don't know what I'm doing.
...
I pull my coat around my body tighter as I slam the door to the taxi, telling the driver to wait as I rush through the downpour of frigid rain to get to the pay phone, settled right outside of a bank. My eyes are everywhere at once, scanning all sides of the street, paranoid as ever. The sky is dark and moonless, concealed by brown, heavy cloud cover. Half of my body is shielded by the phone station, my back soaking under the weight of the rainfall but I don't care. I stick the coins into the machine, unable to think of the consequences of my actions.
It's nearly midnight.
A couple walking together with an umbrella give me a curious look as they pass by me, probably wondering why I'm in pajamas and standing in the pouring rain. When the line begins to ring, I direct my attention back to the machine with desperation, gripping onto the side of the metal bar.
"Hello?"
The sound of his voice does soothe me, but I hadn't expected to be so taken aback by it.
This man's child is inside of me.
This man has no idea how much more woven our beings have actually become.
This man has no idea of the enormity I'm forced to keep from him.
"Hello?"
I release the breath I've been holding, bringing the receiver to my mouth. "Giovanni."
"Scarlett?" Any of the raspy hoarseness he'd had before is gone, replaced by suspicion and disbelief. "What's wrong? What's happened?"
My fingers press on my mouth, which has begun trembling, as I'm filled with overwhelming longing. Somehow I force out, "Nothing. Nothing's wrong. I'm okay."
There are so many things I could have said differently.
I'm pregnant.
I'm physically ill away from you.
Even, I'm really not okay.
And yet, I tell him the opposite, reassuring him with a lie, as I usually do to try and keep him unaware of how terrified I can actually get. I'm drenched through now, the storm only growing in intensity. My tears mix with the water as I try to hold my composure.
My eyes squeeze shut, a tremor appearing in my voice when I speak next. "I-I just needed to talk to you...to hear your voice."
He doesn't answer for what seems like ages. "Where are you? I can barely hear you."
"A pay phone. It's, um, raining."
"You don't sound okay. You're scaring the hell out of me. Where's Norman?"
"He's fine. He's sleeping." I shake my head at myself, frustrated that I'm even putting him through this. "It's late. I shouldn't have called. I shouldn't even be calling—"
"I don't care what time it is. Tell me what's wrong."
I'm panicking and I have no idea why. I'm shuffling in place, my eyes flickering to the taxi driver who is watching me through the window curiously.
"Scarlett, if you don't talk to me, I'm going to show up and force it out of you."
An uncertain noise falls from my lips. "You can't do that."
But deep down, I'm saying, please do.
Deep down, I'm saying, I'll drive all night just to be with you.
The line's dead silent. So silent I think the call has dropped.
"Giovanni?"
"I'll be there by dawn," he finally says, and I hear rustling in the background. My eyes begin to widen with realization.
I wipe the falling tears, straightening. "What are you talking about? You can't—"
"I can. And will. Wait for me at the cabin."
"Giovanni—"
"You need me, right?" he questions, his voice sharp with passion. "Tell me that's why you called and I will come to you, right now."
My grip tightens on the rest and then slips. I'm gaping, conflicted between telling him to stay put, which would be the smart thing to do, and telling him to come to me by any means necessary. We've been so careful up till now—can I honestly tell him to risk it all?
"Tell me, Scarlett."
"I do," I blurt out through thick tears, exhaling vulnerably. I've never liked this feeling—need. "Yes, I do."
His answer alone begins to drown the sorrow. "Then, I'm coming."