Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
I’m not crazy. This isn’t a hallucination—I am carrying a baby that Bennett Bishop and I made together.
Josie covers her mouth with a hand, and tough B that she is, I still see the glisten of a tear in her eye. I swear, if I’ve actually found the way to break through her normally hard shell by getting preggo, I might have to scream.
“So, today, all we’re really looking to do is get some information about family medical history, for both you and the father,” Dr. Vesper updates. “I’ll need you to fill out some paperwork, we’ll get you started on prenatals, and then we’ll get another appointment set up for you in a couple of weeks.”
Family medical history. For the first time since seeing two pink lines days ago, I am struck by the fact that I don’t know what the genetic history of Summer’s diagnosis was. Was it because of a gene carried by her mother? Or Bennett? Or was it a combination of the two?
Josie sees the look on my face and reads it correctly. When she speaks up so I don’t have to, I’m thankful. “The, uh, father has one other child who was diagnosed with Osteogenesis Imperfecta Type III.”
Dr. Vesper’s face is incredibly kind. “Okay. We’ll plan to do a full genetic panel then, at around ten weeks, and that’ll tell us everything we need to know. Until then, I don’t want you to worry. Though osteogenesis imperfecta is a genetic disorder, it’s often caused by a mutation in the type 1 collagen genes. If no one else in the father’s family has OI, it’s likely to have stemmed from the maternal side.”
Dr. Vesper finishes up the appointment with a smile and a packet of information, and I sit there reeling. From low to high and low again, I wish I could find some footing in this wild, unsteady storm.
I mostly just cry, and when I manage to stop crying, it only takes one thought of Summer or Bennett or this little baby growing in my belly to start crying all over again.
Josie tries to comfort me on our way out and on the drive home, but the truth is, I need Bennett. I need him present and strong and back on his high horse talking some sense into me about all the silly decisions I make.
I need him to tell me that he loves me and that he wants me and that, no matter what happens, we’re going to go through it together.
He’s still on my mind when my phone rings with a call from Breezy as we’re pulling back into Josie’s driveway nearly forty minutes later.
“Hello?”
“Norah, honey, I need you to do me a favor. There’s a painting in Bennett’s studio I need you to go pick up for me. Believe it or not, I’ve convinced him to donate something to an auction happening next week, and I need it overnighted. I know this is a shaky time for the two of you, but do you think you can run over there today? We’re in a time crunch.”
Shaking off all the mixed emotions of the morning, I smile into the phone. “Of course. That’s what you pay me for.”
Breezy laughs. “Thanks, Nore. And listen, I talked to Chet Smith, our lawyer, again this morning, and he says the DA is salivating. Turns out not only were ole Tommy and Eleanor bribing and traumatizing a bevy of young girls who worked for him, they were also involved in a high-end prostitution ring that included underage girls.”
A prostitution ring? With underage girls?
My jaw goes unhinged. “Holy shit, you’re kidding me!”
“What?” Josie asks, overhearing. “What is it?”
“I hate to say it, but I’m not all that surprised.” Breezy is still in my ear. “Too many of these rich frou-frous are sickos behind closed doors. And they’re sooo good at hiding it until they’re not. Anyway, I’d say they’re going to get what’s coming to them, and when I have more updates, I’ll let you know.”
“Jesus. Thanks, Breezy.”
“Of course, babe. Let me know when the painting is with the courier, okay?”
“I will,” I agree, hanging up when she does. An eager Josie is waiting for the news with perked ears.
“What? What’s going on?”
The whole thing is so crazy I don’t know any other way to deliver the news besides just saying it as it is. “Thomas and Eleanor…they were running an underage prostitution ring.”
“That is so fucked up.”
“It’s sick,” I whisper, and my heart feels heavy thinking about all of the victims, all of the poor girls whose lives were ruined because of Thomas and our mother.
“But it’s almost shocking how a large part of me isn’t all that surprised.”
My head whips toward her. “Josie!”
“I know, Nore. I know.” She reaches out to grasp my hand. “But don’t you dare blame yourself for any of it, you hear me? If you hadn’t taken off from that wedding and made all the moves you have, they might still be at it, you know?”