me a leave of absence, but I’m considering changing fields. Working with kids holds some appeal, but there’s time before I need to make a decision. It seems I have plenty of that to spare.
So, what’s on my daily agenda? A whole lot of waiting for restrictions to be lifted. I’ve already told the police everything they needed to hear. That wasn’t enough to exonerate Halder. My only saving grace from going stir crazy is that he’s able to communicate with me. Those messages and calls are no longer satisfying the most surface level cravings, though. Every inch of me is crawling with the need for just one glance. The selfies he sends aren’t cutting the mustard.
As if hearing my desperation rising inside of me, my phone chimes with a notification.
SBM: Hey, sweetheart. How’s your afternoon?
Shitty mood or not, his nickname makes me smile. Maybe I’ll get to reveal the meaning to him soon. Halder will probably think it’s silly. Not that he’d ever tell me that. For now, it’s an inside joke only I can giggle about. I tap across the screen with warmth spreading through me.
Me: Same old thing. Nothing interesting to report other than my latest batch of pumpkin spice muffins are delicious.
SBM: You’re such a tease.
Me: And you enjoy it.
SBM: Very much.
Me: I’ll send you another care package.
SBM: No sweeter words, Lee. How was the doctor?
His question has me wrinkling my nose. The reminder isn’t a pleasant one. I’ve been spending too many mornings being whisked from one appointment to the next. The poking and prodding are supposed to be for my own good, to be sure I’m not damaged or suffering long-term effects. I could’ve avoided several of the exams and sessions, but appeasing my mother’s insistence was worth a few extra visits. She’s nearly returned to her previous level of high maintenance normality. Another week of this stifling routine should do the trick.
Me: It was fine. Not worth rehashing.
A moment of silence leads me to believe he’s been caught up in something else. What I wouldn’t give to be there. I’d gladly offer a pillar of support or let him bend my ear, among other things. How much longer can this delay go on? Another chime signals Halder’s response.
SBM: Do you have plans later?
Me: My sister wants to take me out. There’s some cover band playing at her favorite bar. How about you?
SBM: There’s been talk of dropping this house arrest crap.
I gasp while reading his words. My heart leaps with newfound excitement.
Me: Really?
SBM: Guess so. They might let me leave the confines of my home without a tail of agents following behind.
Me: That’s freaking amazeballs. When can I see you?
SBM: Slow down, sweetheart. My total freedom hasn’t been reinstated.
Me: Yet.
SMB: You’ll be the first to know after they give me the green light. Stay tuned.
I’m already squealing at the possibility of seeing him. With a whoop, I toss my phone in the air and watch it land on the pile of pillows beside me. Almost immediately after it makes contact, the device starts ringing. An unknown number flashes on the screen. I swipe to answer, already preparing for a telemarketer. This call will undoubtedly be added to a list of the things I didn’t miss while stranded.
“Hello?”
A feminine hum precedes any reply. “May I speak to Ms. Cross?”
I quirk a brow at her formal tone. “This is she.”
“Hello, ma’am. I’m one of the nurses at Faredale, following up from your recent visit. We have some lab results to share with you.”
“Uh, okay. Is there anything I should be concerned about?”
“I suppose that depends on how you react to the news that you’re pregnant.”
A low whistle howls in my ear. Empty air cracking with static is next. I pull the phone away, checking to be sure this isn’t a prank or some sick trick my subconscious is scheming. All I find is the call timer racking higher.
“Hello? Ms. Cross?”
I peel the glue off my tongue. “That’s not possible. I’m on birth control. My last injection was in late September.”
Her tsk-ing scold sounds too much like my mother. “Not according to your virtual records. Your most recent appointment was at the end of June. That means the previous dose is older than three months and no longer effective.”
I’m already shaking my head before she’s done speaking. “No, no. That can’t be correct. There must be a date missing.”
But as I begin counting backward in my mind, the error is all on me. I cancelled the