“What if it’s Declan’s?” she wailed. “What if the baby has green eyes?”
“Then you’ll have to tell Declan,” she snapped. “Goodbye, Claudette.”
“Wait! Please, Gabby, don’t hang up.”
Her grip tightened on her phone. She didn’t owe this woman anything. It wasn’t Gabby’s place to tell her father either, although she really wanted to, so he could kick that backstabbing woman out of their lives. But Claudette knew Gabby wasn’t going to say anything. Peter suffered a mild stroke six months before and another shock could kill him.
“What. Do. You. Want?”
“Maybe I should disappear until the baby is born.”
“Are you crazy? Where are you going to go?”
“A friend of mine is going to Cancun and knows of a good birthing clinic there.”
“You’re out of your freaking mind.”
“That’s what I’ll do.”
“Claudette! Don’t you dare hang up.”
“My friend is leaving tonight.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in the Valley.”
“You come back right this instant.”
“I’m scared, Gabby.”
“You shouldn’t have slept with Declan!” she screamed. “You’re such a fucking bitch!”
“I know,” Claudette started crying. “I’m sorry, all right?”
Gabby started crying too. “I’ll come get you.”
She didn’t know she’d signed the death warrant for her baby when she got into that car to retrieve her stepmother. She wouldn’t be easily recognized in Van Nuys, but she still took precautions and tucked her hair under a hat and wore a trench coat with a turned-up collar, using the belt to hold the coat around her almost nine-month belly. Claudette said she was waiting inside the La Familia bodega. The Our Lady of Lourdes Clinic was a landmark beside it, Claudette said.
Gabby remembered parking the car, noting with trepidation how the area was dimly lit. There were very few pedestrians. She stepped out of the vehicle and went into the convenience store and saw Claudette. Her stepmother appeared very relieved to see her.
She remembered leaving the convenience store with Claudette. Remembered her head exploding in pain and she wished she had drifted into blessed numbness, but instead, excruciating agony eviscerated her insides. It was her baby being born, her baby never getting a chance to cry. Gabby almost bled out and died.
Then the voices came as she floated in and out of consciousness.
“She lost a lot of blood.”
“Get out of here!”
“I’m staying, Peter … I’m her husband.”
“You abandoned a pregnant wife and she nearly died, you son of a bitch—”
“Things were complicated between us. You wouldn’t begin to understand.”
“Do the right thing. I beg you, Declan. Give her back the life she deserves.”
After three days, she woke up and the first person she saw was Declan, sitting in a chair, his head buried in his hands.
She didn’t say anything, just stared at the top of his head. Her hands drifted to her belly and it felt so empty. A sob rose in her throat.
His head jerked up and he walked briskly to her side and pushed the button for the nurse. His face had aged, eyes were bloodshot, and his usually clean-shaven face was darkened by several days’ worth of stubble. He briefly closed his eyes and his mouth moved as if saying a prayer, but he didn’t touch her.
“You’re awake,” he said gruffly. His eyes were suspiciously bright with emotion, but not a single tear fell.
“My baby?” she whispered.
Devastation was written all over Declan’s face, and he started shaking his head.
“You didn’t want him,” she accused.
“Gabby …”
“You didn’t believe he was yours.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Get out! Get the hell out!”
The nurses rushed in and then the doctor. Declan stayed behind them, his fingers digging into his hair as she continued to curse him and blame him for their baby’s death. The medical staff tried to calm her down but there were no words to drive out the excruciating pain that was tearing her up from the inside. She fought everyone who tried to give her comfort until finally they sedated her.
The next time she woke up, the only person she saw was Nick. He was the one who broke the news that her father had taken Claudette and their new baby to France.
By her bedside was a thick folded document.
Divorce papers.
She stared at them dispassionately. Her world already imploded the day her baby died.
Gabby realized she’d stopped crying. And, instead, a ball of anger formed at the base of her throat. Anger was good. It was better than despair. With anger came adrenaline and what followed adrenaline?
Clarity.
Our Lady of Lourdes Clinic.
She scrambled to her feet and grabbed the phone off the charger and called Kelso.