The Swap - Robyn Harding Page 0,71

lies and subterfuge, I would help my friend through this. I would hold her hand and coach her through the delivery. I would be there when my husband’s child slid out into the world, having been carried for so many months by my best friend.

“Freya,” I called as I approached. “It’s going to be okay. I’m here for you. We can get through this together.”

She looked up then, and I saw the hatred on her lovely face. “No. You don’t get to be a part of this.”

I stopped in my tracks. “I just want to help you through labor. You’re not prepared.”

“You’re not a mother,” she snarled. “You know nothing.”

My heart twisted in my chest. “I-I’ve read all the books,” I stammered. “I know all the steps. I can coach you.”

She laughed at me then, a cruel, mocking bark. “If you come near me, I’ll call the police.”

Max had her small suitcase in one hand, his other arm wrapped around his wife, supportive and protective. “Go away, Jamie. She doesn’t want you here.”

As they moved toward the hospital, Freya continued her verbal assault. “You’re delusional, Jamie! You’re dangerous! Stay away from me and my baby.”

People were staring now—nurses, patients, visitors. I didn’t look, but I could feel the weight of their eyes on me. They thought Freya was afraid of me. They thought I was a monster harassing a poor pregnant mother.

Brian joined me then and slipped his hand into mine. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “It’s going to be okay.”

We stood and watched as Freya and Max disappeared inside.

54

low

My mom and Vik were in the kitchen talking in soft voices. I could barely hear them over the bubbling vat of white beans on the stove, but I pressed my body flat to the wall and strained to listen.

“I was visiting Bill Pickering,” Vik was saying, “he’s in the hospital with a broken femur. I was leaving, when it all kicked off.”

“Freya and Jamie were yelling at each other?” my mom asked. Her voice was hushed, though she didn’t know I’d returned to the house. Since the intervention about my “inappropriate relationship,” I’d taken to spending most of my days at the beach or in the forest, taking photos, or sometimes going for pizza with Thompson. Anything to get me away from all the parental judgment and concern.

“Is Freya the blond one?” Vik asked. My mom must have nodded, because he said, “She was really angry at the brunette. Jamie wanted to come into the delivery room, but Freya said she’d call the police. She said Jamie was dangerous.”

“Oh my god,” my mom said, at the precise moment I gasped. They wouldn’t hear me over the boiling beans and their own conversation, but I clapped my hand over my mouth anyway.

“Freya was definitely in labor,” said Vik. “A contraction hit her, and she screamed bloody murder.”

I didn’t need to hear anymore. I scooped up my truck keys and ran for the door.

• • •

I drove the dark and winding route to the hospital with my mouth curled into a permanent grin. The anonymous e-mail I’d sent to Jamie had worked. She had confronted Freya about the baby’s paternity, and now, Freya hated her. Considered her a mortal enemy. Gratitude and relief filled my chest, made it feel warm and light.

Vik had said Freya was protective of her baby, had accused Jamie of being a danger to it. That was slightly concerning, but it had to be the hormones. Eventually, Freya would see that motherhood was a giant drag, and she’d be better off handing the whining, drooling, pooping creature over to its father. Jamie would be a better mother to it. She had no life except for the store, which, let’s face it, was hardly taxing. Without the baby, Freya could soar to greater heights, even greater fame.

Her fans would want to see the baby, of course. It couldn’t disappear from her life completely—as much as we might want it to. But weekend visitation would allow us to take enough photos of the child to make Freya look like a loving mother, while preserving her brand as a sexy, independent woman. She’d get cool sponsors like makeup companies, fashion designers, and vodka distilleries, not just boring baby food and diaper brands. She’d get invited to resorts and on cruises, and I’d go with her. We would travel the world together, our relationship deepening through our shared experiences.

I had been right to wait a couple of weeks to send the e-mail.