Wreckage Read Online Free Page B

pennies, and I swear under my breath. If I’d just get organized like Beth always tells me to, I wouldn’t be in this mess. Damn it. I’m zipping the pocket closed with more force than necessary when I notice bright green eyes staring at me. The “plus one.” Her lips pucker like she’s holding in a laugh, and she waves like we’re old friends meeting again after a long separation, making me panic for a moment. No—I’d remember that smile, or at least I’d remember the way it makes my palms sweat and elbows tingle.
    Putting a finger to her lips she points to sleeping Margaret Linden and mouths, “Later.”
    “Okay,” I say, giving a stupid little thumbs up. I’m so bad at this.
    When she returns to her novel, I sink into my seat, putting the laptop on my thighs. My head’s so full of conflicting thoughts, I jump slightly when the computer chimes on.
    I don’t know how it’s possible to long for home and be glad I’m away from it at the same time, but it is. Part of me craves Beth. I want to find a strand of her hair tangled in the button of my shirt in the middle of the day, or hear the front door open and know by the cadence of her footsteps that she’s home. Yet, sitting here, alone with a computer full of e-mails, I’m freer than I have been in months.
    I never imagined trying to have a baby could be so stressful. It’s something so easy that other people do it accidentally, but, apparently, too difficult for us to manage. I rub the bridge of my nose hard, as if I could rub out those memories—the months of arguments, the temperature readings and charts and negative pregnancy tests. I need to forget, because right now there are three little embryos getting all cozy in Beth’s uterus. If they all take, we could have triplets. Triplets. I know the idea should scare me but it doesn’t.
    It’s good I’m here, to get some space between us so the air can clear before I get home. After the blood test we can make new plans. If the embryos fail, there’s a chance Beth will be willing to give up on her obsession with pregnancy. We could talk about adoption again. After all, the most important thing is to have a child; I’m dying to be a dad. This break might be the best thing that’s ever happened to us.
    The phone buzzing in my pants pocket makes me jump. Thank goodness I switched it to vibrate on my last flight or Mrs. Linden would’ve been rudely awakened by my AC/DC ringtone. It’s probably Mr. Janus, making sure I made it to the plane on time. Before putting the phone to my ear, I see Theresa peek her head into the cabin and frown.
    “Two minutes,” she mouths as the phone buzzes again. I nod and push the Talk button.
    “Hello?”
    “Dave?” Beth answers, her voice gravelly and swollen.
    “Hey there. What’s up?”
    “I needed to hear your voice.” She sighs a little, like hearing me talk gave her relief. “Last night was the worst night of my whole life and I’ve been wishing you were here to help.” Her voice catches in her throat and makes me sit up a little straighter.
    “What happened, Beth?”
    “I’m so sorry, Dave . . . I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I . . . I started bleeding last night and went to the doctor this morning. He said . . . he said we were losing the embryos.” She shoves the words out like unwanted visitors.
    I turn toward the window and whisper, “Wha-what do you mean? How in the world did that happen? They said we wouldn’t know for another week.”
    Muffled cries spill out. “I forgot to get my shots.”
    “What do you mean ‘forgot’?” She knew how important those shots were. Her body doesn’t make enough hormones to carry our babies. Dr. Hart made that clear.
    “I don’t know, I forgot. You weren’t here to remind me and I’ve been so busy with work and the shots make me really tired. I just forgot. I told you not to leave. I told you I needed you here.”
    “How could you forget Beth? This isn’t like forgetting to feed a