Chapter 21

I wish there had been a sign from God that all this chaos going gon in my life was supposed to happen. I was slowly pacing my bedroom floor; one hand curled tightly around the cordless phone while the other grasped my hip, then scratched my scalp, and then reached up to my mouth as I cleared my throat several times. My fingers trembled as I dialed Bev's home number. Even if I didn't tell her about Will right away, I had to at least apologize. Owen, who was off today, had left the room to give me a little privacy. He was locked away in his office, being the music guru that he was. Riiiiiiiiiing. Riiiiiiiiiing. Riiiiiiing. "Hello, you have reached Beverly…" I pushed the End button on the phone. She must be at work. So I tried her cell. Riiiiiiiiiiinng. . Ring. "Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice message system." Not answering her cell either. Dammit! I debated for only half a second before dialing her work. "I'm sorry, Ms. Winston is not in at the moment, would you like to take a message?"

"No, no I'm fine," I sighed and hung up. Just screw everyone for making my life so hard. My mother was still on her warpath toward the perfect baby shower, and though he was making progress, Owen still had yet to grasp the concept of "loving parent." I fiddled with my wedding ring, a cool, flat comfort, and yelled upstairs. "Owen, come on in, and bring the doll with you." I (to my best ability) plopped down on the bed, smoothing my hands over the t shirt stretched across my belly.

"Awwww, not the devil doll…" Owen whined from deep inside his secret lair. He never let me inside his office. This exclusion was for no particular reason other than his excuse that it was a total mess in there. I heard him trudging down the hall with slow, agonized stomps. He appeared in the doorway, pale, worn baby doll helplessly dangling from his hand by the left foot.

"Is that how you're going to carry our children?" I chided. He corrected himself, forming his arms into a cradle and nestling the plastic toy close to him. "Good job," I encouraged. He walked tentatively to the bed, careful not to make any sudden movements (it might have woken the fake baby). He lowered himself down onto the bed as gracefully as a six-four army tank could manage.

"So…did you talk to her?"

"No," I said. "She wouldn't answer any of her phones. I guess she really doesn't want to talk to me."

"I'm pretty sure that's not true, Annabel," he said firmly. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself."

"I am not feeling sorry for myself!" I said indignantly. Still annoyed, I decided to give Owen a little test. "Let's work on those diaper changing skills." He groaned.

The next morning, I woke up early. I know this because Owen was still snoring beside me. I flung my feet over the edge of the bed and went into the bathroom. When there, I gracefully heaved last night's dinner into the toilet. A flush and two cycles of teeth brushing later, I emerged from my prison. "It's so embarrassing having to puke all the time like this," I said to Owen, who was sitting up in bed now, his hair sticking up in strange directions.

Still rubbing his eyes and yawning, he replied, "well, its not like it's the first time I've seen you blow chunks, so don't worry about it. I mean, thinking about it, that's sort how we, you know, met."

I sighed. "Still. I hate it." He grunted in response.

Later that afternoon, the sun was bright and lit the whole house, making me aware of all the little dust particles that floated around our house. Ew. Clad in a stretchy striped turtleneck my mother bought me from the maternity store at the mall and elastic wasted jeans, I lounged on the living room sofa, watching the dust particles fly this way and that, like feathers in a dream. This is what my life consisted of nowadays, watching TV and dust particles. I hardly ever left the house; accept when my mother or Clarke dragged me out to help with baby shower matters or "For my own health," as Clarke put it (yeah right). It would be better if Bev and I were on speaking terms. But we weren't. so I was bored. Even though Owen was off work often, he spent a lot of his time locked in his office or off with Rolly somewhere. I had just realized something disturbing when Owen walked in the room. he looked concerned at the trance I was in.

"Are you okay?" He asked, plopping down beside me on the couch, legs crossed. I turned my whole body to face him, propping myself up on my knees. Then I pounced. I pressed my lips to his eagerly, smoothing my hands over his hair and neck when he tensed. I kept kissing him. I wanted to go farther. I wanted to…I pushed myself away from him, allowing the frustrated air blow through my lips. "Are you okay?" He asked again for the second time in the last five minutes. "What was that about?" No matter how much I fought it, the tears gushed up between my eyelids, blurring my vision. I let out a sob. "What?" Owen said, panicked. "What's wrong? What did I do?" Without thinking, I pulled myself into his lap, resting my head in his chest and cried. Slowly, tentatively, he wrapped his arms around me, leaning back into the couch. "What's wrong?" He asked again, his voice softer.

"I haven't had sex in six months!!!" I wailed. "I want to have sex," I said. and continued to wail. I felt Owen's chest expand as if he were going to say something, but he didn't. we just sat there for a couple of minutes.

Finally he said, "don't you think your overreacting?" I sniffed.

"I know I'm overreacting. But come on, you have to admit you've noticed, unless you're cheating on me Owen."

"Of course I've noticed," he said calmly. "And no, I'm not cheating on you, that's for certain." I lifted my face to his, and kissed him. he kissed me back.

"I love you Owen," I said, and rested my head on his chest again. It took a bit, but he finally said it back.

"I love you too, Annabel."

This lovey dovey moment had to come to an end, too soon. An evil destroyed my happy place. "Better get that," I said, hopping (hauling myself) up from Owen's grasp. "I've got it," I said as he started get up too. I swiped my hands across my face and headed to the door. One glance through the peephole told me it was time to toss away all fear and sadness and step it up. I pulled the door open.

"Hi," Bev said, looking me straight in the eye. She was dressed casually, jeans and a turquoise blouse, with a coat for the crisp November air. Wow, it was November already. her car keys were dangling from her finger.

"Hi," I said. "come in." she gave me a weak smile. She wasn't mad anymore, of that I was certain. No hostility detected form her tone or posture. We entered the living room.

"Hi, Owen," Bev greeted him.

"hey Bev," Owen said back. he didn't need a signal; as soon as he saw Bev he knew it was time to for him to be anywhere but here.

"Will you sit down, please?" I pleaded. suddenly I panicked and blurted everything out in one word, it seemed. "…"

"Annabel, Annabel," Bev said, holding her palms up. "Slow down."

"I'm sorry," I sighed.

she looked confused. "What are you apologizing for?"

"what?"

"I should be the one apologizing."

"But I didn't tell you the whole truth and…"

"you were raped, Annabel. And I blew up in your face about it like it was all your fault when all you were doing was looking out for me. I'm sorry, Annabel for thinking selfishly. I never once stopped to think how this whole thing was affecting you. I am truly sorry."

I blinked, astonished. "I never even thought of it that way."

"You should have. I was being a total bitch to you. will you forgive me?"

All I could say was yes. But this wasn't over. There was more to discuss. After settling down with two cups of tea, I began. Id had more than enough time to think about how I would say this to her. "Will came by here." I stated.

"He did?" Bev said, more than a little surprised. "For what? Oh my god, you're so calm about this! how?"

"To tell the truth, I don't know," I laughed. But then I got serious. "We talked for a while. He really wants to be with you, Bev."

"I couldn't even think of being with him after what he did to you, Annabel!" Bev reached over, placing her hand over mine.

"He's changed," I countered. "I can see that."

"And you're okay with it?"

"Believe it or not, I am. I do think he has sincerely changed from the person I knew him as, rape aside. And he really, really likes you. you are proof that he has changed. Living proof. Surely you can see it too."