Chapter 3 - The Baby Shower Begins
By ten the next morning, the estate looked like a wedding.
White flowers climbed the columns.
Pink ribbons fluttered from the garden chairs.
A three-tier cake stood beneath a crystal chandelier hung from the canopy.
More than eighty guests were expected.
Ryan arrived at 9:17.
He had changed clothes.
Showered.
Replaced his wedding ring.
And restored the devoted-husband expression I had believed for three years.
He found me upstairs wearing a pale rose maternity dress.
“Claire.”
I continued fastening an earring.
“We have forty minutes before the photographer arrives.”
“Forget the photographer.”
“No.”
He closed the bedroom door.
“We need to talk.”
“About Washington?”
His jaw flexed.
“I panicked.”
“That explains Chicago?”
“Vanessa called me.”
“That explains the hotel?”
“She was having a crisis.”
“That explains the executive suite?”
He looked away.
I smiled.
“Thought so.”
He lowered his voice.
“You don’t understand what she’s like.”
“I understand what you’re like.”
“Claire, please.”
He reached for me.
I moved away.
His face changed when I did.
Not sadness.
Irritation.
He was used to being able to touch me and reset the conversation.
“What did she tell you?”
“Enough.”
“She’s obsessed with me.”
I laughed.
“She was wearing your shirt.”
“She spilled wine on hers.”
“At midnight?”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Do you want to destroy tomorrow for my mother?”
There it was.
Not our daughter.
His mother.
I stepped closer.
“No, Ryan.”
“I want everything to happen exactly as planned.”
That frightened him.
I could see it.
Downstairs, car doors began closing.
Guests were arriving.
Ryan stared at me.
“What does that mean?”
“It means smile.”
I kissed his cheek.
His whole body went rigid.
“People are coming.”
Then I walked downstairs.
At 11:42, the garden was full.
Ryan’s father, Thomas, toasted the baby.
Margaret cried.
My aunt Helen touched my belly and whispered that my mother would have been proud.
Ryan stood beside me with his hand resting on my back.
Anyone watching us would have seen a perfect marriage.
Then the gate opened.
Vanessa walked in.
She wore a cream dress.
No coat.
No apology.
Conversation died in waves.
Margaret saw her first.
The glass in her hand slipped and shattered against the patio stones.
“Absolutely not.”
Vanessa stopped.
Ryan whispered, “Claire.”
I smiled at her.
“You made it.”
Margaret turned to me.
“You invited her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I looked at Ryan.
“Because she’s part of our story.”
His fingers dug slightly into my back.
I stepped away from him.
Vanessa’s face was pale.
She had expected confrontation.
She had not expected eighty witnesses.
Ryan took my elbow.
“We need a private conversation.”
“No.”
“Now.”
I removed his hand.
“Don’t touch me like that.”
Several guests turned.
His father frowned.
Ryan immediately released me.
The family photographer approached.
“Mr. Whitmore?”
Ryan turned too quickly.
“Yes?”
“The slideshow system is ready.”
His face changed again.
I caught it this time.
Fear.
The photographer continued.
“You asked us to run your surprise video before gifts.”
Ryan looked at me.
I smiled.
“That sounds wonderful.”
He swallowed.
“It can wait.”
“No.”
I took the microphone from the table.
“Actually, I’d love to see it now.”
Ryan whispered, “Claire, don’t.”
May you like
That was when I knew.
Whatever he had planned to show everyone, he no longer wanted me to see it.
