"How did you know?" she asked.
He leaned back against the stainless-steel prep counter. "I pay attention to you, Willow." His eyes dipped to the floor for a moment, but then they came back steady. "Also, I've seen it before. It was pretty soon after my girlfriend started throwing up every morning that I ended up married to a woman who didn't love me. Hopefully that won't happen to you."
Willow's eyes felt hot. Whenever she thought of the terrible conversation she'd had with Dane about her pregnancy, her face burned with shame, as if she'd actually done what he'd accused her of doing. It didn't make any sense at all. But the sting of his rejection was fierce. "I wouldn't worry about that," she told Travis, her voice unsteady. "Marriage is really low on the list of probable outcomes," she said, attempting a smile.
Travis blew out a breath. "You don't sound at all happy. If it's anyone I know … if someone's being a jerk about it … I'm happy to try to talk some sense into him."
She shook her head. "I'm not ready. I can't talk about it. Because I don't know what I'm going to do."
"Okay," he said slowly. "I won't say another word. No-that's not true. I have to say one more thing, and it's this: it can happen to anyone. You know that, right?" His green eyes searched her face.
Willow nodded, but her eyes filled with tears anyway. Because that truth was that she wasn't at all sure that it could happen to anyone. It seemed like something that only happened to fuckups like her.
"Aw, Willow," Travis sighed. "And we are going to have dinner. If only because you look like you could really use a friend." He stepped forward to wrap his arms around her. "I'm sorry for your troubles."
She returned the hug. "I appreciate it. I really do. You have no idea."
Eighteen
The phone company truck spent all morning in Willow's driveway. Following Dane's infection scare, it seemed Coach wasn't taking any more chances. After the truck finally departed, another one rolled up the gravel, this one from UPS.
Willow signed for a box addressed to Dane. But then she hesitated. There was no green Jeep in the driveway, which meant that Coach wasn't home. Willow stood there in the driveway, considering her options. She couldn't leave the box in the snow; that would be rude. The shipping label was from a medical facility in New Hampshire, so there was every likelihood that Willow was holding Dane's brother's personal effects.
With a sigh, she walked up to the door. Maybe Coach and Dane had left together for a doctor's appointment? She could just slip the box inside the door.
* * *
Unfortunately, Dane was napping when Willow came in. The sound of the door opening stirred him from a pleasant dream. So for the first few seconds after he opened his eyes, he didn't remember the ugly truth. All he saw was her pretty face, her graceful shape as she closed the door of the apartment against the cold. He might even have begun to smile.
But when she turned her face toward him, there was fear on it. And then he was awake, and arranging his own expression into an unrevealing mask.
"Hi," she said cautiously. "This just came for you."
He saw her hesitate with the box, wondering where to put it. She looked like she was on the verge of dropping it and running for the door. So he blurted out his question. "Willow, did you have an abortion?"
Her mouth fell open. "You did not just ask me that."
Dane swallowed. "I'm not trying to torture you, I just need to know."
Standing in front of him, she took a deep, shaky breath. "I'm not discussing it with you."
"That's a mistake," he said quietly. "Anyone who has a child of mine will live to regret it."
He watched her inhale carefully. "You made that point already," she said. "And even so, I honestly believed that after the shock wore off, you'd be more civilized. But since that's not possible. I'm leaving now."
It gutted him. Willow stood before him, shaking with unhappiness. And yet she never backed down. A lesser woman would throw the first heavy object she could find right at his head. But she just stared him down, vulnerable but real.
It was all he could do to keep from reaching for her as she put the box down a few feet away from him. Then she turned toward the door.
"Wait." His voice was thick. "You said your friend is a doctor. What's her specialty?"
Willow's eyes darted around to his face, disbelief shining in them. "Internal medicine."
"Can I have her number, please?"
"God, why?"
"I'm not sure I have the right specialist, and I want her opinion."
Willow sucked in air. He could see her trying to hold herself together. It hurt to watch. It hurt to have her so close and hating him. She scraped her phone from her pocket and looked up the number. With shaking hands she jotted it down on the edge of the newspaper on the coffee table. Then she threw it on his chest. "Her name is Callie Anders," she said. "But I doubt she'll talk to you."
Willow stormed out and slammed the door.
Dane listened to the sound of her footsteps retreating. Then he took the brand-new phone in his hand. He'd managed to put this off his entire adult life. But no more.
He dialed Callie's office, but of course, she didn't answer. A perky receptionist took the call. And when he asked for Callie, he was told she was with a patient. "Would you like to leave a message?"
"I would," he said. "My name is Dane, and I'm calling with regard to Willow Reade. Dr. Anders will want to speak with me. It's urgent."
* * *
Ten minutes later the phone rang. "Hello, this is Dane," he answered.
"This is Callie Anders." Her voice was curt. "You left me a message. About Willow?"
He cleared his throat. "Callie, I asked Willow for your number. I suppose you know who I am?"
She hesitated. "Yes."
"I need to ask for a favor," he said slowly. "But it's really a favor for Willow."
"What, then?" her voice was strained.
"First of all," he said, "it's highly confidential."
She sighed. "Go on."
"Could you … " she was not going to like this one bit. "I'd come to your office, but I can't drive … "
" … I heard."
"Okay. I would like you to come out here, preferably when Willow's not around. I need you to draw my blood. You won't need more than a couple of vials."
There was a loaded silence on her end while the good doctor did the math. She would know that there was only one reason he'd ask her to draw blood. To test him for a disease-a disease that she would now assume could infect Willow. "Dane, I don't know who you think you are, but you're scaring the shit out of me right now."
"And I wouldn't be doing that," he kept his voice level. "If it wasn't important."
She paused again. "What am I testing you for?"
"I'll tell you when you come."
She whistled. "You really are an asshole."
"Yes, doctor, I am."
There was another long silence, and he thought she might hang up. "There's a yoga class that Willow goes to at seven. I'll come then." She hung up on him.
* * *
Willow fed chips of beeswax into the wide-open mouth of the jar, where the gorgeous yellow substance melted into a pretty swirl. She turned the saucepan of water down to a simmer and used an old knife to cut through yet another old candle stub. Her kitchen was perfumed with the honeyed smell of melting wax.
Even as she worked-melting down old candle stubs into precious beeswax-she could feel Dane's presence. As much as she tried to forget about him, he was like a hum in her head. When she sat reading on her sofa or stood scrubbing out a pot at her sink, he was mere yards away. The Dane who had wormed his way into her heart had bright eyes and an easy laugh. That one had clung to her, as if he never wanted to let her go. What you do to me, he'd sighed.
She wished she could stop thinking about that man. Because the one around back in the apartment was the one whose eyes darkened at the sight of her and who said ugly things meant to hurt her. That man was afraid of something, and she didn't know what. Willow wished she could stop thinking about him. She had her own needs to consider and a big decision to make. But it needled at her. If she knew why he was so angry, maybe she'd be better able to identify her own feelings under the jumble of wreckage in her heart.