The Baby Miracle Page 2

  Well. Maybe I’m not entirely over that. But I will be. And it’s certainly not why I retired from modeling.

  I repeat in my head the story I told my parents when I gave up modeling for good. My investments are really starting to pay off. I don’t need the income from modeling jobs anymore. I’m ready to settle down and focus on other things.

  “Settle down?” Mom asked when I told her. “Is that why you broke up with poor Ashley?”

  Ashley broke up with me, I thought. But I didn’t say that. There would have been follow-up questions, questions I wasn’t ready to answer. Questions I still haven’t answered.

  “This is just because my investments are doing well,” I told her. “I see no reason to keep working all the time now that my money is doing the work for me. I can focus more on small businesses and start-ups, help them get off the ground. Put my money somewhere really valuable.”

  She shook her head. “You’re going to spend your life getting other businesses started instead of going to work for your father?”

  “Where would Dad be today if no one had ever given him a loan to help him get started?” I counter. “That’s what I want to do, Mom. I want to help people get started. I want to do for others what somebody did for Dad, so other families can have the life we had.”

  She shook her head. My parents love me, but there are things they’ve never understood.

  I wonder how Mom would have responded to tonight’s meeting. The product being launched was a mobile app called Trivia Tonight. However, the developer rushed to assure me, Trivia Tonight wasn’t just another trivia app. No, this one was actually a dating app in disguise! It would match players with potential romantic partners based on how they answered the questions in the trivia game, with the idea that common knowledge was a sign of common interests, which in turn would be indicative of a good match.

  I found it absolutely ridiculous.

  Still, I tried to work with the developer. Even when I think a product has no promise, I always make an effort. Sometimes it even works, and we’re able to salvage a bad idea and turn it into a good one. But no such luck today.

  I suggested a toggle for the matchmaking feature, so players could turn it off if they wanted to. I suggested settings that would allow players to select what kind of match they were looking for—romance, friendship, or just a with-benefits situation. I suggested simply categorizing the trivia questions, and even that was turned down. The developer wasn’t interested in any of my ideas.

  As if relationships are that simple. As if all it takes is a few common interests. A few things in common. Please.

  Ashley and I had more in common than any two people I’ve ever met. We were both models, both Chicagoans, both fans of Mexican food, science-fiction movies, and travel. Spending time together was easy. We always wanted to do the same things. I’m willing to bet that Trivia Tonight would have matched us together nine times out of ten. But in the end, the one thing that differentiated us turned out to be too much to overcome.

  I close my eyes and lean back in my first-class seat. It’s nice to be able to fly in luxury like this. I’ve flown coach before. After I cut myself off from my father’s money, and before my investments began to really take off, there were a few years of struggle, and when I traveled for modeling jobs, I often had to pay my own way. Now that I can afford a first-class seat, I know I’ll never go back to coach again. I feel a little guilty for taking something that not everyone can have, as if I’m better than everyone crammed back there in the coach section, but at least this way my back doesn’t hurt.

  That’s one thing Ashley and I didn’t have in common. She never worried about seeming greedy and self-centered when she spent money on first-class flights and hotel suites. She never hesitated to order things that weren’t on the menu when we went out to eat, and she would send them back if they weren’t exactly to her liking. Now that I think about it, maybe I should have seen it coming. Maybe I should have anticipated that her unkindness and her lack of empathy would eventually turn on me.

  Then again, maybe I can’t blame her at all.

  We had been together for two years—two amazing, exciting years. I thought we’d spend the rest of our lives together. I’d even brought up marriage once or twice, but Ashley always demurred. She didn’t believe in marriage, she said. Marriage was an antiquated idea.

  Maybe that was another clue I should have picked up on. It was certainly the first major disagreement we had. But I tried to let it go. Maybe marriage wasn’t such a big deal. The important thing was that we were together.

  Then, after two years together, after many conversations that went late into the night, we decided to start a family. I felt so proud the day we made that decision. We were following our own path. We didn’t need to get married, and we could have children anytime we wanted. Our family was going to be unique and wonderful. I couldn’t wait for Ashley to tell me she was pregnant.

  But it didn’t happen.

  And it didn’t happen.

  And eventually six months had gone by, and nothing had happened.

  Ashley was more nervous than I was on the drive to the doctor’s office. She worried that something was wrong with her, that something about her would prevent us from getting pregnant. I kept my arm around her as we drove and told her again and again that it wouldn’t matter, that we’d figure something out.

  We could adopt, or we could use a surrogate. Or, if worse came to worst, we could opt out of having children. It wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen. We’d still be together and happy.

  But when the test results came back, Ashley was fine. I was the one who was infertile.

  Three months later, Ashley was gone.

  It’s for the best, of course, because I can’t spend my life with someone who’s going to resent me for something I can’t control. And now, three years later, I can honestly say I don’t yearn for Ashley anymore. I don’t want her back. But sometimes, on nights like this, it’s hard to be alone.

  I’d love to be able to turn in my seat to a person sitting beside me, a person I knew well, and make a joke about how ineffectual the Trivia Tonight app would be. I can imagine her laughing, flipping her hair over her shoulder, making a joke about the app. I can’t imagine the joke, though. Imagination only goes so far.

  My thoughts are interrupted by a boost of static, followed by a crackling voice.

  “Hello, everybody, this is your captain speaking,” the voice says. “There’s absolutely no cause for alarm, but we’re experiencing a minor complication with one of our engines. To play it completely safe, we’re going to put down and have a team take a look at the aircraft. We’re over Applewood, Iowa, right now, and they’ve got a small municipal airport where they’re currently in the process of clearing the runway so we can make a safe landing.”

  Around me, groans fill the cabin.

  “I have a connecting flight in Chicago!” a woman protests.

  Privately, I share her sentiment, but I keep my thoughts to myself. It’s certainly not the fault of anyone here that the engine is having a problem, and the last thing I want is to stay in the air if the captain feels we should be on the ground. As much as I want to get back home quickly, it’s not worth the risk.

  The seat belt sign turns on, and we begin a quick descent. I can feel the plane dropping much quicker than I’m used to, and I wonder if perhaps the situation is more serious than the captain’s bedside manner led us to believe. I stare out the window, anxiously watching the ground grow closer, until finally our wheels hit the runway and we’re safely speeding along, the plane’s deceleration pulling me back into my seat.

  I pull my bag down from the overhead compartment and make my way off the plane, grateful for yet another perk of first class—being seated at the front of the plane means I’m one of the first to disembark. I walk up the jetway and into the airport.

  It’s tiny. Standing at the gate, I can see through the security checkpoint, past the baggage claim, and out
the front entrance to the parking lot. I let out an exasperated sigh, my frustration with the situation starting to get the better of me, and approach the counter. At least there’s no line here. I know people will be queueing up behind me as soon as they step off the plane.

  “May I help you, sir?” the airline employee asks.

  I check out her name tag. One thing I’ve learned as a model is that people are charmed when they think you’re interested in them, and one of the easiest ways to convey interest is by using their name.

  “Hi, Rhonda,” I say. “I hope you can. I just got off the flight from Los Angeles, and I need to get back to Chicago pretty urgently. I’m hoping you can help me find another flight tonight. Cost is no issue.”

  Rhonda shakes her head. “I’m afraid not, sir. No more departures out of this airport tonight.”

  “None at all? You’re kidding.” It’s only nine thirty.

  “The last flight out was to Seattle, and it left at nine,” she says.

  “Well, I need to get to Chicago,” I say. “Will this plane be fixed quickly?”

  “I’m afraid not,” she says. “Word from the runway is that the repairs are going to take until morning, maybe longer. The airline is offering passengers vouchers for rental cars or for a stay in the motel across the street, whichever you prefer.”

  For a moment I’m tempted to take the rental car. I could be in Chicago in just a few hours, and that’s definitely better than waiting around here all night for the plane to get fixed. But then I remember the scotch I drank on the plane. I’m not a frequent drinker, and I can feel that that drink and the one I had before it have affected me enough that I’m not sure I’d be safe behind the wheel.

  Damn. I’m going to have to stay here in this nowhere town.

  “Can you recommend a nice hotel nearby?” I ask Rhonda. I’m not going for the motel across the street. I’ve never stayed in a motel personally, but I’ve seen them on TV, and they look unpleasant. It’s nice of the airline to make the offer, but I’ll pass.

  Rhonda pulls a brochure out from under her desk and passes it to me. “Woodpines Inn is the nicest place in Applewood.”

  I flip through the brochure. Woodpines has the look of a mountain resort, a kind of luxury log cabin. The rooms have Wi-Fi, and they look clean and well kept.

  “Thank you,” I say and pull out my phone as I step away from the desk to call for a reservation.

  Half an hour later, I’m settled into my room. With a king-size bed, a wide-screen TV, and a minibar, it’s spacious and comfortable enough to suffice for the night. But I can’t shake off the knowledge that I should be landing in Chicago right now. I think about my penthouse apartment downtown, the view of the lake from my living room window, my walk-in shower with perfect water pressure. As nice as this hotel room is, it’s no substitute for the comforts of home.

  And besides, I’m bored here. I hadn’t planned on going out tonight—I knew I’d be tired after a day of meetings and travel—but at least in Chicago I would have the option. There’s something about knowing there isn’t anything to do in Applewood that makes me absolutely stir crazy. I mean, even their airport shuts down at nine o’clock. Applewood is so dead in the evening that you can’t even leave.

  My first thought is to order room service. That, at least, is available late.

  I grab the menu and peruse it, but nothing really appeals to me. All the late-night options are less than savory—panini sandwiches, salads, things of that nature. I suppose I could have a cocktail sent up, but I don’t really feel like drinking any more right now.

  The truth is that I’m feeling isolated here, cut off from the rest of the world. What a strange thing to realize. I have no problem spending time on my own. I do it all the time in Chicago.

  In fact, since Ashley left me, I haven’t been close with anyone. I haven’t dated. And although I have my friends, I’ve noticed a distance growing between us over the past few years. I think it’s because I’ve left modeling. My life is different now, in ways they can’t understand.

  But tonight, for some reason, I’m itching to be around people. There must be something to do around here. People live here, after all. They can’t all be at home just because the sun’s gone down.

  I open up my laptop and pull up a browser window. “What to do in Applewood, Iowa.”

  It’s slim pickings. There’s a chain Italian restaurant open until eleven, but that’s not appealing. The mall closes at eight, not that I wanted to go there anyway. My spirits rise when I see a bar, but after viewing their website I realize it’s the kind of dive I used to visit in college.

  I’m about to give up when I see a listing at the bottom of the page: The Roxy Theater. A movie theater! I click the link, hoping they’re showing something good.

  Chapter 3

  Kendall

  I told Aunt Mariel I was going out to meet up with some old friends from college who still live in Applewood and that she shouldn’t wait up for me. It was a believable story, since I do have plenty of friends living in this area and I usually make time to see them when I’m in town. My aunt didn’t question it. She just gave me a key to her building and asked me to be quiet when I came in, because she would probably be sleeping.

  The truth is, I don’t have any plans to meet up with friends for a few days yet. After everything Aunt Mariel’s been badgering me about, I really just want to be alone for a while.

  I know she means well. She wants me to be happy, and that’s kind of her. She is my last living relative, after all. And she’s healthy and full of vigor, but I know how quickly you can lose someone. My mother died of a stroke in her sleep. She was perfectly fine one day, and the next day she was gone. I was completely unprepared.

  If I lost Aunt Mariel, it would be hard. There’s no question about that. But I’m better equipped to deal with loss and grief now because I’ve been through it. I have a support system, friends to help me get through it. I don’t need to fall in love just because my aunt might die.

  So why am I feeling so sad all of a sudden? Why does it feel like I’m missing out on something?

  I know why. It’s because suddenly all I can think about is Uncle Harvey and how happy he and Aunt Mariel were together. Ever since I turned thirty, I’ve been convincing myself that being single isn’t so bad and that it’s all right if I end up alone. I almost had myself talked into it. But with visions of my aunt and her doting husband in my head, I’m suddenly adrift in the idea of everything I’m missing out on.

  I need to take my mind off things. I want to be alone, but I definitely don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.

  Fortunately, I know the perfect place in Applewood for a situation like this. The Roxy was my favorite place to unwind when college got too stressful. And because finals week at college strips away any self-consciousness you might have, I got over my hang-ups about going to a movie by myself years ago.

  I used to spend entire evenings at the theater escaping my textbooks when my brain hurt too much from studying, dressed unimpressively in sweatshirts and leggings, a bucket of popcorn on my lap and a huge soda by my side. Sometimes I’d stay and see a double feature.

  Tonight, one will do.

  I pull into the parking lot and see that they’re doing a run of the classics. Perfect. A movie I’ve seen before will be comforting, like an old friend.

  I scan the sign, quickly ruling out everything that doesn’t have a start time coming up. I’m left with three choices: a children’s movie, a romance, and an action film. Easy decision.

  I step up to the automatic kiosk and purchase my ticket. It’s a movie I’ve seen dozens of times, one of my favorites, so it will be easy to lose myself in. For a couple of hours, it will allow me to forget about all the things Aunt Mariel was saying and the things I’m worried about. It will allow me to forget about my future.

  I step up to the concession counter. The girl behind it looks like she could be the same girl who was working here when I was in college, even
though I know that isn’t really possible. But something about this place seems frozen in time. I feel younger just being here, as if I’ve been transported back to the days when flip-flops and messy buns were the height of fashion. A few kids from the school are in the arcade, and I’m half expecting to realize that I recognize them from my classes.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” the cashier asks.

  Ma’am. That’s a bucket of ice water over my nostalgia. She sees me as a woman now, as her senior. She’s probably wondering where my husband and kids are.

  “Combo number one, please,” I mutter. “And some licorice.”

  Combo number two comes with two drinks and a popcorn to share. Combo number one is what you get if you’re coming to the movies by yourself.

  Not that I have a problem with that. I’m fine.

  I salt my popcorn, stick the box of candy in my purse, and make my way to the theater. It’s practically empty, so at least I can have my choice of seats. I choose the first row in the upper deck, with the railing in front to rest my feet on. Perfect.

  I arrange my purse and popcorn in the seat to my right so I’ll be able to snack easily as I watch the movie, and then I relax into my seat and wait for the trailers to begin.

  “Hi.”

  I whip around. There’s a man sitting to my left, two seats away. Was he there when I sat down?

  “Hey,” I reply, wondering if he’s someone I know from college and have forgotten. It’s happened to me once or twice since graduation, and it’s always awkward—running into people at the grocery store or the mall and trying to disguise the fact that I don’t know their names.

  “Are you new in town?” he asks. “I haven’t seen you before.”

  Not college then, I guess.

  “I’m visiting my aunt,” I say. “I grew up here, actually.”

  “Oh, really? Where do you live now?”

  “Chicago.”

  “Cool city.” He extends his hand to me. “I’m Eric.”

  “Kendall.” I shake. His hand is sort of sweaty, and his grip is too tight. “Nice to meet you.”