When Robins Appear

by Densie Webb

I hate sirens at night, slicing through the silence, sharp as a scalpel.

In the bright lights of the all-night eatery, his eyes were a hard-to-ignore shade of blue-gray—like the Texas sky just before a tornado whipped through and flattened a town.

Risk-taking was no longer my forte, but this parenting business provided all the adrenaline rush of a bungee jump, with me not knowing if the cord would bounce back, yanking me to safety, or snap, plunging me to an agonizing end.

The scent of his cologne conjured up the biting taste of dark chocolate melting on my tongue, the air filled with the essence of warm baguettes, and postcard images of freshly washed Parisian streets. We’d made love more in our week in Paris than we had in a month at home.

We knew each other’s moves—there were few surprises—but knowing everything I could possibly know about Richard was my aphrodisiac. I still craved his touch, his warm breath on my skin, the scratch of his stubble on my neck. Each time we made love was an affirmation of our life together.

I scanned his face for any sign of what he might be thinking. He hadn’t said no. I felt hope taking hold. I wanted to yank it out by the roots before it dug in too deep.

The sun shone a little brighter through the kitchen window, the coffee tasted richer, and a surge of excitement filled my heart. I already felt a spark of maternal love for this child that had yet to be conceived.

The sheer intensity of her emotions took my breath away. I slumped back in my chair. Her regret seemed directed at me as well as Jess. I couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t sound defensive. But I felt defensive... no, I felt betrayed.

I opened the heavy door to the front office, and despite the more than two decades that had passed, I was back in high school. The adolescent angst came flooding back, muddying my thoughts—the cliques, the jocks, the cheerleaders, the goths, the teacher who was fired for getting a bit too chummy with a boy in his class, the girl in my chemistry class who’d committed suicide. “Can I help you?” said a young voice from behind the counter.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my skirt and peered through the glass panel of the door. He was at his desk, reading. I stood for a few minutes, trying to reconcile my memory of an Adonis in algebra class with this grown man with a slightly receding hairline and glasses on the tip of his nose. As if he sensed my presence, he looked up, and I quickly ducked out of sight. God, I really was back in high school.

I just knew that one of those days, he’d be working the espresso machine, and the real girl of his dreams would walk in and smile at him as she ordered a caramel latte, and my heart would be ground up and scraped into the compost heap with that day’s coffee grinds.

Despite the litany of questions squirreling around in my head, Amanda’s fragile state prevented me from asking anything more of her, and little was said on the ride home from the police station. The police had already asked enough questions—questions I wasn’t privy to, questions I was craving answers to myself.

Graham stood at the top of the driveway, watching us drive away, his hands shoved in his pockets, hopping from one foot to the other on the freezing concrete. Things had spun so far out of control. My heart was going to burst with shame and remorse. Bad things really did come in threes—

I sat on the toilet, peed on the stick, and set it on the counter. My brain was barely functioning, but the rapid thumping of my heart was visible beneath my skin. I washed my hands, sat on the toilet seat, and set the timer on my phone. Just a few months before, I would have hoped for a plus sign. Now I was hoping—no, I was fervently praying—that a minus sign would magically appear. But if it was a plus sign, well, I would deal with it. Along with everything else.

I glanced at the clock. Seven o’clock. Thoughts of the night before, when I’d tracked down Amanda and caught her in a lie, invaded my brain. But I still wasn’t strong enough to deal with that. Not now.