My voice played again: “Why did she look up his name?”
No. That’s ridiculous, I thought to myself about what I was thinking. It was ridiculous. I couldn’t look up Reginald’s name. Then I remembered all of the information from Landon. What Sasha had said about wanting a baby so bad.
No, I told myself. It was ludicrous. Ridiculous. But if it was so ridiculous, why wouldn’t I try it? I could try it. Just to prove myself correct. And just to prove that it was ridiculous. There was no way Reginald could’ve been having a baby with Sasha. He was still married to me! He’d wear protection when he slept with her. Right? Then I remembered that he hadn’t used any protection that night in our bedroom.
I clicked the little mouse. I had to prove myself wrong.
The first hit was Reginald and Sasha Johnson in Snellville, GA. And according to the shower date, their baby was probably sitting up by now.
The second was Reginald Johnson and Sasha Tolliver in Athens, GA. Their baby shower was in a few hours.
I decided to try Sasha’s last name.
Sasha Bellamy was expecting a little boy in five months. She had no husband listed.
I laughed at my detective strategy. This witch hunt was sad. There had to be at least four or five women in the city with the same name.
I waved at one of the representatives and asked where the woman helping me had gone. He said she’d be right out.
I turned back to the machine and decided I’d kill time by being nosy. I entered Sasha Bellamy’s registry to see what kinds of things she was ordering—bottles, nipple cream, a baby bag, bibs, the necessities. I smiled, remembering getting those things at my shower. I’d used maybe half of them.
I kept reading and saw a note the mother had posted for her guests:
Reginald and I are so happy to share with the world the coming birth of our son. We know it’s early for a shower, but we were hoping to say good-bye to all of our friends before we move to my hometown in North Carolina to start our lives. See you all in September.—Love, Sasha and Reginald
“Mrs. Johnson, I have your pictures here,” I heard behind me, but my eyes were glued on that screen. I felt my mind shut off. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t see.
I left the candles on the ground and ran out of the store.
“Do you want the pictures?” I heard the woman call after me.
When I got outside, it was raining. Coming down in buckets. It was late afternoon, but the sky was black. The sun was gone. As I ran to the car, water came up onto my legs.
My face was wet. I wasn’t crying though. I was erased. Void. Empty. Emotion couldn’t ride me. I just couldn’t believe it.
I drove home with the windows down. I let the rain come in and wet everything. It was all I could do to stop from driving right off the road. I had to feel something. To let the fury grow inside of me until I saw Reginald. I’d wield it and twist it into his gut like a samurai sword.
By the time I got to the gate leading into our neighborhood, the prime rib and fingerling potatoes were swimming in a pool in the paper bags in the seat beside me. My bra was showing through my shirt. My hair was soaked. I still wasn’t crying.
Reginald’s new truck was pulled into his old spot in the driveway. He’d moved it up far enough so I could pull in behind him, but fury drove me right onto the lawn. I smashed into the flowers and bushes and stopped the car right at the front steps.
Reginald opened the door smiling, but when he saw the mess, he rushed out.
“Babe, what happened?” he asked, meeting me as I jumped out of the car. “You slid? Was it the rain?”
I looked at my husband. At his mess. At my life in that two thousand-square-foot box behind him. I was shaking. But I wasn’t cold.
“Babe?” Reginald said again. “What happen—”
“I know! I know! I know! You fucking bastard!” I rammed into Reginald’s gut, pushing him to the grass.
“What the hell?”
“Don’t talk. Don’t you dare fucking talk to me.” I was on top of him swinging.
“Dawn, what’s wrong with you?” He tried to grab my arms.
“The baby. I know. I know about the baby.”