Golden Luckenbooth

Fifty-Eight

Comfortable silence is not overrated, I think as we drive home from our indulgent shopping trip. The repetitious and rhythmic tick of the indicator and the quiet hum of the engine keep us company, and that's enough. I stare out of the window, the setting sun glinting off the newly purchased car seat in the back. Not that it's set up. It's still in its box, as are the remainder of the items we'd spent Harry's money on.

The excitement of shopping has been a welcome distraction after putting down Piper, but now reality is creeping back in. And the immediate reality has to do with what I'd heard Harry and Blair fighting about at the clinic.

"So..." I start, my voice breaking the absence of sound. "I, uh, I heard you and Blair at the clinic."

"Yeah?" He says, glancing quickly at me before focusing on the road again. "So you'll take a bath with some lavender wash tonight? I'll gladly rub your feet with lotion. Maybe you'll sleep better. I worry that you're not getting enough rest –"

Clearing my throat, I interrupt, "Um, not that. Although I won't complain if you want to give me a massage. My back is sore, and the bairn has been shifting around like cement in a mixer. I meant the conversation about the tour."

That muscle in his jaw ticks. It's the only indication he gives that he's heard my words, and I let the silence expand for a few minutes so he can recall what had been said while I was not in the room.

He sighs. "We shouldn't have talked about you."

"Damn right," I chime in. "This is a topic for you and I to discuss. Not you and Blair. In fact, even though she is my best friend, this is none of her damn business."

"Agreed."

"I also understand her concerns, and I'll talk to her about it later. But you and I...well, we need to talk too."

"I meant what I told Blair, Anna. I would love for you to come with me. You and the baby would be well cared-for. We would be together."

Well cared-for? It feels like a dismissal, a minimization of my life, my career. Almost a slap in the face. The words simmer between us like unlit embers, glowing red and threatening to burst into flame.

I bite my lip, trying to control the emotion boiling inside me. Unbidden, tears spring to my eyes. "It's like you don't know me at all, Harry." The words are whispered like a prayer breathed on the wind. Shaking my head, I focus on the sights out of the window as we pull up to the house to find his entourage of fans crowding the front of the clinic again. I sigh. "They don't ever go away, do they?"

"No," he concurs, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that the leather creaks in protest, threatening to tear under the unspoken pressure.

Stepping from the vehicle, I open the back door to grab a few bags of items we'd purchased, saddened that we hadn't taken the time to stop at the charity shop and pick out an outfit for our newborn to wear on its way home. Still, we have two and a half more months to choose.

"Hey, Harry," one of the girls waves as she peeks around the side of the clinic. "Need help?"

"We're good," I bristle.

My boyfriend smiles at the fan. "Thanks for offering. We've got this."

From my kitchen door, Paddy strides outside, his eyebrows lowered as he takes in the situation. "You shouldn't carry heavy things," he insists, removing the bags from my arms. "Harry and I can get this. Go on inside and make yourself a cuppa."

His tone, while not intended to be condescending, certainly hits me that way in this moment, and I straighten my back before grabbing another item from the backseat. "I'm pregnant, Paddy. Not incapacitated." Huffily, I march off to the kitchen door, releasing Shortbread who needs to sniff everything that might be coming into the house.