You Should Leave

You Should Leave
Alice

The clock ticks slowly, and I stare at the closed door in front of me longer than I should. Rhys left without another word, cutting off any possibility of reaching him. 

I can’t believe he went right back to the way he treated me before so quickly. It didn’t take much for him to fly into a rage this time. What is his obsession with me sleeping with Sam when it’s something that didn’t even happen? 

He seemed to stiffen when I mentioned the wedding photo. There’s something about his marriage he’s not telling me. Why is he keeping it a secret? It probably hurt him very deeply when he lost her. I can understand that. But why doesn’t he share that with me? I can help him with his pain. 

I want to help him. 

Try as I might to shove the ache in my heart deep inside me, the tears come anyway. Finally, I break away from the door, and collecting a handkerchief from the bureau drawer, I return to my chair by the window. 

It’s darker out now, though it’s still midday, with thick clouds overhead. A wind has picked up, charging against the waves. Spray washes over their whitecaps as they rush toward the shore, sending mist into the air. 

I wipe a stray tear from my cheek. Perhaps I shouldn’t have stayed here in Duskmoore. He’s never going to listen to me. He’s never going to open up and let me be a true partner to him. 

Even so, I don’t wish to leave, not yet. The house still feels like home to me. The Ambassador is a fine hotel, but it’s a poor substitute for this place. I can’t imagine continuing to live where I feel like a stranger. 

Placing my hand on my belly, I think about how I need somewhere for the baby where I can dig in, establish roots, and build a home for our child. How much I long for Rhys to forget about his anger and focus on what we have together. 

But we have nothing if he doesn’t truly communicate with me. 

Hours pass, and my heart keeps feeling the ache of loneliness. This should have been a day that Rhys and I spent together, thinking of the future, talking about our hopes, our dreams about the baby. But I don’t even know if he’s even still in Duskmoore anymore. He stormed out with such anger. 

I try to read my book, but after several pages, I don’t even remember the story. The words on the page seem bland, and between each sentence, all I can think of is the look on Rhys’s face as he spoke to me and the way he refused to listen.

A knock on the door has me turning my head. It’s too soft to be Rhys. “Come in!” I call out.

Naomi steps in, pushing the door open with her hip, a silver tray in her hand. “It’s late,” she says, her eyes soft and sympathetic. “I brought you some dinner.”

“I’m not hungry,” I tell her. “But thank you.”

“Regardless, you should try to eat something,” she insists, placing the tray on a table. “For the baby. Margaret made a few of your favorites and some blander things to try if your appetite isn’t up to it.”

“That’s kind of both of you,” I tell her. “I’ll try to eat something.” I know the baby needs nourishment. I shouldn’t deprive my child of that due to my melancholy. 

“Good,” she says, her expression even. She pauses for a moment, her hand on the doorknob. “Do you need to talk?” she asks. 

I shake my head. “No, but thank you for offering. I promise I’ll try to eat. I just... can’t talk more about this right now.”

“I understand,” she says. “Please call for me if you need me.”

“Thank you.”

She gives me another sympathetic look and steps out the door, closing it with a gentle click. 

I pull open the cloche. The meal smells delicious, I’ll admit that. I try to put aside that pain in my heart and eat as much as I can.

Later, long after Naomi retrieved the tray and offered more sympathy, I lay in my bed, staring at the carvings on the ceiling. Everything Rhys said or did in the past several hours replays in my mind, and the tears pour out like a rolling stream until they finally give way to slumber.



“Alice?”

I blink my eyes several times until the blurred figure above me sharpens. Naomi looks down on me, her black bob hanging over her cheeks. 

“Naomi,” I say. “What time is it?”

“It’s still early,” she tells me. “I’m sorry to wake you, but you have a visitor.”

I furrow my brow. “A visitor?” I sit up, blinking some more. “I’ll get dressed. Please send them up in a moment.”

She shakes her head. “I’m afraid she doesn’t want to enter the house,” she explains. “She’s waiting outside.”

“All right.” I throw the covers to the side, swinging around. “Please let her know I’m coming. Thank you, Naomi.”

“You’re welcome.” 

I hurry to change into the first dress I pull from the closet and run a brush through my hair. I can only think of one woman who would be here to visit, and she definitely wouldn’t want to step foot in Duskmoore.

“Molly,” I greet her when I get downstairs and onto the porch. 

“Alice, thank God you’re alive!” she says dramatically, throwing her arms around me. 

I return the hug. “Of course, I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Alice, the last thing I knew was that you’d just finished a brilliant performance,” she explains. “And then, you were gone without a trace!”

My eyes go wide, realizing with guilt and embarrassment that I’d left her without explanation. “I’m so sorry, Molly,” I tell her. “I should have contacted you. There’s just been... so much going on since then.”

“Well, I’m listening,” she says. 

“Perhaps we should go inside and sit,” I suggest. “I have a lot to explain.”

She shakes her head briskly. “No,” she says quickly. “I’m not going in that frightening place with those... people.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this house,” I insist, “or the people inside.”

“No,” she repeats. “I’m not going in. We can talk out here.”

“Very well,” I say, pointing to a bench in the yard. “Let’s sit over there.”

“Why is it so gloomy here?” she says as we lower ourselves onto the benches. She folds her arms tight around her to ward off the chill. “There is barely a cloud in the sky back in town.”

“It’s the ocean,” I explain. “There’s a lot of moisture here that draws the clouds.”

She looks around, shaking her head again. “Like I said, it’s scary out here, even outside the house.” She turns to me. “But that doesn’t matter. What happened to you? Why did you disappear?”

I sigh, letting the air out slowly before beginning. “It was Sam,” I begin. “He came into my dressing room after everyone left.”

She frowns. “By himself?”

“Yes,” I say with a nod. “And he.... well, there isn’t any polite way to say this. He made advances toward me. He put his hands on me and tried to... you know.”

She puts her hand over her mouth as she gasps. “He didn’t!”

“He did,” I confirm. 

“What did you do?” she asks. 

“Thankfully, Rhys arrived in time to hear everything,” I tell her. “He burst through the door and threw him off me before it went any further.”

“Oh, my,” she says. “Well, thank goodness for that.”

I nod, feeling a chill roll up my spine with the memory. “Yes.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you came... here,” she says, gesturing toward the house. “I’m sure that if you explained things to the hotel, they wouldn’t let Sam anywhere near you anymore.”

“Well, after that I was ill,” I explain. “So, Rhys suggested that I come back and have Dr. Lombardi examine me.”

“All right,” she says. “Well, the doctor seems kind enough, but still... here? Why? He could have examined you in the hospital.”

I gaze up at Duskmoore. Its immense presence is understandably frightening for Molly, yet to me, all I feel is its welcome. I don’t know how to tell her the next part. I pause for a moment, breathing slowly, deliberately, until the pause has stretched too long, and I know I need to answer her. 

“I’m pregnant,” I say bluntly. 

Her eyes widen, and her mouth opens. “What?”

“I’m pregnant,” I repeat, “with Rhys’s child.”

She puts her hand back over her mouth and turns to me, her face growing pale with shock. “You’re having that man’s baby? Are you certain?”

“Yes,” I say with a nod. 

“So that’s why you’re here.” She looks up at Duskmoore. “Alice, you aren’t considering staying here?”

“Of course I am,” I tell her. “The child’s father is here. I can’t go back to the hotel. It isn’t the same, and I don’t want Sam to even consider coming near me. And Rhys and I are trying to work things out.” I guess….

“But it’s Rhys,” she argues, “and this place.”

I shake my head, not sure what to tell her. My own conscience doesn’t entirely want to stay here, and yet, here I am. And a large part of me feels calmer because of it.

“Please, at least think about reconsidering,” she adds. “I’ll help with the baby in any way I can. This place... it just isn’t right. This isn’t the kind of house to raise a child in.”

My lips part, but no words come to me. In many ways, she’s right. But I feel my heartstrings tug whenever I even consider leaving here... and leaving Rhys.

“At least promise me you’ll think about it,” she says. 

“I’ll think about it,” I reply. 

It’s not a lie. I’ve thought of nothing more since I returned. 

I should leave, especially since Rhys still isn’t listening to me. 

But how can I, when this is home?