Take This Regret Read online

  “Elizabeth?” Matthew became frantic. “What’s wrong?

  Are you okay?”

  At least three seconds passed before she wheezed out a shaky, “No.”

  Matthew pul ed on pants, and stuffed his arms into the first button up he could find while keeping the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. He tried unsuccessful y to sound calm. “Elizabeth, sweetheart, tel me what’s wrong.” He was already out the door and starting his car before she could answer that she was sick.

  Matthew was at her apartment and up the short flight of stairs before five minutes had passed, where he found his friend curled up on her bed, shivering under a pile of blankets.

  “Elizabeth?” He rushed to her side, pul ing the covers back to expose just her head, her blond hair darkened to a near brown from the profuse sweat pouring down her forehead.

  He reached out to push her hair away so he could see her face, shocked by the paleness of her skin and the swol en redness of her eyes.

  Matthew wanted to ask her a mil ion questions, but she was passing in and out of consciousness, and it was clear she needed more help than he could give. He pushed her covers to the floor except for the one he’d wrapped her in before bringing her into his arms. Her smal body was heavier than he anticipated, completely limp, and he struggled to maneuver her down the stairway and to his car.

  He contemplated dialing 911, but the hospital was so close, he was certain he would get her to the emergency room before an ambulance could arrive.

  Within minutes, Matthew was pul ing around the circular drive under the bright red glow of the sign that read,

  “Emergency Room.”

  He entered through the automatic doors, yel ing for help. With a flurry of activity, several orderlies pul ed Elizabeth from his arms and placed her on a gurney.

  The nurse led Matthew to a smal curtained area where Elizabeth lay unconscious. He felt overwhelmed as the nurse hammered him with questions he could not answer.

  “Date of birth?”

  “Is she on any medications?”

  “Does she have any al ergies?”

  “When did the symptoms start?”

  Shaking his head that had begun to pound from the immense amount of stress, he stated he didn’t know.

  He slumped into a hard, plastic chair pushed against the far corner of the wal and watched as they began to poke and prod at his friend. He felt helpless, having no idea what he was supposed to do.

  Should he cal someone?

  Christian?

  Elizabeth’s mother?

  No. She had cal ed him, and that in itself gave him a clue. She needed him, and so he chose to be there for her, even if it meant waiting around and having no idea what was going on.

  As he sat silently in the corner and watched the nurses and a doctor work over Elizabeth, he thought about how she’d come into his life. He’d met her the year before at the smal diner where they worked on the weekends. They were alike in many ways. They both lived in a city neither could afford, attending a col ege they’d dreamed of most of their young lives, living off scholarships, grants, and mounting student loans they’d both be paying for wel into their thirties. The tips they made on a Saturday shift barely covered food and necessities for the week. But neither of them looked at those things as negatives in their lives.

  Instead, they embraced the opportunity and ran with it, and they’d become fast friends.

  Matthew obviously knew how beautiful Elizabeth was.

  He wasn’t blind, but he’d never viewed her that way and didn’t harbor unrequited feelings. He loved her as a friend.

  Truly.

  That didn’t mean he liked her boyfriend. To Matthew, Christian was a spoiled rich kid who was doing nothing more than slumming while he played at col ege. He was certain Christian would break Elizabeth’s heart.

  Matthew winced for Elizabeth when they inserted a long, thick needle into her forearm before attaching an IV

  bag to the line.

  For what seemed an eternity, Matthew sat and watched Elizabeth sleep while the color slowly came back to her face as the bag dripped its contents into her veins.

  Real y, little more than an hour had passed when the very young doctor who had examined her returned, chart in hand.

  He extended his free hand across the smal space to Matthew. “Dr. Lopez.”

  Matthew nodded and shook his hand. “Matthew Stevens.”

  “Al of her test results are back . . . severely dehydrated

  . . . anemic . . . pregnancy . . . too much stress . . .” Matthew tried to focus on what the doctor was saying, but real y

  heard nothing more than pregnancy.

  Matthew felt lightheaded with the implications this would have for his friend. Slowly everything fel into place, the late night phone cal to him when it should have been to someone else, the swol en eyes. The doctor’s words about too much stress triggering shock seeped in.

  Matthew curled his fists, sickened that someone could treat his friend so poorly—anyone that poorly. Matthew’s first instinct was to go straight to Christian Davison’s apartment and tear him apart. Instead, he moved to sit on the edge of Elizabeth’s bed and ran his hand through his friend’s matted hair, silently promising her he would always take care of her.

  May 2005

  Christian stood in front of the ful -length mirror, studying himself in the long, black gown, seeing nothing more than a pathetic excuse for a man staring back at him.

  He should have felt proud. Receiving his bachelors at Columbia with top honors should be a proud day. His mother and father had just left his apartment to await him in the car but not before his father had proclaimed how proud his only son had made him this day.

  But Christian didn’t feel proud—he felt ashamed.

  He’d seen her about three weeks ago in line at the store, though she hadn’t seen him. He had gathered the few items he needed, deodorant, shampoo, and toothpaste, and hastily had made his way back up to the registers.

  He’d scanned for the shortest line when he saw the wavy locks of blond hair he knew so wel . He’d felt an immediate pul , the need to go to her, but had frozen when she turned to the side, exposing the large protuberance in her abdomen.

  Like a coward, he’d hidden himself, watching her with an almost morbid curiosity from behind a row of shelves.

  He felt sick, observing the woman he stil loved, but had betrayed, strain to reach the items in the cart—diapers, blankets, and smal things he didn’t recognize. She was preparing for her baby to be born.

  It frightened him that she now seemed thinner than he remembered, her skin sal ow and chalky, gaunt, as if the growing mass in her front had stolen al the life from the rest of her body.

  Even then, she was stil the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  But, like he already knew himself to be, he remained the coward and did nothing but watch as she paid for her things and walked out the door.

  It was the only time he’d seen her since they’d fought at his apartment. She’d never returned to class, had never cal ed or sought him out, had never changed her mind.

  He had made no real effort of his own since that first day when he’d gone to her place, only cal ing once and hanging up when a man had answered her phone. He could have tried harder—should have tried harder—but he’d taken the easy way out. He’d convinced himself that he didn’t ache for her, pretended that his sleepless nights had nothing to do with his worry for her. He told himself she’d moved on, that she didn’t need him, that she’d found her own way. Even if she had, he knew it stil didn’t absolve his responsibility for the child.

  So as his guilt had grown, he’d done more and more to drown it out, spending long days in class and even longer nights with his head spinning from the amount of alcohol he’d consumed, then waking to unfamiliar women in unfamiliar beds.

  No, today was not a proud day.

  Christian grabbed his cap and trudged downstairs to join his parents in their wa
iting car.

  The celebratory dinner was everything Christian had expected it to be, the sound of forks and knives clattering against china filtering into the stuffy atmosphere of the Club, the waiters in tuxedos and far too wil ing to accommodate.

  Christian’s father, Richard, lectured him that his schooling had only begun and that the next three years of law school were going to be the toughest of his life. Claire, Christian’s mother, sat withdrawn as she listened to her husband giving her son instruction he obviously didn’t need.

  It was nothing Christian hadn’t heard before. Every conversation he’d ever had with his father had been the same. He’d hoped that for just one night his father would be satisfied, that they could relax and just talk, but it was always about the next step, the next achievement.

  Thankful y, Claire interrupted and changed the subject with smal talk of their travel plans for the summer. She seemed irritated by her husband this evening, her smile tight and no real light coming from her blue eyes. Normal y, she remained mostly quiet during family conversations, sipping from a glass of wine and nodding agreement with whatever Richard said to their son. Tonight though, she seemed anxious as if she would explode if Richard uttered one more word about Christian’s future. Christian watched his mom from across the table and wondered about her happiness. He wondered if in al the years he had thought her perfectly content in her huge house and endless social gatherings she was ever real y happy at al , because when he real y looked hard, he saw no true joy in her face.

  Christian couldn’t even remember the last real conversation he’d had with his mother, so he smiled at the stories his mother told. Her face took on a new vibrancy as she talked of him as a child, and he relaxed into his chair, no longer guarded, until his mother asked a question he hadn’t been prepared to answer. “What happened with that girl you were dating? What was her name . . . Elizabeth?” Christian felt himself tense and his shame return, but he found himself answering her because he needed to tel somebody. Looking at his plate, he muttered, “We broke up.”

  “Oh?” his mother asked, as if she expected further explanation, one she would be shocked to hear, but even more shocking was he wanted to tel her.

  He lifted his eyes to hers and spoke, even though it was choppy and reeked of confession. “She’s having a baby.”

  Almost simultaneously, his parents dropped their utensils to the table, staring as they waited for him to clarify.

  “She told me in the fal . I told her I didn’t want it . . . so she left. I haven’t talked to her since.” Christian tried to maintain eye contact with his mother as he said these things but had to look away when he saw the

  disappointment race across her face.

  Her voice shook, but was stil the strongest he’d ever heard. “Christian,” she demanded, “How could you treat someone . . .”

  Richard’s rant cut off Claire as Christian’s father spouted words about irresponsibility and money and tarnished reputations. Only Christian noticed when his mother stood and ran from the table.

  The ride home from the restaurant was tense and silent.

  Christian’s mother had left the table right after his admission. For the twenty minutes she was away, Christian was scolded by his father. When she’d returned, it was obvious she’d been crying, her makeup smudged and her eyes red. After she had taken her seat, no one had spoken a word nor had they since.

  The driver pul ed up in front of Christian’s building, and Richard made no move, though his mother exited the car and hugged Christian in a way she hadn’t for many, many years. When she pul ed away, her face was wet with tears again, and her hand trembled as she raised it to touch his cheek. “Make this right.” He hadn’t expected this encouragement, and it left him confused as he watched her take her place in the backseat of the Town Car. He stared at their tail ights as they drove away and disappeared into the night.

  Christian hung his head as he made his way to his apartment, knowing what his mom said was true. He could make this right, but he also knew he would probably never be brave enough to do it.

  Once upstairs Christian changed and then walked to the building next to his own to join the people he could barely consider friends, as they celebrated their graduation the best way they knew how. The music was loud and the apartment cramped, the room almost alive with the movement of people who considered this one of the best days of their lives.

  Christian never felt worse.

  With a platinum blonde on his lap, he sat on the couch, draining his sixth beer and wondering what the hel he was doing there. The crowd had become rowdy and obnoxious, and Christian wanted nothing more than to escape from it al . He just had no idea where he wanted to go.

  He shut his eyes and pretended he didn’t hear the loud, drunken voice of Nathan, a guy he could hardly stand when he was sober, let alone after he’d consumed half his weight in alcohol. But he couldn’t ignore it when Nathan slapped him on the back, his booming voice slurred with laughter as he shouted, “I hear congratulations are in order for the proud papa.”

  Christian felt al the blood drain from his face, leaving him lightheaded, barely able to force out, “What?” Nathan cackled as if nothing had ever been more entertaining to him. “What? Didn’t you hear, man? You became a daddy this morning.”

  Christian stood and pushed the giggling girl from his lap. He’d never hated himself more. How could he have done this? He loved Elizabeth, didn’t he? But people didn’t do things like this to people they loved.

  He vomited just outside the door in the hal way—not from the alcohol he’d consumed, but from the disgust he found within himself. He stumbled home and into bed, praying he would fal asleep and awake with al of his regret gone.

  But sleep never came, and he lay, staring at the ceiling, unable to wil his mind to stop long enough to find rest. At four o’clock, he gave up and got out of bed, stil wearing wrinkled jeans and a T-shirt that smel ed like beer.

  Putting on a discarded Columbia sweatshirt from the floor, he walked. Obviously, he knew where he was going, though he wouldn’t al ow himself to consciously think it.

  He entered through the emergency room entrance because al the other doors had been locked for the night.

  When he arrived on the maternity floor, a nurse stopped him. Visiting hours didn’t start for another three hours, but when he explained he was a father and showed his ID, the woman al owed him through.

  He gathered al his courage and pushed forward, preparing to admit to Elizabeth he was wrong. He would tel her that he was sorry, that he would take it al back if he could. He was prepared to beg for the forgiveness he knew he didn’t deserve. But what he wasn’t prepared for was finding Matthew with his back to him, sitting in a chair, and gently caressing Elizabeth’s face while she slept.

  Christian froze when he realized he was too late; he’d done too much harm. He stood silently and watched the man who was only supposed to be her friend sit in the spot where he should have been. He watched Matthew adoring the girl who deserved every touch and embrace, the girl who deserved a man better than he knew himself to be.

  She deserved a man like Matthew who had stepped up and fil ed the place Christian should never have stepped away from.

  He al owed the pain to wel up in his chest, and he said a silent goodbye to the girl he would always love. He stepped back and let the door close between them. As he escaped down the hal , he trained his attention on the floor, not al owing himself to look through the large glass window where he knew his child slept. He knew if he saw, he would never be able to walk away.

  Elizabeth was taken care of and happy, and for once, Christian would do something that he wasn’t doing for himself.

  After al , it was for the best.

  May 2010

  I stood in the middle of my office, taking in a deep breath as I looked out over San Diego Bay. What seemed like thousands of sailboats dotted the water, bobbing in the cool breeze. It was beautiful, calming, and so different from the urban
chaos I’d lived in during my first two years as an attorney serving as a public defender in New York City.

  I’d never been to San Diego, though I’d heard so much about it.

  Elizabeth was from San Diego, growing up here. I’d spent countless hours listening to stories about her, her mother, and her two sisters. Every Saturday they’d take a trip to the beach no matter what the weather. They didn’t have a lot of money, and it was an outing that cost nothing more than the smal amount of gas it took to get them there.

  Elizabeth would never say they had been poor, though clearly they had been. She would assert so many were far worse off than her family. She would say her mother worked hard, and she and her sisters never went without the things they needed.

  I wondered about her often even though it had been almost five years since I’d walked out of that hospital and carried on as if there weren’t a completely different life I should be living. I’d always expected to hear something, a subpoena for a child support hearing or a request that would be altogether unbearable—one asking that I relinquish my rights as father because somebody else wanted that title—but none had ever come. I’d ensured I would always be easy to find, it taking nothing more than entering my name in a search engine, and Elizabeth could pick up the phone and cal me directly. But she never did.

  I was haunted by the choices I’d made, plagued by insomnia and anxiety with most nights spent wide-awake in regret. I knew nothing of my own child. Countless times, I’d typed Elizabeth Ayers into my computer but found I could never complete the search. As much as I wanted to know, I didn’t deserve to know. What gave me the right to delve into their personal lives, to know where they lived, if Elizabeth had married, my child’s name? No, I had no right, but that never kept my thoughts far from them.

  I sighed heavily when the buzz from my phone pul ed me from my thoughts. I dug into my pocket, sliding my finger across the faceplate to accept the cal .

  “This is Christian.”

  “Christian, how are things coming over there?” Without greeting, which was no surprise, my father got straight down to business.