Home > Desperately Seeking Epic(6)

Desperately Seeking Epic(6)
B.N. Toler

“What does it say?”

“I haven’t opened it yet. I’m not sure I want to.”

“Babe,” Kurt said his pet name for me, his underlined pity prevalent in his tone. “Are you okay?”

Licking my lips, I inhaled deeply and nodded yes a few times before answering. I know he couldn’t see me, but I guess I was confirming it with myself first. I am okay. I will be okay.

“Yeah. It’s just . . . hard, I guess.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. Things have been so hectic at work.”

“I know,” I assured him, even though I really wished he would’ve come with me. “I’m okay. I have to decide what to do within thirty days or they’ll automatically sell my half and give me the money.”

I finished telling Kurt what the attorney said. I also told him about this so-called man they called Epic, too. “What are you going to do?” he asked.

“Is it wrong I’d like to sell it and burn the money?”

He chuckled, the sound deep and comforting, warming my heart. “I think we could come up with a better use for that money. Even if you only donate it to charity or something.”

I bit my lip, wondering if I should say what I’d really like to do with the money. The last time I brought it up Kurt seemed panicked at the thought. “We could use it to have a baby.”

“Clara,” he groaned. “We’ve discussed this a million times.” I rolled my eyes with his words.

“It was just an idea,” I piped back, my annoyance clearly obvious.

“Clara . . . I just can’t go through that again right now. Now’s just not the time.”

“We only tried for a year. The doctor said seeing a fertility specialist would help.”

“I can’t go back to the robot sex. You were so single-minded and it literally became mandatory sex only when you were ovulating. There was no . . . passion. I can’t take you living in depression every time your period comes. I’m sorry. I know I sound like a dick, but with the way things have been between us, I just think . . . maybe we need to wait. Or . . . maybe we’re not meant to have a baby.”

In that moment, my eyes burned with tears. My body failed me. It couldn’t do the one thing that women are meant to do. And when it couldn’t, I went nuts trying to make it happen, and nearly lost my marriage in the process. Sex wasn’t about intimacy or being close—it was to get pregnant. I took my temperature every morning. I made him promise not to masturbate around my ovulation cycle. And I’d forced him to wear regular boxers instead of boxer briefs. Even the acupuncture was a fail. Finally, after a year with no success, when my doctor said we should see a specialist, Kurt lost it. In my obsession I had forgotten him—how to love him and make him feel wanted.

“I thought we were doing better,” I added after a beat. When he came to me and told me he was miserable, that he loved me but couldn’t take the stress of it anymore, I’d backed down. I begrudgingly put trying to have a baby aside to save my marriage. We went to counseling and we worked hard to rekindle our sex life together. I thought with time and a better mind-set—a healthier mind-set—maybe we could try again after some time. But he just wouldn’t come to the table.

“We are,” he concurred, “but I think we need more time.”

“How much more time?” I asked.

“Clara,” he said my name sternly. Like if I were a child. “I’m done talking about this. It’s your money, do what you want with it, but don’t spend it planning on a baby anytime soon because that’s not my plan.”

I frowned, my heart sinking deeper in my chest. “Fine,” I mumbled. “I have to go.”

“Don’t hang up while angry with me.”

“I’m not angry,” I lied. “Just tired. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“How long did Dr. Shelton give you off?”

“He said I could have off until Monday if I wanted.”

“Are you at least going to go and check out the place before you tell them you’ll sell your half?”

“I don’t know. I guess I should. I’ll fill you in tomorrow.” I knew I was being short with him, but I couldn’t help it.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“Love you, too.”

After hitting End on the call, I tossed my cell phone away from me to the end of the bed as if by doing so I in some way was hurting Kurt. Sitting up, I pulled my purse toward me and dug inside. I pulled the envelope and brochure out and placed the envelope on my nightstand. I wasn’t ready to read it yet. Opening the brochure, I read over it once more, finding two typos. Apparently jumping out of airplanes doesn’t require good grammar. How could they give these things out like this? It looked completely unprofessional. I tapped a finger on my leg as I stared at my cell. I couldn’t deny I was curious. The reason for which I’d been left this business wasn’t great, but it’s not every day a girl inherits half a skydiving business. Maybe I should go and check it out. What could it hurt? I could overcome my fear of heights and jump. Probably. Maybe. I hoped. Closing the brochure, I found the number on the back and dialed it.

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