“Jimmy’s Market,” an unfamiliar male voice answered the phone.

I thought at first I’d dialed wrong.  But I asked anyway.  “I need to talk to Heath.  It’s an emergency.”

“No Heath here.  Wrong number, lady.”

His tone was abrasive, but I checked the card, and the number I’d dialed, and they were the same, so I went on.  “Tell him Lourdes needs to talk to him,” I tried.

There was a long silence on the other end, and with a curse, I added, “It’s an emergency, like I said.”

More silence.  I hoped the fucker was taking notes.  “Tell him—fuck—tell him I just found out I’m pregnant.”

I hated doing it like this, but I didn’t know this system they were using, didn’t know if I’d get to talk to him directly at all, and I felt strongly that he needed to be aware that he was going to be a father, the sooner the better.

The other line went dead.  Well, hell.

What was I supposed to do now?

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

It was a few days later.  I still hadn’t told anyone the big news except that stranger over the phone.

And I had yet to hear from Heath.

I was just sitting on it.  I figured I’d put off telling anyone for as long as I could, but the fact was, this baby was coming in around six months, and I couldn’t hide it for long.

I was still in the shock phase, and I’d decided to embrace that for a while.

I was at home, photo-shopping a shoot I’d done recently, trying to distract myself with work.

My phone rang, and I checked it.

Unknown caller flashed on my cell.

Well, hell.  I hated answering unknown numbers, but if Heath were going to call, it would likely be from an unknown line just like this.

I answered.

“Lourdes,” a familiar voice said on the other end of the line.

I hung up the phone instantly, cursing at it.

What was she doing calling me?

Christie.

I’d blocked her number ages ago.

Right after I’d listened to her having sex with my husband.

My phone started ringing almost instantly.

The worst ex-best friend in the history of time had the nerve to call me again?

I ignored the call.  When she tried three more times, I turned my cell off.  No way.  There was no reason on this earth I should ever have to speak to her again, for any reason.  Women like her, the home-wrecking variety, should be shipped off to their own island in the middle of nowhere as far as I was concerned.

It occurred to me that with my phone off, I might miss a call from Heath, and I switched it back on a few hours later, but it didn’t ring again.

It was late afternoon and I was just heading out, literally halfway out the door to run errands, bag in hand, when my doorbell rang.

I wasn’t expecting anyone, but sometimes, even though they had keys, Raf or Gus would ring my doorbell, so I went to answer it.

I checked the peephole, because if it was solicitors I was damn well going to ignore it.

It was her.  The home-wrecker.  Christie.  At my house.

Was she demented, thinking she could come here?

She should know better.  I should never have to look at this woman’s face again.  Never have to hear her voice, or breathe the same air.

Dealing in any way with the bitch who had pretended to be my best friend while she fucked my husband was nothing a woman like me should have to do.

When I say we’d been best friends, I mean best friends.  Get up every morning and call each other friends.  Tell each other our deepest darkest fears and secrets friends.  And for over a decade, no less.

I’d never forgive her.

It wasn’t even that I was still bitter about the divorce.  And it sure as hell wasn’t that I wanted my ex-husband back.

This bitch could have him.  Hell, anyone could have him, as long as it wasn’t me.

It was the betrayal.  The kind of betrayal that, to this day, made me feel more alone in the world.

A woman that could do that to a friend, sneak around behind her back for who knew how long, and still smile to her face.

My contempt for her would never change.  It was that simple.

I decided pretty quickly that I’d just ignore her.  If I opened that door, there’d be some kind of confrontation, and I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she could get under my skin.

I started to walk away, heading toward my garage.

Her voice, calling out loud enough to be heard through the thick walls of my house, stopped me cold.

“Lourdes!  It’s about Eduard!  He’s been killed!”

Well, that did it.  One second ago I’d have sworn it was impossible, but she’d found a way to get me to talk to her.

I opened my door, staring at the woman that had tried her best to wreck my home.

Tried, I told myself, and feeling it ring true.  My home without Eduard was still intact.  My boys and I were doing just great.

Still, the bitch had tried, and I’d never forget it.

I hadn’t seen Christie in about a year, but she looked like she’d aged ten in that time.

Her blonde hair was stringy with grease, like she hadn’t washed it in days.

She’d always been a thin woman, but she was emaciated now, the lines around her mouth and eyes starkly accentuated by the weight loss.

“What did you say?” I asked her, sure I’d heard wrong or misunderstood, and as soon as she cleared this up, I’d be able to shut the door in her face.