The Road to Rose Bend

by Naima Simone

  “No, not at the moment. But believe me, as neurotic as I am, I’ll reach out if I do.”

  The other woman laughed. “I’m here. I’ll see you next month.”

  Dr. Prioleau left, her heels clacking against the floor. Damn, she really did need to find out where her doctor shopped. Those heels were bangin’.

  “Ready to get out of here?” Cole asked, cupping her elbow as she pushed off the table.

  “Yes.” She strode over to her purse and carefully stowed the sonogram printout inside. “And I know you’re probably sick of me saying this, but thank you,” she said, continuing to fuss with her purse so she didn’t have to look at him.

  With the shenanigans her body insisted on doing whenever he was within breathing distance, and the emotional gauntlet she’d traveled today, she didn’t trust her face not to betray her.

  “You’re welcome, Sydney. Thank you for letting me stay.”

  She finally turned around. The smirk on her lips felt more like a defense than a true show of amusement. “Like I had a choice. ‘Get it through your thick head. I’m staying’,” she mimicked him, dropping her voice several ranges. She shook her head, and then sobered, studying his face. “Are you sure you’re okay? Regardless of what you’ve said, this cost you, Cole.”

  He didn’t immediately reply, his focus switching from her to the wall behind her. “Yes, it did,” he finally said. And her stomach bottomed out.

  “I’m so sorry—”

  “No,” he interrupted, his eyes shifting and clashing with hers. She nearly flinched at the intensity there, the stark emotion that had her wanting to back away and insanely, cuddle close. “Don’t apologize. This was my decision, and I’d make the same one again. I don’t know who convinced you that you’re not worth putting first, but you are. And you deserve that. Demand it.”

  She blinked, his words punching straight to her heart. Had anyone ever told her she wasn’t a priority? No. But they’d hammered that message home her entire life.

  Her parents, first with Carlin and her illness, and then with their grief.

  Daniel, with his career and his opinions and needs.

  And then herself. She was the biggest culprit of not placing herself first in her own life.

  But admitting that to herself had her cringing and backpedaling. No way she could confess it to Cole. Not the town golden boy. Not the beloved mayor. It smacked too much of self-pity.

  So, she said nothing. And as she pulled the door open, she couldn’t help but mentally chuckle, and even in her head it sounded razor sharp. The irony remained that if she ever allowed herself to do something as foolish as falling for Cole—which she would not—he would just be one more person on that short list. She would never be first with him.

  His wife already occupied that place.

  And no one ever had a hope of displacing her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “OH MY GOD. Are you having sex?”

  Sydney jerked to a halt outside of Mimi’s Café, coughing and almost spitting out her bite of glazed doughnut.

  “What?” she nearly shouted. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Leo cackled like a hyena in her ear. “That moan sounded particularly dirty. And since I’ve read that pregnant women run hot...” Her friend laughed again.

  Sydney finished chewing the treat and swallowed before answering. “You’re crazy. And I nearly died because of you. Death by glazed doughnut. I would’ve haunted your ass, too.”

  “You’re at Mimi’s, aren’t you? Only a doughnut from Mimi’s makes a person moan like that. I secretly call them orgasms in the mouth.”

  “Dammit, Leo.” Sydney choked on another burst of laughter. “Really?”

  “What? All I do is work, and it’s been a while,” she whined, then ruined it by snickering. “Stop punishing me for missing your doctor’s appointment! Which I’m so sorry for, by the way. If I could’ve been there, I would have. And I hate that I missed seeing the baby for myself. So put me out of my misery! Tell me! What’re we having? A little Arwen or Aragorn?”

  “Well, I’m having...” Sydney dragged out the last word into five syllables.

  “Tell me!”

  “A girl.” Sydney laughed, the delight that hadn’t dissipated in the slightest spilling out of her. All over Main Street. “I’m having a little girl.”

  Leo’s scream rang in her ear. Grinning, Sydney held the phone away from her until the squeals stopped. Or rather, lowered in volume.

  “I’m going to need the hearing in that ear, thank you very much,” Sydney griped to her friend.

  “Oh, stop bitchin’. We’re having a girl. I’m going to be an aunt. I get to buy her dresses and take her for mani-pedis. And teach her that women rule the world!”

  “Oh Lord.” Sydney groaned, even as she smiled. Several people passed by her and smiled, even waving hello, but none appeared scandalized. “Can she get here first before you plan global domination?”

  “It’s never too early to think big, sweetie. And she’s going to love her Aunt Leo. I’m going to be the cool one,” her friend boasted. Then, her voice lowered, softened. “I’m so happy for you, Sydney. And it’s so good to hear you sounding happy. Or at the very least, content.”

  “I am content. Or getting there, I guess.” Sydney paused and stepped aside, out of the way of the foot traffic on the sidewalk. Briefly closing her eyes, she sighed. “This place is different than what I was expecting when I came back. I can’t say that everything is great, because I’m still...feeling my way. But for my baby...” She thought of Cole holding her hand in the exam room. Her father’s teary smile as he stared at his granddaughter’s image on the sonogram screen. Leo’s unconditional love and friendship. “For her, I’ve made the right decision.”

  “Good.” Leo released a shaky breath. “Well, dammit. Something’s happening with my eyes. They’re fucking leaking. And all over my planner.”

  Sydney threw her head back, laughing. “You’re crazy, woman.”

  “Another reason Arwen is going to adore me.” Leo hesitated. “Have you told Daniel yet?”

  Sydney grimaced, shards of guilt lodging in her chest. In truth, she hadn’t been able to extricate them since she got off the phone with her ex-husband thirty minutes earlier. “Yes.”

  “Oh God,” Leo snarled. “What? What did the Great American Joy Snatcher do now?”

  In spite of the shame and remorse swirling inside her like a cesspool, she huffed out a dry laugh. “No, this was all on me. I promised to record the sonogram for him since he couldn’t be at the appointment. And caught up in my nerves and excitement, I forgot. I sent him pictures of the images, but that wasn’t enough. He was furious, and you know how he gets when he’s angry. Ice cold. And I can’t blame him. He’s missing these milestones in his baby’s growth, and I forgot to do this small thing.”

  “Okay, you messed up,” Leo conceded. “But you can’t beat yourself up over this. And please don’t let him steal your joy.”

  “I know. You’re right. But I need to make sure he doesn’t feel excluded.” She sighed and, glancing around, stiffened. For the first time, noticing where she stood.

  Right next to the crafts store. One door down was her mother’s boutique. Her heart thudded against her sternum. Nerves crowded into her throat, throbbing in her pulse. But underneath the nerves lurked something precarious, something fragile—hope. Maybe it had been ignited when her father had walked into that examination room. Or when he’d whispered, “A granddaughter,” with an almost reverent note in his voice.

  Or it could’ve been neither of those things. But memories assailed her as she stared at her mom’s store—the place where she used to spend her afternoons reading behind the counter or hiding under the racks pretending they were the many rooms of her fairy-tale castle. Memories of a time before Carlin’s death when her mother had been h
er heroine, her rock, her everything.

  She sucked in a breath and crossed an arm under her breasts. God, what she wouldn’t give to have that mother back. To have that closeness and respect back.

  “Sydney? You still there?” Leo asked, worry threading through her voice.

  “Yes,” she said. “Hey, I need to take care of something. I’ll hit you back later tonight.”

  “Sure thing.” Leo paused. “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s good.” She nodded, even though her friend couldn’t see the gesture. “Talk to you later?”

  “Absolutely. Love you, Sydney.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Sydney ended the call, clutching the phone to her chest for a long moment before exhaling. Before she could talk herself out of this, she tucked the cell away in her purse and strode toward Elegant Occasions, the boutique that her mother had owned since before Sydney was born. Its pink-and-light-gray awning with the graceful scrollwork was as familiar to her as her childhood home. It starred in some of her best memories...and her worst. Including the last argument she and her mother had engaged in before Sydney hightailed it out of town.

  Squaring her shoulders, she grabbed the handle and pulled open the door. The same bell that she remembered tinkled above her, announcing her entry. Her mother, standing behind the front counter, looked up, wearing a welcoming smile. A smile that dipped and trembled when she met Sydney’s gaze. That shouldn’t have sent pain shooting through her—Sydney should be accustomed to the trepidation and hesitation that wavered in her mother’s eyes—but, it did.

  If Carlin was alive, would you be happy to see me? If I’d been willing to give blood, tissue, hell, even a kidney, to save your first daughter, would you still love me?

  The questions howled in her head like a furious storm. She glanced away from her mother on the pretense of surveying the store. Truthfully? She was afraid she might find the answers to those questions in Patricia’s dark gaze.

  “Hi, Mom,” she greeted softly. “I hope I’m not disturbing your day.”

  “No, it’s been pretty quiet around here,” Patricia murmured.

  “That’ll change in the next week with the motorcycle rally approaching.”

  “I’m sure it will.”

  Polite. They were so painfully polite with each other. If not for sharing the same eyes, facial features and curvy build, a passerby might’ve mistaken them for strangers. Proprietress of a boutique and her customer.

  “I’m sorry to just drop in without...” A call? A text? A warning? Sydney shook her head. “Well, I should’ve called first.”

  “Why?” her mother asked, rounding the counter and striding forward, crossing the space that separated them. Like it was a war-torn no-man’s-land. Sydney didn’t like to think of her and her mother as enemies, but it’d been so long since they’d been allies. “You’re my daughter. You don’t need to call or make an appointment. I’m glad you came by.”

  “You are?” Surprise and skepticism saturated her voice, and when her mother’s mouth tightened at the corners, Sydney hated that she hadn’t been able to contain it. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean that like it came out.”

  Patricia arched an eyebrow. And though guilt fluttered inside her, Sydney lightly chuckled. That gesture had been a staple in Sydney’s childhood. No one or nothing called bullshit like her mother’s right eyebrow.

  “Okay, how about I didn’t want it to come out that way,” she amended with a dry laugh. “Can I start over?” When her mother nodded, she sighed. “Hey, Mom. I got some amazing news today, and I wanted to share it with you.”

  “You did?” Now surprise colored her voice. So did pleasure. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. You know how much I love secrets. What’s happened?”

  Sydney smiled, a smoky curl of wistfulness uncoiling inside her chest. Yes, she’d forgotten that about her mother. She’d had a big mouth as a child, and often, especially around Christmas and Patricia’s birthday, her mother would bribe Sydney with freshly baked cookies or the promise of trying on some of the clothes in the boutique in the grown-up dressing rooms to spill about the presents her father had bought. Sydney silently snickered, but that amusement mellowed, softened into a melancholy glow. There’d been a time when Sydney had actually giggled with her mother, conspiring like thieves.

  She’d forgotten that, too.

  “I think it’s better if I show you,” Sydney murmured, digging into her purse. She plucked the carefully folded scroll of sonogram images from the depths and handed it to her mother. “Pictures of your granddaughter.”

  Her mother’s eyes rounded as she released a hushed gasp. Almost tentatively, she accepted the printout and after a long moment, wrenched her gaze from Sydney’s and dropped her head, all her attention focused on the black-and-white pictures.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered, straightening the long row of images and studying them one by one. “A little girl. I’m going to be a GiGi.” She laughed softly, the low sound a little damp, shaking her head. “I always said that if either of you girls had kids of your own, I didn’t want to be a boring grandma or nana. I wanted to be a glamorous GiGi.”

  Sydney braced herself against the offhand mention of Carlin, nearly rocking back on her heels. Other than asking Sydney if she intended to visit her sister’s grave with them every year, her parents never—never—talked about Carlin. That her mother had, here...and so easily...with her...

  Sydney swallowed past the lump of emotion—cautious hope, timid delight, dulled sadness—in her throat, a little afraid to speak. Because history reminded Sydney that she and her mother tended to fuck up when they attempted to do things like talk. It never failed that one or both of them would emerge from the occasion scratched and bruised by words, frustration and disappointed expectations.

  But in this store, with her mother’s joy evident in every excited coo over the image, Sydney stepped out onto that shaky ledge called faith.

  To hell with it.

  She leaped.

  “I mean, you own a boutique. I think it goes without saying you’re already glamorous, Mom,” Sydney teased. “But I’m suddenly realizing this baby is going to be beyond spoiled,” she grumbled. But her grin ruined the irritated tone.

  “Pshaw.” Her mother waved a hand in her direction, never removing her gaze from the images. “Spoiling is a grandmother’s prerogative...and right.”

  “Did you really just ‘pshaw’ me?” Sydney snickered. “Mom, I thought I was the one who lived in the South for the last eight years. Are you going to offer me a big glass of sweet tea next?”

  “Ha ha. I blame it on Kelly Prioleau. Since she started working with your father, I’ve become addicted to grits, and have been bingeing them by the pot.”

  Sydney blinked. Fought back a grin. Lost the fight. “Have you had them with shrimp yet?”

  “God. Yes.” Her mother loosed a frankly lascivious groan.

  Their eyes met.

  And they burst out laughing.

  Good. Sydney felt good. How long had it been since she’d done this with her mother? She couldn’t remember. That first year after Carlin died had blurred into a haze of grief, guilt and hot rage. And later? Cold. Their house had been plunged into a deep freeze marked by pockets of angry outbursts, silly rebellions and bitter defiance. The distance between Sydney and her parents—especially her mother—had grown and grown until trekking around the globe in a broke-down Winnebago would’ve been easier than crossing that emotional divide.

  But in this moment, with her mother smiling at her, clutching sonogram pictures of her granddaughter and a warmth in her brown eyes that had Sydney’s breath catching in her lungs, that divide shrunk just a bit.

  “I have something for you.” Her mother retraced her steps to the counter, and seconds later, reemerged holding the straps of a large paper bag with her store’s logo
scrawled across the front. “I ordered these for you last week and they just came in yesterday. I hope you like them.”

  Astonishment rippled through her, and Sydney gaped at Patricia. A gift? For her? Of course, for Christmas and her birthdays, her parents had sent cards and even small presents. But a just-because gift? And given how their last interaction had gone...

  “For me?” she whispered.

  Her mother tilted her head to the side, a small smile curving her mouth even as what could’ve been a hint of sadness gleamed in her eyes. “Yes, for you.”

  Swallowing hard, Sydney slowly reached out for the offered bag. And just as slowly, she opened it and peered inside. Clothes. A stack of tops, dresses and pants. Still unbelieving, she stroked a hand over an eyelet blouse in a lovely shade of teal.

  “Mom...” she murmured.

  “Maternity clothes,” her mother explained. “Not my usual inventory, but when you came home...” She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug that struck Sydney as a little self-conscious. “Well, what’s the point of owning a boutique if I can’t provide clothes for my daughter? I had my buyer order these for you. I hope you like them.”

  “I love them,” Sydney said.

  Her mother chuckled. “You haven’t even seen all of them.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” They came from you. Sydney didn’t utter those words, but they echoed in her head, her heart.

  “Well, I’m glad.” Clearing her throat, her mother glanced down at the printout she still held. “Oh, Sydney. A little girl. Does your father know?”

  Sydney nodded. “He was there for it.”

  “That’s wonderful. Have you...” Her mother hesitated, paused. “Have you spoken with Daniel? Does he know?”

  “Yes and yes. But unfortunately, he’s a bit angry with me right now,” Sydney confessed. Ordinarily, Sydney wouldn’t have shared this with her mother—it’d been a long time since she’d felt emotionally safe enough to do that. She told her how she’d neglected to record the appointment and his reaction.