Tombstones (Beekman Hills Book 4)

by K. C. Enders

  I stir my dinner and scoop bite after bite into my mouth, savoring the sweetness of the toppings, praying that the starchy goodness will help calm my roiling stomach when morning comes. The spoon clatters in the empty bowl, and though I know it’ll be a bitch to clean tomorrow, I set it on my bedside table to deal with in the morning. I make a mental to-do list for tomorrow while checking available flights home for the end of February.

  ***

  BECAUSE I’VE ADJUSTED MY schedule over the past month or so to accommodate my new, less than fun morning routine, I’m out of the apartment bright and early the next morning. I woke up feeling better than I have in ages and only puked once. Who knew the day would come when I considered that such a win?

  Gracyn is still asleep after working until closing at the pub, and that’s probably a good thing. I need more than a minute to get myself past the things she said last night. The attitude and shit she’s been throwing my way lately.

  If I go straight to school though, I’ll be crazy early. With a deep, bracing breath, I stop at the drugstore. It’s time. I stroll down each aisle, putting an odd collection of items into my basket. Saltines, ginger ale, lemon drops, a pretty new nail polish. Anything to avoid having just a pregnancy test as my only purchase.

  I pick a box, not giving too much thought to which one I grab. I sure as shit don’t need one of the early detection tests. The results are pretty much written in stone, but as I move down the aisle toward the front of the store, I pass through the section of baby things. There are only the basics here, nothing cute and adorable, just the stuff you might grab in an emergency. Diapers, wipes, pacifiers. Teething gel, baby ibuprofen, thermometers. And a rattle.

  I pause. A fuzzy lamb with the cutest little face, attached to a minty-blue plastic teething ring, catches my eye. It’s absolutely silly, but looking at the items in my basket, it’s not like there’s any doubt about what’s going on in my world. On a whim, I toss the lambikins in with the rest of my crap and get in line to pay. As if the cashier will give a shit.

  When I get to school, I tuck the crackers and ginger ale into my lunch bag and the lemon drops and test in my tote. Not a soul is paying attention to me as I waltz through the door as nonchalant as can be. My secret mission, stuffed deep down in the center section of my Mary Poppins bag. I stop in the teachers’ lounge on the way to my classroom, thanking God the restroom is completely empty—small favors for being so damn early.

  There’re no real nerves. No big anticipation. No counting the minutes or fear of turning the test over to read the results.

  I know.

  I’ve known for weeks. But seeing those two bright blue lines pop out mere seconds after I cap the end of the stick warms my belly and puts a big-ass smile on my face.

  It’s official. I’m pregnant.

  Chapter 20

  Kate

  YOU KNOW WHEN YOU do something, thinking you have your poop in a group? And then, at some point in the middle of the whole thing, when it’s too late to turn back, you realize you might have made a mistake? Like, maybe I should have made a doctor’s appointment before getting on the plane to tell your grandparents about you. Okay, I made the appointment, and I asked if it was okay to fly, but it’s not like the doctor has seen us. So, even though the nurse said it was fine, how do I really know that it is? What if I’m ruining you? Lord, I’m already the worst mama in the history of the world.

  I bite at the end of my pen as the plane hits a bubble of turbulence and say a little prayer. I’m such a fool. Such an idiot. Barely contained panic pushes me to flip to a fresh page in my journal and apologize to Jack for screwing up our kid. This was so dumb. I should have at least asked Lis; she’s a nurse, for Pete’s sake. I have a nurse as one of my best friends and didn’t ask her a simple question because I’m a fucking idiot.

  “Ma’am? Can I get you anything?” A flight attendant crouches down next to my seat.

  She hands me a small packet of tissues, and it’s only then that I realize I have tears spilling down my face. These hormones are stupid. Because that’s got to be the reason for this ridiculous show of emotion.

  “Thank you,” I say, pulling a tissue from the plastic package. “I’m—I’ll be fine. It’s just a little …”

  The plane dips again, and my hand drops protectively to my stomach. I haven’t puked in almost a week, and it would be a huge step backward if I started again now.

  “Maybe a couple of packets of pretzels and some ginger ale,” she suggests. “It helped me when I was pregnant.” She pats my arm and hurries to the galley at the front of the plane. When she returns a few minutes later, it’s with a glass of ice and a green aluminum can in one hand and several packages of pretzels in the other.

  “How did you know?” I ask, tearing open one of the tiny snack packs. My stomach churns, but I’m not sure if it’s hormones, emotions, or flat-out fear.

  What if my father takes one look at me and knows? I need to be able to tell them in my own way. To make them understand that it was nothing but a slip-up and one that I’m already so in love with.

  The flight attendant sets the full plastic cup in front of me and says, “I had to work through my pregnancy, and, honey, that turbulence can be a bitch. That look on your face was a permanent fixture on mine for a long time.” She taps a nail on my tray next to my cup. “Sip at this while you can. We’ll be landing shortly.”

  ***

  “KATELYN, DARLING, YOU LOOK different. Can’t tell if you look like you’ve been sick or if you’re filling out a little,” my mother says over dinner later.

  Neither option makes me feel all that good about myself.

  “Thanks, Mama.”

  “I think you look good with a little meat on you,” my father says, patting my hand.

  Setting my fork down, I fold my hands in my lap. Now is the time to tell them. “Since y’all seem to be all over how I look and whether I’m sick or not—”

  “Hey, we make it in time for dessert?” my brother calls, busting through the back door.

  Harper flings herself into my arms, crushing me in her sweet little hug.

  “Auntie Kate, I missed you.” She kneels on my lap, squishing my face between her palms.

  Sam and Jules settle in at the kitchen table, and for a brief moment, I relax, getting lost in catching up with them and all the things going on in their lives.

  “It’s not convenient with your teaching schedule, but we would love for you to come down if you can. The baby’s due in the middle of September. Maybe, if I go early, it could be Labor Day weekend,” Jules says.

  “Oh, wild horses couldn’t keep Katelyn from being here for that baby’s birth. Isn’t that right?” Mama smiles from the side of her mouth and reaches for my hand. Her gaze finally reaches me, taking in what I’m sure is pure guilt carved across my features. “Kate, baby, are you okay?”

  “Darlin’?” The endearment rolls off my daddy’s tongue, concern lacing his voice.

  And all I can do is nod at my parents. Press my lips together and nod my head like the fool I am for thinking this is all going to be okay.

  How am I going to do this? How am I going to have a baby all by myself? How the hell am I going to tell my family that I’m pregnant and the baby’s father not only isn’t in my life, but I also can’t reach him? That I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again?

  “I, um … I promise I’ll do my best but …” My heart slams against my ribs, and for the first time in my entire life, I’m truly afraid of my family’s reaction to my news. Fucking petrified.

  How the hell am I going to make this okay? I’m sure my grandma Rose is fixin’ to roll over in her grave.

  “Auntie Kate, Mimi says you can say anything here ’cause family gonna love you, no matter what.” Harper dispensing advice handed down to her from my mama with all the seriousness she can muster shifts my heart right back where it needs to be to get the words out.

  “You’re right, Harper,” I say, smoothing back her curls
and pressing my lips to her sweet little forehead. Her lotion, the baby shampoo Jules still uses on her, fills my senses and sets me right. “I might not be able to travel then because, uh … I have found myself in a similar situation.” For some damn reason, talking around the matter and not coming right out and saying it feels like maybe I’m not just talking over Harper’s head, but my parents’ heads as well.

  Sam and Jules are fine. I’m not worried about any kind of judgment from them in the least, but my daddy …

  “What now?” Daddy asks, chin tucked to his chest, eyebrows high as a kite.

  “What are you sayin’?” Mama sits straight up in her chair, hands fluttering, twisting her wedding ring around her finger.

  Sam snorts, his shoulders shaking with laughter. That boy is always giddy at the slightest possibility of me being the kid in trouble with our ’rents.

  Pointing my finger right at Sam, I say, “Just you stop it, you ass.”

  A giggle bubbles up inside me, threatening to break free regardless of how serious this stupid moment is. Sam’s face is bright red, eyes squeezed shut, hands clutching the edge of the kitchen table. It’s like time has rolled right on back to when we were kids, and I tried to talk my way out of whatever trouble was coming my way for “washing” Daddy’s truck with a steel wool scrubber so that it would be extra clean. I’m in trouble, and my stupid brother can’t stop laughing at me.

  “Katelyn Hays Beard, you watch your mouth, young lady,” Mama admonishes.

  Sam and Daddy both mumble, “Brought you into this world, and I can take you out,” and all the stress over telling everybody my news flies away.

  My family has never not been there for me. Never. There’s no way my worst fears will come true. It’s another grandbaby, and there is nothing but love in the Beard household for sweet little babies.

  “Are you trying to tell us you’re …” Mama nods her head and rolls her hand through the air, not saying the word.

  But I can totally understand that because I haven’t said it out loud yet either. I sit up straight and fold my hands on the table in front of me. “Actually, Mama, I’m doing my honest best not to tell you. But it is true.” There’s no point in pretending any longer. This is what I came home to do.

  “You and Chance are back together?” she asks, looking at me over the top of her glasses. It’s her signature are you tellin’ stories look.

  Another laugh surfaces, bubbling up from my toes this time. “Chance is gay,” I tell them matter-of-factly. “He was supposed to have told y’all by now. In fact, he told me he was bringing his boyfriend home to meet his parents over Valentine’s Day. I take it, that didn’t happen?”

  My mother looks stunned, but Daddy and Sam just nod, like they’ve known all along.

  “But—”

  “He asked me to keep his secret until he broke it to his mama and daddy, but that was supposed to happen ages ago. So, no, Mama, it’s not Chance’s baby.”

  “Whose is it?” Daddy grumbles, and I swear, he’s shifting his weight to go grab his shotgun. “Where the hell is this new guy, and why haven’t we heard anything about him besides the fact that he knocked up my baby girl and isn’t man enough to come here with you to tell us about it?” Yeah, his hand is itching to sift through his ammo boxes.

  On a deep, bracing breath, I explain that I met him through school.

  “So, he’s another teacher. What grade?” My mother jumps up, clearing dishes from the table.

  I eye the fudge cake she made, hoping she doesn’t try to send me to bed without dessert.

  “Actually, he was having lunch with one of my kiddos.” The cake knife clatters to the counter as my mother whips her head up to gawk at me. “No, no, no. Don’t give me that look, Mama. He was home, visiting his nephew—kind of nephew—between deployments and—”

  “Deployment? So, he’s in the service,” my father interrupts, respect lacing his words.

  “Yes, sir. Special Forces,” I offer. Because, though I know that’s impressive, it’s really the extent of what I know about his job. “He’s in the desert for a couple of more months. I don’t know where he’ll be after that. He doesn’t know about … this. I can’t really reach him,” I mumble.

  Now that it’s out there, now that people know, I wish more than anything that I could talk to Jack. Why didn’t we exchange e-mail addresses? At the very least, I could have e-mailed. But how is that any different from texting him? Either way, it’s just a message that he’ll get, or maybe he won’t. Hell, I couldn’t even conceive of telling my parents over the phone. I’m a face-to-face girl, for sure. And I’m right back to wondering what I would even say.

  The silence in the kitchen is deafening. Even Harper has muffled her usual chattiness, giving me the toddler version of the same appraising look gracing everyone else’s faces.

  Time stretches interminably, achingly slow.

  My heart sinks, and I just want to crawl into bed and cry. The hormone flip that goes along with being pregnant is a bitch. Now that I’m not puking at random moments, I feel like I’m always on the verge of breaking down and crying. Tears burn behind my eyes, and I pull in a shaky breath.

  Jules leans over, reaching for my hand. “Are you gonna find out what you’re havin’, or do you want to be surprised?” she asks.

  “You mean, more surprised?” my brother blurts.

  And, finally, it’s like everyone just resets and comes back to what’s important.

  “We’re going to have two new babies for Christmas,” Mama says, a big cheesy grin stretching across her face.

  At this, Harper bounces up, running to her mimi. “I gettin’ two babies?” she asks, her thumb pressing down on her pinkie.

  Mama tucks Harper’s ring finger down for her, showing her what two looks like. “Sampson, you need to work with your daughter on her numbers.”

  After the initial shock wears off and I talk my daddy out of trying to call up Fort Bragg, we get kind of excited.

  ***

  MAMA, JULES, AND I spend the rest of my long weekend shopping, looking at all the cutest baby things.

  “Well, I think you should find out what you’re havin’,” Mama declares. “You’re a planner, Kate. And, being that you’re doing this on your own, you need to be organized. We can’t be buyin’ pink if we’re havin’ blue, and Lord knows, we’ve got to get your nursery goin’.” She does that looking-over-the-top-of-her-glasses thing again. I’ve been getting more than my fair share of that nonsense, but the real issue? “And, honestly, you should just move home, sweetie. There’s no better time.”

  “Not making that decision right now. I’ve told you that.”

  New York has become my home, and I really don’t want to think about not being able to watch my students grow up and progress. One of my favorite things is having my kiddos from my first year teaching there come in and be reading buddies to the current class. This is the first time that’s happened, and it’s been just amazing.

  “You can still teach here, and I’ll get to snuggle both of my new grandbabies. Harper can be my helper. We’ll just have a grand ole time.”

  Lord have mercy, I love my mother, but I’m not sure I can live in the same town as her anymore. Next thing you know, she’ll have me moving into my old room.

  Like she was reading my thoughts, she continues, “And we can make Sam’s old room into the nursery, so the baby is good and close to you.”

  “Not happenin’. If I come back to Hattiesburg, I won’t be movin’ back in with you and Daddy,” I tell her, flipping through a rack of sleepers. “But that’s a big if.”

  Mama tries several more times, dropping hints, pinning nursery ideas to her Pinterest board, and even leaning on my father for an extra kick of guilt. By the time I get on my plane to head back north, I’m exhausted but feeling more at peace than I have in weeks. Now, I need to spill my shit to Lis and Gracyn.

  Chapter 21

  Kate

  A LOT CAN HAPPEN in four days. A body can
go from being petrified of breaking news to family to making plans for matching monogrammed onesies for Christmas pictures. And your roommate can go from forlorn and downright depressed to getting a tattoo under her boob of lyrics to a song to hooking back up with the man of her dreams.

  “And he even said he’d play at McBride’s for St. Patrick’s Day as long as we don’t advertise that it’s him. God, he’s just so—”

  “Not-your-typical rock star,” I finish for Gracyn as she flops back on our couch.

  “So true.” She rolls her head to the side as a yawn rips from my body. “You gonna be there?”

  There’s no way I can go to the Irish pub on St. Patrick’s Day and not drink and have it go unnoticed. “Maybe. I’ll try, but I feel pretty behind at school, so—”

  Gracyn hits me with a look. I’ve blown my friends off far too many times in the past couple of weeks; if she didn’t have her own hot mess of shit to deal with, she’d be up my butt, demanding to know what was going on with me. As it is, she just seems perplexed, like maybe she’s missing something.

  “Mmhmm. Hey, did I tell you the potter you fell in love with on your pre-Christmas mountain trip contacted me to do his accounting?”

  Thank God for the change of subject. “You didn’t. How did he find you?”

  Gracyn pushes herself up off the couch and skips across the room toward the hallway. “I guess he’s doing the whole small-business thing, rebranding or something. He had Addie do a website, and she referred him on to me. That girl has been a really good addition. We should hang out with her more.”

  “We should,” I agree.

  Finn stepped in it when he convinced Addie to give him a chance, not that he didn’t have to work damn hard to convince her. But there are no two people more suited for each other.