Their Mountain Reunion (The Second Chance Club Book 1)

by Patricia Johns

  “I don’t know,” Tilly replied. “Doesn’t a doctor tell you that?”

  “Haven’t you been to a doctor yet?” Melanie asked.

  “I only just told Simon!” she snapped. “I haven’t had time! I’m busy. I’m...” Tears welled in her eyes again, and Melanie sighed. The girl was scared. Tilly wasn’t mature enough to buy her own choice of milk, and she was pregnant...

  “Come sit down,” Melanie said. “Let’s talk.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” Tilly retorted. “I’m pregnant, and it’s my business. Okay?”

  “Is this what you and Simon have been fighting about?” Melanie asked.

  Tilly didn’t answer, which was confirmation. Then she said, “I want to have this baby. It’s mine. Simon can do whatever he wants.”

  “Actually, Simon needs to financially support his child,” Melanie replied. “I don’t care what he wants, he fathered that baby and he has a responsibility.”

  “And that is why I didn’t say anything!” Tilly said, shaking her head. “That!”

  “What?” Melanie demanded. “I’m on your side!”

  “What if I don’t want to share my baby with him?” Tilly asked, her voice shaking. “What if I just want him to go away, and I’m fine with that?”

  “Tilly, he’s going to be a father just as much as you’re going to be a mother,” Melanie said.

  “What would you know about that?” Tilly snapped. “You don’t have any kids. You aren’t even a mom! You have no idea what any of this feels like!”

  Melanie felt the words like a punch. She’d never experienced a pregnancy, that was true. But she’d known what it was to worry about, to love three kids more than she loved herself. And she sure knew how much raising those kids cost! It wasn’t only a financial hit, either. It was emotional, spiritual... And whether Tilly liked it or not, that baby was going to grow up one day and ask about its father.

  “I raised you, Tilly...” Melanie said past the lump in her throat.

  “Whatever...” Tilly shook her head. “But you have no idea what it’s like to be pregnant, so don’t act like you know!”

  Tilly headed back down the hallway and her bedroom door slammed. And Melanie stood there, trying to put a cap on the tears rising inside of her.

  You aren’t even a mom! Those were the words that hurt the most. And maybe Tilly was right... She didn’t know what this stage felt like, but she did know what it felt like to be excluded from it. She remembered being asked once by a young pregnant woman in a kids’ clothing store if she should be afraid of the delivery, and Melanie had been tired of telling her complicated story. She was tired of the exaggerated sympathy. That poor little thing. Losing her mommy. Aw. So Melanie had faked an answer—something about how she’d forget the pain afterward, and how it was all worth it in the end. She’d even reached out and squeezed the young woman’s hand, then fled.

  Melanie definitely knew what it was to feel like an impostor.

  She put her hands flat on the counter and let out a slow shaky breath.

  Don’t cry. Don’t let that girl see you cry...

  Melanie looked around the kitchen, then headed to the freezer and pulled out some frozen waffles. Tilly liked these, too. And if she was pregnant, she needed to be eating. Melanie dropped two in the toaster, then pulled out the glass jar of blueberry syrup.

  “Tilly?” she called once breakfast was ready, her voice sounding stronger than she felt right now. “I’ve got some waffles here. You’d better eat.”

  Because being a mother also meant putting her own complicated emotions aside for the needs of the child in her care. It meant swallowing her own grief and womaning up when she was needed.

  Tilly would also need a doctor’s appointment and some prenatal vitamins. Melanie might not have been pregnant before, but she knew that much. And she’d need rest, too, and lowered stress in her life. She’d need to be taken care of a little bit.

  The bedroom door opened and Tilly came out, her eyes puffy from crying.

  “Blueberry syrup,” Melanie said, lifting the bottle. “Your favorite.”

  Mel’s favorite, too, for that matter. But Tilly wasn’t going to care about that.

  “Thanks,” Tilly murmured, slipping into the chair. “I’m pretty hungry.”

  “No problem.”

  Melanie’s phone pinged, and she picked it up to see a text from Angelina.

  Would you all be free for an impromptu Second Chance Club dinner tomorrow night?

  Melanie smiled sadly. It was good to have some women in her corner—whom she could open up with a little bit. Because standing here with her stepdaughter only reminded her that being a mom of any kind also meant doing the work without a whole lot of thanks or appreciation. Tilly would learn that, too.

  * * *

  LOGAN PULLED INTO Melanie’s driveway at ten o’clock on the dot. The glossy wooden box was on the back seat. He’d held that box for a long time last night, listening to the strange rattle of the objects inside. He might never have come to deliver this box if it weren’t for Caroline’s diaries. But here he was, hoping that doing right by his late mother would count as doing right by Caroline, too.

  Logan had been looking forward to seeing Melanie. But would this visit with his dad really be easier with an audience? If she really did think he was charming, she’d definitely lose that misconception right quick. He wasn’t charming—he was normally pretty matter-of-fact. Still, she’d always made him feel like he was more than the sum of his parts.

  The front door opened just as he came to a stop, and Melanie appeared without missing a beat. She wore a simple sheath dress of pale yellow with a gauzy white scarf thrown around her neck. She wore a pair of leather strappy sandals and a brown leather purse that matched. She looked good—put together, successful. But when she looked up and he saw her blotchy face and puffy eyes, his heart stuttered.

  Had she been crying?

  He leaned over to give the passenger-side door a push. She hoisted herself up, a waft of fragrance coming into the cab with her.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  Melanie put on her seat belt. “Fine. How are you?”

  “You’re a miserable liar,” he said, putting the truck into Reverse and backing out of the drive again. “What’s going on?”

  “Just a tough morning,” she said with a wan smile.

  “Were you crying?”

  “Yeah—” She shook her head. “It’s private. For Tilly, I mean. It’s her personal business.”

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Her eyes misted again and her chin trembled. “Can I trust you with this—trust you to keep this private for her sake?”

  “Of course. My lips are sealed. What’s going on?” he asked.

  “It turns out Tilly isn’t sick. She’s pregnant.”

  “She’s what?” Logan shot her a surprised look.

  “I know,” she replied. “I was stunned. So that explains why she’s here. She needs help.”

  “Is it okay that I’m taking you away from her?” Logan asked.

  “I didn’t say she wanted help,” Melanie said. “And she’s fine. She has some morning sickness, and I have the cupboards stocked with food if she wants to eat. There’s nothing else I can do but stand there and irritate her.” Melanie sighed. “The thing is, she says she wants to raise this baby alone, without Simon. And I don’t think she gets how complicated this will be.”

  “You think Simon will want to be in his child’s life?” Logan asked.

  “I’m not sure about him, but I know his parents are going to care. This will be their first grandchild. And we’re talking about two rather wealthy families. They can both afford the best lawyers.”

  “You think it would get ugly?” Logan asked.

  “It might. It might not. I don’t know. But I feel f
or her.”

  Logan fell silent for a moment. Caroline had gotten unexpectedly pregnant, too. And he’d stepped up—a baby changed things. But it shouldn’t take a baby to make a man. He should have been better before Graham came along...and after, too.

  “So what did you tell her?” Logan asked.

  “Just that she’ll need to see a doctor, get on some vitamins, that sort of thing.”

  “How come you were crying?” he asked.

  Melanie didn’t answer, and when he looked over at her, he saw her dabbing at her eyes. He put his attention back on the road, but he could feel her hesitation next to him.

  “Come on,” he said quietly. “What happened?”

  “She pointed out that I’ve never been pregnant, and I have no idea what any of this feels like,” she said quietly.

  “And therefore you shouldn’t give her some reasonable advice about taking care of herself in this delicate time?” he asked ruefully.

  “Something like that.”

  “Did you put her in her place?” he asked.

  “No, I made her some toaster waffles and got her to eat.”

  “Like a mom,” he said. “When Graham was about sixteen, his mom caught him getting hot and heavy with his girlfriend. She interrupted them and asked Graham to drive the girl home. We had no intention of becoming grandparents too early.” He smiled sadly at the memory. “And Graham got home from dropping her off, embarrassed and angry, and he told Caroline he hated her...”

  He could still remember the way the words had landed, like they physically sank into his wife’s body... Her shoulders had hunched, and she’d taken an involuntary step back.

  “What did she do?” Melanie asked softly.

  “She let him march past her and go up to his bedroom, and then she cried,” he said with a weak shrug. “Just cried.”

  Caroline’s face had crumpled. No one loved that kid like his mom had.

  Melanie’s eyes misted. “I get it.”

  “Being a mom hurts, sometimes,” he said. “Graham didn’t mean it. Not really. He was just mad and embarrassed and...sixteen.”

  “So what did you do?” she asked.

  “I went upstairs and brought him back down. First, I made him apologize to his mother, and then I sat him down with a calculator and a piece of paper and I outlined how much raising a baby cost—whether he was still with the mother, or not. It was a pretty big reality check for him.”

  “I’ll bet...”

  “Obviously, if he had gotten his girlfriend pregnant, we would have been in his corner. We would have helped him step up and grow up, and be the man he needed to be for his child. Neither he nor the girl were ready for that kind of responsibility. So we did what we thought was right, and we parented.”

  “I think you were right, too.”

  “All the same, Graham didn’t forgive his mother for a couple of months. He and the girl ended up breaking up. I think my talk with him about some real-life consequences put a damper on things between them. But you know what? We were right. Caroline was right. And sometimes when you’re right, your kid hates you for a little while.”

  Melanie smiled faintly. “She doesn’t think I count.”

  “She’s wrong.” He shrugged. “Can’t be the first time.”

  Melanie chuckled, and Logan felt a wave of relief. He reached over and took her hand before he could think better of it. He gave her a squeeze and was about to pull back when her fingers closed around his.

  “Thanks,” she said. “You have a way of making everything seem simpler.”

  Logan looked over at her and saw her gaze was turned out the window. Her hand looked good in his—her fingers slim and pale against his tanned skin. It was nice to be someone’s comfort again. It had been a while.

  “So where are we headed?” she asked, glancing toward him again.

  “Spruce Ridge Retirement Home,” he said.

  “Is that new?”

  “Seems to be relatively new. I don’t remember it from our day.”

  “Are you ready to see your father again after all this time?” she asked.

  Logan let go of her hand as he slowed down to make a turn. He wished he could reach out and take her hand again, but she’d pulled hers back and it didn’t feel right now.

  “I don’t know...” he admitted. “I learned a lot in raising my son, and I never could make sense of my dad’s choices when it came to me. I would have done anything for Graham. But my father saw me as an embarrassment. My mom tried to find common ground between us, but the harder she tried on my behalf, the more resentful his wife got. It was a weird situation.”

  “Yeah...”

  “She used to tell me not to blame myself for someone else’s insecure marriage, but when you’re young, it’s hard not to blame yourself for just about everything.”

  The address he was looking for was ahead—a flat building that looked distinctly medical. He slowed the vehicle, double-checked the address and then turned into the parking lot. He found a spot and parked, then looked over at Melanie.

  “Thanks for being here,” he said.

  “I could stay in the truck, if you want,” she said.

  “Don’t be silly,” he said. “But this is going to be awkward. So maybe you could just agree to forgive me for whatever happens—”

  Melanie chuckled. “Harry is Harry. I’m not blaming you for your father’s eccentricities, okay?”

  “That’ll have to do,” he agreed.

  Spruce Ridge Retirement Home had a central reception area flanked by two wings. Several older people sat outside under shade trees in their wheelchairs, some staff members leading them in what appeared to be watercolor painting. He scanned faces—would he even recognize Harry? He wasn’t sure he would. Age could change a lot in a man. Maybe more pertinently, would his father recognize him?

  Logan held the wooden box under one arm and opened the front door, letting Melanie go in ahead of him. The reception area felt dim after the bright summer sunlight outside, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. He headed over to the reception desk.

  “Hi,” he said. “I’m here to visit one of your residents. My father, actually. His name is Harold Eugene Wilde.”

  “You’re Harry’s son?” the woman asked, narrowing her gaze.

  “One of them,” he agreed. “You’re probably thinking of Junior... Eugene.”

  “Yes,” she said. “We know him well. What’s your name? I’ll see if Mr. Wilde is free.”

  “I’m Logan McTavish.”

  She jotted it down, then picked up a telephone receiver. “Just a moment.”

  Logan stepped back while she murmured into the phone, glancing around. This retirement facility looked like a decent place—lots of light, lots of activity and responsive, energetic staff. Junior had done his research on the place, no doubt. As Logan’s gaze moved over a table filled with older people playing cards, he saw a nurse approach an older man and bend down to speak to him. She gestured in Logan’s direction, and the older man raised his head, his piercing gaze locking with Logan’s.

  Logan’s breath caught in his chest. That was Harry, all right. Age hadn’t changed him much, after all. His face was the same, but more lined. One eye drooped, as did one side of his mouth, but the mustache was the same—iron gray and bushy. Harry stared at him hard for a moment, then turned back to the nurse and murmured something.

  The nurse looked in his direction, and then picked up a phone.

  “Mr. Wilde will come outside to speak with you,” the receptionist said. “Just a moment.”

  Logan was forty-two years old, yet under his father’s stare, he was still just an eager twelve-year-old asking his dad to help him with his paper route. Please, Dad? I’m going to save up for that Nintendo! And Mom’s going show me how to budget my money... He was the seventeen-year-old asking his
dad to help him with college. I can’t do it alone, Dad. I’ve saved all I can, and I’ve got some scholarships, but... He was the eight-year-old, watching his father cuddle his newest infant son—the one he’d named after himself.

  Damn it. Logan wanted something from his father, after all. He’d told himself that this was about being a better man, about doing right by his mother, about proving something to Caroline, even if it were too late. This wasn’t supposed to be about Harry, but Logan wanted the same thing he’d been after all along—his father’s love.

  And he wasn’t going to get it this time, either, was he?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HARRY WASN’T THE only one Melanie had recognized. She knew the nurse who’d been talking to him. That was Renata Spivovitch—one of the women from Angelina’s First Wives Circle. Renata recognized Melanie at the same time, fluttering her fingers in a wave as she wheeled the older man over to them.

  “I know the nurse,” Melanie said.

  “Oh, yeah?” Logan nodded and cleared his throat.

  “Do you want me to stay with you while you talk to him, or...” She hesitated. “I’m happy to wait if you want a bit of privacy.”

  Renata wheeled Harry up, and for a moment, father and son simply looked at each other.

  “You’re getting gray,” Harry said at last.

  “Yeah.” Logan raked his fingers through his hair. “It happens to the best of us.”

  “If you want to take over for Renata here, and wheel me outside, it looks pretty warm out,” Harry said.

  “It’s nice out, actually,” Logan agreed. He handed the wooden box to his father, who attempted to accept it with one hand. Logan laid it on Harry’s lap instead. “I’ll explain that in a minute.”

  He looked over at Melanie.

  “I did drag you all the way out here,” he said.

  She shook her head, waving him on. “Go on. I’m fine.”

  Logan gave Renata a nod, then wheeled his father toward the doors. Melanie stood back and smiled at Renata.

  “How are you doing?” Renata asked. “You look good, by the way.”