“In celebration of her return.”
“She was gone three nights. How are you going to show she’s special when she heads off to college for months at a time?”
“I don’t want to think about that,” Harper admitted. Not her only child being gone nor how she was supposed to pay for out-of-state tuition. “I made a chocolate cake.”
“Of course you did. What time is dinner?”
“Terence said they’d be back between four and five, so maybe five-thirty or six.”
“I’ll be here.” He looked around at all the mess. “This big dinner is in addition to the Easter feast tomorrow?”
“Of course. They’re totally unrelated.”
“And we couldn’t just let one of them go?”
“Seriously? You’re asking that?”
“Yeah. You’re right. What was I thinking?”
She finished sprinkling on a layer of grated cheese, then glanced at the clock. It was nearly three. She figured she could risk leaving the lasagna out on the counter until she popped it in the oven at four-fifteen. She’d made the bread days ago and had defrosted a loaf already. The garlic spread was done and the salad was in the refrigerator. She only had to pour on dressing and that was good to go. There was still the table to set. She returned her attention to Lucas.
“Are you bringing someone?”
One corner of his mouth turned up. “Persimmon.”
Harper wiped her hands on a towel. “You have got to be kidding. That’s her real name?”
“It’s on her driver’s license.”
“Which you saw because you check their ID before you date them?”
“I like to be sure.”
“That they’re not underage or that they’re not too old?”
“Sometimes both.”
“I get the biology,” she said, studying him across the kitchen island. “The young, healthy female should produce the best offspring. But we’re not living in caves anymore. You drive a Mercedes. If you’ve evolved enough to handle freeway driving, why can’t you date someone remotely close to your own age? I’m not suggesting an old lady, but maybe a woman in her thirties.” She walked to the pantry and got the small box of cookies she’d set aside for him.
“Never mind,” she told him as she handed him the decorated box. “You don’t have an answer and I have no right to question your personal life. I just work for you.”
“And give me cookies.” He studied the ribbon and appliques. “It’s beautiful, but I would have been happy with plastic wrap.”
“That’s not how we do things around here.”
“Which is part of your problem.”
“I know that. Unfortunately, knowing and doing something about it are two different things. Go wash your hands, then you can help me set the table.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He did as she requested, then met her in the formal dining room. Harper remembered when she and Terence had been looking for a house in the area. They’d passed on several because the dining room wasn’t big enough. When he’d pointed out their family wasn’t that large, she’d reminded him that she had a huge table, a giant hutch and massive buffet to find room for. He’d grumbled about her having too many dishes—every now and then she thought maybe he was right. After the divorce she’d sold two full sets and still had more stock than the average department store.
Her basic set of dishes were white, allowing her to use them as a base for any holiday or event. Now she studied her tablecloths and napkins, then thought about the bunny fest that would be tomorrow’s table.
“Becca likes pink,” Lucas offered. “Isn’t pink a spring color?”
“It is, and that would work. Thanks.”
She pulled out a pale rose tablecloth with matching napkins. She would use gold as the accent color, along with a little dark green. The dinner would be attended by Bunny, Becca, Lucas, fruit date, Kit and Stacey, and Harper, so seven.
She handed Lucas the tablecloth before digging out seven dark green place mats. The rest was easy: seven gold chargers, seven sets of gold flatware, her favorite crystal glasses, white plates. She had a collection of salad plates in different patterns, including eight that were edged in gold. She would make custom napkin rings by dressing up plain ones with clusters of silk flowers. She had three hurricane lamps with gold bases.
She left him to put the linens on the table, then hurried into her craft room to double-check supplies. Honestly, she should have planned her table a couple of days ago, in case she needed to go to the craft store. Now she was going to have to wing it.
She plugged in her glue gun, then dug through a large bag of silk flower pieces and found several tiny pink blossoms, along with some greens. She had glass beads, of course, and plenty of ribbon. Ten minutes later, she had secured the last of the flowers to the clear plastic napkin rings she bought in bulk. She picked up bags of colored glass beads and the ribbon, then turned and nearly ran into Lucas.
“What are you doing?” he asked, sounding more amused than concerned.
“Decorating the table. Can you get those hurricane lamps, please?”
“There’s something wrong with you,” he told her as he picked up the lamps and followed her back into the dining room. “Your crafts don’t make you a penny, yet you have that huge room for them. At the same time, you cram your office into that tiny bedroom in back.”
“Sometimes I have to use my craft room for work,” she said, trying not to sound defensive. “When I work for my party planner, I do.”
“Yeah, sell it somewhere else. Harper, no one’s going to take you seriously until you take yourself seriously.”
She thought of the stack of bills on her desk and how every month was a struggle. It was the house, she admitted to herself. She’d wanted to keep it after the divorce so that Becca wouldn’t have to move and she didn’t want to be forced to sell it when her daughter turned eighteen. Buying out Terence had decimated her half of their joint assets, meaning he got to keep all the cash, savings and most of their retirement accounts. In return she had the house and little else.
“I take my income very seriously. At some point I’ll switch out the craft room with my office, but not yet. The craft room makes me happy.”
“I doubt that. It’s a constant reminder of how you have to be perfect.”
The unexpected insight caught her off guard and made her feel embarrassed and exposed. Like he’d walked in on her going to the bathroom.
Lucas was like that. Not that he walked in on her doing anything, but every now and then he was uncomfortably intuitive.
They returned to the living room, where he put the hurricane lanterns on the sideboard. She wrapped rose and gold ribbon around the bases before setting them in place. After scattering the glass beads down the center of the table, she studied the effect.
“It’s beautiful,” Lucas told her. “Becca’s going to love it.”
“Bunny will complain I haven’t done enough.”
“Want me to take her on for you?”
“You’d never take the chance,” she told him. “What if you got old lady cooties?”
“There is that.” He followed her back into the kitchen where she pulled the garlic spread out of the refrigerator.
“So who is Great-Aunt Cheryl anyway?” he asked.
“Terence’s great-aunt. I first met her when he and I were still dating. She was wonderful. Funny and irreverent. She never married, but there were always very interesting men hanging around. She had a million stories and they were all so interesting. Just when I started to think she was making it all up, she’d pull out something like a letter from President Truman thanking her for her invaluable aid to our country.”
She sliced the French loaf lengthwise. Lucas leaned against the counter.
“You admired her.”
“I
did. Very much. She was always very sweet to me.”
“Bunny hated her and was jealous of your relationship.”
Harper stared at him. “How did you know?”
“Come on. Really? Your mother is the most traditional person I know, and she’s convinced you that if you buy bread instead of making it, the sun won’t rise in the morning. Bunny is all home and hearth. Great-Aunt Cheryl would make Bunny’s teeth hurt. Worse, she would have violated every one of Bunny’s core beliefs.”
“They weren’t close,” Harper admitted. “Over the past couple of years, Great-Aunt Cheryl and I weren’t in touch as often. I thought she was busy. It was only after I found out she’d died that I learned she’d been sick.”
Harper still felt guilty for not pushing harder to find out what was going on. “She didn’t want to be any trouble, or something like that. I wish I’d been with her at the end.”
“Was she alone?”
“No, she had Ramon.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Ramon?”
“Great-Aunt Cheryl was a little like you when it came to her lovers.”
“Good for her. Why didn’t you go to the memorial?”
Harper had all her socially correct excuses at the ready, but with Lucas, she found herself blurting out the truth.
“It’s nearly a day to drive to Grass Valley and I didn’t want to be in the car that long with Terence and her.”
“Alicia?” Lucas asked sweetly. “Is there a reason you can’t say her name?”
“Yes. It’s like Beetlejuice. If you say her name too many times, she’ll rise up with horrific powers and do unspeakable things. I’m being cautious.”
“The world thanks you.”
“As it should.”
She finished coating the bread. After slicing it, she wrapped it in foil so it was ready to pop in the oven.
“Expecting anything from Great-Aunt Cheryl?” he asked.
“No. We were friends and that’s plenty.”
She went into the pantry and scooped flour into a sifter, then sorted through her folder of stencils before finding the one she needed. Technically it wasn’t Easter until Sunday, but she wanted something fun for her daughter’s return.
Lucas didn’t speak as he followed her outside. She stopped at the end of the walkway, then put the stencil on the concrete path before straightening and gently turning the handle on the sifter.
Flour drifted down, landing on the stencil. When she lifted it up, there was a perfect set of rabbit footprints.
Lucas stepped around her and headed for his car. “You’re a scary woman, Harper Szymanski. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
“With Pomegranate.”
“Persimmon.”
“Does it actually matter?”
He got into his white Mercedes convertible, turned to her and winked. “Honestly, it doesn’t.”
Chapter Three
STACEY TOLD HERSELF that everything was going to be fine. The scientific research on the power of positive thinking was extensive. When an outcome was utncertain, focusing on optimistic possibilities relaxed the body and cleared the mind. Otherwise, thinking could be crippled by fear, like hers, right now.
“She’s going to kill me when I tell her about the baby,” she murmured, glancing at Kit as he drove the handful of blocks to her sister’s house.
“Bunny would never do that. You’re her daughter and she loves you.”
“She’s going to be disappointed in me. She’s going to give me that look that makes me feel inadequate and small, as if I’m the most disappointing daughter ever. Then she’s going to tell me there’s something wrong with me.”
Kit reached across the console and took her hand. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Stacey. You’re brilliant, loyal, kind and funny.”
“But she is going to yell at me and be upset.”
It was the latter that would be the most difficult for her to handle. Stacey might not get along with her mother, but she didn’t want to hurt her feelings, either.
“She’s not going to understand why you didn’t tell her before,” Kit said quietly.
She squeezed his fingers as tightly as she could. “I couldn’t. She’s going to say things that I don’t want to hear.” Stacey was terrified enough about the baby as it was—she didn’t need her mother making the situation worse.
Most mothers worried about their child having a problem or about the pain of delivery or if they could handle the reality of juggling their already-busy life with an infant thrown in. She got that and shared some of those concerns, but her real worry—her real fear—was that she wasn’t going to be an adequate mother.
The baby wasn’t real to her. Hearing the heartbeat had brought Kit to tears while she’d simply monitored the rhythm and strength and found it to be within the normal range.
She had no sense of life growing within her. Yes, she understood the biology of what was happening, but that was simply science. Emotions were different. She could see herself as the vessel in which the baby grew, but not as the infant’s mother. She couldn’t imagine holding her daughter or rocking her. Kit talked about how excited he was for her to be born while Stacey had no sense of after.
“I just need to get through this,” Stacey whispered, thinking both of telling her mother and having the baby. “Once I know how she’s going to react, I’ll be fine.”
“Even if you’re not, I’ll be right there, next to you.” He drew back his hand and flashed her a grin. “Harper will provide cover while we’ll be ready to run if Bunny starts swinging.”
Stacey managed a slight smile. “She would never hit you or even say you were wrong. You’re the man and, by default, special.”
“It’s good to be me.” His grin faded. “I know I’ve asked before, but I want to double-check that you’re okay with Ashton moving in with us.”
The change of subject was welcome but the new topic matter confused her. “Why would there be a problem with Ashton?”
Kit pulled up in front of Harper’s house and turned off the engine. He faced Stacey. “You barely know him. He’s going to be living with us through the summer. The baby is due in late June. Any one of these could be considered a problem for most women.”
Kit was a rock-solid guy, but his sister was not. She’d spent most of her life in and out of drug rehab. Every now and then Stacey wondered if she should have specialized in addiction. The brain had an amazing capacity to fixate on pleasure—whatever its source.
Kit’s sister’s lifestyle had played havoc on her son’s life. Ashton had bounced around, living with friends and distant relatives while his mother dealt with her issues. Over the years Kit had tried to bring Ashton to California to live with him, but his sister wouldn’t allow it.
Now that Ashton was eighteen, he was free to do what he wanted. Kit and Stacey had agreed the young man could live with them until he started MIT in the fall. He only had two classes left to complete his high school diploma and he would take both of those online.
“He’s been very responsible and pleasant both times I’ve met him,” she said. “I’m sure we’ll get along.”
Plus, having another person in the house would allow her to be distracted from the impending birth. Not that she would admit that to Kit.
“You’re being very generous,” Kit said.
“I’m not. I like Ashton.”
“I meant about us supplementing his college.”
Ashton had a scholarship that covered his tuition but little else. Kit and Stacey would take care of his room and board, along with whatever else he might need.
“I’ve always been well compensated and the house is paid for. We have money set aside for Joule’s college fund. Helping Ashton is our way of paying it forward.” Perhaps if she put out enough good deeds, the Universe wouldn’t notice that she had no intere
st in her daughter.
Kit leaned close and kissed her. “You’re the best wife ever.”
“I wish that were true.”
They got out of the car and started for the front door. Stacey paused to study the bunny footprints on the walkway. Inadequacy gripped her with cold, bony fingers.
She would never be able to do anything like that, she thought, trying not to panic. She wouldn’t even think to do it, let alone be clear on how to execute the plan. Yes, Kit would be the one staying home with their daughter, but still—she was completely and totally clueless.
Harper opened the front door and smiled. “Hey, you two.” She ran down the steps and hugged her sister before embracing Kit. “I hope you’re hungry. I made lasagna.”
Because it was Becca’s favorite, Stacey thought automatically. Harper always did that sort of thing. She took care of the details of life. Details Stacey rarely noticed.
They went into the house. From the foyer Stacey could see the decorated table, the place settings and the crystal glasses. She thought of the plain dishes she and Kit had at home and wanted to whimper.
“Come on,” Harper said, leading them into the kitchen. “I’m trying a new herbal tea I read about online. It’s supposed to be perfect for pregnant women. It supports both the baby and the mother.” She grinned at Kit. “For you, I have a beer.”
“You’re my favorite sister-in-law,” he told her.
Harper laughed. “Of course I am.”
Stacey watched Harper pour hot tea into a mug. “I’m going to tell Mom today.”
Harper rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. Sure you are. I usually resent you being both the pretty and the smart sister, but right now you do have your issues. I say wait until Joule is born, then hand her over. Mom will get the message.”
Kit got a bottle of beer from the refrigerator. “That’s what I said.”
The back door opened and Bunny walked into the kitchen. “You’re here,” she said, smiling at Stacey and Kit. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
She hugged them both, then looked around at the kitchen. “Do you need help with dinner?” she asked Harper.
Sisters Like Us Page 3
