It was the last of the items she’d ordered for Ashton’s visit. His room was ready with a new bed, linens and a desk. Kit had moved in a TV they rarely used. Stacey had added a few framed prints for color, then had gone online for a back-to-school bundle box. Ashton only had a couple of classes to finish, but she didn’t know if he would think to bring things like pens, paper and Post-it notes. Besides, who didn’t love school supplies?
She carefully tucked the box into her backpack so as not to strain her body. Carrying the baby had thrown her body out of alignment. Her prenatal yoga helped her strength and balance, but she wanted to make sure she didn’t pull a muscle.
Once the backpack was in place, she walked out and untied Bay.
“Good girl,” she told the dog as she crouched down and hugged her. Bay licked her cheek.
Stacey rose and started back to the house. She liked having Bay around. The dog was easy to take care of and good company. What she didn’t want to admit but couldn’t avoid was the fact that the dog was also a distraction from her own pregnancy.
The same with Ashton. Kit was a perfect husband and had never once mentioned the irony of her interest in getting Ashton’s room ready while refusing to do anything about their baby’s space. Every morning he tore another sheet off the calendar, gently reminding her that there was an inevitable end to what she was going through.
Sometimes Stacey wished the baby was already here so she wouldn’t be worrying about what was going to happen. She would already know if she could fake being a decent mother or not.
If only she was more like Harper, she thought. Talented and loving, with great mothering skills. But Stacey wasn’t. She and her sister had always been close but oh so different. One of her earliest Christmas memories was of opening an Easy-Bake Oven from Santa. She’d immediately started mixing together ingredients—not to bake a cake, but to get a chemical reaction.
Bunny had never understood and Stacey’s dad hadn’t much cared. He’d regretted not having sons instead of daughters. But Grandpa Wray had been there for her. He’d wanted to talk about things like jet propulsion and living on Mars, and she’d wanted to listen.
He’d been the one to show her how to use a telescope and a microscope. When girls her age had been playing with dolls, she’d been trying to find a science club and building computers. With Grandpa Wray’s help, she’d gotten to go to Space Camp when she was nine. The following summer, while the rest of the family had been at Disney World, she and Grandpa Wray had visited Cape Canaveral and been taken on a private tour.
“Grandpa Wray wanted me to be an astronaut,” she told Bay as they turned onto their street. “I would have been interested if there had been a Mars mission on the horizon, but that’s still so many years away. I went into medical research instead.” She smiled at the dog. “He was a great man. You would have liked him.”
Bay’s stubby tail wagged as she listened attentively.
“I always fit with Grandpa Wray,” she continued. “He didn’t care that I was smart or awkward or that I couldn’t make piecrust by the time I was eight.” Unlike her mother, who had cared about all those things. Bunny had always resented her youngest being more interested in how the world worked than how to knit, sew or decoupage. How many times had Harper stood up for her, defending her when Bunny went on the attack?
Stacey undid Bay’s leash as they entered the house, then lowered her backpack onto a chair. She checked on the Crock-Pot chili Kit had started that morning before walking into the bedroom to change out of her work clothes.
French doors led to their fenced backyard. Although they were only a mile or two from the ocean, they didn’t have a view. Stacey had never understood paying for something as silly as the ability to see something in nature. The brain responded to inputs that were essential for survival. Everything else faded into the background. She knew that she would cease to see a view within a matter of weeks, so why pay for it?
She’d already bought the house when she met Kit. The first time he’d come over, she’d told him her theory about views. He’d responded by telling her she was about the sexiest woman he’d ever met.
The news had surprised her. Stacey knew she was relatively attractive and she kept herself fit. There had always been men in her life—no one all that special, but she’d had boyfriends. Still, she’d frequently had the sense that they were more interested in her body than in her brain. Kit was the first romantic partner who made her feel safe and loved for who she was.
She changed into yoga pants and a T-shirt, then walked barefoot to the living room. Bay trailed along with her. Once the DVD was in the machine, Bay curled up in her bed by the sofa. She glanced at the door before putting her head down.
“Kit will be back in an hour,” Stacey told her. “He goes to a support group for stay-at-home dads.” Something he’d started when they’d learned she was pregnant.
“Kit’s like that. He asks for help. He solicits advice. He’s extremely well-adjusted.” All things she admired about him, probably because none of those characteristics described her. He’d suggested she look for a support group for working moms but so far she hadn’t been interested.
There’s something wrong with you! You’re not a normal girl.
The memory echoed unexpectedly in her mind, as vivid and uncomfortable as it had been when the words had first been screamed at her.
She’d been thirteen and eager to talk to her mother. Stacey had secretly scheduled a meeting with one of the high school counselors to talk about an accelerated program so she could go to college early. She’d already decided to focus on medical research—especially diseases of the central nervous system—so why wait to get started?
With the information in hand, Stacey was determined to convince her mother to let her start the process in the fall. Bunny had wanted to talk about the fact that a boy had called for Stacey.
Looking back, Stacey realized they’d talked at cross purposes for nearly ten minutes before figuring out what the other was saying. Stacey had dismissed the call while Bunny had refused to discuss Stacey starting high school in the fall and finishing in two years.
“No man wants a woman who’s that smart,” her mother had told her. “Accept who you are.”
“This is who I am,” she’d yelled back. “I want to go to college. I don’t want to talk to some stupid boy on the phone, okay?”
“There’s something wrong with you. You’re not a normal girl.”
She’d brushed off the assessment, raced to her room and had immediately called her grandpa Wray. He and Bunny had fought for days, while Stacey’s father had ignored whatever was going on at home and Harper had offered Stacey sisterly support. In the end, the outcome was inevitable. Bunny might not like it, but she could never say no to her father. He was, after all, a man.
As Stacey stood with her feet shoulder-width apart and began to concentrate on her breathing, she acknowledged yet more irony in her life. Bunny wanted her daughters to be exactly like her and she resented that Stacey refused to cooperate. That Stacey had been able to go to college when she was barely sixteen had happened because a man had intervened. She’d achieved her escape and her success in part because of her mother’s anachronistic worldview.
She should find humor in that, only she couldn’t. Instead she pressed her right hand against her growing belly and wondered if it was possible her mother was right. And if there was something wrong with her, how would that play out for Baby Joule?
Chapter Seven
HARPER HAD ALL the gift bags stacked together in boxes. Cathy had texted to say she wouldn’t be picking them up until tomorrow, after all, which left Harper nearly frothing. She could have had an extra two days to maybe get some sleep instead of staying up for two nights to get them done. She didn’t know if she was angrier at Cathy for playing her or herself for being played.
She heard a knock at the front do
or, then Lucas walked in. Thor immediately raced toward him. Lucas bent over and greeted the dog before calling out, “It’s me.”
Harper set the last box in place by the sofa and looked at her client/friend. Despite having worked all day, Lucas looked as fresh and handsome as he had that morning. His shirt was barely wrinkled, he was rested and tanned, while she was a hot mess. No, she thought, thinking of her mom jeans and stained T-shirt. Even her messiness wasn’t the least bit hot. She was a cold mess.
“Hi. Catch any bad guys?”
“A couple.”
“Want to stay to dinner?”
The invitation was automatic. She wasn’t sure when or how it had started, but Lucas ate dinner with them at least three nights a week. Thanks to Bunny’s skillful tutelage and years of training, Harper chronically overbought and overcooked, so there was always plenty for unexpected company. Lucas was funny, charming and a lovely distraction when things with her mother got too intense or moments with her daughter got too quiet.
Harper already had a salad made. She’d prepared vegetables for steaming and had Chicken Piccata ready to brown and simmer. The drama of this evening’s meal would be the—wait for it—store-bought pasta.
“I’d love to,” he said. “Thank you.”
“I bought the noodles. Bunny’s going to have a fit. Just so you’re warned.”
“Unarmed drama doesn’t faze me.”
They walked into the study together. Lucas crossed to the wall safe that had come with the house. It was a silly thing, really, but kind of sweet—whenever he came to dinner from work, he locked up his gun. She’d tried to explain it was unlikely that either Becca or her mother were going to lunge for it, and if they did, she was sure he could take them, but he insisted.
“What if I had a breakdown during the meal?” she asked. “I know the combination. I could take out everyone.”
He put the gun in the otherwise-empty safe and turned the lock to secure it. “It’s a plain black gun, Harper. You couldn’t possibly use it without gussying it up in some way first. I’d have time to subdue you while the glue set.”
Even as she chuckled, she wondered if there was an uncomfortable truth in his words.
They returned to the living room to find Jazz waiting for them. She ran over to get her greeting from Lucas. When he’d finished rubbing her face, he grabbed one of the rope toys the dogs loved and got on the floor with the two of them. There was much growling, yipping and wrestling as man and dogs vied for the precious toy. Harper retreated to the kitchen to continue prepping the meal. Per the rules of the universe, or maybe just per her mother, the salad plates should be set on the table at precisely six-thirty.
To that end, she got out a small mixing bowl, along with the ingredients for her Smokey Paprika dressing. She poured it into a dressing-size crystal pitcher, then whipped up the sauce for the chicken.
Lucas wandered into the kitchen and went to the sink to wash his hands. “Those dogs are smart. I have to up my game.”
Harper nodded at them feverishly drinking from their bowls. “If it makes you feel any better, they’re saying the same thing about you.”
He dried his hands, then leaned against the counter. “I saw the gift bags. They’re impressive.”
“Thanks. It’s a fiftieth wedding anniversary party. I’m sure it’s going to be lovely.”
Lucas’s gaze settled on her face. For a second, she was terrified that he was going to ask her how long they’d taken or had she been paid enough. He was always ready with the unexpected question. Thankfully he only said, “You’re busy these days.”
“I am.”
She walked into the dining room and studied the table. They were still celebrating spring, so the tablecloth was a pale mint color. She’d already stacked plates, patterned napkins and place mats on one end of the table. Now she just had to deal with the rest of it.
“Misty is going to be on an HBO special,” she said, as she headed for the craft room.
Lucas followed her. “That’s great.”
“I know. She’s so sweet. I love working with her.”
“If you say she’s your favorite, I’ll be crushed.”
Harper grinned. “She is, but I won’t say it.”
“Thank you. Let me know when the special’s on. I’ll want to watch.”
“Some of the humor is fairly subtle. I’m not sure Persimmon will get it.”
“Persimmon and I are reaching the end of our time together.”
“Because she’s turning twenty-three?”
“Something like that.”
Harper flipped on the lights to her craft room. She kept her dining room supplies at one end. She pointed to several clear, plastic drawers.
“Napkin rings. Pink, rose or silver. You pick,” she said as she studied her collection of vases and bowls, wondering what would be the easiest to put on the table.
Lucas held up four ribbed silver napkin rings. “These okay?”
“They’re great.”
She grabbed small, silver tone boxes in various heights and thrust them at Lucas, then chose flameless candles that would fit inside. Before turning away from the wall of crap she kept just because she was expected to decorate her table every single night for dinner, she flashed on her small, cramped office space and realized that, as always, Lucas was right.
“Oh no,” she said. “I’ve been doing this all wrong.”
“Your table?” her mother asked, appearing at the craft room door. “I’ve been telling you that for years. You need to layer your linens. Really, Harper, a tablecloth, place mats and napkins? A monkey could be more creative. At least make shorter, contrasting runners to drape widthwise. It will add visual interest.”
Harper found herself automatically considering her mother’s idea. In that nanosecond, she thought about the fabric she kept on hand and how easy it would be to pull out her sewing machine and—
“No!” She literally took a step back and shook her head. “No, Mom. Stop, please. I’m not looking for more ways to waste time decorating the table for dinner.”
“Waste time? It’s dinner with your family. What could be more important?”
Lucas took the supplies she’d given him and left. Harper put the flameless candles down and put her hands on her hips. “Mom, I’m serious. I can’t keep doing this. I have work I need to be doing. I have another order for gift bags, Misty needs new T-shirt designs. I heard back from the city and they want me to get going on the summer mailer. Once I design it and get it printed, I have to put on all the labels myself.”
Lucas returned and collected the candles. “Hire someone to do the grunt work.”
“What?” Harper and Bunny said together.
Bunny glared at him. “Lucas, I know you’re trying to help, but be serious. It’s bad enough Harper is taking time from raising Becca to do this, but to hire an assistant? If she’s going to work, she should be doing it all herself.”
Which was exactly what Harper had been thinking, only hearing her mother say it put the sentiment in a totally different light.
“Why?” she asked.
Bunny stared at her. “Why what?”
“Why can’t I hire someone? Why is that so awful? Mom, I’m drowning here. My job is how I feed my family. I’m struggling every single month. Your rent money helps and I appreciate it, but it doesn’t come close to covering the mortgage, let alone the expenses. I have no idea if Terence is going to keep his promise about paying for half Becca’s college, so I have to deal with that, as well.”
Bunny sniffed. “Becca’s a beautiful young woman. Why does she need to go to college? She’ll marry a nice boy who will take care of her.”
Harper did her best not to shriek. “Mom, no. Just no. Becca is going to get an education so she has choices and can take care of herself. I thought I’d have a man to take care of me a
nd look where that got me. I will not put my daughter in this position. It worked out for you but it doesn’t work out that way for everyone. I want Becca to be strong and independent, like Stacey. She’s smart and capable. We need to encourage her to be her best self.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m being honest. I’m nearly forty-two, Mom, and I’m struggling. It’s my fault—I get that. I should have finished college. I should have gone to work when Becca started school, but I didn’t. I’m doing the best I can with the choices I made.” She squared her shoulders. “I didn’t have time to make pasta. I bought some from the store. You’re going to have to deal with that.”
Bunny glared at her, then turned on her heel and marched out of the room. It was only then Harper saw her daughter and Jazz standing in the doorway.
“Your grandmother thinks I should layer more linens when I set the table.”
Becca rubbed Jazz’s head. “Going crossways? I can see how that would be pretty. You’re not going to do it, are you?”
“No.”
Becca smiled. “Mom, store-bought pasta is okay with me. The same with bread and cookies and anything else you don’t want to make. I’ve had it all before at my friends’ houses and it’s not horrible.”
“Thank you. I knew I couldn’t trust those other mothers. They always said they were feeding you homemade but they were lying.”
Becca giggled. Harper allowed herself to smile.
“Grandma loves the drama,” Becca told her. “It makes her feel special.”
An unexpected insight. “Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome.” Her daughter sighed. “Thor ate the raw chicken.”
“What?”
Becca grinned. “I’m kidding, Mom.”
Harper pressed her hand to her chest. “Don’t do that. I’m getting old and I could very possibly have a heart condition.”
* * *
Becca tried to summon some enthusiasm as she lay sprawled on the comfortable sofa. She had a feeling that Lucas hadn’t been kidding about her keeping up her grades in exchange for him helping her get in her driving hours. She was doing okay in English, Spanish and geometry. It was European History where she was getting Cs. History was so boring. The whole second half of the class focused on World War II, which was, like, a million years ago. Why did anyone care about that kind of stuff?
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