“I’m just catching up, so bear with me,” he snapped again, worried that his purpose was about to get lost in their defensiveness toward each other. He removed his hat, wiped his brow with his forearm and started again. “You’re going to have my baby.”
“Yes. I’m nearly five months pregnant.”
That gave them a little more than four months before the baby arrived. The urgency of the matter came crashing down on him. “I want to accept responsibility for my child.”
“What does that mean?” she asked, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes.
“I’m sure there’ve been some medical expenses to do with the pregnancy?”
She seemed surprised by his question. “I have health insurance that will pay a portion of the medical bills.”
“It’s only right that I assume whatever costs are above and beyond that.”
His offer was followed by silence.
“That would be appreciated,” she finally managed to say.
He knew her well enough to realize she wouldn’t have asked.
Maddy offered him a half smile that looked like appreciation, then turned away, assuming he was finished.
“That’s not all,” he announced gruffly, wishing they could have this conversation someplace other than the middle of a country road with the sun melting the last of the snowdrifts and the sky above them a brilliant blue.
“I also feel it’s appropriate that I pay you some kind of support. If you want, we can have the papers drawn up by an attorney.”
“I—”
“You keep reminding me that you don’t need anything. Well, fine, so be it, but this isn’t a question of what you need. The point here is that this is my child, too. I plan to assume my share of the financial responsibility.”
“All right,” she said, her voice quiet. “Thank you.”
“I’d like something in exchange.”
The eyes that had just started to soften became veiled and suspicious. “What?” she demanded.
“I’d like the baby to be named McKenna—but only if you agree.” Jeb expected her to object, to remind him she was doing this all on her own, without asking anything of him.
After a moment, she nodded.
“You agree?” he asked, unable to hide his surprise.
Once more she answered with a nod. “I have no intention of keeping this child from you, Jeb. If there was any hesitation on my part it’s because I didn’t know how willing you were to be a part of his life.”
“It’s a boy?” He grinned broadly. “Hey, that’s great!”
She smiled. “How male of you, Jeb McKenna, to want a son. I don’t know yet what I’m having.”
“But they can tell, can’t they?”
“I understand the ultrasound sometimes reveals the sex, but I’d prefer not to know, so I’m going to ask the technician not to say anything. It doesn’t matter to me whether it’s a boy or girl.” She stopped abruptly as if a thought had suddenly come to her. “Does it matter to you? I know men usually prefer sons, but—”
“It makes no difference to me,” he was quick to tell her. Good grief, he was just becoming accustomed to the idea that she was pregnant. In his mind, the baby was a baby; he hadn’t stopped to think beyond that.
“Would you like to be involved in choosing the name?” Maddy asked.
“I…I don’t know. Can I get back to you on that?”
“Of course.” She looked so fragile and sweet, he thought. “Anything else?”
He shook his head. The tension left his body, and he realized he’d been worried about this conversation for a very long time.
Maddy started toward her car, then halted. “I appreciate the fact that we can talk about the baby, Jeb. There’ll be quite a few decisions over the next few years and it’ll help considerably if we can remain…friendly.”
“I agree,” he said. “I feel the same way.” And he did.
On April first, Calla stopped at the small post office to collect the mail. It was a legitimate excuse to delay going to her mother’s shop. Today was April Fools’, which seemed fitting because that was exactly what she felt like. A fool. She’d been keen on Joe Lammermann for a couple of months. He was the best-looking boy in class. He’d asked her to the Sweetheart Dance on Valentine’s Day, and for once, her mother hadn’t gone parental on her and had let her stay out later than normal.
After the dance—Joe had his driver’s license—they’d driven out to Juniper Creek Road and sat and talked for hours. They’d done some kissing, too, and she’d let him do other things she wasn’t particularly proud of now. Nothing drastic. Nothing that put her in any danger of getting pregnant.
They’d gone out since, and she’d considered them a couple—although she’d drawn the line at necking. He’d protested, but seemed to accept her decision.
Then this morning, at school, Joe had told her he’d met a girl in Devils Lake. She was older, more mature, and he thought it was best if he and Calla started seeing other people. Calla wasn’t an idiot; she knew what older and more mature meant. This other girl was prettier, probably more experienced—and more willing. Everything Calla wasn’t.
From there, her day had gone steadily downhill.
Normally, Mrs. Sinclair was pretty cool about stuff that went on at school. Not today. She’d written a note, sealed it and asked Calla to take it home to her mother. Calla didn’t need to be a psychic to figure out what her teacher had said. Preoccupied with her boyfriend, insufficient attention to school, blah, blah, blah. The minute her mother read it, she’d probably ground Calla. The way her luck was going, Sarah might even make her quit her job at The Pizza Parlor.
There were ways of handling situations like this. Calla figured if she brought the note into the store after school, her mother wasn’t as likely to explode. Not in front of her little worker bees. And especially not in front of customers.
The post office was deserted when Calla entered. The box held a bunch of junk mail and one envelope. She glanced at it, saw what looked to be a bill addressed to her mother. Calla tucked it inside her backpack and started to leave. She stopped abruptly. A bill from someone named Susanne Sullivan, Attorney-at-Law.
Why in hell did her mother need an attorney? She hadn’t said a word, not even one little word.
She couldn’t resist taking the letter from her backpack and checking it out a second time. Holding it up to the light, all she could make out was a series of numbers. A billing statement? Her mother certainly hadn’t said anything to Calla about seeking legal advice.
Curiosity got the better of her. She had to know. Had to. She was going to be grounded anyway, so she might as well make the time served worth her while. Instead of heading directly to her mother’s store as she’d planned, she walked home. Once safe inside her bedroom, she carefully peeled open the envelope and removed the single sheet.
She’d been right. It was a billing statement. Frowning, Calla read over the typed lines, not sure what any of it meant. The charges were for fees paid to a process server, plus court filing fees. Not until she read the bottom line did everything click into place.
Her mother was divorcing her father.
Her parents had never gotten a divorce the way she’d always been led to believe. Every ugly thing she’d ever thought about her mother was true and Calla had the proof of it right here in her own hands.
Her mother disgusted her. All this time, she’d been cheating on Calla’s father with Dennis Urlacher. Sneaking around at night, sleeping with him, lying to Calla and her grandfather, to everyone. There was only one reason she’d go through with the divorce now, especially since she’d waited all these years—she wanted to marry Dennis.
That thought repulsed her even more. She could imagine how dreadful her life would be if her mother did marry him. The two of them would be all lovey-dovey, which was so gross. Plus, Calla would feel like a total outsider in what was supposed to be her home. No one had ever said it to her, but she knew one of the reasons Dennis
was dating other women was that he wanted a family. If he married her mother, there’d soon be other kids around. Their children. She’d be a stepkid, unwanted and unloved. A constant reminder of a time they both wanted to forget, a marriage her mother considered a mistake.
Lifting her mattress to get at her hiding place between it and the bedsprings, Calla carefully withdrew the letter she’d received from her father two months earlier. She’d reread it so often she almost knew it by heart.
Dear Calla,
Sorry I haven’t written in a while. I’ve been busy, but I want you to know I got your letters. I haven’t heard from your mother, though. Tell her she can come see me whenever she wants. The door is always open. We had some good times, your mother and me. It’s too bad about what happened, but that’s all water under the bridge now. Tell her I don’t hold any hard feelings. I’m big enough to forgive her for walking out on me, and taking you with her. Even though you’re the only bright spot in my life.
You wanted to know about coming for a visit. Any time, sweetie, you know that. I can only imagine the garbage your mother’s been giving you about me all these years. Just remember—anything she said ain’t true and I can prove it.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. Thanks for the picture. You’re a real looker. All this time, and your mother never sent me one picture of you. Not one. She knew how much I loved you. The day you were born was the happiest day of my life.
Keep in touch, kid.
Your Dad
Calla had written him back the same day his letter arrived. He’d said she could come visit him, and that was what she wanted to do. Her mother wouldn’t pay for it, and her father hadn’t said anything about sending her a ticket. But Calla had money of her own now. With her job as a waitress, she collected an hourly wage, and between that and her tips, she’d managed to put aside over two hundred bucks.
As carefully as she could, Calla resealed the statement from the attorney and set it on the kitchen counter. Maybe her mother would assume someone else had brought in the mail; she hoped so.
Putting on her coat, she walked over to Buffalo Valley Quilts, mentally braced herself, then stepped inside.
Her mother glanced up from a sewing machine, and a wary expression crossed her face. Unfortunately they were alone. Calla wondered irritably where the other two women were, the ones who were supposed to be working there.
“Hello, Calla,” her mother said.
“Mrs. Sinclair wrote you a note,” Calla said. She refused to return the greeting.
“About what?”
“It’s sealed. How am I supposed to know?” she asked with a smirk. Sometimes her mother could be so dumb. She handed her the letter, folded her arms and waited for the shriek.
It never came. Instead her mother looked up from the letter and sighed.
“Aren’t you going to yell at me?”
“No.”
Calla frowned. “What did Mrs. Sinclair write you?”
Her mother slowly refolded the note and inserted it in the envelope. Calla wanted to kick herself. She’d been clever enough to open that attorney’s statement. While she was at it, she should have opened the note from Mrs. Sinclair, as well.
“You’re having some personal trouble you want to talk about?” her mother asked, sounding concerned. “Apparently your grades have fallen in the last few weeks. She also says that today you seemed particularly…unhappy. Depressed.”
Mrs. Sinclair must have written about Joe. Calla thought she’d die. “She didn’t have any right to tell you,” Calla shouted.
Sarah frowned. “Tell me what?”
Calla was too upset to hear her, not that she really cared. “I was sick of Joe, anyway.” Her voice seemed shrill and unnatural.
Whirling around, Calla ran out the door, taking time to slam it with all her might. She raced back to the house and slammed through the front door and went directly to her bedroom.
She was leaving Buffalo Valley. By now her father knew about the divorce. She’d heard that in cases like this, when the children were older, they could make their own decisions; they could choose which parent they wanted to live with. If so, Calla chose her father. He loved her. He cared about her.
Calla used to think she could trust her mother, but she’d learned otherwise. Her mother had been living a lie. All these years had been one big, fat lie. She’d thought she could trust Mrs. Sinclair, too, but obviously not.
Living in this hick town was no longer an option.
Calla wanted out, even if it meant running away. Only she’d be smart about it and choose her time carefully. Then she’d go find the father she’d never really known. The father who loved her and wanted her with him.
Maddy felt good about her conversation with Jeb. He’d surprised her with his thoughtfulness, and a fragile hope had started to form. The incident on the road had given her enough confidence to leave him a phone message after her ultrasound. She hadn’t said much, just that she had pictures of the baby and he should let her know if he was interested in seeing them.
They were still uneasy with each other, a little defensive and a whole lot uncertain. But it was better, much better than it had been earlier.
Home from her doctor’s appointment and after she’d left her phone message for Jeb, Maddy walked over to the new salon for a shampoo and cut. Joanie Wyatt was there getting her hair done, as she held nine-month-old Jason on her lap.
“Hello, Maddy,” Jean Hooper said cheerfully. “Take a seat. I’m almost finished here.”
“Would you like me to hold Jason for you?” Maddy asked, watching the infant struggle to break free of his mother’s arms. Clearly he felt the world was meant to be explored and he wanted to start his adventures without delay.
“Please.” Joanie looked grateful. “He’s a handful these days, and he hates sitting in his stroller for more than a few minutes at a time.”
Maddy took the baby in her arms and he gave her a wide smile, drool dampening his chin and the front of his shirt. She used a tissue to dry his face.
“He’s teething,” Joanie explained.
“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” Jean asked Maddy, twisting the curling iron around Joanie’s thick brown hair.
“Due in August,” she answered. Jean and Carl Hooper, who managed the catalog outlet store, must have figured it out from the orders she’d placed—for a crib, a stroller and a change table. Either that, or they’d heard some gossip. And in a small town, what was a better source of gossip than a beauty parlor?
Jean’s had been a godsend as far as the women in Buffalo Valley were concerned. From the first day she opened her doors, she’d been booked solid for weeks on end. It was more difficult to get into Jean’s than to set up a doctor’s appointment. She often joked that she worked longer hours in this community with its “slower pace” than she had in Grand Forks. But she loved it and felt she was providing a real service to the women of Buffalo Valley. The men, too, if they wanted to avail themselves of her services.
Sitting down, Maddy took Jason onto her lap and cooed softly to him. She looked up. “I got my ultrasound this morning,” she told the other women.
“Girl? Boy?” Joanie asked. She sighed. “You know, it’s hard being a single parent. I did it for over a year and it was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done in my life.”
“I’m aware that it won’t be easy,” Maddy said.
“Well, if you need any help or advice, let me know, okay? I’ll save Jason’s baby clothes for you—they’ll do for either a girl or boy.”
Maddy thanked her, feeling a rush of pleasure and gratitude. She looked forward to being part of this new world, this unending circle of mothers and babies.
“Do you know what you’re going to have?” Jean asked. “If you do and you don’t mind me passing it along, I’m sure several of the ladies in town would love to hear.”
“I told the technician I didn’t want to know.” Later, Maddie’s own careful examination of the ultr
asound printout had revealed nothing definite.
Jean finished Joanie’s hair and Joanie took her son from Maddy. The baby clung to his mother’s neck, and Maddy was struck by the confidence of Joanie’s movements. Would she ever be that sure of herself with a baby? Her baby…She was a little frightened when she considered all the changes a child would bring to her life.
As Joanie left, she invited Maddy to visit and repeated her offer of baby clothes.
Half an hour later, Jean was just putting the finishing touches on Maddy’s hair when Larry Loomis burst into the salon. “Sorry to bother you, Miss Washburn,” he said, red-faced and flustered. He glanced from Maddy to Jean and then back again, obviously feeling clumsy and out of place in this female domain.
“Something wrong?” Maddy asked him.
He glanced around. “You got a phone call from Mr. McKenna. Not Mr. Joshua, but Jeb.”
“Yes?” She hoped none of the pleasure or excitement she felt could be heard in her voice.
“He wanted me to tell you he’s on his way into town. Sounded real urgent.”
“On his way?” She frowned. “You mean he’s driving into town? Why?”
“He wants to see those pictures. I don’t know what pictures he’s talking about, but I thought I should tell you.”
“Thank you, Larry.” She peered down at the shirt she’d put on that morning and hoped there’d be enough time to freshen up before he arrived.
Jeb wasn’t driving into town to see her, she realized, but she couldn’t restrain her delight.
“Well, well,” Jean said after Larry had gone. “I must say your young man has impeccable timing. You look wonderful.” She twirled Maddy around in the chair to gaze at her own reflection. Maddy stared at the woman in the mirror. She did look good, and it bolstered her confidence to know it.
Jeb got to the store shortly after she returned. He rushed inside and stopped dead when he saw her, as if he needed a moment to catch his breath before he spoke, as if the sight of her had stolen it away from him. “I got your message. The pictures?”
“I have the printout from the ultrasound,” she assured him.
Dakota Home Page 25
