“That monstrous baby is Padma. I have literally known her my whole life. There is nothing there.”
Evelyn swallowed a nervous giggle, gratified to see that she hadn’t started out as gorgeous as she ended up. “It’s not about Padma,” she sighed.
“What, then?” he exploded.
She glanced behind her. His mother would be back at any moment and she still needed to get changed, get Magnus up, make sure there were enough clean dishes for all of them. And goodness, who knew what state the bathroom was in. She couldn’t have a fight with him now. For him to try to start one was selfish.
“I can’t,” she said. “Not now. Your family—” she broke off and turned away.
She didn’t want red, blotchy skin and swollen eyes under the scrutiny of his parents, couldn’t stand the pitying looks of his blissfully happily married sister or the jokes from his smartass brother. She just wanted to stuff herself into her one dress that fit and try to make them think everything was fine. Which was what Sam had led them to believe, so he was the ringmaster of their pathetic circus. He could just wait.
As she hurried to her room to change, she heard him swear and hit the counter again, but he didn’t come after her.
Chapter 9
“Were your parents not able to make it?” Genevieve asked after Sam’s dad served up the pre-sliced roast.
Evie smiled forcefully at Sam, a look full of the promise of retribution, and shook her head. “They couldn’t get away, but they’ll be back for their winter break.” Her parents were university professors and it was a fairly good excuse, and they would be visiting during their winter holiday. Sam was lucky the excuse was so easy and genuine or she would have let him answer his mother’s question.
“So how are we saying his name?” Sam’s dad asked, reaching over to tap Magnus on the nose. “Father Branaghan will need it written out. Poor old sod can’t remember his own name these days.”
“Graham!” Sam’s mother admonished with a tolerant smile.
They were so happy it made Evelyn squirm. Why couldn’t they bicker and say unkind things to make her see what a chore it was being in a life-long relationship? Why were they making it look so attractive? And Sam’s recently married sister and her husband Donald weren’t helping either, stealing those gooey eyed glances at each other. She scooped a large spoon of whipped butter with chives onto her baked potato.
“Magnus Fitzwilliam Merkholtz-Maclean,” she said, chucking him under his chubby chin with each name and making him smile. “It’s a big name for a big boy.” She looked up to see Sam’s parents looking uncomfortable, and his sister and brother trying to hide malicious grins. Only Angie’s staid husband seemed unphased by Magnus’s name.
His sister Angie finally giggled. “It’s a magnificent name.”
“It’s majestic,” his brother Martin snorted in agreement.
“It’s a bloody mouthful,” Sam’s father said, giving them both quelling looks. “Let’s hope you’re going to teach the lad to fight.”
Evelyn dropped her fork. Sam quickly jumped in. “No one’s going to teach him to fight, Evelyn.”
“He likes you to think he’s civilized, but how do you think I got this bump on my nose?” Martin asked, turning to profile his slightly crooked nose.
“I’ll break it again for ye if ye dinna shut up,” Sam said, face turning red. Martin merely smiled, seeing that he’d gotten a rise out of Sam, his job as an older brother done.
“So, you’ve hyphen—” Genevieve started but Sam cut her off.
“Aye, we’ve hyphenated his name,” he said shortly. “As we would ha’ done if we were married, so you may as well no’ start on that, mum.”
Sam’s mother looked affronted that he should accuse her of something so dastardly as wanting to see her youngest son married. “I just don’t see—” she tried again to speak.
“No, ye clearly dinna see,” Sam said.
“Oi, lad, I’ll no’ have ye speak to yer mum like that,” his father said in a warning tone.
Red alert, everyone was going Scottish. Sam barely had the lightest brogue unless he was riled up. If the accents were coming out in force, things could get ugly. Things could get broken. Evelyn wondered if she should take the vase from the center of the table.
“Enough. Can ye no’ see Evelyn is getting frightened?” Angela teased, placing her hand on Sam’s arm. “Mum, don’t you remember the trauma of planning my wedding, and we had no overseas relatives we needed to coordinate with, no wee bairn. Just let them do it in their own time, will you?”
Sam looked surprised that his sister would come to his rescue and Evelyn smiled gratefully at Angie, a lump forming in her throat, because at one time she had considered her almost a sister-in-law.
Fortunately Donald asked Martin how the London publishing scene was going and he complained about that for a good ten minutes, giving Evelyn a chance to regroup. She knew Sam’s parents liked her and she liked them both as well, very much. When Genevieve had returned with the food, she’d successfully guessed Magnus’s weight, palpated his tummy and looked in his eyes, then pronounced him perfect in every way, and not just from a grandmother’s point of view but also that of a retired pediatrician. Graham had roughly hugged her and told her she looked lovely when he’d arrived later with the others.
Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if they were disappointed that she wasn’t Scottish, wasn’t Catholic, and still wasn’t married to their son. They would probably write her off forever when they learned she was leaving Castle on Hill with their only grandchild.
“Well, I think it’s awfully kind of you to let the baby be christened, even though you aren’t Catholic,” Genevieve said out of the blue, causing Evelyn’s heart to nearly stop. Did she have Scottish grandmother mind reading abilities?
“It’s- it’s not—” she stammered, looking at Sam to help her out.
“It’s not a big deal,” he finished for her, not one bit of help. If he hadn’t been sitting next to Donald, she might have tried to kick him under the table, but she was afraid she would miss.
“No, it’s fine. It’s not up to me, is what I’m trying to say.” She slumped in her chair, her dress digging into her waist.
“Are you a protestant, then?” Donald asked, eyebrows raised in mock horror. “An American protestant?”
Angela punched him lightly in the shoulder. “Our Evie’s Jewish, remember? A ginger Polish Jew.”
Sam laughed into his napkin. “Poor mum is still reeling from embarrassment over telling her happy Christmas last year,” he said, causing his brother to crack up.
Evelyn gave up caring about collateral damage and went ahead and kicked him under the table.
Genevieve’s face was blazing red. “Well, the lass eats so much bacon, there was no way we could have known,” she said.
Martin nearly choked, he was laughing so hard. Evelyn dropped her face into her hands, not sure whether to laugh or cry.
“You mustn’t be embarrassed,” she told Genevieve. “I always celebrated Christmas with Piper’s family and yes, I eat my fair share of bacon.” She paused to let Martin chortle some more. Sam had a straight face, but she’d kicked him pretty hard so it might have been fear keeping him in line. “My parents don’t really practice. Seriously, it’s fine. We’ll teach Magnus both and he can choose what he wants to be when he’s older.”
“Mum, when was the last time you were even in a church, and not to take pictures of the stained glass, either,” Martin piped up when she looked scandalized.
She frowned at him and rolled her eyes, but didn’t answer, instead getting up to get the dessert.
“At least the wee lad got Sam’s hair color,” Donald said, earning himself a harder punch in the arm from Sam.
“We don’t make fun of gingers in this household,” he said seriously.
Any leftover tension drifted away with everyone’s good-natured laughter and Evelyn felt able to breathe again. The rest of it was a blur of Sam feveris
hly dodging questions, poor Angie being targeted by her mother as to when she would be having a baby, and Martin getting raked over the coals for not even having any prospects for marriage, and him the oldest.
As everyone finally left, Angie hung back and quickly explained to her exactly what she would have to do the next day during the ceremony.
“You mustn’t let mum get to you,” she said. With the others out in the drive saying goodnight, she pulled Evelyn further away. “Is everything all right with you and Sammy?” she asked anxiously.
Evelyn sighed, wanting more than anything to spill the truth. “We’re just nervous about tomorrow,” she said, letting Angie hug her, eaten up with guilt for the lies.
“Good,” she said. “He’d be utterly unbearable without you.”
Chapter 10
Evelyn didn’t say a word to Sam after his family left. She took sleepy Magnus into her room and firmly shut the door, leaving the dinner mess for Sam to either deal with or not. Genevieve had eagerly offered to stay and clean up, but she was about to blow, and Sam had fortunately noticed and sent his mother away.
She got Mags into his pajamas and put him in his crib, stroking his fuzzy head until his eyelids finally closed and his chubby cheeks were slack with deep infant sleep. She was tired enough to wish she could fall into an untroubled sleep like that, but upset enough to know it would never happen.
She knew if she left the safety of her bedroom, she’d find Sam sitting in the kitchen or on the couch, ready to have it out with her. Part of her longed to get it over with, then she could cry herself to sleep, but she wanted to look decent for the christening. They’d gone over all the old pictures after dinner and the event was going to be immortalized forever on film, as Sam’s, Angela’s and Martin’s had been.
Looking around the room, silent save for Magnus’s gentle breathing, she realized with a sharp pang how lonely she was. She had an inkling that Herb was still interested in her, even after their awkward almost, not quite dinner date. He was a sweet, smart, successful man. They got along well, and he made her laugh. His hair was always so precise, never unruly. Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine running her fingers through it. Nope. Her eyes flew open and she gasped, feeling the sadness of her situation like a punch in the stomach.
She wondered for a mad second what would happen if she went out and put her arms around Sam’s neck and rested her head against his shoulder. They could sink into the magical couch, arms and legs touching, and doze off to the sounds of a twenty year old movie they’d seen a dozen times already. It took her several minutes to remember why she couldn’t go do that. Oh crap, there were the tears she wanted so badly to avoid.
She snuck out to the bathroom and washed her face with icy water, slathered on a thick layer of soothing night cream, then took a Benadryl to help her sleep.
When she woke up, Magnus was not in his crib, but she could hear Sam in the kitchen and smell bacon so her heart didn’t jump out of her chest. She wrapped herself in her bathrobe and found Mags propped up in his chair on the bar, his solemn baby eyes watching his da fry up a big greasy breakfast.
Sam didn’t notice her right away and she silently watched him for a moment, so blasted adorable in his low riding striped pajama pants, a thermal shirt clinging to his damn muscles. And the bacon smell. It was enough to make her forgive anything.
When he turned around and saw her, she returned his smile with a sincere one of her own. She hadn’t forgotten anything, but this was a special day for Mags. And unfortunately, nothing was going away. They could just as easily fight about her moving away later as they could now. She just wanted to dig into the pile of toast and maybe read a few paragraphs of her book before the day started.
When Sam sat down to his own breakfast, he too opened a book and leaned over the table to read a bit while he ate. Every once in a while, one of them reached over and patted Magnus, who’d already had his morning bottle and was perfectly content to sit in his chair and kick his feet.
If there hadn’t been so much turmoil underneath, it would have been perfect, exactly as Sam described when she first moved back in with him. She would have liked to freeze the moment forever, never have to face what was coming, but it was time to get ready for church. As if she were heading to a firing squad, she put her dish in the sink and dragged herself to get dressed.
“I promise it won’t be that bad,” Sam called after her.
But it was worse. Not that anything went wrong, but that everyone was so happy. Every time one of Sam’s family members or one of Magnus’s three hundred godparents hugged her, she felt like a sham, like she didn’t deserve their hugs of acceptance. They were treating her like she was one of them, and she wanted to be so badly. Every time Sam caught her eye and smiled at her hopefully she began to feel hopeful herself.
At Maison Craig after the church service, everyone crammed together around several tables, laughing and hollering over each other as drinks were poured and scrumptious food was served.
Piper, who successfully finagled herself a position as a godmother even though she wasn’t Catholic either, gave her mournful looks every chance she got, as if this would be the last gathering ever, and she’d never visit again after they moved to Inverness.
A few of the godfathers got a bit tipsy and another of the godmothers, who ran the small theatre, got up and made a lovely toast, beginning with a story of how annoying young Sam used to be, to how he was such a pillar of the community now, and how pleased they all were that he’d managed to find a good woman, and now had a beautiful son.
Evelyn was bawling into her wine glass at the end of the speech and out of weakness let Sam put his arms around her. How could she leave these people, this town? She felt sick.
When Genevieve offered to take Magnus until that evening so she and Sam could relax for a while, her first reaction was utter terror. First at letting Magnus out of her or Sam’s sight, something she hadn’t let happen since they’d got him back, and second at the thought of being alone with Sam. There would be no way she could hide behind a fussy baby or pretend she had to get him to sleep and then never come out of her room. She almost leaned over and grabbed her knees before Sam smoothly accepted his mother’s offer. He glanced at her and she nodded stiffly. She was going to have to suck it up and face the music when they got home, and his mom was certainly qualified to take the baby for a few hours.
As stupid as she knew it was, her dread grew as they drove home in silence. She wanted to turn the radio on, but knew her hands would shake so she kept them clutched together in her lap. Stop being such a pea brain, Merkholtz, she berated herself. It was Sam, not an evil inquisitor.
To her surprise, when they got back to the house, he dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and headed to his room.
“I’m going to get a nap,” he said, his voice and eyes tired. Could he have had some sleepless nights as well?
“But I thought we were going to talk about, uh, things,” she blurted, wanting to kick herself. She was so close to being off the hook and she’d jumped right back on it.
He sighed and shrugged. “Were we?” he asked coldly and her heart sank.
She felt tears burning the backs of her eyes and they hadn’t even begun yet. How could he do that to her? It was so unfair. They stared at one another for a heart wrenching minute.
“I can’t make you stay,” he said finally, voice still cold. “I don’t think begging would help.”
She slumped onto a bar stool. “I don’t want you to beg,” she said. She searched deep. No, she didn’t want that. She didn’t even know what she wanted anymore.
“I don’t know why you left,” he said. “You say you don’t trust me, but I honestly don’t know why. So if you want to tell me, maybe I can give an argument for myself. Or maybe I’ll agree that we should part ways. But like I said, I don’t know unless you tell me.”
She pressed her arms into her stomach and grimaced, not knowing where to begin, but seeing that he was quickly get
ting impatient, she plowed forward. “It was the classic rock,” she said. She held up her hand when his eyes grew wide with disbelief. “When we first met, you said you liked the same music as I did. I even asked you about certain bands. Remember?”
He nodded but didn’t say anything. His eyes were stormy but she was determined to be heard.
“Well, after we moved in together, before Mags was born, I wanted something to listen to while I jogged, so I took your player. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“No, of course not,” he said.
She hurried to continue. “Well it was all classic rock. There weren’t any of the songs I liked— that you said you liked. And that was when I started noticing you did that a lot.”
“Did what, Evelyn?” He sounded more desperate to understand than angry.
She flapped her hands at her sides in frustration, because it was so easy for her to see. “Okay, when we bought the crib bedding,” she said, casting around for examples. “You liked the plain blue stripes, I know you did, but you said you liked the circus print because it was my favorite.”
“That’s crib bedding,” he said. “It’s not that important.”
“Well, then, our trip before Mags was born. You wanted Malta but I wanted Portugal, and where did we end up going? You gave in to my choice. That was important. It may be years before we get another trip like that.” She put her hand over her mouth, realizing what she said. Of course there wouldn’t be any more romantic trips for them.
“One beach is as good as another to me,” he said. “And it wasn’t as if you ever went out on the sand anyway. We’d have done as well to stay here and saved the money.”
She blushed because she had argued for a beach babymoon and then felt as big as a house and hadn’t wanted to get into her ugly pregnancy bathing suit. Making her remember that just fueled her fire. “And I think you hate jogging,” she accused. “But you still go with me.”
Sam swore and began to pace. “I don’t hate jogging,” he said slowly. “You’re speaking like you’re mad.”
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