Their Secret Baby Bond

by Stephanie Dees

  He unwound the scarf from his neck and wrapped it around hers, just like he had in the church courtyard. “Stay warm.”

  Her heart in her eyes, she said, “Latham...”

  “Hey, we’re not talking about it, remember?” The look in her eyes worried him. She’d been subdued all morning, and he couldn’t stop thinking that maybe the kisses that had felt so right last night were exactly the wrong thing to do, pushing her into “retreat” mode.

  “All right, then. I’ll see you around.” She backed away. “It was fun.”

  He whistled for the dogs and laughed as they tore across the unfamiliar white stuff. When he looked up, the SUV was halfway down the drive. He followed the dogs into the house and poured a lukewarm cup of coffee from one of the carafes Wynn had filled yesterday. He crossed slowly to the plateglass picture window, and watched as the SUV turned onto the highway.

  “Feels a little less warm in here without Wynn brightening the place up.” Pop stopped beside Latham at the window, buttoning up his favorite burgundy cardigan.

  “Yeah, it does.” Latham turned away from the window. “I guess I’ll stoke up the fire. The officer Joe sent out for Wynn said it might be another day before we get our power back.”

  His grandfather stepped in his way. “Are you going to let her go without a fight?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Latham had a feeling that he knew exactly what Pop meant, but he really didn’t want to talk about it. Why was it so wrong for him to want her to choose him, fight for him?

  “Anyone with eyes can see you have feelings for Wynn. Are you in love with her or not?” Pop’s bushy gray eyebrows came together in a V as he scowled at Latham.

  Latham sighed. Pop saw too much, but that wasn’t a surprise. He lifted his hands, palms up, misery like a hard rock in his belly. “I think I’ve been in love with her since we were in junior high school.”

  Pop nodded slowly, like a kindergarten teacher to a slow pupil. “Then give her a reason to stay. Give her a hundred reasons.”

  Latham paced away, but in the small kitchen, there was nowhere to run. “If I do that, and she stays, I don’t want her to resent me for being the one to cap her dreams.”

  Pop made a dismissive noise. “You kids and your dreams, like everybody always gets to do what they want. Do you think it was my big dream to be a shopkeeper? All my life I’ve loved to tinker with things. If I could’ve gone to college, I would’ve studied engineering. My father owned the store before me, and after he passed away, we found dozens of nature journals full of drawings of plants and birds and streams. Do you think he was unhappy? Do you think I was?” Pop’s voice broke. “My years with Margenia were the best years of my life. All fifty-nine of them. Some things are more important than following your own dreams.”

  Latham realized that Pop had just spoken about Gran in past tense, something he hadn’t done, not even once, since Gran died. “Pop? Let’s sit down.”

  “I don’t want to sit down. I’ve been sitting,” Pop snapped.

  Treading carefully, Latham said, “You know Gran is gone.”

  His grandfather’s watery eyes filled with tears that he was too stubborn to let fall. “Yes. She was killed in a car accident.”

  “I’m so sorry, Pop.”

  “I know you are, bud.” Pop stared out the window at the bright blue sky, unblinking, and for a second, Latham thought he’d lost him. But then Pop said, “At first it was just random pockets of time where I’d remember she was gone. And then, more and more. The kids pull you into the future, you know? Not for you, for them.”

  “I know.” Latham thought his heart might actually break in two. He loved this man so much—owed this man so much.

  Pop put a gnarled hand on the windowsill. That hand had taught Latham to fish and whittle and had smoothed his hair when he was sick more times than Latham could count. “I think somewhere inside I knew it.” He paused again. “I like the kids at the farm. I think Margenia would be proud of how I’m teaching them to do math.”

  Latham’s throat closed up, but he choked out the words. “I think so, too. I think she would be really proud.”

  “She would be proud of you, too.” Pop’s face was grooved with grief, but also with joy. His lips trembled as he smiled at Latham, but his eyes that had been clouded with confusion were clear. “Listen, here’s what I’ve learned in these past seventy-eight years. Sometimes there’s a difference between our dreams and God’s plans. Maybe it’s how He teaches us that His ways are better, I don’t know. But what I do know is that Wynn won’t resent you if you’re in this life together. You’ll boost each other up. Simple as that.”

  Latham nodded slowly. “Maybe you’re right.”

  Pop clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together. “Now, where’s that big diamond I gave your grandmother on our fiftieth wedding anniversary?”

  “In the safe-deposit box.”

  Pop shuffled back to his recliner in his old slippers, sat down and popped up the footrest. “You get that ring and put it in your pocket. Think about what it would mean to live life with Wynn, because that’s what marriage is. It’s not about you get your dream and I don’t get mine, or you give up your dream while I get what I want. It’s about building new dreams together.” He shook open yesterday’s paper and began reading it.

  “Pop...”

  “Hush, boy. Can’t you see I’m about to take a nap?”

  Latham opened his mouth and closed it again, eyes stinging with tears. Would this clarity of mind for Pop last? Maybe. He didn’t know, but he was so grateful for these moments, when he could understand the wisdom of lessons Pop had learned from a lifetime of living and loving.

  * * *

  Wynn sat in the corner of the sofa in her newly renovated space, the air still smelling of paint and spackle and freshly sawed wood. She stared at the fire, the crackle and hiss of the wood the only sound in her quiet cottage.

  Joe and Claire had invited her to stay at the main house until the power came back on. They’d had a generator installed after a particularly bad storm when they were dating, but their house was full of kids and family, loud and boisterous, and overwhelming. Sometimes that was just what she needed, but right now, she needed some peace to think.

  The words she’d thought last night were repeating themselves in her brain over and over again. If only. If only. If only.

  If only, what? If only she hadn’t gone to Washington, DC, and been stupid enough to fall for her narcissistic boss? If only she hadn’t left on graduation night?

  If only she’d realized that the boy she loved in high school was the one she’d love for the rest of her life?

  Yeah, that one was a punch in the gut.

  Because it was too late—if she asked Latham for another chance, she would be asking him to take on another life change he hadn’t planned on, and the forever commitment of instant fatherhood. She shook her head. No, he deserved his space to be the person he wanted to be, had planned to be, every bit as much as she did.

  She heard the squeals and feet hitting her porch just before the door slammed open, and her laughing sisters-in-law spilled into the room. Both were dressed in sweatpants and boots, with a variety of hats and scarves, and she was pretty sure that Jordan was wearing gardening gloves. Claire was clutching a gallon of rocky road and three spoons.

  Wynn quickly shut the door behind them, and when she turned, they were already at the fireplace, shedding layers. “What is this?”

  “Claire and I decided it was time to initiate you into a secret sisterly tradition.”

  Claire raised one eyebrow at her twin. “Is it really secret?”

  “Shh. She has to understand how solemn an occasion this is.” Jordan stopped and stared at Wynn. “Seriously, how do you do that?”

  “What?” Wynn looked at Claire, who shrugged.

  “Look like y
ou just stepped out of a catalog shoot. Claire and I look like we’ve been through the Peloponnesian Wars. I think Sparta won again.”

  “Ice cream, Jordan.” Claire eased down to the floor in front of the fire.

  “Right. So, when Claire and I are having a hard time, we break out the rocky road. It’s a little-known fact that ice cream has the power to soothe the soul and loosen the lips.”

  Claire laughed. “You weren’t supposed to tell her that part.”

  “Oh, right. Forget the part about loosening lips.” Jordan grinned as she pulled the top off the ice cream. “Truthfully, Claire and I just had to get out of the madhouse up there. After two days of being cooped in the house, the kids aren’t the only ones going crazy.”

  “I think this is a sisterly tradition I can get behind.” Wynn sat on the floor next to Jordan, grabbed a spoon and took a bite of the ice cream. “Rocky road is my favorite.”

  Claire dug her spoon into the container. “So, you got stranded at Latham’s house.”

  Wynn looked from one curious face to the other. “Yes. Nothing happened. We were all in the living room the whole time—me and Latham and his seventy-eight-year-old grandpa.”

  Jordan licked ice cream off her spoon. “Come on, give us the real scoop. The chemistry between the two of you is so obvious. You have a past—that much we already know. But is there a future for the two of you?”

  Wynn had held that future in her hand once. The futility of hoping for another chance with all that stood between them was overwhelming. She burst into tears.

  “Now look what you did, Jordan.” Claire took another bite of ice cream, the mother of many unfazed by Wynn’s tears.

  Wynn mopped at her face. “It’s not Jordan’s fault. It’s mine. I’m such a mess.”

  “It can’t be that bad. Let’s talk it through.” Jordan stuck her spoon into the container of ice cream and let it sit.

  “There’s just so much up in the air about my life right now. And I never do anything without a plan.”

  Claire nodded. “I get that. I’m the same way. So, start with the basics. You have a place to live here for as long as you want it. Do you want to stay in Red Hill Springs for the long term?”

  Wynn hadn’t admitted it, not even to herself, but she did want to stay. She’d loved being in Washington, DC, the power center, but she’d been untethered there somehow. Here she felt grounded. She could remember who she was.

  She nodded slowly. “I love it here, but I have to be able to support myself and the baby. I have to have a job—a real job.”

  “Okay, we’ll be praying about that.” Claire picked up her spoon and took another bite of ice cream. “What about Latham? You guys do have a long history together. Do you have feelings for him?”

  Tears filled her eyes again. She nodded. “But six months ago, I was convinced I was in love with my boss, until I saw his engagement announcement in the paper—to another woman.”

  “What? That jerk!” Jordan frowned. “No wonder you came home a little gun-shy.”

  Wynn sighed. “Yeah, there’s that, and the fact that I’m six and a half months pregnant.”

  The three of them heaved a simultaneous sigh.

  Claire’s calm voice broke through to Wynn. “Is what you feel for Latham different from what you felt for your boss?”

  “Yes. Definitely.” She jabbed her fingers through her hair. “I tried to forget him when I left home. I had myself convinced I’d forgotten him a long time ago. But he’s just so...”

  “Handsome,” Jordan said. “He’s really handsome.”

  Claire nodded. “Steady, too.”

  “He is. He’s smart and gorgeous and steady. The total package. I just don’t know if I’m drawn to that because my life is so unstable right now, or if I really have been in love with him since I was fourteen, because the truth is, that’s what it feels like.” She lifted a hand and let it drop, the waterworks starting again.

  Tears sprang into Claire’s eyes, too. “That guy you were dating is a real jerk, Wynn, but I think you can trust Latham.”

  “I trust him, it’s not that. I just don’t trust myself. I’ve always been so sure of myself, and now—I have to do something and I just feel paralyzed. I don’t know what to do.”

  Jordan capped the ice cream and set her spoon on top of the carton. “You’re smart enough to know you have to tell him how you feel.”

  Her eyes sprang open. “I thought of that, but I can’t. It’s really not fair to him.”

  “Here’s the beauty—you don’t get to decide what’s fair to him, he does. Tell him.”

  “Would you feel better if you made a plan and then you tell him?” Claire’s orderly thinking once again cut through Wynn’s panicked thoughts.

  “Yes, having a plan would help. Okay, so I make a plan, then I tell him?”

  Claire patted her knee. “Yes, exactly. You can do it when you’ve got everything in order.”

  “Right. I feel better,” Wynn said, but her chest still felt tight. She had housing and that was a piece of the puzzle, but there were custody issues to be settled and she needed a job. She felt like then she would be at a place where she could talk to Latham on equal footing. And that was important to her.

  “It’s the ice cream,” Jordan said, hauling Claire gently to her feet.

  “No.” Wynn shook her head and grabbed her sisters-in-law, now friends, in for a hug. “It’s you guys.”

  They loaded all the layers back on. Claire dug a flashlight out of her pocket and turned to Wynn. “Come up to the house if you get cold or lonely. Chances are I’ll be awake no matter what time.”

  “Thanks. You guys are the best.” She hugged them again, thanking God that her brothers had the good sense to choose them.

  After they left, Wynn picked up her laptop, which whirred to life when she opened it. She had some plans to make, and when she was done, she would decide what to do about Latham. She cared about him—there was no denying that now, but the thought of actually saying it out loud made her want to run away.

  She’d tried running away once. She wasn’t doing it again. This time, she was going to try her best to make her life here. Details were still sketchy, but when she got it sorted out, she would tell Latham how she felt, and what happened from there would be up to him.

  * * *

  It took two more days for the roads to thaw out enough for life to get back to normal in south Alabama and another couple of days before Latham could make it to the bank. But he found himself standing in the vault with the safe-deposit box in front of him on the table, sifting through a lifetime of odds and ends that Pop had entrusted the bank with.

  A brown and crumbly envelope held his and Gran’s Social Security cards. A wedding picture of Latham’s two grandparents from 1959. A will that Pop kept trying to get Latham to read. On top were several jewelry cases. One held the pearls that Gran’s mother had given her on her sixteenth birthday. One held her wedding rings, the ones she’d worn their whole marriage. The other held the one Pop got her for their fiftieth wedding anniversary with five stones, one for each decade they’d been married.

  Latham remembered the party, but Pop had given Gran the ring when they were alone. He’d caught them dancing in the kitchen, Gran hiding her hand under her apron before she laughed and held it out for Latham to admire. He’d pretended to be blinded by the light.

  He chuckled to himself now, at the memory. He had so many like that, so many examples of what life together should be. He could imagine that beautiful ring on Wynn’s finger and her dancing in the kitchen they shared.

  Maybe he shouldn’t push her. Maybe he shouldn’t ask at all. He didn’t know her plans. He wasn’t even sure she knew her plans at this point, but if she went back to Washington, DC, or any of the other places around the world that she could find a job, he would never forgive himself if he hadn’t t
old her how he felt.

  So this time, he would ask. And this time, if she was leaving, she would have to say goodbye.

  He stuck the ring box in his jeans pocket and closed the lid on the safe-deposit box with a sense of determination. He strolled back through the bank and waved at the manager. “See you later, Henry.”

  Henry stuck his head out of the glassed-in office. “You better be recruiting hard for your church league softball team. I picked up a ringer last week.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Latham grinned. “Our team came in first last year and we didn’t even practice. Just think what we can do if we get some time in the batting cage.”

  “Book the time. You’re gonna need it.”

  Latham was still laughing at Henry’s boasts when he opened the door of the bank. He could tell from the unbelievably tempting aroma of baked goods that Jules was back in her kitchen at Take the Cake. He started across the street to pick up a sack of doughnut holes for Pop when he noted a black Suburban he’d never seen before at the Hilltop Café.

  It wasn’t unusual to see people passing through from other places—Bertie’s food was the best around—but something about this one made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

  Just as he got to the curb, the front door to the Hilltop swung open and a man came out. Recognition slammed Latham. He knew the slick city haircut and tailored suit from pictures he’d seen of Congressman Schofield, Wynn’s former boss.

  He had a bad feeling about this. From what he knew, and that wasn’t much, Wynn and Schofield hadn’t parted on good terms. And he wondered if Schofield was here to get back his girlfriend, or his right-hand assistant.

  Either way, it couldn’t be good.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Wynn had forgotten how much she loved to paint, pouring out her feelings on paper. When she was a teenager, she’d play the most emotional songs she could find and paint for hours.

  For years, she’d pushed that part of herself away, focusing on the analytical and concrete. Thinking back now, she wondered if she would’ve been an even better strategist if she’d acknowledged the feelings pulsing underneath Washington’s superficial surface. Probably not. Because feelings didn’t matter. The vote did.