As Fern took in the grade, she gasped. Then her gasp changed to an expression of shocked dismay when she read the teacher's note. “Where was this?”
“In his car.” James placed both hands flat on the counter and exhaled slowly. “I don't even know what to say to him. How did this happen? And why didn't he tell us?” He felt as bewildered as he did angry.
Fern's face was a study in consternation. “I don't know.” She slid down from her stool and moved toward the breakfast nook. “Tell him to come here, and we’ll ask him.”
James went to the hall leading to the bedrooms. “Gideon? Your mother and I would like to speak with you. Please come here.”
As James joined his wife at the breakfast table, he heard Gideon's heavy tread on the wooden floor. Their son appeared a moment later. It was clear he had been doing some type of workout. He wore gray sweatpants cut off above the knee and a sleeveless T-shirt that had a large V of sweat staining the front.
“What's up?” Removing a glass from the cupboard, he went to the refrigerator and filled it with crushed ice and water. After taking a deep draught of the cool liquid, he moved to the breakfast nook and set it down on the table. “Aah. I needed that.” Then he became aware of his parents’ gazes. “What?”
Fern picked up the paper, holding it by the stapled corner as if it smelled bad. “Explain this, please.”
Gideon scowled. “Where’d you get that?”
“That's not an answer,” James said. “Although I found it in your car when I was cleaning it out.”
Their son's expression grew darker. “I didn't ask you to clean out my car.”
James suppressed an angry retort. “No, you didn’t. I thought it would be a nice surprise that you might appreciate. I certainly didn't expect to find a failing grade.” He couldn't help it—his voice rose at the end.
Gideon looked sullen. “It's just one stupid essay.” He shrugged. “Anyway, she has unreasonable expectations.”
“Since when is a passing grade an unreasonable expectation?” Fern's voice was much sharper than normal. “Sit down here, please.”
Gideon hesitated.
“Sit.” James ordered.
Apparently realizing that he had tested his parents’ limits quite enough, Gideon slid into a chair across the table from Fern. “I was going to show it to you.”
“The date on this is almost two weeks ago,” Fern pointed out. She gave her son a sorrowful look. “We’re very disappointed in you.”
“And you should be disappointed with yourself,” James added.
“I know.” Gideon sounded frustrated and impatient. “It's just one grade. I’m doing better, honest.”
“Good,” Fern said, “because we know what you’re capable of, just like the note on this paper says. We don't have unreasonable expectations, honey, but we do expect you to put full effort into every assignment and do your best.”
“I know.” Gideon slumped, hanging his head. “I’ll work harder.”
“Thank you.” Fern waited until their son looked at her. “Don't forget we’re always here to help if you need us.”
“I know.” Silence reigned for several moments. Then Gideon said, “May I be excused?”
James had barely finished nodding when the boy left the room a great deal faster than he’d entered it. James sighed. “I wish I felt better now, but I wasn't completely reassured by his response.”
“He promised to do better,” Fern said optimistically. “And this is the first time we’ve ever had a problem like this with either of our sons.”
“I know they’re not perfect,” James said, “and I know he promised to work harder. All the same, I think I’ll keep a closer eye on Gideon's homework assignments for a while.” He slowly got to his feet and headed for the French doors.
The back deck was bathed in late-day sunlight. After enjoying the warmth of the day for a moment, James inspected the small water feature he had just put in a few weeks before. Fern loved the sound of the water trickling down over small rocks, and they both enjoyed sitting here watching the birds. He’d installed a bird feeder the week before to try to lure more interesting species.
That might need to be refilled, he thought. He looked toward the bird feeder—and did a double take. Perched on the tray at what looked like an impossible angle, a large gray squirrel was using a paw to dig seed out of the feeder. It jammed some into its mouth and then dug out some more.
“Hey!” James lifted his arms and waved them wildly.
The squirrel looked up. But it didn't budge, and James would have sworn there was a smug smile on the little rodent's face.
“Get out of there!” James kept his voice raised. He started across the lawn, and the squirrel, apparently assessing the peril he was in, nimbly leaped off the feeder, scampered down the wooden post on which it was set, and skedaddled across the lawn and up the side of a mature oak in the original tree stand that lined the end of their yard.
James rubbed the back of his neck in disgust. All right. He’d fix that squirrel's seed stealing. As he turned to go back inside, he wondered where the best place to get a smooth metal pole was.
Elena put a white sauce on to start warming as she prepared to make shrimp fettuccine Alfredo. She had just stirred it thoroughly when Cesar came through the door. Although his shift at the police department had ended at five, Cesar had gone with a friend to help bring home his daughter's college furniture, as she had just graduated from a nearby college.
“Hello,” Elena said, sending him a warm smile. After nearly thirty years of marriage, the sight of her husband still made her heart beat faster. “How was your day?”
“My day was okay.” Cesar shrugged. He didn't smile in return.
“Just okay?” Elena set down her spoon and crossed the kitchen, stretching up to kiss him. Then she recoiled. “Yuck. You’re all sweaty.”
“Sorry.” Cesar pulled back and plucked at his shirt. “Carrying around a bunch of furniture was a workout.”
“You have time for a quick shower before we eat if you like.” Elena walked back to the stove to stir her sauce as she spoke.
“Okay.” But Cesar didn't move. He continued to lean against the counter, closing his eyes for a moment. Glancing at him, Elena was struck by how utterly exhausted he looked; his face was ruddy from exertion.
“You all right?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I just need a cold drink. It really is hot out there, considering it's only May.”
Elena hurried to a cupboard, took out a glass, and filled it with ice and water. “I know. We had lunch in the courtyard and it felt more like July.” She studied him as she handed him the glass of water. It wasn't like Cesar to be bested by a little heat, and it was even less like him to mention it.
“Heat never used to bother you,” she said. “Must be that milestone birthday that's approaching.”
Her husband scowled. “It's just another birthday as far as I’m concerned.”
Elena was a little taken aback by his grouchy tone. “Is the thought of turning fifty bothering you?”
“I just said it wasn’t.” Turning away, he headed for the hallway. “I’m going to grab that shower you mentioned.”
As she added chopped shrimp to the sauce, Elena stopped to watch him thoughtfully. The contrast between his words and his tone had been marked. And his attitude definitely didn't proclaim, “I’m happy to be turning fifty.” In addition, she was a little concerned by how exhausted he appeared. Cesar was one of the most robust, healthy people she knew. It wasn't like him to wear out easily.
Her granddaughter Isabel came around the corner and interrupted her thoughts. “When's dinner, Buela? I’m hungry.”
“Soon,” said Elena, turning back to stir her sauce again. “You can help me set the table.”
Izzy made a face. “I don't like setting the table.”
“Want to know a secret?” Elena bent down and beckoned.
“What?” Izzy bounced over, instantly intrigued.
; “I don't like setting the table either,” Elena whispered into her ear.
Izzy's brows drew together. “That's not a good secret.”
“Sorry.” Elena smiled at her. “It's the best I’ve got.” Then she took a closer look at her grandchild. “Gracious, Izzy, you must have grown ten feet over the winter. Those shorts don't fit anymore. Why didn't you tell me?”
Izzy looked down at herself. “They’re not too small.”
“They certainly are. Today's the last time you wear them. We’ll have to shop for some new ones.”
“I don't want to shop.” Izzy crossed her arms. “I want these ones.”
“And they’re yours for the rest of the day,” Elena told her. A flash of inspiration struck, as she thought of how to distract Izzy from the shorts issue. “Would you like to help me make a salad to go with our fettuccine?”
“Yeah!” Izzy ran to the table and dragged a chair toward the counter. “Can I tear up the green stuff, Buela?”
Elena laughed. “Yes, you may tear up the lettuce and spinach.”
Chapter Three
CANDACE, HEATH, JANET, AND BROOKE ALL WENT TO Howie's T-ball game on Monday evening. But Candace's attention was only half on the game in progress. She was still stewing about Heath's comment yesterday. Why hadn't her mother talked to her about moving? Especially since she apparently had confided in Heath.
When he and Brooke decided to visit the concession stand, leaving Candace and Janet together in the stands, Candace couldn't stand it any longer. “So Heath tells me you’re thinking of moving out.”
Janet had been in the process of reaching for her drink. Her hand froze in midair, and then slowly she completed the motion. “I’m considering it, yes. Does that upset you?”
“The fact that you never mentioned it to me is a little upsetting.” Candace tried not to sound accusatory.
“I planned to,” her mother said. “I only began to think about it last week, which is when I made the comment to Heath. I’m not trying to keep anything from you, honey.”
“But…why? I know I’ve shuffled a lot of the child care onto your shoulders, and I apologize. If you don't want to—”
“Candace.” Janet's voice was firm and reproving. “You know I adore the kids. I consider being able to spend so much time with them a special gift. They’ll be grown and gone before we know it.”
Candace felt chastened. “I do know that. But I don't understand why you want to move. Heath and I would be happy to have you live with us.” I'm sure he meant what he said on Sunday, she thought.
“And I appreciate that.” Janet smiled at her daughter. “But I feel strongly that you and Heath need privacy while you establish your marriage. As much privacy as you can get with two kids underfoot,” she added, chuckling.
Candace feared that her mother's mind was made up. As Howie came up to bat, Candace let the topic die. But her mind was still swirling with conflicting thoughts and emotions. She was beginning to realize just how much her life was going to change when she married Heath. Why hadn't these things occurred to her before?
When the game ended, Janet said, “If it's all right with you, I’d like to take Brooke and Howie for ice cream on the way home. You’re welcome to come if you like.”
They had two cars at the ball field, because Heath had met them there. Before Candace could accept, Heath said, “You guys go ahead. We’ll see you back at the house.”
As Candace watched her family walk away without her, Heath took her hand. “Are you mad at me?”
She shook her head. “No. But why didn't you want to get ice cream with them?”
Heath raised their entwined fingers and brushed a kiss across the back of her hand. “You seemed upset, and I thought you might want to talk it out.”
She tried to smile. “I’m not upset…exactly. I talked to my mother about moving out, and she seems to have made up her mind. She's convinced that we are going to need privacy. I know you said you tried to make her feel welcome, but are you certain you didn't say anything that might have made her decide to move?”
Heath raised his eyebrows. “I told you what I said. I adore your mother. I’d be perfectly happy if she wanted to continue to live with us.” He dropped her hand. “But I did say that I would support whatever decision she makes.”
“Why did you tell her that?” To Candace, that sounded as if it might have been a veiled hint that Janet should relocate.
“Because I meant it.” Heath looked as exasperated as he sounded. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe your mother would like to have some privacy as well? She's been alone a long time. Maybe she would like to date without having to explain every move to you.” Candace opened her mouth, but he held up a finger. “And don't try to tell me you wouldn't interrogate her, because you and I both know you would.”
The comment stung, probably because it was so accurate. “I would not. At least, I’d try not to,” she added defensively.
They were silent on the drive to her house. Candace continued to review the conversation she’d had with her mother as well as the one with Heath. She wasn't being selfish. Was she? She didn't take advantage of her mother, who had assured her on many occasions that if she felt overtaxed, she would tell Candace. It was just that it was so…so comforting to have her mother with her. Her mom had been her rock since Dean's death.
What would Candace do without her?
Tuesday evening was the beginning of another series of childbirth classes. Her first act was to ask each expectant mother to stand and share her name, due date, and anything else she liked.
She listened attentively as the mothers-to-be introduced themselves and their labor coaches. Some shared more information, such as how far along they were, their occupations, if they already were parents, or other small details. One frightened-looking young girl had her mother with her. When it was her turn to speak, the girl rose, whispered her name and her due date, and sat back down immediately.
The last woman, an attractive brunette with a few strands of silver hair gleaming among the brown, stood up, and Candace sat forward slightly. The woman's hands were knotted together, as if she might wring her hands if she didn't hold them still. But when she spoke, her tone was warm and pleasant, and she appeared relaxed.
“I’m Therese Nottington, and this is my husband, Lewis, who is my labor coach. As you can see, we’re a little older than the rest of you.” Her face grew pink. “Lew's forty-eight, and I’m forty-two. We—well, he has a seventeen-year-old, and we’ve been married for fourteen years. We never had any luck getting pregnant, so to say this was a bit of a surprise is a massive understatement.”
Light laughter rippled through the room at her wry tone, and she and her husband both chuckled, glancing at each other fondly through their obvious embarrassment. “My due date is August fourteenth. Oh, and I was fifteen weeks along before we figured out I didn't have mono or the flu.” There was a gasp or two and another wave of laughter as she took her seat again.
Maybe that's all it was, Candace decided as she stood and began her agenda. The impression she got of nerves or concern was simply an understandable reaction to finding out they were going to be parents long after they thought they had lost their opportunity.
At the conclusion of the class, Candace stood by the door and handed each couple a folder of information and a business card so that they could contact her with concerns or in an emergency.
The Nottingtons were the last to leave, and she smiled warmly at them. “Congratulations,” she said. “It sounds as if you are handling your little surprise very well.”
She was surprised and shocked and dismayed when Therese Nottington's face crumpled. “Not really.”
Lew put one beefy arm around her and hugged her to his side. He was a mountain of a man, at least six foot four; but he looked completely helpless in the face of his wife's distress.
“Tell me what's wrong,” Candace said. “This is what I’m here for, to help you through your pregnancy.”
Therese sighed, accepting a tissue from the box Candace had picked up and offered her. “We always wanted our daughter—Lew's daughter from his first marriage—to have siblings, but it never happened, and we’d given up. I’m thrilled to be having a baby. But Noelle is totally mortified by the thought of having a pregnant stepmother in her graduation pictures.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she pressed her face into her husband's chest.
Candace felt a stirring of sympathy. She and Heath hadn't talked much about children, but she knew he’d like to have at least one of his own. But Brooke's old enough to be upset if her mother's pregnant, she thought.
“I can imagine how a teenager might feel,” she said, trying to be tactful.
“We’re excited about having another baby.” Lew's eyes twinkled. “Especially since it's our first child together, and we assumed we were infertile. It took us about two weeks to get past the doctor-must-have-made-a-mistake phase. Noelle will be going away to college shortly after the baby comes, and we have been dreading having a silent house. I guess we don't have to worry about that now.”
Therese managed a watery smile as she blew her nose. “Noelle's mother died when she was born, and she was three when we got married, so I’m the only mother she's ever known. But she's started calling me her st-stepmother. Now I’m afraid she's going to hate her half sister or brother.” She sighed, her breath still hitching. “And I hate being a whiner.”
“You’re not whining,” Candace assured her. “I’m here to help you with any concerns you have, and discord in your home is certainly a concern. Would you like me to try to talk to your daughter?”
“No.” Therese shook her head. “Not right now, thanks. She's still too angry to handle it.” As she stepped forward to give Candace a warm hug, she said, “But thank you so much for listening. It helps.”
“If you like, I’ll keep your family in my prayers,” Candace offered.
“We need prayers,” Lew said. “Pray away. Please.”
Anabelle was tired. Wednesday had been a very long day, and she looked forward to getting off her feet and relaxing with Cam, perhaps sitting on their porch enjoying the mild spring evening.
Special Blessings Page 2
