by Liz Talley
The door opened and Shelby stood there.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, pulling the carved mahogany door closed behind her. He shivered in his light jacket, but didn’t ask to be let in because he knew he was on thin ice.
“What do you think?”
“Did you call Carla?”
Shelby wore one of the outfits she’d purchased in New Orleans—a pair of jeans and a shirt that hung to midthigh. Her hair didn’t look as bouncy as it usually did and her eyes were swollen. But she still looked like the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“I’m not worried about Carla. I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine. The baby is fine.”
She crossed her arms and looked at him with the same cute puzzled expression she’d given him time and again.
“I’m not here about the baby. I’m here about you.” He sucked in a deep breath. “Why did you leave me, Shelby?”
“I left it all in the letter.” She blinked away tears.
“You didn’t even give me a chance to—”
“Change my mind?” Shelby asked, stepping toward him. “Look, I know you wanted me to stay and raise the baby there, and I get that when it comes to chemistry, we could burn up a science lab. But when I really thought about it, that’s not enough for me. I don’t want to be second best.”
“Second best?”
“You still love Rebecca. Everyone knows it. Your sister loves to tell me.”
“My sister’s views on love are skewed.”
“Yeah, but still you don’t want me for me, you want me because I can fulfill some of your fantasies. And because I’m having your baby.”
“Are you insane?”
“No,” she snapped, her blue eyes igniting with anger.
“I love you.”
“No, you don’t.”
He swallowed and looked around, like there might be something there on the marbled, fancy-schmancy entryway to help him. “Yes. I do.”
“I heard you with your father.”
“You overheard a conversation, likely a partial conversation, and jumped to all sorts of conclusions.”
“You said I embarrassed your family. You said what you felt for me was not the same thing you felt for your wife. You have doubts. I heard that.”
“Well, yeah. Don’t you ever have doubts?”
She pressed her lips together, averting her gaze. She paused before mumbling, “You’re twisting my words.”
“No, I’m not. I’m trying to make you understand everyone has doubts. We’ve had them all along, but we also acted on something inside us. We listened to our hearts.”
“What are you saying?”
“Can we go inside?”
“No. Say it here.”
John sighed. “Okay. Yes, I’ve had doubts. I had doubts when I married Rebecca. I had doubts the entire time we were married, but that didn’t change the fact that at the end of the day I thought she was worth the trouble.”
“I read her journal. I know.”
“You really like to snoop, don’t you?”
“No, I tried to give the thing to you. I felt like Rebecca would want me to know about her...and you.”
He made a face.
“What? It’s true. And the only reason I heard you and your father is because of your mom’s pie. And really you should shut the door when you have a conversation like that.”
True. He should have made sure it was absolutely private. “I don’t mind you read Rebecca’s journal. I’ve read it, too, and it opened my eyes to a part of her I didn’t get to see. But I want you to know I never forgot our anniversary. I just forgot where I put the present and wanted to wait until I found it.”
Shelby gave him a little smile and hope blossomed. Rebecca had written some ugly stuff about him. Their marriage wasn’t perfect. Far from it at times. That’s the way marriage worked—some days you wanted to hug your spouse, the next kick them in the shin.
“I do feel differently about you, Shelby. I can’t hide that. You’re not like Rebecca, and the love I have for you is different. My dad called it a snowflake—the same, but different.”
She swallowed and finally looked at him. “A snowflake?”
“You know. They say every snowflake is different.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t love you any less than I loved Rebecca, and I may have gone a little crazy when I found your letter because I can’t imagine you not in my life.”
“This isn’t about the baby?”
“It started with the baby, but it ends with you, Shelby. I love you and I want you to come home.”
“But Breezy Hill is—”
“I love you more than I love Breezy Hill. My home is with you. If you want to live here, I’ll get a job here. Don’t know much about the agriculture in Washington State, but I’ll learn.”
“Seriously?”
“As serious as I know how to be.”
Then Shelby smiled. “So you’re saying you love me?”
“I love you, and not because you saved me from grief. Because you created new magic in me.”
And then she was in his arms, her lips covering his, dotting hard, excited kisses. “You came for me.”
He hauled her against him, lifting her from the ground, holding her tight. “Why in the hell would I let someone who made me laugh, hunger and feel again waltz out of my life? You taught me how to live.”
“Oh, my God. I love you, too. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to make your life worse.”
He shook his head, setting her back down before kissing her again. She tasted so warm and good. She tasted the way love should. His heart swelled, filling all the leftover empty places, making him feel as if he might burst. “You could never make my life worse than what it was, Shelby. I’m a blessed man—I get you and a new life. What more do I need?”
She pushed against his chest, looking up at him with eyes so full of joy it took his breath away. “We’ll need a place to live.”
“Where do you want to live?”
“Breezy Hill.”
“That’s going to be a problem, but we can find another house. Maybe a cute, country—” He glanced up at the magnificent arching stone mansion. “Your family is sort of well-off, huh?”
“We’re freaking rich,” she laughed, inching them back toward the door. “But when my mother picked me up this morning—which seems so long ago, by the way—she and I had a very interesting conversation. This morning, after sleeping like the dead, I had some thoughts about you and Breezy Hill.”
She opened the front door to a breathtaking foyer with a double marble staircase. John doffed his old cowboy hat and swiveled his head around in wonder. “Jesus.”
“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” Shelby said, assuming the same tone his mother had on that Christmas Eve long ago. “And come inside so we can talk about my plan.”
“Your plan?”
She smiled. “This four-bit whore has tricks up her sleeves.”
John laughed. Because that’s what Shelby made him do.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Four months later
CARLA STANTON ACCEPTED the box from the FedEx guy with a heaviness she hadn’t expected. Yesterday, she’d signed the papers selling Breezy Hill to IM Timber Industries. She had no clue what a Portland-based company wanted with a sugarcane farm, but the company had agreed to her price and the deal had required little negotiation. Even though the sale had been cut-and-dried, Carla had cried all the way home from the attorney’s office.
Things weren’t supposed to end this way. Breezy Hill was the legacy she and Hal would hand down to their child and her children. But that reality had shattered the September day when John had come home to fi
nd Rebecca.
Poof.
Gone.
Carla had entered the new year depressed. After spending nearly two weeks in bed and struggling to even dress, she’d forced herself into going to Baton Rouge to join a new grief therapy group. It had taken her several months and a lot of tissues, but now she felt better able to face what she’d done. Grief and anger had created a monster inside her. Even though she did feel a sense of loss at selling Breezy Hill and treating John so shabbily, she knew it was the first step in moving forward. One day she would have to tell him her regrets.
When she felt stronger.
Taking the box to the kitchen table, she turned on the light. She hadn’t remembered ordering anything lately, but sometimes online purchases showed up later than expected. She glanced at the sender’s name and swallowed.
Shelby M. Beauchamp.
Hot anger flooded her before she recalled she had vowed to let go of her hate and forgive the blonde who had insinuated herself into John’s life. He’d married her. She was pregnant, proving Carla had been right all along. Giving a friend a place to stay, her ass.
She took several cleansing breaths and closed her eyes, stilling her anger, asking the Lord to fill her with the spirit of forgiveness.
There.
Grasping the edge, she pulled the tab and opened the box. Inside she found an envelope and the journal she’d given Rebecca the day before she married John.
Carla hadn’t forgotten about the journal. She assumed Rebecca, who’d always hated any kind of writing, hadn’t bothered with it. Unwrapping the leather cord looped tight around the button, Carla opened the book, a soft sound of gratitude escaping her when she saw the journal had been nearly completed, filled with the familiar boyish chicken scratch she’d teased her daughter about.
Turning the first page, she read the line in which Rebecca wondered if mothers were always right.
“We’re not,” Carla whispered, closing the journal and clutching it to her heart. “We’re just human, baby.”
Setting the journal down, Carla slid the flap of the envelope open, pulling out a handwritten letter. It was from Shelby, and the fanciful looping script was noticeably different from her daughter’s.
Dear Carla—
I know you aren’t expecting to hear from me. You’ve been quite clear on how you feel, but I felt moved to clarify a few things and to return the journal you gave your daughter long ago. It should rest with you.
By now you may know that IM Timber Industries is one of my family’s corporations. At first I know this may infuriate you, but I hope with my words you will understand why I did this.
Carla set the letter down. “Why that little—” She snapped her mouth shut, gritted her teeth and prayed like tomorrow may never come she wouldn’t march over to the rental house where a very pregnant Shelby lived with her new husband and snatch her bald-headed.
After a full minute of asking for grace, Carla picked up Shelby’s letter.
I read Rebecca’s journal. It was wrong of me, and I admit my mistake. But I’m not sorry I read it. When I first met John, I hated the faceless wife he loved. But once I “met” Rebecca, I grew to respect and admire her. Through her eyes, I grew to love the man she loved and the land she felt such a part of. At one point, she mentioned how much John loved Breezy Hill and how he fit the legacy her father had envisioned.
I know you’re still angry at John, but knowing Rebecca somewhat intimately, I felt she would have wanted John at Breezy Hill. I think she would understand his need to be loved and, I’m being presumptuous, but I think she would have liked me. I think Rebecca and I would have been friends.
I bought Breezy Hill, not out of spite, but rather because I love it. Rebecca helped me love the beauty of the sunrise over the Southeast field, the hand-carved banister on the staircase and the mantel salvaged from the fire. I do not, however, like the curtains in the kitchen, but beyond changing them, I want to preserve the house the Stantons lived and loved in for over a hundred years.
Lastly, through Rebecca I have seen the woman you truly are. She loved you so, and throughout the pages, I could see what an influence you were on her life. You were a good mother to her, Carla, the type of mother I hope to be to my own daughter.
In a month I will hopefully deliver a baby girl. She was conceived in grief, but will be born in love. I wanted you to know we plan to name her Lindsey Rebecca, after my grandfather and your daughter. You are always welcome at Breezy Hill. It is still your home and maybe one day you can forgive John and me, and be part of our lives. I hope you will find peace.
Sincerely,
Shelby
With trembling hands, Carla lowered the letter, dampness streaking her cheeks. She sat down so hard she scared Dim Sum, who flinched before rising up for a scratch.
“Down, Dim,” she said, covering her face with her hands. Her body felt so heavy, so very, very heavy.
She uncovered her face and looked at the letter and the journal and shook her head.
I hope you will find peace.
At the hands of a woman she’d hated, Carla may just have found a remnant of faith and hope she’d tossed away in favor of grief.
Maybe the mother Rebecca had loved so well, whom she had admired so much, had been so very wrong about so many things.
Outside the window a cloud scudded by causing a beam of sunshine to fall on Carla as she sat in her chair feeling like a failure.
The warmth of the light blanketed her, making her shiver despite the heat. She stared down at where her hands lay in her lap before looking up with a smile.
“I get it, honey. I get it,” she said to the sunshine.
* * *
SHELBY LAY IN the hospital bed, still nauseous from the medication they’d given her during the delivery, but too giddy to pay much attention to the feeling.
John sat in the rocking chair across from her, counting the fingers and toes of their new daughter.
“She’s so little,” he kept saying, his dark head bent over the now-squirming baby with the full head of black hair.
“Wrap her in the blanket,” Shelby said, her eyes lighting on her daughter as the baby opened her mouth and let out a squall.
“I can’t wrap it like those nurses do,” John said, rising and bringing the baby to her. Shelby took her daughter, nestling her to her chest, giving a little shush noise. Lindsey Rebecca calmed, but started immediately rooting to find Shelby’s breast, which John had dubbed the jackpot for any infant in the nursery.
“You just ate, piglet,” Shelby murmured, unhooking her gown, wanting to give the baby whatever she could to comfort her. Being born was not an easy task. For Lindsey or Shelby.
A knock sounded at the door, and Marilyn Mackey stuck her head inside.
“Mom,” Shelby said, still in awe she called Marilyn “Mom” and not “Mother” the way she had all her life.
“Oh, are you feeding her?” Marilyn said, looking disappointed.
Shelby reached for the pacifier, refastening her gown. “Actually, she ate not long ago. Let’s try this and maybe she’ll settle down so you can—”
Marilyn scooped up the baby, expertly tucking the swaddling blanket around her granddaughter while popping the pacifier into her mouth. Cradling the crying infant, Marilyn strolled to the hospital window, humming a James Taylor song, looking like a pro. Lindsey stopped crying.
Shelby mouthed “oh, my God” at John, but he just smiled. The fool hadn’t stopped smiling since his daughter had been born last night.
Another knock at the door.
“My family is going to drive us batty,” John said.
But it wasn’t a Beauchamp that walked in. It was the floor nurse, and she carried a gift.
“Something for the mama,” the nurse said, thrusting the gift toward Shelby. Jo
hn stood to take it and place it with all the flowers blooming on the large windowsill, but Shelby snatched it.
“She said for the mama,” Shelby teased John, sliding another glance at her mother talking sweetly to her granddaughter.
Still so weird.
The nurse left with a wave and a promise to check back later, and John sank back into his chair, still smiling.
Shelby untied the bow and lifted the lid on the gold box.
Inside the tissue paper, she found a beautifully bound leather journal, with a leather strap to bind around a large pewter button. Carefully, Shelby lifted it from its home in the box.
Unwinding the leather strap, Shelby opened the journal. On the first page written in tasteful penmanship were these words:
To Shelby:
May you find yourself in these pages and may you chart the journey of a lifetime. May your Rebecca bring you the joy my Rebecca brought to me. Peace found.
Carla
Shelby set the journal back in the box, wrapping the cord securely around the button.
“What did you get?” John asked.
“A new beginning,” Shelby said.
John stood, glancing at the box, recognizing what the journal represented. He lifted his pretty green eyes, surprise reflected in them. “Carla?”
“I think she approves of the name.”
John looked back at his daughter, still cradled in Shelby’s mother’s arms. “Thank you for turning your rental car into Boots Grocery and giving me a second chance at love.”
Shelby took his hand and together they watched the CEO of a major corporation make a fool of herself with a baby.
It really was true.
A baby changed everything.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from THE REASONS TO STAY by Laura Drake.
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