by Metsy Hingle
“Speaking of that, we haven’t talked about where we’re going to live. I know you have your apartment and I’m sure it’s nice. But it doesn’t look like it’d be big enough for three of us.”
He was being so tactful, she thought. She knew her one-bedroom apartment was small. She’d already put in a request for a two-bedroom in anticipation of the baby. But she had been hoping to get a house, something with a yard.
“My house has more room and I thought, at least for now, we could live there. Then if you want to find or build something else after the baby comes, we can do that.”
Talk of moving to Jack’s house brought everything home again. She was marrying Jack Cartwright. She was moving to his home. She could feel the panic setting in again.
“If you’d like, we can swing by the place and you can take a look at it, see if there’s anything you want to change.”
“That’s okay. I’m sure the house will be fine.”
“But don’t you want to at least see it first—”
“Maybe another time. I’m feeling a little tired.” And more than a little worried about whether she was making the right decision—not only for her and the baby, but for Jack, too.
At the sound of Lily’s sigh, Jack looked across the seat at her. She had her head tipped back and her eyes were closed. He didn’t doubt that she was exhausted. What had started out as a casual brunch had turned into a marathon of wedding plans. Of course, he probably should have known that once they had agreed to have the wedding at the house that the woman would turn into a drill sergeant. Sandra Cartwright was not one to do things in half measures. When he’d walked into the library and seen the glazed look in Lily’s eyes he’d known he had to get her out of there.
She’d been a real trouper, he thought as he took the car out onto the interstate. He’d known she’d been nervous, that she’d had misgivings about marrying him. He’d had a few misgivings of his own, he admitted. As his father had pointed out, marriage was tough under ideal circumstances. Their circumstances were anything but ideal. The consensus was that people should marry for love. His parents had. So had a couple of his friends. He and Lily didn’t love one another.
But there was something there—chemistry, attraction, and…and something more. In the four days since he’d spotted her outside the counselor’s office at Eastwick Cares and learned she was pregnant with his child, thatsomething had grown inside him. He cared about her. And not just because of the baby, he admitted. From the way she’d looked at him when he’d come into the library, he wondered if she had felt it, too.
She gasped.
Jack jerked his attention over to Lily. When he saw her rubbing her hand over her stomach, he felt his heart stop a moment. “What’s wrong? Is it the baby?”
She looked over at him with those ghost-blue eyes. “Nothing’s wrong. And yes, it’s the baby. Our son or daughter is kicking again.”
Jack swallowed hard. He looked down at her belly and felt the full impact of her words. Their son or daughter. The life growing inside her was a real person. In four months’ time he would be holding his child in his arms. A tiny boy or girl whom he was responsible for. A tiny boy or girl who would call him Daddy. He looked up at Lily once more. “Does it hurt? The kicking, I mean.”
“I wouldn’t say it hurts. It’s more uncomfortable than anything. Although I have to admit, those kicks are getting harder as the baby gets bigger.”
He turned his attention back to the road. “Is there anything you can do for it?”
She laughed and Jack was struck at the lightness of the sound. It was the first time he’d heard her laugh, he realized. Even the night they’d spent together, she hadn’t laughed. There had been desire and passion and even some sadness he’d detected beneath her surface. But there had been no laughter. “Did I say something funny?” he asked, hoping to hear her laugh again.
“Being pregnant isn’t like the flu, Jack. The only cure is when the baby is born. But until then, ice cream seems to be the only thing that makes him or her settle down.”
“Ice cream? The baby likes ice cream?”
“I think so,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Or maybe it’s me. All I know is that when our little soccer player starts kicking, I haul out the carton of butter pecan ice cream and once I start shoveling it down, the kicking stops.”
Jack laughed. “So our kid likes butter pecan ice cream, huh?”
“Looks that way.”
“How does he or she feel about chocolate fudge?” he asked and flipped on his turning signal.
“I don’t know. Why?” she asked, sitting up straighter as he took the next exit.
“There’s this old-fashioned ice cream parlor not far from here. I thought we’d stop and let our little one decide if he or she is a butter pecan fan like Mom or a chocolate fudge fan like Dad.”
It turned out the baby liked butter pecan mixed with chocolate fudge. As far as he was concerned, the mixture was awful, Jack concluded as he turned onto the street leading to Lily’s apartment. Lily, on the other hand, had found the combination delicious. And he had felt as though he’d made it over a hurdle because she had been more relaxed with him. So he’d picked up a pint of each to take back to her apartment in the hope that the mood would continue. Once again, he thought of the ring in his pocket.
After pulling his car up to the curb of her apartment building and shutting off the engine, he went around and opened Lily’s door. He offered her his hand.
“Thanks,” she murmured.
“No problem,” he told her as he shut her door. He retrieved the bag with the ice cream from the floor of the back seat.
“I’ll take that,” she said. “You don’t have to come upstairs with me.”
Ignoring her, Jack shut the door. “My mother and Grandmother Cartwright taught me always to show a lady to her door.”
For a moment, he thought she was going to argue, but then she decided against it, evidently realizing he had no intention of being swayed. Opening the door to the brick four-plex, she preceded him into the building and up the stairs to the second floor. He’d already expressed his concern about her climbing the stairs and she’d assured him the exercise was good for her and the baby.
When he reached the door of her apartment, she unlocked it, then turned to face him. “Thank you, Jack. I really did like your family.”
“And they liked you,” he told her because it was true.
“Well, then I guess I’ll talk to you later.”
He held up the bag of ice cream. “I think I’d better put this in the freezer.”
“That’s okay, I can take that—”
“Lily, I want to come inside.” She had yet to invite him inside her apartment, meeting him at the door each time he’d arrived. He knew she was uncomfortable. He didn’t blame her. But at some point, they had to get past the awkwardness.
“I really am tired, Jack.”
“I promise not to stay long.” When she hesitated, he told her, “This time next week, you’re going to be my wife.” He stroked her cheek with his fingers. “I’m not expecting anything from you. I just think it would be a good idea if we at least reached a point where we don’t feel uncomfortable with one another before we get married.”
“I know you’re right,” she said. “But it’s not like we’re strangers.”
“No, we’re not. We were drawn to each other for a reason that night and we made a child together. If this marriage is going to work, we’re going to have to learn to trust one another.”
“I do trust you, Jack. I’m just worried about whether or not we’re doing the right thing by getting married.”
“We are,” he assured her and held up the bag of ice cream. “But if I don’t get this in the freezer soon, we’re going to have a whole other set of problems.”
“The kitchen’s right through there,” she told him. “Excuse me for a minute.”
No doubt the bathroom was calling again, he decided. While she was gone, he took th
e opportunity to study her home. The place was small, smaller than he’d suspected, he realized as he made the short trek to the kitchen and put the ice cream in the freezer. It was neat, clean and colorful. Lily liked bright colors. He hadn’t known that about her. But given the orange print curtains and the dish towels on the counter, the lady surrounded herself with brightness.
She also liked fresh flowers, he noted, spying the arrangement of daisies on the kitchen table and the roses on the coffee table in the living room. Like the kitchen, the living room was small, but bright and cheery. There were lots of homey touches—an afghan on the end of the couch, shelves of books ranging from the latest Sandra Brown thriller to technical books on psychology. There were groupings of candlesticks and books on art and gardening. She liked the Impressionists, he decided, as he checked out two Monet prints. She’d made the place a home.
The only thing that he found missing were photographs. Unlike his and his parents’ homes, there were no photographs scattered about the apartment. There were no snapshots of a young Lily on Santa’s knee. None of her smiling and showing a gap where she’d lost her first tooth. No pictures of a teenaged Lily dressed for the prom. The absence of any family photos told him more about her than anything else he’d learned via background checks and talks with her. It also caused a tightening in his chest for the young Lily who had grown up without the one thing every child deserved—a family. And along with his aching for her, he couldn’t help but feel admiration.
“I’m sorry to take so long,” she said as she returned to the room.
Jack turned at the sound of her voice. “No problem,” he told her and had to keep himself from going to her and taking her in his arms. “I was just checking out your artwork. I see you like Monet.”
“Yes. Degas, too. Someday I’ve promised myself I’m going to make it to Paris and spend a week in the Louvre.”
“You don’t have to wait for someday. We can go after the wedding next week. Weare entitled to a honeymoon,” he said and walked over to her. He took her hands in his. “What do you say?”
“I…what about work? We can’t just take off.”
“I’ll clear my schedule and I’m sure you can get some time off from the agency. So, shall I book us some flights?”
“I don’t think so,” she said and tugged her fingers free. She walked across the room. “I wouldn’t be comfortable traveling now…not before the baby comes.”
“Then maybe we’ll go next spring. April in Paris is beautiful. And when it rains, you can smell the chestnut trees. How does that sound?”
“It sounds lovely,” she told him. “Would you like something to drink? I have water, iced tea and soda. I’m afraid I don’t have any wine.”
“Iced tea would be great.” When she disappeared into the kitchen, he slipped his hand into his pocket and fingered the ring box. She’d grown up without family, without having anyone she could rely on but herself. He didn’t ever want her to be alone again. He would be her family, he and their baby.
“Here we go,” she said as she returned to the room carrying a tray with two glasses, a pitcher, a dish of lemons and a bowl with sweetener.
“Here, let me get that,” Jack said, and, taking the tray from her, placed it on the table.
“I wasn’t sure if you liked sugar or sweetener. So I brought both.” She poured them each a glass and handed him his.
Jack took the glass from her and set it down on the table. “Lily, I don’t want tea.”
She paused, set down the other glass.
“Would you come sit for a minute?” he asked and patted the seat next to him on the couch.
She did as he asked. “Is there something wrong? Listen, if you’ve changed your mind about getting married—”
Jack placed his finger over her lips. “I haven’t changed my mind. I wanted to give you this.” He took the ring box from his pocket and opened it. She gasped at the sight of the antique emerald-cut diamond ring set in the platinum band.
Her blue eyes shot up from the ring to his face. “Jack, I told you I didn’t need an engagement ring.”
“I know you did. But this isn’t just any engagement ring. It’s been in my family for nearly two hundred years and it’s said that all the women who’ve worn this ring have enjoyed long, happy marriages.”
“Jack, I can’t—”
“It belonged to my grandmother and has been passed on to the oldest male descendant in each generation. My mother was an only child and I’m her male descendant, so it came to me, to give to my bride. Since you’re going to be my bride, I’d like you to wear it.”
“Jack, I can’t. It’s not right. This is meant to be worn by the woman you lo—”
“It’s meant to be worn by the woman I’ve asked to be my wife. I’m asking you to be my wife, Lily.” He took it from the box and held it out to her. “Will you wear it? For me? For our baby?”
For a moment, he thought she was going to refuse. Then she held out her left hand to him.
He slipped the ring onto her finger and it fitted as though it were made for her. Maybe there was something to the Irish mysticism on his mother’s side of the family, he thought, because the ring looked right on her finger. It felt right.
“It’s beautiful,” she told him as she stared at the ring. She met his gaze. “I promise to take care of it.”
“I know you will.”
“It’s getting late,” she said and stood.
“Right,” he said and walked with her to the door. “I’ll call you in the morning,” he told her and before she could say anything, he leaned in and kissed her. It was just a brush of lips, no open mouth, no hunger and passion. Yet long after he had left the building, got into his car and was heading home, he could still taste her on his lips.
Long after Jack had left, Lily continued to lean against the door. Bringing her hand to her mouth, she brushed her fingers along her lips where Jack’s lips had touched hers. Unlike the kisses they’d shared that night at the ball, this one had been gentle, loving. It had been a kiss of giving, of promise.
He was marrying her because of the baby, she reminded herself. As she lowered her hand, the diamond in the ring caught and reflected the light. Lifting her hand, Lily stared at it. He’d given her his grandmother’s ring.
His grandmother’s ring.
It didn’t mean anything. It was for the baby, she kept telling herself. But she couldn’t shut out Jack’s face, the way he had looked at her, his deep blue eyes filled with warmth, with caring. She closed her eyes to block out the image, but he was still there. She could hear his voice, his words echoing in her ears.
It’s said that all the women who’ve worn this ring have enjoyed long, happy marriages.
It belonged to my grandmother…to give to my bride….
I’m asking you to be my wife, Lily. Will you wear it? For me? For our baby?
Opening her eyes, she stared down at the ring again. She had wondered many times how she would feel on this day. A wonderful man, a man who was handsome, kind and generous, a man of integrity, had asked her to be his wife. He’d slid an heirloom ring on her finger and asked her to marry him.
She should be happy. Her baby was going to have everything she could ever have wanted for it—a loving father, a real family. Her child would never be lonely or alone.
She thought of all that the ring symbolized. It didn’t feel the way she had thought it would, Lily realized, and swiped at the tears sliding down her cheek. Instead of feeling happy, she felt sadder than she had in a long time.
How could you have been so foolish, Lily? After all these years how could you let yourself get sucked in by the fairy tale?
Because that was just what she had done, she admitted. Sensible, practical Lily Miller, the woman who had lived her life without blinders, the woman who never deluded herself, had done just that. She had thought that when this day happened, when a man placed a ring on her finger and asked her to be his wife, that the man who had put it there would hav
e done so because he loved her.
Five
“While Johanna has made considerable progress since she first started counseling at Eastwick Cares, she continues to exhibit trust issues,” Lily said as she dictated notes from her last session. “These trust issues are most likely rooted in her sense of abandonment following her parents’ divorce.”
She’d seen it dozens of times, Lily admitted as she looked over her case notes. Too often when a couple divorced it was the children who came away with the most scars. She’d lost count of the times that children like twelve-year-old Johanna Stevenson blamed themselves. And as the family unit dissolved and the parents spent less and less time with their children in order to resume their own social lives, the children lost their sense of security. As a result, children like Johanna Stevenson felt unwanted, unloved and in the way.
