Baby by Surprise

by Karen Rose Smith

  “Everyone,” he answered with a grin.

  Everyone. Did she have the courage to take on the Fitzgerald clan?

  Sure she did. “What can I bring?”

  “Just yourself.”

  Somehow she’d manage to make a cherry cobbler. She should be able to handle that.

  Much easier than she might be able to handle Grady’s family!

  On Sunday, Francesca’s heart thumped hard as she walked into the Fitzgerald one-story condo attached to another on the side street of a fairly new development in Lubbock. Cars spilled from the driveway along the curb.

  When Grady opened the door, the aroma of baked goods wafted out ahead of a wave of chatter from the inside.

  Francesca glanced at Grady. How many Fitzgeralds were there?

  He leaned close and whispered in her ear, “None of them will bite. I promise.”

  She’d tried to hide the fact that family made her jittery, but wasn’t very good at it. In fact, with Grady she couldn’t seem to hide much at all.

  There were three women in the kitchen, all involved in some aspect of the baking process. Maureen was rolling out cookie dough on a pastry cloth. Laurie was removing cookie sheets from the oven. Another woman, pleasantly plump, her hair styled in a pixie cut, was mixing water and confectioner’s sugar in a small bowl.

  Grady’s father, a ruddy-faced, tall man with black hair like Grady’s but with silver at his temples, pushed himself up from his recliner and came to greet them. “You must be Francesca,” he said with a hint of gruffness in his tone.

  “Yes, I am.”

  Two little boys ran from the hallway and wrapped their arms around their grandfather. Francesca wondered if they were Mark and Seth, Laurie’s sons.

  “Hey, everyone. This is Francesca.” Grady waved a hand at her and pointed to the man at the left side of the sofa. “That’s John.” He pointed to a younger man at the other side of the sofa. “And that’s Liam. Jenna, John’s wife, is stirring the icing.”

  Everyone gave Francesca a nod or smile except Liam. He sort of shrugged and cocked his head, examining her as if she were an alien. At least that’s the way Francesca saw it. Grady’s brothers hadn’t stopped by to see the mustang as he’d expected. Because they didn’t want to intrude?

  Maureen called from the kitchen, “Come help us with this last batch.”

  “Let her get her coat off, Mom, before you put her to work,” Grady teased.

  His mother took it in stride and just gave him a grin and a wink. “Put her jacket in on the guest-room bed with everyone else’s.”

  Francesca felt like a deer in headlights. She handed Grady the cherry cobbler, shrugged out of her jacket, then traded with him.

  A little girl of about five, who had been drawing at the coffee table, came over to Francesca now and looked up at her expectantly. “Are you Uncle Grady’s girlfriend?”

  Francesca dropped down to her eye level. “I’m your uncle’s friend. What’s your name?”

  “Marly.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Marly.”

  The small child eyed Francesca’s rounding figure. “Daddy told Mommy you’re going to have a baby.”

  “Yes, I am…at the end of February.” Francesca smiled at the blue icing on Marly’s chin and a streak of yellow on the front of her T-shirt. “Were you helping to make the cookies?”

  “Yep. But I got tired of doing that. But maybe I can show you how to do the angels’ wings.”

  “Maybe you can. Let’s go ask your grandma.” Francesca stood and followed Marly into the kitchen.

  There she handed Maureen the cherry cobbler. While Grady had spent most of the day at the saddle shop yesterday, she’d baked. “I wanted to contribute.”

  Maureen said, “Thank you. We can always use more dessert. Beef barbecue is simmering in the slow cooker. I didn’t add brown sugar since you were coming. We thought we’d be further along with the cookies by now, but cookie-making can’t be rushed.”

  Francesca felt awkward, unsure of what to do or say. But then Laurie piped up, “Francesca lives in Sagebrush in an old Victorian. Tessa Rossi used to be her housemate.”

  Laurie went on to explain, “Tessa was on call at the hospital one time when Mark Jr. fell off his skateboard. I liked her and started taking the kids to her.” Turning to Francesca again, she added, “My Mark and Seth were the two hooligans who ran to Gramps when you came in. Marly belongs to Jenna and John. Their two boys are in the garage trying to fix an old bike.”

  Jenna offered Francesca a bottle of food coloring. “Do you want to mix the colors?”

  “Pink for the angels,” Marly piped up. “White for their wings, blue for the bells and yellow for the stars.”

  “She has it all planned,” Jenna said with a smile. “Life’s choices are a lot less difficult when you’re five.”

  Francesca smiled back. “I suppose that’s true.” She picked up one of the small dishes of icing and shook in a couple of drops of blue food coloring. She’d never decorated cookies before. This might even be fun.

  After a few minutes of silent work, Maureen commented, “Grady said you went into the hospital on Friday. How did that go?”

  Francesca decided if Laurie and Mrs. Fitzgerald had been bluntly honest with her, she could be with them, too. “It felt great to be back. But it was frustrating. Without two hands, I couldn’t do what I usually do.”

  “I can only imagine,” Jenna sympathized. “I broke my arm in a biking accident two years ago. I work in the office at the denim factory, nothing like you do. But it was such a relief when I had that cast off and I could feel useful again. I hated not being able to button the kids’ shirts or tie Marly’s shoes. I can only imagine how you felt at the hospital.”

  “What do you do at the denim factory?” Francesca asked, eager to move the conversation from her to Grady’s family.

  “I’m an account manager.”

  The conversation seemed to roll easily after that. Francesca found she liked decorating Christmas cookies with Marly’s help. Maybe Christmas traditions were something to think about planning for the future.

  When Francesca glanced into the living room, Grady was cross-legged on the floor with his two nephews, playing some kind of board game. He looked up and his gaze met hers. Was he thinking about how she fit into the Fitzgeralds’s Christmas traditions?

  Dinner itself was noisy and informal. Mr. Fitzgerald set up a card table for the kids in the living room. Francesca had never experienced anything like this. The adults just fit around the dining-room table. They all held hands and said a prayer before they ate.

  She did notice the only one who didn’t participate as much in the conversation and laughter was Liam. Grady had told her he’d been divorced recently and she wondered if that was why. Grady definitely favored his father. Liam, with his reddish-brown hair and freckles, favored Maureen.

  Since Grady’s dad was on the board at the hospital, he and Francesca had much to converse about. They were just discussing the merits of an expanded cardiac rehab facility when Liam asked Grady, “So when are you and Francesca getting married?”

  Silence blanketed the table. Even the children in the living room were quiet for the moment.

  Not for the first time since she’d met Grady, Francesca wasn’t sure what to do. Maybe the best thing would be to let Grady discuss whatever he wanted to discuss with his family without her present. Marriage wasn’t on the table. Her father had forced her mother into marriage when she’d told him she was pregnant. Francesca had vowed that would never happen to her—no man would ever control her life.

  Pushing back her chair, she stood. “Please excuse me. I need to use the ladies’ room.”

  She left the dining room and went down the hall, knowing that the powder room would be her sanctuary for at least ten minutes. That should be enough time for Grady to deal with his brother.

  When Francesca did emerge from the powder room, Grady was standing right there outside the door. “Are you all
right?”

  “I’m fine. I wanted to make sure I didn’t interrupt anything when I came back in.”

  “There was nothing to interrupt two minutes after you left.”

  She told him the truth. “This family stuff is foreign territory for me, Grady. I just didn’t want to interfere.”

  Grady stood toe-to-toe with her, his voice low. “I’m not making excuses for Liam’s rudeness, but he isn’t in the best of moods these days. When his wife asked for a divorce, he didn’t see it coming. She didn’t want to try counseling because she’d met someone else. He’s still licking his wounds and that’s why he’s…bristly.”

  “I understand,” she said quickly.

  “No, I don’t think you do. I love my family. I wanted them to meet you. But what happens between you and me, that’s private.”

  She wasn’t sure why, but she did feel some relief at his words. “What did you tell your brother?”

  “I told Liam my relationship with you is none of his business.”

  “I don’t want to come between you.”

  “You won’t. He and I have had healthy disagreements all our lives. He’s the youngest. There’s twelve years between us. He’s never wanted to take my advice.”

  “But you’ve always wanted to give it?” she asked with a small smile.

  “For the past few years I’ve finally learned to keep my mouth shut. Anyway, I know you’ve probably had enough of my clan for now. I just happen to have a Christmas tree in the barn. Would you decorate it with me?”

  “Tonight?”

  “Sure. We’ve got all evening. I’ll get you home in plenty of time to turn in early. What do you think?”

  Her hand went to her tummy. This was her last evening with Grady. Decorating a Christmas tree with him could become a tradition with their son.

  A tradition. She hadn’t experienced many of those. “Yes, I’d like to decorate a tree with you.”

  Grady’s blue eyes darkened. His woodsy cologne invited her closer. A burst of laughter came from the living room and he shifted that way.

  No matter what Grady said, his family was important to his life. Would they be important to hers?

  Chapter Six

  When Francesca stared at the tall, broad evergreen Grady had set up in his living room and the low fire burning in the fireplace, a multitude of feelings washed over her. She realized gratitude and appreciation for today superseded them all.

  Grady brought in the last heavy box from the guest room closet and set it on the coffee table. “That’s it. Now we can unpack the ornaments and get started.”

  Get started. She’d begun a process when she’d called Grady from her hospital room. She hadn’t realized how involved and complicated that process was going to be.

  Curious about the type of ornaments stored in the box, she rose to her feet and went to it as he flipped open the lid. “Are these your family’s or yours?”

  “They’re mine. As you could see, Mom still puts up a gigantic tree. She kept most of the treasured ones from when we were growing up. Mine are a little more primitive. Many my nieces and nephews have made for me, others I found on travels or were gifts. See what you think.”

  She peered into the box. The first ornament she lifted out was a miniature angel with a crocheted skirt. The delicate white thread wound about her in rings and was obviously starched. Her wings were the same delicate threading. Her face was a painted wooden ball and her halo was made of gold wire.

  “Where did this one come from?”

  “The wife of one of my customers. I had a display set up in my shop for her to sell a few of them before Christmas.”

  “It’s wonderful.” She lifted out another. It was a leather boot with a gold bell for a spur.

  “One of my employees made that one.”

  Grady was near to her now, near enough that their hips bumped. As they bent over looking into the box, their elbows brushed. Neither of them moved away, and Francesca knew she should.

  Taking the angel ornament by its little red string, she crossed to the tree and hung it on one of the branches. This could be the start of a Christmas tradition. Emotion lodged in her throat.

  Grady must have been watching her and saw her bite her lip.

  Suddenly he was at her shoulder. “What is it?”

  “Hormones,” she replied with a small, forced smile.

  Grady hesitated for a moment and then wrapped his arm around her shoulders, turning her toward him. “You can only use that excuse once a month for me to buy it.”

  “First time this month,” she joked.

  His hand went to her stomach, startling her. “Honesty—for the sake of the baby. Remember?”

  Oh, she remembered. Gazing into his very blue eyes, she felt so many emotions. Emotions she’d never had before, never let herself feel before. Because of the baby or because of Grady?

  “I didn’t have a pleasant childhood,” she began, the softest way she knew how.

  When he removed his hand, she realized how protective that simple gesture had been.

  He tilted his head and studied her. “You’re going to try to sugarcoat this, aren’t you?”

  “Most people can’t deal with it otherwise.”

  “No sugarcoating. Just tell me what happened.”

  “Grady…”

  Perceptive, he asked, “Why don’t you think I’ll understand?”

  She studied the angel for a few moments. “Because your family is loving and connected. You grew up with a mom and dad who loved you and protected you. That is absolutely huge.”

  “Neither of your parents protected you?”

  For him to understand, she’d have to paint a picture. “What’s your earliest memory?” she asked him.

  He considered her question. “I was about three when my dad put me on a horse for the first time. We have a picture, so I don’t know how much my memory comes from that or from the event itself. But I recall things that aren’t in the picture—the feel of his hand on my back, the way he held the reins, the coarseness of the horse’s mane as I held on to it.”

  She could tell Grady still appreciated every aspect of remembering. She also knew memories were the most vivid when emotions were high. His that day had been the sheer excitement of a new adventure.

  Hers today would be the lingering scent of Grady’s cologne, the soft feel of his flannel shirt and the intense look on his face as he studied her now and asked, “What was yours?”

  “Like you, I was about three. I was hiding in a dark closet as my father yelled at my mother.”

  Grady stayed silent and she guessed he was hoping she’d go on without his prodding. “I have a lot of memories of hiding in the dark in that closet until I was eight.”

  His hands slid from her shoulder to her hand and he tugged her over to the sofa.

  After they were seated, he said, “He abused your mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “When he came home drunk, you went and hid because you knew what would happen.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did it go beyond black eyes and split lips?” His voice was as grim as his expression.

  “Sometimes. Sometimes she’d lie in bed for a day or two and I’d crawl in beside her. The one thing I remember most besides the dark and the fear is how helpless I always felt. I wanted to make her pain go away. And not just the physical pain. I saw her tears, and when I was really young I thought they were from the physical hurt. But as I grew older, I realized she was suffering in her heart. Somehow I thought that by putting my arms around her, by staying close, I could help.”

  “Did he touch you?” Grady asked gruffly.

  “Not as long as I stayed in the closet.”

  She didn’t know why, but telling Grady about this, about her, was much harder than it had been to tell Tessa, Emily or Vince. Maybe because she didn’t want pity from him. She did not want him to feel sorry for her. She was past it all now and on to a different life.

  “You don’t talk about th
is, do you?”

  “No. There’s no reason to.”

  He looked dubious. “There’s more to it than what you’ve told me. You said your mother left your father. How old were you?”

  “I was eight.”

  “What made her finally leave?”

  He was still holding her hand and he rubbed his thumb across her palm. Grady was the father of her child and she didn’t want to keep secrets from him. She knew secrets damaged relationships and didn’t build them.

  “It was a Saturday night,” she remembered all too well, keeping her gaze on his strong fingers holding hers. “We heard my father come up the steps unsteadily. He fell once and swore. He started yelling before he even reached the apartment door. It was 10:00 p.m. but he said his supper had better be on the table.”

  She shivered, all of it rushing back although she’d tried to erase the sights, sounds and feelings for years. She went on as if a play were unfolding in front of her eyes. “As soon as my father opened the door, I headed for the closet. But that night I didn’t stay in the closet. I thought his voice seemed fiercer than usual. When he got louder, I heard something fall. I was afraid it was my mom. I came out of the closet into my room.”

  She could remember the heat of the floorboards under her feet, the scent of jasmine floating through the open windows, the little bedroom that had been a refuge. “My room was small, only big enough for a single bed. But I had that closet. Two doors between me and my father had always seemed to be better than one. That night, though, I suppose I was tired of hiding. I felt like a coward when I hid. I felt like I should do something to protect my mother.”

  “You were only eight!” Grady protested, sounding as if just the thought horrified him.

  “I was old enough to know the consequences of talking back. My mother had become more passive over the years. If she didn’t fight him, she didn’t get hurt as badly. But that night, for whatever reason, I couldn’t be passive. I couldn’t let him hit her again.”

  Francesca closed her eyes as if that would blot out the pictures. But she knew better. “I watched through the keyhole. When he went for her I flew out of there, yelling for him to keep away. But he came after me instead of her and backhanded me across the face, then again across my ear. I ended up on the floor seeing stars. My mother always had a teapot on the stove. She grabbed it, threatened my dad with the hot water, pulled me off the floor and took me to her bedroom, where she locked the door.”