by Brenda Novak
He sighed. “I couldn’t wait any longer. It was driving me crazy worrying about it, wondering whether or not we’d really be the family I want us to become. I didn’t want it hanging over us all through our wedding.”
Chantel didn’t mention that something much worse than not knowing might be hanging over them now. If Sydney didn’t belong to Dillon, the truth would be inescapable. How would they deal with all that in the eight days before they got married? “And?” she said quietly.
“The results are right here.” He took an envelope out of his back pocket and stared glumly down at it. “I’ve been carrying it around all morning.”
“They didn’t tell you?”
“I wanted to talk to you first, make sure you agreed with me that it’s best to get this over with and not drag it out any longer.” He set the envelope on the counter and they both watched it warily, as though it had suddenly grown fangs.
Chantel knew Dillon had taken Sydney to get her blood test almost a week earlier. They’d told her the doctor wanted to run some routine tests, and she’d complied, if not happily, at least willingly. Evidently Dillon had gone in a few days later, during work hours, so she’d never connect the two appointments.
“Well?” he asked. “What do you think?”
Chantel didn’t know how to answer. This was eating him up inside. She wanted it over as much as he did, but she wasn’t sure whether it would be better to face the possible bad news now or put it off a little longer. “I think you should do what you need to do, and if that means you open the envelope today, then do it.”
He reached out for her, and she went to him, slipping her arms around his waist and tucking her head in the hollow of his shoulder. The smell of perspiration and the outdoors still lingered on his warm skin and clothes. Chantel breathed deeply and the thought that she’d be able to hug him like this every day of their lives made her happy all the way down to her bones.
“How are you feeling?” he asked above her head. “Any cramps?”
“Not since that day in the hospital. I think the baby’s going to be fine.”
“I hope so.” He turned her in his arms so that her back pressed against his chest and his hands were free to cup her belly. He rubbed it gently, his actions telling Chantel that he was affirming the baby’s existence. “I like it that you’re starting to show.”
Chantel enjoyed the feel of his hands and wondered if the baby could somehow understand how badly they wanted him or her. “What should we name the baby if it’s a boy?” she asked.
He kissed her neck. “I kind of like Junior.”
Chantel chuckled. Typical male. “You want to name him after you?”
“Uh-huh. And if it’s a girl, we can name her after you.”
“No.” She covered Dillon’s hands with her own and entwined their fingers. “Stacy’s middle name is Lauren. I’d like to use that.”
He paused for a moment. “I’m sorry about Stacy, babe.”
Chantel turned and lifted her chin, giving him her bravest smile. “I haven’t given up on her yet.”
He frowned. “That’s what worries me. I don’t want you to be hurt again.”
“There are some things you can’t protect me from,” she told him. “Just like there are some things I can’t fix for you.” She eyed the envelope again. “Are you going to open it?”
She felt him haul in a deep breath. Then he moved away and tucked the envelope in the cupboard above the refrigerator. “Not today,” he said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
FOR DILLON, the next few days dragged by. The envelope in the cupboard seemed to beckon him every time he passed the kitchen. But then he’d think of Chantel and their upcoming marriage and force himself to move on.
At least the wedding plans were finally set. On Wednesday afternoon, with only two days to go before the big event, he received a call at his office.
“Don’t say I’ve never done anything for you.” It was the voice of a heavy smoker—Helen. Dillon recognized his ex-mother-in-law immediately, even though they hadn’t talked since Amanda’s reappearance.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he said.
She chuckled, the sound more bitter than sweet. “This is a courtesy call to let you know that Amanda’s gone back to her new husband in Salt Lake City.”
“What?” Dillon could hardly believe his ears.
“You heard me.”
“But what about the girls, the blood test?”
“She wanted to go through with the test, anyway, but I knew it wasn’t for the right reasons.”
Dillon agreed with this assessment, but he was cautious about jumping to any conclusions. “And that means…”
“It means I won’t let her. I told her if she goes through with the test, I’ll do everything I can to help you get custody, even if you’re not Sydney’s real father. And she knows I’ll do it, too.” Helen gave a hacking cough. “Anyway, she’s agreed to drop the suit.”
Dillon couldn’t breathe for a minute. The thought of how many times he’d nearly reached for that white envelope waiting at home terrified him. “So, no blood test?”
“No blood test. The girls are yours. May you do a better job of raising them.”
A dial tone hummed in Dillon’s ear for several seconds before he hung up the receiver. No blood test. No threat to Sydney. They were going to be a complete family, after all.
“Thank you, Helen, thank you.” He muttered, and wearing the most carefree smile he’d worn in a long time, he picked up the phone to call Chantel.
CHANTEL LEFT the girls at the kitchen table, where they’d been working on their scrapbooks, to answer the phone.
“Hello, beautiful.”
“Hi, Dillon.” She smiled, loving the sound of his voice.
“I have some good news.”
Chantel waved for Brittney and Sydney to stop fighting over the glue. “What’s that?” she asked.
“Amanda went back to Utah.”
“To her husband?”
“Yeah.”
She glanced toward the cupboard over the fridge, where she knew the envelope with the results of the blood test still lurked. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
“We get to keep the girls. Both of them.”
“Dillon, that’s wonderful!” The invisible bands that had been squeezing Chantel’s heart ever since Amanda had appeared at the door were instantly released, and she felt lighter than air. “You must be so relieved.”
“I am.”
“Is that Daddy?” Sydney asked.
Chantel nodded.
“Is he calling to tell you he loves you?”
No, he’s never told me that, Chantel thought, feeling a flicker of doubt. She wanted to believe he loved her. He acted as if he loved her. So she was marrying him on faith. But he’d never said it. “He’s calling to say he misses his girls,” she filled in.
“Why don’t you guys come meet me for lunch?” Dillon asked. “I do miss my girls—all three of them.”
All three of them. It wasn’t I love you, but Chantel was part of the family now. She remembered her own father, and missed him all over again. But the pain of his passing and the regret were gone, because she was finally where she belonged. And somewhere along the line she’d managed to forgive that nineteen-year-old girl who’d screwed up so badly. “We’d love to,” she said, and the only empty place left in her heart was the spot she would always reserve for Stacy.
AFTER A LONG NIGHT of tossing and turning, Stacy awoke with her heart pounding. Today was Chantel’s wedding. As much as she’d tried to ignore the passing days, her internal clock refused to let her forget.
“I’m not going,” she groaned. She hadn’t heard from Wade since that day in the hospital parking lot, and she was glad. He had no place in her life. She hadn’t seen him around town, either, and guessed he’d gone back to New York, after all. Neither had she heard from Dillon, not since the night he’d come to invite her to his wedding. Her love life
was amazingly bleak, but she doubted even a hot new romance would have made any difference to the way she felt today: insignificant, left out, nostalgic, guilt-ridden and confused, all wrapped up together.
She got up and scowled at herself in the mirror. Not a good hair day. She could tell already. But she wasn’t interested in how her lack of sleep had affected her looks. She’d saved a message on her answering machine that she wanted to hear again, just to see if her conscience would let her erase it this time.
“Stacy? This is Chantel. I know you don’t want to hear from me, but I’m calling to tell you…I don’t know…that I miss you. And that I’m sorry. Not for what I’ve done. You already know that. I’m just sorry you got stuck with such a lousy sister. You deserve better.”
A lump formed in Stacy’s throat, but for a moment her finger hovered stubbornly over the erase button. Then she played the message again, and again, until tears streamed down her face. Chantel wasn’t such a bad person. She’d been sweet and giving when they were growing up. Until Wade, Stacy had definitely been the more selfish of the two of them. And now, with Dillon, Stacy wasn’t sure it was entirely Chantel’s fault. When they’d first met, Chantel hadn’t known she was dating Dillon. What would she have done in a similar situation? With a man like Dillon?
The T-shirt and shorts she’d worn to bed didn’t match, but she didn’t bother to change before she grabbed her keys off the counter and headed out into the warm July morning. She hadn’t been back to Chantel’s father’s grave since Memorial Day, but she felt compelled to go there now. She missed Grant, needed his advice. If only he was still alive…
The cemetery was large and sprawling, with an older section on the far left and a new section with mostly flat headstones on the right. A small stone structure, built to resemble an ancient Greek temple, sat in the middle; it held, Stacy guessed, the remains of those who’d been cremated.
The scent of carnations and damp soil crowded in close as she walked across the neatly trimmed grass. The sun was beating down, promising temperatures in the upper nineties for the afternoon, but somehow it reminded her of another day, this one in spring.
It was May. She was only fourteen, Chantel not quite eleven. They both stood at Grant’s side, gazing at the grave of their mother, who’d died just two months before. It was Stacy’s first experience with death and never had she felt so bereft. The one person who had sustained her, loved her, was gone, and now she belonged to a man who had fathered her sibling, but not her.
Would he eventually send her to her real father, a drifter who’d never shown much interest in her? She wasn’t sure. She only knew she felt apart from the family, alone, until Chantel had come to stand by her. At that age they rarely hugged, but Chantel put her arm around Stacy and simply stood there until they went home, the contact telling her that she did belong, that she would always be part of the family.
Now Grant, too, was gone. Would she and Chantel maintain their relationship? Was it too late to save what was left of their family?
Stacy sank onto the grass, heedless of the wet ground as Chantel and Dillon’s engagement picture flashed in her mind. They’d looked so happy, so right together. Could she really begrudge her sister a man like Dillon? When Chantel was ill with what they’d thought was flu, Stacy had sworn she’d never let anything else come between them. And yet here she was, carrying her old grudge.
Closing her eyes, she said a silent prayer, to God, to Grant, to her mother, to whoever was listening. “Please, help me forgive her,” she said. “Neither of us is perfect. But nothing should come between sisters.”
STANDING IN THE BEDROOM of her condo, where she’d insisted on getting ready for the wedding, Chantel stared down at her engagement ring. It was a large marquise with a double row of smaller diamonds on each side. She’d never seen a more beautiful piece of jewelry, not even in her New York days, when nothing was out of reach. She and Dillon had gone together to choose their rings, and she’d loved this one from the start. But the price had been exorbitant. She’d immediately shied away and chosen something more reasonable, but Dillon had already noticed the gleam in her eye. After her ring had been sized and they’d gone back to pick it up, she’d stood in the store and opened the plush velvet box to quite a surprise.
She smiled at the memory of Dillon watching her, his eyes warm and soft as the tears rolled down her cheeks. He’d gently wiped them away, put the ring on her finger and pulled her into his arms. “I’m a lucky man,” he’d said, but he still hadn’t told her he loved her.
He did care about her, she told herself. He showed it in every possible way, down to the flowers he brought home at least once a week.
If only he’d say the words…
Taking a deep breath, Chantel stood and surveyed herself in the mirror. She was wearing her wedding dress. The ceremony was in less than an hour. Then she’d be Mrs. Dillon Broderick. She put a hand to her stomach, which bulged slightly beneath the concealing folds of her dress. Her baby would have its father’s name and grow up under his protection. Fortunate child.
“It won’t be long now,” she whispered as the telephone rang. Even before she answered it, she knew it was Dillon.
“How’s my beautiful bride?” he asked.
She smiled to herself. “I’m almost ready.”
“Can I come get you?”
“No. I’ll drive myself. You can’t see me until I walk down the aisle, remember?”
He groaned. “I can’t wait. For the wedding—or for tonight.”
Chantel thought about sleeping with Dillon again, feeling his bare skin against her own. Unity, love, had no better expression. “No more couch.”
“Never. But we’ll be very careful of the baby. Don’t worry.”
“I know you’d never do anything to hurt me or our baby.”
“I’m glad you know that, because it’s true. I’ll see you at the church.”
She hung up feeling nervous yet happy. She coiled her hair into a fancy style she’d once worn on the cover of Elle, situated her veil and collected her keys. But before she could walk out the door, something called her back into the living room. Stacy. She had to try to convince her sister, one more time, to be part of the wedding, to give them her blessing.
Picking up the phone, Chantel dialed Stacy’s number, but got the answering machine. She opened her mouth to leave a message, to plead with her sister to come, but ended up saying simply, “Stacy, I love you.”
DILLON’S MOTHER and sisters had done an incredible job decorating the church. Sprays of lilies, accentuated by ivy, lined the steps outside and continued down the aisle. They’d hired a photographer and were serving prime rib and roast turkey at the brunch to follow, along with a variety of side dishes, fresh fruit, breads and gourmet desserts. But the flowers had been the single biggest expense, and now Chantel could understand why. They were everywhere, they were real and they were beautiful.
Her stomach fluttered with nervous excitement as she stood in the small vestibule to the side of the front foyer, watching through the crack in the door as a crowd gathered. Maureen and her husband went inside, and the senator himself, along with his wife and one of the field representatives, but Chantel didn’t recognize anyone else. They were all Dillon’s friends and family. He’d lived in the Bay Area his whole life.
According to Dillon’s sister Monica, who had met Chantel at the chapel the moment she arrived and whisked her away to her current hiding place, Dillon was already inside. But Chantel hadn’t seen him. She imagined him standing at the altar, waiting for her, and felt a tingling rush of anticipation.
“Oh, you look absolutely stunning!” Dillon’s mother exclaimed, bursting into the room. She clasped Chantel in a tight hug.
“I’m just glad I’m feeling good enough for this. And I’m grateful you talked us out of going to Vegas.”
“Well, if she’s lucky, a girl only gets married once.”
Chantel smiled, understanding the allusion to Karen’s own past. “At
least you got it right this time. You seem very happy.”
She shrugged. “Dillon doesn’t think much of Lyle, but my husband treats me well—and I don’t want to be alone.”
“I’m sure Dillon will eventually come to like him.”
Karen nodded. “He’s been through too many stepfathers. But look how well he turned out, in spite of my rocky past. I think he’ll forgive me someday.”
“I’m sure he already has.”
The organ music started, and Brittney and Sydney hurried into the room, wearing their matching emerald-green dresses. “Everyone’s here!” they gasped. “Even old Aunt Maude.”
“It’s going to be a lovely wedding.” Dillon’s mother kissed Chantel’s cheek, then squeezed her hand. “I need to ask you something.”
Chantel raised her brows in surprise. What could Dillon’s mother want right before the wedding?
“I know we were planning to have Dillon’s business partner give you away when Reva got sick and Dave didn’t think he could make it. But he flew in this morning and surprised us all. Would you mind if we let him take Simon’s place?”
“No. Of course not.” Chantel remembered the gruff but warm voice of Dillon’s uncle from their telephone conversation. Before her plans to marry Dillon, Chantel had felt so isolated and alone. She’d had only her sister, who wasn’t speaking to her. Now Dillon’s family would surround her and become her own—an added blessing.
Karen went out and returned with a stocky, ruddy-faced man with salt-and-pepper hair in a buzz cut. “So here’s the beautiful bride,” he said when his sister introduced them. Instead of taking her hand, he gave her a hug.
“How’s Reva?” she asked.
“Her cold turned to bronchitis there for a few days, but she’s ornery as ever and on the mend. She sends her love.”
Chantel smiled. Somehow, with Dave, it didn’t seem strange that a woman she’d never met would send her love.
