Always and Forever

by Linda Poitevin

  “You’re stressing again,” Sean murmured.

  “What?”

  “You get a certain look of panic when you’re thinking about the future.”

  “Do you blame me? Finding a new house, moving, planning a wedding, having a baby...” Grace swallowed hard, and her voice dropped to a whisper. Across the living room, the paramedics were packing up their equipment. “Five, Sean. We’ll have five kids. How in hell will we manage everything?”

  “I suspect we’ll manage the way we’ve always managed,” he responded equably. “One day at a time.”

  The panic didn’t subside. “But—”

  Sean’s hand under her chin cut her off. He tipped her head back until she looked at him again. “Less than a year ago,” he reminded her, “I was recovering from surgery for a gunshot wound that damned near killed me, and you were holed up in the woods with four kids on your own, hiding from their father while their mother was in a coma. Compared to that, an extra mouth, a move, and a wedding look pretty good from where I’m standing, don’t you think?”

  Well, when he put it that way...

  He cleared his throat. “Speaking of wedding, Gwyn and Gareth—”

  “Won’t take no for an answer,” interrupted his cousin as he joined them. “Especially after today.”

  Grace opened her mouth to object, but Gareth put both hands on her shoulders and scowled at her in a way that made her blink and snap her teeth together.

  “Your fiancé has just delivered my daughter on the floor of your living room—which reminds me, I owe you a new area rug—and you are letting us stay the night in your bed while you take our kids and yours home to our place. Why are you doing all this for us? Because we’re family, am I right?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “But nothing. You and Sean and the kids are family, too. And you deserve to celebrate the start of that family. And I will pay for that celebration. Am I clear?”

  “Can we at least talk about it?” she asked, looking to Sean in appeal.

  “No,” said Gareth. “We can’t.”

  “Give it up, Grace,” Gwyn advised as the paramedics helped her up off the floor. Laughter underlined her voice. “You won’t win.”

  Grace took a deep breath. She looked from Sean’s shrug to Gareth’s glower. She sighed. “In that case—”

  “Good. Settled.” Gareth released his hold on her and turned to Sean. “Thank you,” he said simply.

  Sean looped an arm around his neck and thumped him on the back. “All in the line of duty,” he said. “But you’re welcome. And now, let’s get Gwyn cleaned up and settled so your kids can meet their new sister.”

  ***

  “You’re sure you can manage?” Gwyn asked from the bed as Grace shooed the last of the kids from the room so they could get ready to leave and Gwyn could get some rest.

  Grace winced at the thunder of seven pairs of feet descending the stairs to where Sean and Gareth had taken on the organization of their mass exodus. She glanced over her shoulder to find Gwyn, propped against the pillows, making the same face. Their gazes met and they both laughed.

  “We’ll manage,” Grace said. “You just get some rest and enjoy that incredible little miracle you produced today.” She crossed over to the bed and, with her fingertips, caressed the tiny, dark silken head nestled against Gwyn’s chest. “She’s gorgeous, by the way. Utterly gorgeous.”

  Gwyn smiled, pride and satisfaction radiating from her. She pressed a gentle kiss to her daughter’s forehead and gave a happy sigh. “I’ve done this birthing thing twice before, and it still amazes me how instantly and completely you fall in love with them when they arrive.” Her anxious gaze sought Grace’s. “You’re sure you’re okay with us naming her Julianne? It won’t be too weird for the kids? Or you? If you want to keep it for your own—”

  “I’m positive,” Grace interrupted. “There’s no guarantee we’ll have a girl, and it would be too close to home for the kids if we used the name. This is perfect. And the kids are thrilled to have her named after their mom.”

  Gwyn relaxed a little. “I’m so glad. I love the name, and I think she looks like a Julianne, don’t you?”

  If a heart could smile, Grace was fairly certain hers did. “She absolutely does,” she said huskily. “And Juli would have been honored.”

  The newborn gave a wide yawn in response to being discussed, her face scrunching up. Grace laughed and leaned in to give Gwyn a hug. “And on that note, I’m going to leave you both to get some rest. You’re sure you have everything you need?”

  “I’m sure, thanks. Donna brought a starter kit with her, so we’re good. If you decide to have a midwife for yours, you should give her a call. She’s fantastic.”

  “I’ll keep her in mind,” Grace said, reaching for the door knob and giving Gwyn an eyeroll over her shoulder. “After that wedding I’m apparently having.”

  “That wedding you’re having soon,” Gwyn corrected. “August is nice.”

  “August! But that’s next month.”

  “And Carol is a miracle worker.”

  “You know you just had a baby, right? Do you think we can at least wait until tomorrow before we start planning?”

  “Only if you promise to call Carol.”

  Laughing, Grace stepped into the hallway. “I’m going now, Gwyn.”

  “You can have it in our back yard. Carol said it would fit a hundred and forty.”

  Grace closed the door, calling, “Goodbye, Gwyn! Congratulations again! Sleep well!”

  “But you need to apply for the license now,” Gwyn’s muffled voice filtered through the door, “because it takes twenty days in Quebec!”

  Still grinning, Grace descended the stairs, accepted Gareth’s hug, shook her head as she took the business card he held out to her, and continued out the door to join Sean and their small army.

  Chapter 12

  “Pink!”

  “Yellow!”

  “Purple!”

  “Gween!”

  Grace met the wedding planner’s gaze over the heads of the cluster of little girls poring over the magazines and fabric samples she’d scattered across Gwyn’s dining room table. It was their third round of trying to get a consensus on flower girl dresses, and the color choices remained firmly the same...or rather, firmly different. Katie wanted purple; Maggie, yellow; Lilliane, pink; and three-year-old Annabelle, “gween.” Only quiet little Sage, sitting on Gareth’s daughter Amy’s lap, had refrained from offering an opinion so far.

  Across the table, Gwyn rolled her eyes as she removed baby Julianne from her breast and tucked her against her shoulder. “I told you it was a mistake leaving it up to them,” she said, patting her daughter’s back. The week-old infant responded with an immediate, wet burp. Gwyn wiped her mouth with a corner of a cloth and continued talking without missing a beat. “You’ll never get an agreement in a million years. And while I hate to point out the obvious, you only have a month.”

  “You may have to make an executive decision here,” Carol agreed, studying the swatches the girls had chosen. “Or your wedding party may end up looking more like an Easter parade.”

  Grace looked down at the girls. They’d been practically bouncing off the walls ever since Carol had walked in the door. She so hated to take away any of their excitement. And she had promised they could choose...

  “Aunt Grace?” Sage slipped off Amy’s lap and leaned against Grace, who looped an arm around her niece’s waist.

  “Yes, sweetie?”

  “Why are we called flower girls if we don’t have flowered dresses?”

  “Because we carry flowers, dummy,” her sister informed her.

  Grace shot her a warning look. “Lilli, we don’t call people names.”

  Lilli, obviously trying hard to impress her older cousins-to-be, rolled her eyes, and Grace made a mental note to take her out for tea and a one-on-one discussion soon. It was a far more effective tactic, in her short mothering experience, than tearing dow
n the little girl in front of others. In the meantime, Amy came to Sage’s rescue, bless her heart.

  “That’s actually a good question, Sage, and it might even solve our color problem.” She reached out to pull one of the magazines closer, then flipped through its pages. “I know I saw it somewhere—ha! There. What about something like this?” She pointed at a little girl in the front row of a full-page bridal party spread. Blonde and cherubic, the child wore a knee-length, full-skirted, scallop-necked dress in a white fabric sprigged with flowers and leaves in all the required colors, cinched with a pink ribbon at the waist.

  “They could each have the ribbon of their choice, maybe,” Amy suggested. “And the guys could have matching ties.”

  And best yet, Grace could envision every single one of her own flower girls wearing something just like it. “It’s perfect! What do you ladies think?”

  “Hold on,” Carol said over the babble of agreement. “I hate to burst your bubble, but something like that isn’t going to be available off the rack, and a rush order for having them made will cost a fortune. I’m not even sure we could find someone to do it. Five dresses in a month is a lot.”

  Grace’s heart fell, along with the faces of her flower girls. But before she could so much as muster a sigh, Gwyn said, “Do it.”

  “Gwyn, no. You and Gareth are already doing too—”

  Gwyn cut her off. “When Gareth and I said we’d pay for the wedding, we figured on something way bigger than what you’re having. Like three times the size. Believe me, there’s plenty of room in the budget.”

  “But—”

  “Are you really going to argue with a woman who’s averaging three hours of sleep a night right now?” Gwyn cocked an eyebrow at her.

  Grace glowered in return. “You do know that you use that excuse every time you want to win an argument these days, right?”

  “That’s because it works.” Gwyn gave her a smug, complacent smile, then turned her attention back to Carol. “Find someone. Get the dresses made. I’ll drive the girls over for fittings myself, if I have to.”

  Carol sent Grace a half-apologetic, half-questioning look, obviously uncomfortable at being caught between bride and paying client. “You’re okay with that?”

  With a sigh, Grace rolled her eyes and gave in. “Fine. But on one condition. I haven’t had a chance to ask you yet, Gwyn, but I need a matron of honor. Would you...?”

  Shocked blue eyes stared at her. “Me? You want me? But don’t you have friends...?”

  Grace thought back over the last seven months and how Gwyn and Gareth had been there for her and Sean at every turn, every bump in the road. Gwyn’s quick wit and warmth had been a lifeline in a sea of change, and Grace had no idea how she would have managed without this woman who had rapidly become more sister than friend. But she didn’t give voice to any of that now, suspecting that it would make the sleep-deprived, still hormonal Gwyn dissolve into tears. Instead, she met the blue gaze and said, “None as good as you.”

  Gwyn’s eyes filled with tears anyway. She stood, handed baby Julianne to an unprepared Carol, and came around the table to give Grace a fierce hug. “I’d be honored,” she blubbered. “So honored.” Then she pulled back with a watery scowl. “But I have a condition, too. You absolutely, positively cannot call me a matron.”

  Laughing, Grace rose to give her another hug. “Deal.”

  “Now that we have that settled,” said Carol, joining them to hand a squirming, fussing Julianne back to her mother, “can we please get back to the planning? You guys and your impossible timelines are killing me here. We still have a lot to look after. Cake, flowers, menu, music...”

  She trailed off, diving into her oversized tote bag for another binder that she opened and set on the table.

  With an inward sigh, Grace turned her attention back to the plans at hand, even as her brain added to the list that Carol had begun: house, packing, move, baby...

  It was going to be an interesting few months.

  More interesting months.

  She made another mental note—a wry one, this time—to ask Gwyn if life ever settled down. Then the front door slammed open and Nicholas roared down the hallway and exploded into the kitchen to share his tux-hunting story, and she scrapped the idea. Because with this many kids involved, the answer was already obvious.

  Still yammering excitedly, Nicholas clambered onto her lap, framed her face with his hands to be sure he had her full attention, and said, "And then you know what, Auntie Grace? When we got home, we saw them putting a for sale sign in front of the house next door, and now you and Uncle Sean and the new baby and everyone can live right beside us!"

  Chapter 13

  “For the record,” Sean reached out to clasp her hand as they headed toward the interprovincial bridge that would take them across the Ottawa River and home, “moving next door to Gwyn and Gareth was Nicholas’s idea, not mine.”

  Grace slid him a sideways look. “But?”

  “But what?” His focus remained on the road.

  “But you like the idea.”

  “Not necessarily. Maybe. I don’t know?” he hedged.

  From the van’s back seat came Lilliane’s voice. “I like the idea. It would be fun living beside Katie and Nicholas and Maggie. We could go to school together, and play together, and have dinner together and everything.”

  Sean’s fingers squeezed Grace’s as he responded to Lilli. “There can be such a thing as too much togetherness, too,” he said. “It’s something your Aunt Grace and I need to think over carefully.”

  Grace pursed her lips. She’d been mulling over the idea since Nicholas had sprung it on her, and she still wasn’t sure how she felt about it. But she hadn’t ruled it out. “With other people, maybe,” she murmured. “But I don’t think it would be a problem with Gwyn and Gareth.”

  “What wouldn’t?”

  “Too much togetherness. Gwyn and Gareth are both very attuned to privacy issues.”

  “Well, yes, but—” He shot her a surprised look. “You’d seriously consider it?”

  “I’m not sure. There are a lot of pros to the idea, don’t you think?”

  “Well, yes,” Sean said again. “But there are cons, too.”

  “Such as?”

  Silence met her question. It stretched for the entire length of the bridge, broken only by Annabelle’s tuneless humming as she played with the finger puppets that Maggie had passed on to her. At last Sean cleared his throat and glanced into the rearview mirror. “Josh? Sage? How would you guys feel about the idea of living that close to Auntie Gwyn and Uncle Gareth?”

  “I think it would be cool,” Josh said.

  “Would we still be able to have sleepovers?” Sage asked.

  Lilli heaved a sigh. “Of course, silly!”

  “Lilliane.” Grace twisted in her seat to level a stern glare at her niece.

  Her niece dropped chin to chest. “Sorry, Aunt Grace. That was another name, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, it was. And yes, Sage, you would still be able to have sleepovers. But we’re not sure this will even work out, so let’s not get our hopes up, okay?”

  Sage nodded solemnly, but Lilliane wiggled a little dance in her seat and grabbed her brother’s hand to high-five him. “We’re moving! We’re moving!” she squealed.

  Grace opened her mouth to remind her that it was far from a done deal, but Sean shook his head. “Save your breath,” he advised. “I’m afraid our Lilli is destined to go through life bouncing between absolute joy and utter despair until she figures out how to regulate her own expectations, and nothing you say will change that.”

  A surprised warmth unfurled in Grace’s chest, first at the “our Lilli” part, and second, at his insight. While Grace, for reasons of leading by example, was careful not to use labels or names herself, the phrase “drama queen” had passed through her mind more than once in relation to her oldest niece. It was nice to know she wasn’t the only one thinking along those lines.

&nb
sp; The corner of her mouth tipped up, and she murmured in a voice just loud enough for Sean to hear, “Adolescence will be...”

  “Interesting?” he supplied dryly.

  She twisted in her seat and leaned her head against the headrest, studying him.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Something I said?”

  “No, it’s just...” She shook her head slowly and pitched her voice low, so the kids wouldn’t hear her words and all the reminders contained in them. “Do you realize that a year ago, we hadn’t even met? And now here we are, discussing moving, getting married, joking about adolescence, and having a...” She trailed off.

  He chuckled. “A baby,” he said. “We’re having a baby, Grace. You’re going to have to say the word out loud sooner or later, you know.”

  She took a deep breath and moved his hand, spreading his fingers over her belly, covering them with her own. “A baby,” she said. “Dear God, Sean McKittrick...we’re having a baby.”

  “That we are, Grace Daniels. That we are.” He gently pressed his hand against her, then turned it to thread his fingers with hers again. He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed her knuckles, and slanted her a grin. “Ain’t no grass gonna grow under our feet, darling lady.”

  “Does that mean you’re calling the realtor tomorrow?”

  “I was thinking tonight.”

  “Of course you were.”

  “But we can wait to move until after the wedding.”

  “You’re all heart.”

  “Not all,” he disagreed. He returned their linked hands to her lap and dropping his voice in a way that made her breath hitch a little. “I do have other functional parts, too, you know.”

  Grace tried not to dissolve into a warm puddle on the spot. It wasn’t easy. “That would explain the we’re having a baby part.”

  “It would. Most satisfactorily, I hope.”

  “Well...”

  Sean’s fingers untangled from hers and slid upward along her thigh. His voice deepened. Softened. “Is that a challenge?” he inquired.

  “Well...”

  “Are you guys doing the sex thing?” Lilli asked from the back seat.