by Cindy Kirk
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2018
Amazon, the Amazon logo, Kindle Scout, and Kindle Press are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
Prologue
Five years ago
My first impulse is to run. To jump up from the leather chair in a room that smells faintly of disinfectant and take off. I have no idea where I’d go. Anywhere has to be better than this office in the physicians’ wing of Springfield’s Arborview Hospital.
I remain seated. Unlike my dad, I’m not a runner. I face the difficult stuff with my head held high. Whether it’s a father walking out the door or a doctor telling me the baby I felt move for the first time only yesterday might be—would likely be—born with severe abnormalities.
Jonah and Veronica are seated to my right. The child I’m carrying is theirs. This is the baby they tried to have for years. Out of money and nearly out of hope, they came to me, their good friend.
“A meningocele is rare, but if it’s that type of spina bifida, especially located in the lower spine, well, that would be best-case scenario.”
Rare. Which would mean we hit the jackpot as far as birth defects go.
I don’t feel particularly lucky about our odds right now. From the looks on Veronica’s and Jonah’s faces, they aren’t ready to head out and buy a lottery ticket, either.
“What’s the more likely scenario?” Jonah speaks quietly, his voice deep with only the slightest hint of a quiver.
This tall, broad-shouldered man with wavy blond hair and kind blue eyes has been my best friend for as far back as I can remember. Of course, once he married, Veronica became his bestie.
She’s blonde, too, but instead of hair the color of sun-ripened wheat, hers is a silvery shade that looks like it came straight from a bottle. I think it’s natural. At least, I’ve never seen dark roots. But then, the advertising exec always looks picture perfect.
The silence lengthens until it begins to pulsate off the moss-green walls. The air grows heavy. I force myself to breathe. In and out. In and out.
Veronica’s and Jonah’s fingers remain tightly intertwined.
I grip the highly polished wood arms of the chair.
“Depending on severity, the child may have very little feeling, if any, in her legs and arms. She may not be able to move those parts of—”
“She’ll be paralyzed.” The color drains from Veronica’s face, leaving it ghostly white.
“That’s a possibility.” The doctor answers in an easy manner, but the twitch by his left eye tells me he doesn’t like being interrupted.
“What else?” Veronica demands in a tone I’m sure she never uses with her advertising clients.
“Let the doctor say—” Jonah pauses when his wife jerks her hand from his.
Veronica’s chest rises and falls as if she’s coming to the end of a long and difficult race. “I want the truth, not pie-in-the-sky hopes.”
“Mrs. Rollins.” Even as the doctor begins, the tilt to Veronica’s jaw tells me the man doesn’t stand a chance.
The emotion rising inside me settles in my throat. I say nothing. I’m not sure I could force out any words, even if I had something important to say.
My hand rests on the belly that has begun to swell low in my abdomen. The gesture is meant to reassure the tiny one growing inside me that I won’t let anyone hurt her.
“My cousin Tiffany’s doctor told her that her baby’s head was smaller than normal but said everything would likely be okay. Well, it wasn’t okay. That baby was horribly malformed and never left the hospital. I was with her when he died.” Veronica blinks rapidly. “Forgive me if I’m not interested in best-case scenarios.”
“What other problems do these children usually have?” Jonah clears his throat. “Other than, ah, other than paralysis.”
“Bowel and bladder problems. Hydrocephalus, which is fluid buildup in the brain. Even when treated with a shunt, it may cause seizures.” The doctor pauses. This time it’s his turn to clear his throat. “As well as learning or vision problems.”
“Well.” Veronica huffs out the word, then turns and skewers me with her pale-blue eyes. “It seems the baby you’re carrying will be paralyzed and unable to control her bowels and bladder. If that isn’t enough, she could have seizures, be blind and mentally retarded. Oh, and let’s not forget the clubfoot. That’s a definite.”
“Yes. The baby has a clubfoot.” The doctor pauses, then turns silent.
“How are you feeling about all this, Abs?” Jonah shifts his gaze to me, his eyes dark with concern.
I saw the foot on the ultrasound once the doctor pointed it out. The spine defect wasn’t as clear. I’d also seen her heart, beating strong and fast.
I loosen my death grip on the chair. “It isn’t the best news, but it seems there’s room for hope.”
“Hope?” Veronica screeches the word and lunges up from her seat. She might have gone for me, but Jonah places a hand on her arm and pulls her back down.
“Haven’t you been listening?” She’s yelling and crying at the same time. “My baby is a freak, destined for a life of pain and suffering.”
“We don’t know that. You heard the doctor. Not for sure.” I clamp my mouth shut before I remind Veronica that no part of this baby is genetically hers. Yes, she’s the intended parent, but Jonah’s sperm and an egg donor formed this child. I agreed to let it nest inside me, to nourish and protect it while it grew.
“What I know is I can’t take any more. The miscarriages, the failed adoption, and now this. It’s
too much.” Veronica clasps her hands together in an obvious attempt to still their trembling.
My heart aches for Veronica. She’s endured so much in her quest to become a mother. Before I can reach over and give her arm a comforting squeeze, her gaze returns to the doctor.
“How soon can you schedule an abortion?” Veronica’s tone might sound matter-of-fact, but the strain edging her mouth and the fact that her knuckles are now as white as her face give her away. “I’d like this done and over with as soon as possible.”
“Vee. We should take time to think about this.” Jonah’s low tone, obviously intended to soothe, has the opposite effect.
Like a rabid wolf, Veronica bares her teeth. “What is there to think about?”
The question is greeted by frozen silence.
The doctor opens his mouth, then closes it.
Jonah expels a heavy breath. “Today’s news isn’t what any of us were hoping to hear.”
The abject misery on his face reminds me of how he looked the day his beloved dog, Ranger, died.
“I’m sorry, Jonah. I was wrong to yell and snap at you.” Veronica’s eyes fill with tears once again, but she blinks them back before they can fall. “When the AFP test came back high last week, we knew spina bifida was a concern. We agreed that quality of life is important. It’s obvious this child’s future is grim.”
Butterfly wings flutter low in my belly.
After several erratic heartbeats, I find my voice. “There will be no abortion.”
Caught off guard, Veronica turns to me, her eyes wide.
Jonah regards me thoughtfully, his expression inscrutable.
“Perhaps you’d all like to take some time to think about this.” The doctor’s gaze slides to Jonah. “Right now, we’re at sixteen weeks’ gestation. There is still time. Not a lot, but still time to consider.”
I lift my chin. “I will not terminate this pregnancy.”
“You don’t have a vote.” Veronica appears more puzzled than angry by my vehement assertion. “It’s in the contract you signed.”
“I don’t think there’s a court in the state of Illinois that would order a woman to have an abortion she doesn’t want.” Veronica isn’t the only one who did her research. Once the test for genetic anomalies came back with the AFP elevated, I did some digging of my own. I like being prepared.
Veronica’s nostrils flare. Though her face remains bone white, two high red blotches now color her cheeks. “If you refuse, you’ll be in breach of the contract. The payments will stop. Is that what you want?”
None of this is what I want. But I learned long ago we don’t always get what we want.
Before Veronica can say more, Jonah wraps an arm around her shoulders and murmurs something in her ear. Whatever he says has her sagging against him.
I look at Jonah, hoping for . . . well, for what, I’m not sure. Perhaps confirmation that I’m not in this alone. Maybe a sign that he’ll be there for me as he was when that bully in fourth grade knocked me to the ground.
Can’t he see I’m on the ground and bleeding?
When we began this journey, he promised the three of us would be in this together, all the way through. But instead of reaching out and pulling me into the fold, he consoles his now-sobbing wife.
As his gentle hand strokes her hair, his gaze meets mine. I see sorrow and regret in the blue depths.
My heart sinks. Without any words being said, I understand.
This time, I’m on my own.
Chapter One
Present day
Five years ago, if someone had told Abigail Fine she’d be living in Hazel Green, Illinois, and running her own business, she’d have said they were crazy. If they’d told her she’d be cleaning toilets, well, that she would have believed.
Abby inched the metal snake into the bowels of the bowl and continued to fish. While she hadn’t yet managed to catch what was clogging up the toilet in room 201, giving up wasn’t in her nature.
“I’m sorry about this, Abby.”
Abby paused to look back into the freckled face of Nevaeh Nichols, the high school girl she employed during the summer to clean rooms. As she usually did when she worked, Nev had pulled her auburn hair back in a high pony. Her brown eyes, large in her thin speckled face, reminded Abby of a sweet spaniel.
“You have no reason to be sorry.” Abby turned back to the bowl, keeping her voice even. “In fact, you deserve a gold star for noticing this bad boy wasn’t flushing properly.”
“It emptied, but slowly.” Nev absently straightened a slightly off-kilter plush ivory towel draped over a thick brass bar.
Room 201 had been the final stop for Nev, as the couple who’d occupied the room last night had requested a late departure. Abby had checked them out personally, and they’d raved about the room. Not one mention of a slow-to-empty toilet.
When Nev had reported the issue, for one brief moment Abby had considered calling a plumber. But if she’d learned anything in the two years since inheriting the hotel from her great-aunt, it was that money flowed out far faster than it flowed in. Which meant she needed to attempt to fix problems herself before calling in the pros.
The snake bumped up against something squishy. Abby gave a shout.
Nevaeh stumbled backward. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s all good.” The knowledge that she wouldn’t need a plumber was sweeter than any French pastry. “Bring the bucket over here.”
The girl held the container out as Abby slowly pulled back on the snake. The careful, deliberate movement reminded her of reeling in a fish. But Abby could guarantee that whatever she caught today wouldn’t be on any menu tonight. The metal tape slowly retracted, the hook buried deep in a bloated sanitary napkin.
Abby locked the snake, then lifted and positioned the soggy mess over the bucket. “Here’s the culprit.”
“Yuck.”
With a grin, Abby released the pad and let it drop.
Wrinkling her nose at the smell, Nev stepped back. She held the bucket at arm’s length. “That’s disgusting.”
“Yes, it is.” Abby’s tone remained cheerful as the cash register in her mind tallied how much she’d saved by fixing the problem herself. “I’ll take the bucket down with me. You, my dear, are officially off duty.”
With a spring in her step, Abby descended the stairs to the utility room at the back of the hotel’s first floor. Once she finished there, she hurried to relieve Iris Endicott at the front desk.
Eight of the ten rooms were already booked for the evening. Six was the break-even point. Her cheer meter inched up a notch when she saw Iris checking in a guest.
As Abby stepped forward, she mentally congratulated the newcomer on making such an excellent choice.
Standing two stories tall, the Inn at Hazel Green was the only hotel in the town’s historic district. From the gleaming hardwood floor to the exposed-brick wall in the entry, the hotel radiated warmth and welcome. While there were larger and more modern hotels out by the interstate, many visitors preferred to stay here. Not only because of its proximity to all the quaint shops but because of the hotel’s appealing ambiance.
And, Abby reminded herself, because of the personalized service she and every one of her employees offered to guests. Stepping to the desk, Abby bestowed a warm smile on the forty-something woman dressed smartly in tailored navy pants, a sleeveless white silk top, and heels.
“Welcome to the Inn at Hazel Green.” Abby glanced at the name on the computer screen as she extended her hand. “Ms. Grimsby, I’m Abigail Fine, the proprietor. I’m happy you chose to stay with us. If there’s anything we can do to make your stay more pleasant, all you need to do is ask.”
“You look too young to be in charge.” For a second, the cool assessment in Charlotte Grimsby’s pale-blue eyes triggered memories of Veronica in that stuffy doctor’s office all those years ago.
Different person, Abby told herself. Different situation.
“Thanks for the compli
ment.” Abby had turned thirty last year, and being called young was now a reason to rejoice.
“I’ll give you another. I love your dress.” Unexpectedly, Charlotte reached forward to rub the soft sable-colored fabric with ivory polka dots between her fingers. “A bit old-fashioned for my tastes, but it’s the perfect foil for your dark hair and eyes.”
“It’s what we in Hazel Green like to call ‘vintage wear.’” Living in a community that billed itself as a place where history comes alive, where dressing in period pieces was not only accepted but encouraged, had given Abby the freedom to experiment with all sorts of styles. “This is a cotton swing dress, popular in the 1950s.”
Turning, Abby studied Iris, the pretty blonde history teacher who worked for her during the summer. Iris had gone stylishly casual today. She’d coupled a royal-blue skirt with tiny boats etched around the hem with a stretchy red-and-white-striped top.
Abby tapped a finger against her lips. “If I’m not mistaken, Iris is wearing a 1940s-era high-waist Hoover swing skirt.”
“Ding, ding, ding.” Iris winked. “Give the woman a cigar.”
“I’d prefer a doughnut.” Laughter bubbled up and spilled from Abby’s lips like a joyous waterfall.
“You two are beyond adorable. It’s as if you don’t have a care in the world.” Charlotte’s gaze narrowed, and she studied the two women as if they were bugs under a microscope.
Her acerbic tone had Iris’s smile fading and tiny frown lines forming between her brows.
Abby regarded her guest thoughtfully. “I think we can both agree, it’s a rare person whose life is free of challenges.”
Charlotte’s gaze shifted.
“You have a beautiful place.” The care the woman took in assessing the furniture in the lobby reminded Abby of a pawnbroker contemplating an offer. “I adore exposed brick.”
“The inn was built in 1884. Been in the family ever since.” Abby let her gaze linger on the hand-tooled maple banister leading to the second floor. The wood gleamed as if it had been freshly polished that morning.
Which it had been. By her. Abby was continually amazed by what Renaissance wax, a soft cloth, and lots of elbow grease could do.
“Ms. Grimsby.” Iris’s tone remained pleasant. “I’ve checked you into our William Jennings Bryan Suite.”
