“Forget it. It’s almost over,” said Jack.
“Not for forty-five minutes,” said Hank.
“Is Griffin going to be there?” asked Freddie. The twins adored the baby.
Jamie nodded.
“Oh, please, let’s!” cried Freddie. She turned to her aunt for backup. “Harley has goats and everything. Her house is so much fun.”
The tasting crowd was dwindling, and even if it weren’t, Jack had more than enough staff present. He wouldn’t be missed.
“The work’ll still be here when I get back, I guess.”
“Yay!” shouted the girls, jumping up and down as the three of them followed Hank and Jamie outside to Jack’s truck.
* * *
“People are going to be here any minute.”
Harley’s operating permits had finally come through and her plum-colored Adirondack porch chairs and living room suite been delivered just in time. She’d spent days making sure everything was just so. The house had been cleaned from top to bottom. Her fiddle-leaf fig was content in a window with a southern exposure. Recipes had been researched, beds made, towels folded.
Her talent was for art, not innkeeping. Nothing about running a B and B came naturally. But if that was what she had to do to support her child, she’d do it willingly.
“Don’t be nervous,” said Mom.
She’d enlisted her parents’ help for the open house. Dad was already stationed upstairs, and Mom was headed out to the goat pen as soon as the first guests showed up.
“I’m not.”
“Really? You’ve rearranged those pillows a dozen times.”
“People are coming from all over the valley,” said Harley. “First impressions are lasting. I need to make a good one. Kiai!” she yelled, bringing the side of her hand down along the welted ridge of a velvet cushion, creating a slight indentation.
“What are you doing?”
“What’s it look like? Karate-chopping the throw pillows,” she panted. “Kiai!”
The doorbell chimed, and she jumped and touched her hair. “They’re here! How do I look?”
“Fine. I’ll head out back to the goat pen.”
Mom scurried out the back door as Harley threw open the front. “Welcome to Honeymoon Haven!”
“Hi, Harley. Remember me?” An athletic-looking woman wearing a tracksuit in the colors of the local college shook her hand vigorously.
“Pru!” Prudence Mitchell, her tenth-grade peer math tutor. “How have you been?”
“Solid. Run my own accounting firm now.” She looked around the foyer, nodding approvingly. “Place looks ship-shape.”
“Thanks. It’s been a lot of work, but I think it’s finally ready.”
Pru held up a business card between two fingers. “You need help with accounting, here’s my card.”
“I just might do that. Numbers were never my strong suit.”
“I know.” Pru grinned, and Harley saw a plastic coating on her teeth.
“Jack been here yet?”
Harley started. Then she remembered: in high school, Pru had had a bit of a thing for Jack, though it went unreciprocated. Poor Pru had always been a little backward when it came to guys. Harley assumed it had something to do with having been raised without a mother. Her parents were divorced and her dad had sole custody.
Then again, lots of the girls had had minor crushes on Jack. No one thought they could compete with Emily.
“Er, I’m not sure if Jack will be here in person. But the docent’s pouring his wines, right over there. You’re welcome to sample some.”
The next group arrived, and then another.
Three hours later, the line had finally begun to taper off when a group of five trooped in, some looking familiar, others Harley had never met.
“Jack.” He came.
With a jerk of his thumb, he said, “The girls are out with the goats.” He gestured toward a tall man in a ball cap with a Textron logo. My cousin, Hank. Hank, you remember Harley.”
“ ’Course.” Hank’s Grandmother Ellie had raised him at The Sweet Spot. Harley remembered him as a friendly but unsettled kid who bounced from interest to interest, trying to find what he wanted.
“Hello again, Hank.”
“Harley. Meet my wife, Jamie. She teaches music at Newberry Elementary.”
Jamie’s belly was so big, Harley could barely tear her gaze away from it long enough to focus on her face.
“Nice to meet you,” said Jamie in a crystalline voice.
“And this is Alex, husband of my cousin Kerry. Alex is one of our local men in blue.”
“Griffin,” Alex said, nodding to the baby he held.
One look at Griffin’s dimples had Harley reaching for him. “Well, hello there, little man!” she cooed, stroking his chubby cheek with a finger. “Aren’t you something?” As always, she was thinking of her own, unborn son.
“He’s all yours,” said Alex, easing the baby toward her. “Kerry’s working on a case and the older kids are at a birthday party.”
But Harley barely listened to what he said. She was too wrapped up in examining every inch of the baby in her arms.
“How old are you?” Why had her tone suddenly risen two octaves?
“Four months,” Alex answered.
“Four months! Such a big boy,” she said, bouncing him on her hip, giving him her thumb to wrap his tiny fingers around. “And so strong!”
“He’s big for his age.” Alex hooked his thumbs through his belt loops and puffed out his chest. “Already has his own football. Just sayin’.”
“Listen to this.” Jack chuckled. “Papa already has him playing linebacker for the Seahawks.”
Alex tipped his head toward Harley, and from behind his hand said, “Could his jealousy be any more obvious? Not my fault all he can make is girls.”
“I wouldn’t mind balancing out the estrogen pool with a little testosterone,” Jack admitted.
He wanted a son. Jack wanted a son. Harley hoped no one noticed the throbbing of her pulse in her neck, the flush in her cheeks. She hid her frenzied excitement behind a smile as Griffin reached for the button on her sweater.
“Watch out. He loves anything shiny,” said Alex.
The baby smiled a toothless grin. “Kuh.”
“He’s talking!” exclaimed Harley.
“Mostly he tries to copy what’s said to him.”
“Aw. I could eat him up. Would you like to see the goats?” She looked up at Alex. “Do you mind?”
“Let’s do it.”
“Dad,” she called up the stairs. “I’m going outside. Cover for me?”
She turned her back on the others, delighting in Griffin’s slobbery smile as she made her way out the back door toward the goat pen.
“Harley!” Jack’s twins threw their arms around her, and for one magical moment she was completely surrounded by children. Tears stung her eyes.
She squatted with Griffin to bring him to eye level with the goats, while Jack and Hank stood back and watched, swirling and sniffing Jack’s wine in their glasses, talking about the new vintage, and Alex listened.
“They can talk wine until the cows come home.” It was Jamie, standing beside her. “Hank said the three of you went to high school together.”
Harley nodded.
“What have you been doing since then?”
“I was in Seattle for a while, but now I’m back, making my living doing graphic design.”
“I’ve heard a lot of good things about Seattle. I’m from back east. I met Hank when I came out here on summer vacation and never left.”
“Sounds like there’s a story there.”
Jamie’s laughter was like the tinkling of piano keys, drawing Harley’s eyes to her face and, inevitably, back to her stomach.
Mom must have noticed. She reached for Griffin and nodded. “Go ’head. I’ve got him.”
Harley stood. “When are you due?”
“Not until February. I know, I’m already big
ger than a house. Do you want to touch it?”
Without waiting for a reply, Jamie took Harley’s hand and laid it flat against her belly. “I have this theory that everybody wants to touch a pregnant woman’s stomach, but they’re too afraid to ask. I hear some women consider it an invasion of privacy. But I love it when people rub my belly. Why not spread the joy?”
Jamie’s middle felt warm and hard against Harley’s palm. She gasped.
“Did he kick you?” Jamie moved Harley’s hand to a different spot. “Be real still and he might do it again.”
She was, and he did.
“It’s a miracle, isn’t it? Aww.” She laughed. “Don’t cry.”
Harley blotted an eye with the side of a finger. “Sorry. I get all choked up around babies for some reason.”
Jack appeared at her shoulder holding a glass of wine. “Here,” he said softly. “For you.”
Harley accepted it gratefully. “I guess it’s okay. Things seem to be winding down.”
“And water for you,” he said to Jamie.
Jamie sighed. “I’m counting the days until I can have a glass of wine again, but it’ll be a while until I stop nursing.”
Nursing . . . yet another thing Harley could never do. She would have to settle for bottle-feeding.
Hank had drifted back to his wife’s side.
“You know what you’re having?” Jack asked him.
“Boy,” replied Hank proudly. “Henry Friestatt the ninth.”
“First the vineyards, now a baby. I always thought you’d be piloting an airliner by now. Flying was all you ever talked about.”
“That was before I met Jamie.” His eyes shone on his wife.
“And now there’s going to be another little Friestatt,” said Jack. “Just wait. From the moment they put him into your arms, you’re going to be able to pick out traits from each of you. The shape of his nose, the length of his fingers . . . you better hope and pray he gets his mother’s ears.”
Hank lashed out to cuff him and Jack angled, barely missing getting swatted, both men laughing.
“Wonder what it’s like?” asked Jack, wistful now. “Dressing up like Batman at Halloween instead of princesses. Peeing in the woods together. Burping contests. Teaching him how to swing a bat . . .”
With every clichéd pastime Jack mentioned, Harley’s pulse quickened.
“Sounds like you’ve given this some thought,” chuckled Hank.
“Maybe.” Jack got a faraway look in his eyes. “A little.”
I’m having a son, she wanted to blurt out to the world. I’m having a son! He’s on his way! He’ll be here even before Jamie and Hank’s!
But given Jack’s emphasis on eye color and hand shape, he was thinking of a son of his own, not the adopted son of the woman he had already rejected once.
Alex gathered Griffin up from Mom’s arms. “Time for us to pick up the kids from the party. Nice meeting you, Harley. Give me your number, and I’ll text you mine.”
* * *
The twins ran over, out of breath from romping with the goats. “We’re hungry.”
“Mimi had a meeting. She won’t be home yet.” Jack hadn’t thought about dinner. “We could go downtown and get tacos.”
“Yeah. Let’s!”
“It was nice seeing you again, girls,” said Harley.
“Where are you going?” they asked.
“You’re my last guests. When you leave, the open house will be over. Time for me to clean up.”
“Come with us,” they pleaded.
“Thanks for asking. But I have a lot to do.”
“Go ahead,” said Mom. “I’ll get things started.”
“No. I can’t let you—”
“What’s there to do? The house is already spotless. It’s just put the leftovers in the fridge and lock up.”
“The docent’ll take care of the wine,” Jack added. Harley hesitated. “All right.” She turned to Mom. “Can I bring you something?”
“Not a thing.”
“At least take the leftovers home with you,” said Harley.
“You won’t get any arguments from your dad about that,” said Mom.
Chapter Twenty
At the taqueria on Main, Jack, Harley, and the twins stood at the counter peering up at the menu on the wall.
“What looks good, girls?” asked Harley.
The twins looked at each other, fingers to lips. “Ummm . . .”
Maybe they don’t have Mexican food in New Zealand, thought Harley. Maybe they’ve never been to a taqueria. “A burrito is a tortilla wrapped around beans or meat. A taco—”
“We know what they are,” said Freddie.
“It’s just that we’ve never ordered ourselves,” said Frankie. “Mimi always orders for us.”
“Oh.” Harley looked at Jack, hoping she hadn’t overstepped.
“First time for everything, right?” said Jack. “Go ahead, girls. Choice is yours.”
Frankie scratched her head.
“I don’t know . . .” said Freddie.
They put their heads together and debated the relative merits of burritos versus tacos versus flautas as, behind them, the line lengthened.
Ten minutes later, the four of them finally sat down at a red-checkered tablecloth next to a picture window, Jack and Freddie on one side, Harley and Frankie on the other, and unwrapped their meals.
“This is really good,” said Frankie, relishing her beef taco.
“So’s this,” said Freddie.
“Thought you didn’t like meat,” said Jack.
“I like this kind of meat,” she replied.
When the girls were finished, Jack offered them some quarters to play foosball and they scurried off.
“They like you,” said Jack.
“I like them, too.”
“It’s none of my business, and you don’t have to answer. In fact, part of me doesn’t want to know. But I have to ask. When you were in Seattle, did you ever . . . ?”
She looked at him. “Have a boyfriend?”
“I know you had a boyfriend. Boyfriends. I mean . . . were you ever . . .”
“In love?” She smiled. “Yes, I had boyfriends. And . . .” her smile faded. “As for your second question, the answer is no.”
Relief washed over Jack. It made no sense, but even though she didn’t fit the bill as a mother for the twins, at the thought of her with anyone else he was overcome with a savage possessiveness. He glanced over his shoulder at the twins, but they were busy playing.
Freddie ran over, panting, and said, “I learned something today.”
“What’s that?” asked Harley.
“Food tastes better when you’re the one who picked it.”
“Hey,” said Harley with a nod to the foosball table. “Who’s winning?”
“It’s over. Frankie beat me.”
Harley fished some quarters from her bag. “Go play another couple of rounds. I’ll play the best out of three.”
Freddie’s face lit up. “Hey, Frankie!” she called, running toward her sister. “Do-over.”
“What we had was special, Jack. But we’re different people now.”
“Harley?”
“Huh?” Something outside the picture window had caught her eye. “What are all those people doing across the street?”
Jack dragged his attention from her to the window. “Looks like a sit-in.”
“The signs say, ‘Save Newberry Park.’ Wonder what’s going on?”
The girls came back. “Frankie won.”
But neither Jack nor Harley paid any attention to them.
“What are you guys looking at?” asked Freddie.
Harley rose and gathered her things. “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out. Who’s coming with me?”
“Harley—” warned Jack.
The twins looked inquiringly at him.
“Sorry,” said Harley. “You don’t have to leave if you’re not ready, but I’m going.”
Jack, his forehead furrowed with concern, looked from Harley to his twins and back.
“Can we go, Dad? We’re done playing foosball.”
Harley headed for the door as Jack protectively cradled a shoulder of each girl. “Harley.”
“I’m just going to see what’s going on.”
“Don’t get involved—”
Harley crossed the street and asked a woman what she was doing. “They’re going to raze our park,” she said. “We’re concerned citizens rallying to save it.”
“Raze the park?”
“Here,” said the woman, handing her a sign. “Join us.”
“Harley,” called Jack from across the street, flanked by the twins. “What are you doing?”
“They’re going to raze the park!” she called. “I’m going to help save it.”
Jack took a twin’s hand in each of his, looked both ways, and jogged across the street with them. “You better think this through before you get involved,” he said. “You don’t even know what this is about.”
“They’re tearing down the park. What else do I need to know?”
“Do you know why they’re razing it?”
“All I know is, this park is a little jewel. An emerald surrounded by concrete.”
Freddie looked up at Jack. “I want to save the park.”
“There’s the wrong way to affect change and the right way,” said Jack sternly. “Like starting a petition. Writing letters and going to council meetings.”
A few more curious people drifted over from the surrounding shops, then more.
“Do these people even have a permit?” asked Jack, to no one in particular.
A smattering of chants began, “Save the park! Save the park!”
“Permit?” asked Harley, yelling to be heard.
Jack reached out and grabbed Harley’s arm. “Let’s go home. You can read all about it in the news and decide then if and how you want to help.”
Harley yanked her arm away. “Why should I go home when the rally is right here, right now?”
The green had quickly filled with people. So many people, they didn’t all fit. They spilled into Main Street, slowing traffic at the filled crosswalks and along the berm. A potted arborvitae wobbled and fell, spilling soil onto the street.
“This could turn ugly,” yelled Jack. “Let’s go.”
“I’m staying.”
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