by Joan Kilby
Emma appeared in the foyer as he shut the door. “Do you want a cuppa? It’s decaf.”
“No, I have to get to the pub.” Seeing the strain in the faint lines of her face he forgot about himself and his feelings. “Anything else I can do?”
“No, that’s it.” She straightened her shoulders and smiled. Then she touched his arm. “I really appreciate this. Thanks.”
“It’s nothing. Look, Em, I don’t agree with what you’re doing.” Her smile faded. “But I am going to support you and the baby.”
“You don’t have to. I’ve decided I won’t name you as father on the birth certificate. That way Child Services won’t be able to come after you for support payment.”
That took his breath away. It hadn’t even occurred to him that she wouldn’t name him as father. Knowing there would be a blank line where his name should appear...well, he didn’t like the idea one bit. Nor did he like the idea of the baby seeing that blank line when he or she grew up. It was almost as if Darcy didn’t exist. Or that he’d abandoned the child.
“You can raise the baby any way you want,” he said. “It’s yours. I won’t interfere. But I will do the responsible thing for any child of mine.” She opened her mouth to protest and he raised a hand to stop her. “I’ll do it because I want to and because it’s right, not because Child Services tells me I have to.”
“You can’t have it both ways, not being an active father and also getting to have a say in whether you’re named on the birth certificate.”
She had him there. “Clearly you hold all the cards,” he said tightly. “You do what you think best.”
“Darcy, I wish...” She spread her hands. “I don’t even know what I want to say. I’m sorry it has to be this way.”
He wished it didn’t have to be this way, too. He’d give anything to turn back the clock if only he knew how. He would even go on that damn picnic if it meant he could do over that day and Holly would still be alive.
“Don’t say anything.” His voice turned gruff. Something—nostalgia, again?—made him lean in and kiss her on the cheek. Feeling her soft skin beneath his lips, breathing in the clean scent of her, he wanted to slide his hands inside her silky blouse—the one he’d given her that Christmas—and feel the heat of her body. He wanted to angle his face and put his mouth on hers and deepen the kiss.
But he didn’t. If the past wasn’t enough to stop him, now he had the future child to deter him, as well. There could be no going back for him and Emma, no second chance. He would not touch her or kiss her or any of the things his body was begging him to do.
“I’ll see you.” When, he had no idea. He made himself step back, turn the door handle and leave. Walking away from her right that minute felt like one of the hardest things he’d ever done.
He punched the button on the elevator at the end of the hall. Damn thing must be broken. The light seemed to be stuck two floors above on five. He hit the button again. If he had to stand here one more second, he might turn around, take her in his arms and make the second biggest mistake of his life—the first being sleeping with her after their divorce.
But he wouldn’t. Seeing the nursery had brought up sad memories, but it had also reminded him that sex had consequences. Like careless teenagers he and Emma had been caught. Hopefully they were both smart enough not to compound their mistake by thinking they could get together again.
The elevator still wasn’t moving. He spun on his heel and pushed through the emergency door to the stairwell. His footsteps echoed off the concrete walls as he clattered down and down.
The days of wine and roses and Latin dancing were truly over.
* * *
EMMA CLOSED THE DOOR behind Darcy. Dissatisfaction nagged at her, but it was worse than a near-miss sexual encounter. It had been a near-miss emotional connection. She’d wanted so badly for him to hold her close the way he used to, and tell her he loved her and that everything would be all right. She craved it so badly, it scared her.
Instead he’d retreated. No doubt he’d done so out of honorable intentions. She could picture each step he took away from her. Fifteen paces to the stairwell—because he would be too impatient to wait for the elevator once he’d found out how slow it was—then down three floors and out to the lobby. Another ten paces and he would be out of the building, heading to his truck.
With every step he took away from her, the tug in her chest grew. She wanted to run after him and beg him to come back. Was she wrong to want the father of her child and the love of her life to love her and love their baby? Maybe this pregnancy was a sign that they should try again. Maybe the joy a baby brought would lift them out of their impasse and set them on the path to a brighter future—together.
Yet even as she longed to reunite with Darcy, she knew it would be a terrible mistake. He didn’t want a role in the baby’s life. He hadn’t even protested when she’d said she wouldn’t name him as the baby’s father. That proved how detached he was. It was wrong and sad. Even though he hadn’t been a hands-on father with Holly there had never been any doubt he loved her.
Emma stroked a hand over her belly. If only he could love this baby. She pictured him holding her and pressing his hand on her stomach to feel the baby move, love in his eyes and in his smile. Talking about baby names, planning where to live. They’d always dreamed of building their own home, somewhere with a big yard and lots of trees—
But it wasn’t going to happen. She was being weak, giving in to wishful thinking. She would only make herself unhappier by allowing herself to hope.
Pushing those thoughts out of her mind she went to the nursery. She plugged in the lamp and pressed the switch. Light spilled through the darkening room, and she pulled the curtains against the coming night. He’d only fixed an outlet, but it was an act of caring.
When they’d been married, she was the one who made sure bills were paid on time, who got the groceries and cooked the meals. Darcy kept the pub going, remembered everyone’s birthday in both their families and maintained the house and cars. And they’d looked after each other. They made a good team. She missed that.
She emptied the shopping bags of baby clothes, folded the clothes neatly and laid them in the dresser. She’d bought more than she’d planned on, in sizes up to twelve months. She started to rip the tags off then paused. Maybe she should leave them on just in case.
She used to go through life thinking nothing bad was ever going to happen to her. And then it had. So many things could go wrong—miscarriage or stillbirth or even an accident to herself.
Again, she pushed the unwelcome thoughts away. She didn’t want to dwell on the negative, not when she had so much that was positive to look forward to. She started to walk out of the room then stopped in the doorway to survey the nursery. She’d painted, bought furniture, even put up a frieze. What were those if not acts of faith?
She went back to the dresser, took out the baby clothes and tore off the tags. Nothing was going to go wrong with this baby.
CHAPTER FIVE
“HEY, MUM.” Darcy kissed his mother on the cheek and breathed in cinnamon and nutmeg from the apple cake she was baking.
The kitchen of his parents’ four-bedroom brick home in the older part of Summerside could be called cluttered and untidy. Darcy saw it as lived-in. Growing up here with his two brothers and his sister, he’d gotten used to a lot of stuff lying around. Now the toys and drawings and games belonged to the grandkids that spilled in and out as if this was their second home. A framed photo of Holly sat on the windowsill. Every time he came here his gaze went to it, then quickly away.
Marge wiped her floury hands on her apron and pulled Darcy into a hug. She held him at arm’s length to look him over. “I made a roast. You’re going to take the leftovers home with you.”
Did he really look like he was starving? Darcy liked himself a bit leaner, but everyone was making a big deal of him dropping a few pounds.
“Who else is coming today? I haven’t talked to anyone i
n a few weeks.” Chloe, his parents’ tan-colored poodle cross, jumped up and licked his hand. He ruffled her ears. “Hey, girl.”
“Dan and his family. Possibly Mike.” Marge tipped the chopped apple into the bowl of batter.
“Where’s Dad?” While his mother’s back was turned, getting the cake pan ready, Darcy sneaked a taste of the spiced batter.
“In the backyard.” Marge turned and shooed him away from the counter. “Don’t think I didn’t see you dip your finger in the bowl.”
“When I was a kid I really believed you had eyes in the back of your head.” He sat on a stool at the counter and reached for a scrap of apple peel, taking a bite to delay the moment. “I’ve got some news.”
“Emma’s pregnant.” Marge poured the batter into the pan and scraped every bit out with a rubber spatula.
“How did you know?” He should have asked Emma who else she’d told besides her family. For some reason he’d assumed no one, but that was probably naive.
“My friend Lydia works at Target. She served Emma the other day when she was in buying a ton of baby things. Lydia reckons there’s no way she’d buy that much for a friend, or even for her sister.” Marge eyed him sympathetically. “Do you know who she’s with? Who the father is?”
Darcy shifted uncomfortably on his stool. He hadn’t told his family about hooking up with Emma on the cruise. There hadn’t seemed to be any point. Half a dozen times in the pub he’d been on the verge of telling his father about the pregnancy, but he was usually busy and Roy was always surrounded by his mates. By the time Darcy found a moment to himself, his dad had gone home.
“As a matter of fact, I’m the father.” He quickly held up a hand. “And no, we’re not getting back together. It was an accident.”
Marge shook the spatula at him. “You’re too old for that kind of accident.”
“Don’t lecture me, Mum. How’s Dad’s hip?”
“Don’t change the subject. But since you asked, he’s been moved up on the waiting list. We’re expecting a call from the hospital any day for him to have the operation.”
“That’s great. How’s his blood pressure?”
“It’s come down a touch. He’ll be all right.” She opened the oven door and slid the cake inside. Then she faced him across the counter. “What’s going on with you and Emma?”
“Quite honestly, I don’t know. We’re not unfriendly, but it’s tense at times. I want to pay support but she doesn’t want me to have a role in the baby’s life.” He shrugged uncomfortably. “But then, I never wanted another child.”
“Now that it’s happening you have to deal with it.” Marge wiped up the mess on the counter. “You two should try again. A baby might bring you together.”
“I know people who think that will work, but I wonder how often it’s successful in practice.”
She dropped the peel in the compost container then looked at him, her eyes filled with hope and fear. “I want to know my grandchild, Darcy. Is she going to allow me and your dad into her life?”
There was no reason for her not to, but with Emma he never knew. “I’ll talk to her.”
“Or I could. Do you mind if I call her?”
“If you like.” The ramifications of this baby were still sinking in. Whether he was an active father or not, his child would be at the center of a web of family ties. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Not that he wanted to keep his mother away. She and Emma used to be close, and she was a wonderful grandmother to Dan’s three kids, Mike’s two and Janine’s four. Holly had adored her.
Darcy slid off the stool. “I’ll go say hi to Dad.”
If the kitchen was an example of his mother’s haphazard housekeeping, the backyard was a testament to his father’s obsessive tidiness. The grass was trimmed to precisely two inches high, the edging done every week like clockwork and the flowering shrubs neatly pruned.
His father was leaning on the fence, holding up an azalea cutting and demonstrating how to plant it to his neighbor Hal, a stockbroker in his early fifties.
Darcy walked over, picked up his dad’s cane where it had fallen in the grass and propped it against the fence. “Hey, Dad.” He lifted a hand to the neighbor. “Hal.”
His father turned and saw him. “Hal, this is Darcy, my youngest. He runs the pub now.”
“Nice to see you again. We’ve met, Dad.” Many times. His father was over eighty and getting forgetful along with the creeping deafness and the dodgy hip.
“Hey, Darcy.” Hal gave Roy an indulgent smile. “I’ll let you go. Thanks for the tips.”
“Don’t forget this.” Roy handed the cutting over the top of the fence. “Mind you water it well.”
Darcy put his arm around his dad’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He handed him his cane and adjusted his pace to Roy’s slower limp as they walked toward the shed. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine, fine,” Roy said, wincing at a misstep. “Never better.”
“It’ll be good to get that hip replaced.”
“Ah, there’s no hurry. Come and see my new power drill.” Roy told Darcy about his new project, making and selling birdhouses at the craft market, as he led the way inside the garage he’d made into a garden shed cum workshop. Floor-to-ceiling shelving along one wall stored gardening implements, woodworking tools and miscellaneous items Roy had taken out of the pub when he’d handed it over to Darcy.
Darcy duly admired the power drill then perched on a sawhorse while his father tidied his potting table. How many times as a kid had he worked in here with his dad while they chatted companionably about everything and nothing? He’d always imagined doing something similar with Holly when she got a little older. It was another experience he wouldn’t have with Emma’s baby.
“I guess Mum told you about Emma.”
“Nice girl, Emma.” Roy wiped his secateurs then hung them on a hook on the wall. “I wish her luck with the baby.”
“You know I’m the father.” He paused. “And Mum thinks we should get back together.”
His father looked at him over the top of his glasses. “Doesn’t matter what your mother or anyone else wants. What matters is between you and Emma. That’s all I’m going to say on the subject.”
“Thanks.” The vote of confidence was nice to hear. His father was right—he and Emma had to work through this themselves. He was also grateful his dad wasn’t interested in hashing over the situation because he had other things he wanted to talk about.
“Did you hear about the wine bar going in across the street from the pub?”
“Wine bar? What the hell is a wine bar?”
“Fancy wines at inflated prices, basically. Also competition for the pub.”
“You’re not worried, are you?”
“Nah.” He paused. “But I wonder if I should get the place painted. Freshen it up a little.”
Roy climbed onto a step stool, and from the top shelf he brought down a dusty roll of blue-tinged paper. “I was cleaning up the other day and found these. They’re the original architect’s drawings for the pub. It was supposed to have a garden room. Pretty avant-garde for those days, for a country pub. Guess the first owner thought so, too, because he never had it built. Or else he was short of cash.” He handed the drawings to Darcy. “Anyway, you might find them interesting.”
Darcy tapped the dust off the roll and unfurled the plans on the workbench. “Looks like there’s supposed to be a proper kitchen, too.”
“Leaving that out was a mistake. Every country pub serves up a Sunday roast at the very least and most do counter meals during the week. Course, those days are over, and we’re not exactly a rural area anymore.”
Darcy glanced at his dad. “Do you think I should revamp the old girl?”
“You do what you think best. Wine bar might be a flash in the pan. Lots of places come and go.”
“Not the Summerside pub.” Darcy rolled the paper and handed it to his dad. “I like the pub the way it is.”
&nbs
p; Roy waved the plans away. “Keep them. They’re a curiosity if nothing else.”
Darcy shrugged and tucked the roll under his arm. He saw nothing wrong with the pub, and besides, he had too much on his plate to think about major renovations. Even though he’d voiced concerns to his dad, he couldn’t seriously see how a wine bar could hurt his business to the point where he would have to take such drastic action.
He’d always thought someday he would pass on the pub to whichever of his children wanted it, the way his father had handed it over to him. But what if he didn’t have any more children? What if Emma’s baby—who he wasn’t to have any part of—was destined to be his only living offspring?
The legacy of the pub started to feel pretty hollow.
* * *
OVER THE NEXT few days Emma registered for her courses and obtained approval from the hospital to work part-time in the evening to allow her to attend classes. She was going to be very busy but planning was key to success. And if she was busy, she wouldn’t have time to pine for what she didn’t have, like a partner.
She’d been alone before. She could handle it, that wasn’t a problem. She simply missed what she and Darcy had had, especially now that the baby was coming.
Instead of dwelling on what might be missing, she created a spreadsheet on her laptop and blocked out time for classes, study and work, color-coded for easy identification. Everything else—exercise, chores, socializing—filled the small allotments of an hour here and two hours there.
By the end of the week, she was all organized. She’d even bought her nursing textbooks for the coming semester. She couldn’t wait. She loved caring for patients, but study challenged her brain in ways she didn’t get in the day-to-day routine around the wards.
The phone rang. Absently, she picked up. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me,” Alana said. “How are you doing?”
“I’ve just been planning the next twelve months.” With the phone tucked beneath her chin, she rearranged an entry.
Alana chuckled. “You’re doing a spreadsheet of your life, aren’t you?”
