Then Comes Baby

by Helen Brenna

  “I’m sorry, Natalie,” Galen said as they left the gift shop. “But I didn’t do it. If they close down your camp, that’d be so unfair.”

  “Galen, you and I need to stop at the Hendersons’.”

  “You sure that’s a good idea?”

  “Bob’s on the town council. I need to know what he’s thinking.” Natalie turned to the group.

  “I’ll get everyone home,” Sam said.

  “Thanks.” Natalie sent her an appreciative smile. “We’ll catch up in a few minutes.”

  “Come on, guys.” Sam led the way to where they’d parked their bikes.

  Natalie went into the Hendersons’ store first and noticed Galen hanging back. She spun toward him. “Do you have anything to apologize for?”

  “No.”

  “Then we need to explain that to these people and clear the air.” She was glad to find Bob and Marsha together restocking one of the aisles. “Hey there, you two.”

  “Natalie!” Marsha hugged her. “It’s so good to see you again.” But her smile turned down when she noticed Galen’s sullen expression. “Marsha and Bob, this is Galen.” Natalie tugged him forward. “He has something to say to you.”

  Neither of the Hendersons said a word.

  Slowly, Galen looked up from his study of his tennis shoes. “I didn’t…I think you should know…I wasn’t the one who broke into your store.”

  “There are a couple of witnesses who say otherwise,” Bob said.

  “They’re lying,” Galen said, his eyes turning angry.

  “Do you know who did it, then?” Marsha asked.

  Galen looked away.

  “Whoever broke down the back door, stole a bunch of stuff and made quite a mess of things in here.”

  “I’m sorry, but it wasn’t me,” Galen said, crossing his arms.

  “Why should we believe you?”

  “You don’t have to.” He turned and headed toward the door. “Doesn’t make any difference to me.”

  Bob sighed and glanced at Natalie. “There goes one stubborn young man.”

  “Do you believe him?” Marsha asked Natalie.

  “I do.” She nodded. “I don’t know these other Mirabelle kids that are involved, but I know enough about Galen to know he’s telling the truth.”

  “Those other boys got into some minor trouble last summer,” Bob said. “Honestly, though, we don’t know who to believe.”

  “You trusting him is enough for us, dear,” Marsha said.

  “Well, I don’t think it’s enough for the rest of the town.” Natalie sighed. “I’ve heard there’s a town council board meeting scheduled to talk about not renewing my camp application for next year.” She glanced at Bob. “Is that true?”

  Bob nodded.

  “Are you still on the board?”

  He nodded again. “The council will hold off on any final decisions until the police get to the bottom of this. I’ll talk to Garrett and see if he can speed things up.”

  “I don’t think anyone was too keen on having us on the island even before the robbery.”

  “You’re not going to let that stop you, now, are you?” Bob asked with a smile.

  As she caught up with Galen and the rest of the group, she noticed a somber mood had settled over every single kid. By now they’d all heard about what was happening with Galen, and were very likely aware of how some of the islanders were shunning their business.

  She couldn’t shake the feeling that Mirabelle may not have been the best place for this camp after all. Even worse, maybe camp alone wasn’t enough to make a difference in the lives of these kids. Every single one of them needed a safe home and loving care all year-round. How could she ever trust another person to care for these children? How was she ever going to say goodbye? But what else could she do?

  Her thoughts flashed on the house she’d inherited from her grandmother back in Minneapolis. It was big enough for four, maybe even six kids. She’d been planning on selling it to provide more funding for her summer camp, but maybe that wasn’t the answer. Maybe the answer was a year-round group foster home.

  Her stomach fluttered at the thought. She’d already gotten cleared as a foster parent during the licensing process for this camp, so that wouldn’t be an issue. But what about the job she’d taken a leave of absence from for this summer? What about all her other commitments? What about her future plans for this camp?

  How far would she go to make her dream happen?

  BY THE TIME JAMIS BECAME fully aware of what he was doing, he’d not only made a huge batch of chicken noodle soup, he’d also cooked up two small pans of lasagna and a batch of tuna casserole. For some reason cooking had seemed like a reasonable outlet for all the pent-up frustration he was carrying around.

  Almost two weeks had passed since he and Natalie had been intimate—the term sex seemed too cut-and-dried and the phrase making love inaccurate—and while he’d actually gotten some writing done, he’d been distracted. Five years without sex and he’d managed okay. One night, or should he say five minutes, with Natalie and he couldn’t get the woman out of his mind.

  Normally, he’d freeze all this food, but a better use suddenly came to mind. By the time he’d split the food into individual serving containers and set off for town, it was after four o’clock. With Snickers on a leash by his side, he queried the first islander he recognized, Jan Setterberg. “Excuse me,” he said.

  She stopped and glanced at him, surprise mixed with wariness registering on her face. “Yes?”

  “Can you tell me where Sally McGregor lives?”

  “Why?” she asked, understandably suspicious of him.

  “Because…I wanted to take her some meals.”

  “Seriously?”

  He nodded.

  She studied him another moment. “You are a very strange man.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “Big yard behind the church—1215 Maple.”

  “Thank you.” He walked past the church and found Sally’s house, a redbrick French Colonial with white trim and a green shingled roof, and headed up the sidewalk, carrying his pack filled with food. He knocked on the door and waited. Through an open upstairs window, he could hear movement, someone coming down the stairs.

  She opened the door. “What the—?” She stopped, blinked, took a moment to recognize him, clean shaven as he now was. “What are you doing here?” she asked, self-consciously running a hand over her bald head.

  “I…heard you were sick.”

  “So?”

  “So I made you some meals. Just in case you’re too tired to cook for yourself.”

  Staring at him as if a bug-eyed green alien had just burst out of his chest, she tightened her pale blue robe.

  “Look, I know it seems odd, but we all know I’m an…odd kind of guy. So here.” He unzipped his pack and held out several of the containers. “Take these.”

  She glanced at the offering, then up at him and backed away from the door. “Why don’t you come in, Jamis?”

  Surprised, he stood there, unsure.

  “Have you eaten dinner?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Then why don’t we share something you brought?”

  “That wasn’t…I didn’t mean…”

  “Please.” She paused. “More than the food, I could use the company.”

  Funny, so could Jamis. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

  “So what did you make?” She walked toward the back of the house. “I hope it isn’t stew. After the mediocre batch Lynn Duffy brought over the other day, I don’t care if I ever eat stew again as long as I live.”

  He followed her into the kitchen. “Chicken noodle soup. Lasagna. Tuna casserole.”

  “Well, I’ve never been much for tuna. You can take the casserole home with you.” She turned around and then awkwardly said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “You don’t need to be sorry.”

  “I offend people. Seems I’ve gotten wo
rse since my husband died some years ago.”

  “You don’t offend me. I like the way you talk. I feel comfortable around you.”

  “Then we’re a couple of sorry excuses for humans, aren’t we?”

  He nodded. “Sit. You look like you might fall down.” He heated up one serving each of chicken noodle soup and tuna casserole in the microwave, dumped the contents into a couple of bowls and joined her at the table. This was the first time Jamis had shared a meal with a live human being in four years. For him, it felt strange and awkward.

  They sat eating in silence for a short while. Finally, Sally said, “I see you’ve shaved and cut your hair.”

  “Yeah.” He ran his hand along his smooth cheek. “Guess it was time.”

  “How’s that kids’ camp going?”

  “Noisy.”

  She grunted. “If it’s any consolation, I didn’t want her on the island, either.”

  He glanced up. “Either?”

  “There was quite a heated debate at the town council meeting when she first applied for that camp.”

  He’d probably gotten notice in the mail and had, as he did most things, tossed it out without reading. “They’re good kids.”

  “Got you hoodwinked, anyway. She must be pretty.”

  He cocked his head at her.

  “She is, isn’t she?” Sally chuckled. “Do you like her?”

  “She’s…different.”

  “Well, that isn’t saying a whole helluva lot, now, is it?”

  Natalie’s scolding that afternoon when he’d been chopping wood about him being stuck in the past, about him being a coward, hit him again, and again he found himself curiously offended. Why should he care what the woman thought of him?

  “I’m planning on leaving Mirabelle,” he said.

  She glanced at him.

  “As soon as I finish this next book and can find another place.”

  “Because of the camp?”

  Because of her. “It’s best I’m left alone.”

  “I hear the council’s already considering not renewing her license for next year. You complain and—”

  “No.” He shook his head.

  “It wouldn’t take much. Not with people thinking that oldest boy of hers robbed the Hendersons.”

  “What? Galen?”

  She filled him in on all the details.

  “I can’t believe he’d do that.” He shook his head when she’d finished.

  “This island’s no place for that camp.”

  Jamis frowned and looked away.

  “You disagree?” Sally asked.

  He glanced up at her. “I don’t know what I think.”

  She considered him for a moment. “Hmm. Interesting.”

  They finished the rest of their meal in silence. She never commented on the food, but he could tell the soup had met with approval. After they’d finished, he suggested she relax in the living room while he picked up the kitchen, put away the clean dishes in her dishwasher and loaded it with the dirty dishes in the sink.

  After he’d finished, he found her sitting in an old and frayed easy chair in her den off the rear of the house. Her eyes were closed and her breathing even. Unsure what to do, he glanced around. Much to his surprise, bookcases lined every wall in the room, and it appeared she read everything from classic literature to genre fiction, including mysteries and romance. The books appeared alphabetized by author—popular, big names and more than a few surprises. There was even a row and then some of Quinn Roberts’s books. He looked through the titles and it appeared she had every single book he’d ever published.

  “I think I liked your last one the best.”

  He spun around to find Sally awake and watching him. “Why?”

  She grunted. “The ending. Kinda left a reader guessing.”

  “Ha! My editor hated that ending, but I refused to change it.” He’d gotten a lot of disgruntled reader letters over that one. “What did you think of Harry Stone?”

  “Eh.” She shook her hand in a so-so motion. “Not your best work.”

  He laughed.

  “Not sure I’ll be around to read your next one.”

  He fell quiet, considering her. He hadn’t wanted to bother her with questions about her prognosis. What was the point? Pancreatic cancer seldom had hopeful outcomes. “I could print the manuscript off my computer. Would you like to read it now?”

  “You know what I’d like even more? For you to read it to me.” She paused, a scowl on her face. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

  He nodded. “I can do that.”

  The doorbell rang, and Sally scowled. “What is this, Grand Central Station?” When she opened the door Doc Welinsky was standing on the steps and holding a plastic container filled with what looked like food. “Willard,” she whispered. “What are you doing here?”

  “I thought you might be too tired to cook.” He looked a little uncomfortable as something almost intimate passed between them.

  A slight pink flush rushed to her cheeks. “Well, come on in then.”

  He stepped inside and pulled up short on seeing Jamis. “Sorry, Sally, I didn’t know you had company.”

  “Doc has been administering my chemo treatments,” she explained to Jamis.

  He’d been wondering how she was accomplishing that on an island this size.

  “You were getting ready to leave, weren’t you, Jamis?”

  “What?” Jamis was taken aback, until he noticed the look passing between Doc and Sally. “Um, yeah, I was about to leave.” He took his cue and went out the front door. Well, I’ll be damned. Maybe gruff old Sally wasn’t as lonely as he’d thought.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  NATALIE AWOKE AROUND midnight feeling as if she was going to die. Staggering to the bathroom, she barely made it to the toilet before vomiting violently. Even after her gut was empty, dry heaves racked her body. Finally, exhausted, she rinsed out her mouth and glanced in the mirror, expecting to find a rash covering her face. This felt like her allergy to shellfish, but there was no rash. She glanced down at her arms and her stomach. No rash there, either. A new kind of food allergy? Or food poisoning? No, the kids would be sick, as well. Had to be the flu.

  As she opened the bathroom door the knob fell off in her hand. Great. If it wasn’t one thing it was another. Then she heard the steps creaking. She walked down the hall but stopped when she noticed movement on the stairs, a figure sneaking up the steps.

  “Galen?” she whispered. “What’s going on?”

  He spun around. “I was…outside…going for a walk.”

  “After midnight?” She took a deep breath, steadying her stomach. “Are you lying to me?”

  He clenched his jaw. “I went to talk to Dustin and Chad.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they lied to Chief Taylor.”

  “You don’t need to do that. Garrett will get to the bottom of this.” Although he hadn’t sounded too positive when Natalie had called to inform him that Galen refused to be fingerprinted unless the other two boys came in, as well.

  “And what if he doesn’t? Then what?”

  She held her stomach.

  “You look sick,” he said. “Are you okay?”

  “There must’ve been something we ate at dinner that I’m allergic to. Either that or I’ve caught a flu bug.”

  “Do you need anything?”

  “Yeah. To be able to trust you. To not have to worry about you sneaking out at night anymore.” She held her stomach as another wave of nausea rolled over her. “To not have to worry about whether or not you’re doing your job of taking care of the younger kids while I’m sick in bed tomorrow.” And she was going to be sick, very likely for a couple of days.

  “I’m sorry, Natalie,” Galen whispered. “I’ll let Sam know what’s going on. We’ll take care of everything. I promise.”

  She wobbled to her room and collapsed onto the bed.

  AFTER A RESTLESS NIGHT’S sleep, Jamis had gotten up and gon
e straight to his computer to write a scene that had come to him in a dream. He’d made breakfast and, on a roll of sorts, returned to his office. He sat in front of his computer now, frustrated that he couldn’t get this scene perfected. Something wasn’t playing out properly and he couldn’t figure out the problem. Deciding to break for a while, he went to the kitchen and made himself a roast beef sandwich.

  It’d been close to three weeks since he’d seen Natalie, giving him a glimpse of what it would be like around here come September. Quiet. Peaceful. Back to normal. And incredibly lonely. The house seemed, somehow, too quiet, so he went outside onto the deck. A fragrant summer breeze met him the moment he stepped through the patio door, but there were no sounds of children playing, laughing or fighting. In fact, now that he thought about it, he’d heard nothing from Natalie and the kids all day. Everything was too quiet, and it wasn’t even Sunday.

  He took a few uneasy bites of his sandwich. Something wasn’t right. “Come on, Snick. Let’s check it out.” Within minutes, he was knocking at the back door of the Victorian. “Natalie?” He could hear the TV blaring inside the house, but it seemed to take forever for someone to answer the door.

  “Hi,” Sam said, holding a dishrag in her hand. “What’s up?”

  “I haven’t seen anyone out and about today.” He stepped inside the house to find Galen ineffectively cleaning a kitchen in a state of total disarray. “What’s going on?” Stacks of dirty dishes filled the sink and counter, and sticky pots and pans covered the stove. A kitchen chair was pushed up against the counter as if someone short had needed to reach a high shelf.

  He stalked into the living room to find couch cushions dislodged, every table littered with dirty cups, cans and bowls, and the younger kids watching TV. “What’s going on here?”

  The kids shot out of their respective seats, as if caught in some wayward act. Someone reached for the remote and lowered the sound on the TV. “Umm. Nothing,” Ella said.

  “We were just watching some TV,” Arianna added.

  He glanced from one face to the next.