by Debbie Burns
Megan’s lungs threatened to close up. She’d held it in so long. Too long. “Yes. It bothers me. It’s always bothered me.”
Her mom brushed one finger under her nose and sniffed. “No one’s going to tell you it isn’t fair, holding a grudge. He was your father, and I knew before he died he was everything to you. He always was. But, Megan, now that you’re older, maybe it’ll be easier for you to understand. There’s a difference between a father and a husband.”
“What? You can only have one father, but husbands come cheap?” It was mean and hurtful, but she didn’t try to pull it back.
“I understand that some cuts run deep, but let’s do our best to stay civil, shall we?”
“I just want to know why it was so easy for you to forget him.”
Her mother sniffed again and yanked a tissue from the box on the side table. “That’s simpler than you think. It wasn’t. The flaw you fear that’s at the surface of all this isn’t in him. It’s in me. I loved your dad, Megan. And I’ve never gotten over him. I still talk to him when I’m alone and the house is quiet. He was my best friend at a defining point in my life. We fought sometimes—okay, a lot—and life wasn’t perfect. There was never any money. But I loved him. And now, filling up his place, there’s Rick. And he’s a fabulous man. Don’t think he isn’t. If you judged them on a goodness scale, he’d probably outweigh your father.
“Everyone says you and I are so alike,” she continued, “with our looks and our love for animals, but we aren’t. You have that independence of your dad’s. He’d go off into that garage and get lost in his cars or head off on a weekend trip with his buddies and not think about me. You’re the same. You ran off the first chance you got, and you never came home. You’re director of a shelter, and you have that perfect little house. You don’t need a man to define you. To make you whole.
“But whether or not either of us likes it, I do. I’d like to think I’ve matured, but the truth is, if Rick left me or, God forbid, something happened to him, I’d probably let someone else in before I should all over again. Don’t think I didn’t hear the rumors around town when Rick and I married. But a year of being alone was an eternity for me. The six months we dated was all the time I could handle.”
Her mom rubbed a palm over her face. “But that’s my fault. Not your father’s. Not Rick’s. When your dad and I were married, when we were dating even, if I was away from him for even a day, I didn’t feel complete. And I get that’s not a good thing. I read self-help books. But it’s who I am. It’s my weakness.”
Her mom paused to swallow some tea while Megan considered their life after her dad died in a new light.
“So,” her mom continued, “I found myself thirty-three years old and a widow. And every day was a jail sentence. Then along came Rick, offering me love and safety.” She stopped and swallowed hard, swiping a stray tear from her cheek. “Only guess what? He’s a good man, Megan.”
“I know that, Mom. I always knew that.”
“At first he was a distraction. A drain cover hiding a deep hole. But time changed that. He wanted kids and right away. And so did I. With your dad, it was always waiting for the right time to add to our trio until it seemed that time had come and gone. And then it went from the three of us to the two of us. And I knew that unless I changed something, one day it would just be me.”
Megan felt her jaw gape open. All the thousands of hours of mulling it over, and she’d never thought of what happened in that light.
“When Rick came into the picture, I knew he’d be a good father. He’d be one to you now, if you’d let him. But you, you’re just like your dad. You don’t let anyone in without a battle. And, someday, when you fall in love the way I did with your dad, back when the world seemed small and simple, you’re going to love so ferociously it’ll scare the hell out of you. And we both know your ex-fiancé, Paul, wasn’t it. Paul was choosing a path that couldn’t creep in and tear out your soul.”
Megan pulled at the corners of the pillow she’d cradled on her lap. So much of what was said surprised her. What she hadn’t understood about her mother. What her mother understood about her. It was true too. With Paul, she’d never had the feeling that if she opened the door a little more, everything she was could be swallowed up. Paul was a life planned out, simple and predictable. Only not quite right for either of them.
And now there was Craig. Being with him was like treading impossibly deep water. Too risky to let herself go. If she let him in all the way, it could be best thing in the world. But there were no guarantees.
Now that she was pregnant, everything was even more precarious. She had no idea what to do. Suddenly it felt like the best person in the world to give her advice was the one person she’d been resisting advice from for years.
And she was sitting right across from her.
“Thanks,” she said, cuddling the pillow tighter. “Some of that wasn’t easy for you to say, I’m sure. But it helps me.”
“Is that why you came today? For a bit of clarity?”
She swallowed hard. “I’m pregnant.”
Her mom choked on her spit. She opened her mouth, closed it, and shook her head.
Megan chugged half her tea while it sank in.
“The caffeine. Those dark circles. Oh God, tell me it wasn’t Paul.”
“It wasn’t Paul.”
“I didn’t… I didn’t think you were seeing anyone.”
“I didn’t want to tell you because he’s exactly the person you were just talking about. At least there’s a possibility he could be. On my end anyway.”
Her mom shook her head again. She half stood up, then sat back down, resting her elbows on her knees and cupping her hands together. “Wow. I’m shaking. Wow.” She leaned forward, pressing her forehead into her knees a minute. “Well, the night’s young. I’m all ears, Megan. I’m going to be a grandma, and I’m freaking out a bit, but I’m all ears.”
Megan pulled in a deep breath. The only way to tell this story was to start from the beginning.
Chapter 25
Craig cursed himself for wasting so much time. He’d been here hours earlier. If he’d thought of it then, he could’ve taken action sooner and not have been stuck in this tormented state till nearly dawn.
Using the light of his phone, he scanned the pots lining Megan’s back patio. There were five altogether of varying sizes, filled with a combination of spring flowers and herbs. It’d been late winter and they’d been empty when she’d pointed them out.
He squatted down in the dark and tilted back the first, the robust scents of oregano and sage filling his nose. No key. He found success on the third pot. Snatching it, he killed the light of his phone and navigated by moonlight around Megan’s side of the condo to the front door.
The key was damp and rusted along the edge. He worried it wouldn’t work. He slipped it in and held his breath. Relief flooded him when, after a bit of cajoling, the door swung open.
He flipped on the light in the foyer and grimaced as his eyes adjusted to the bright light. Moxie trotted into view and paused in the middle of the living room to stretch. Max was curled on the coach, one front leg tight over his face as if he didn’t want to be disturbed. Craig joined Moxie, kneeling down to scratch her chin as he debated where Megan might keep an address book. He’d never seen it but knew she had one. He remembered lying in her bed, stroking her smooth skin, and teasing her that she preferred a physical calendar to a virtual one.
She confessed that rather than printing labels, she used an old address book when it came to Christmas cards. She would put on one of her favorite Christmas movies and write them all by hand. He’d mocked her for being so young and still being old school, but at the same time he appreciated it. Like he did almost everything else about her.
He stood up, and Moxie circled his feet, rubbing her face on his pants. He reminded himself he wasn’t an intrud
er. Megan had pointed out the key and told him more than once that if he ever needed to, he could make himself at home.
And he couldn’t think of a time when he might need to more than right now.
Since she didn’t have a desk or an obvious work area, it took opening a few drawers before he found the address book in the end table drawer next to the sofa. He carried it to the kitchen and flipped it open on the counter. Moxie hopped up alongside him, purring and rubbing against his hands as he flipped the pages.
There were three bowls full of food on the floor and two of water, rather than the usual one each. Going out of town was simpler when you had cats than it was with dogs. When Moxie started biting at the pages of the address book, Craig picked her up, placed her in front of a bowl, and shook it. Obediently she started to eat.
He returned to the book without the distraction of an affection-starved cat, hoping Megan’s mom’s name would pop out to him if it wasn’t recorded as simply Mom. He’d heard her say her stepfather’s name a few times, but he couldn’t recall it offhand. He was looking for phone numbers in and around Springfield, but she had other family and friends there too. He couldn’t just make calls until he got lucky. Especially not at quarter to four in the morning.
If he could narrow it down to a few names, he could write the numbers down and call from work closer to six thirty or seven. Late enough not to be too much of a disturbance, but early enough to stop her from making a huge mistake, if that’s indeed what she was doing.
He flipped through the book, pausing on a few that seemed plausible, before finding what he was looking for under M. Mom and Rick Mueller, she’d written. The birthdays of Tyler and Tess were scribbled in the corner. He’d seen their pictures and had committed their names to memory. Like he was hoping, there was a home phone and cells for both Megan’s mom and Rick.
Just below, calling to him with unexpected urgency, was their address. Two innocent lines that could lead him straight to a house in Springfield.
And to Megan.
* * *
An alarm blaring in another part of the house roused Megan from an impossibly deep sleep. The pale yellow of early morning filtered into the room through thin linen curtains. A blanket of fog hung over her, impeding thought. She blinked and brushed her hand against the plush couch. She was on her back, crunched up against the back of it. She was still on the love seat, a throw blanket covering her.
She pushed up and attempted to swing her legs to the floor, but they wouldn’t obey. She winced, realizing how deeply asleep they were. Getting the blood flowing was going to be painful.
Standing was precarious at first, her legs were so numb, but they held her. Shuffling to the wall for support, she began bending and flexing as shards of pain danced down her legs.
Sledge, who was sprawled across the full-length sofa, hopped down and stretched. “I don’t know how you ended up with the big couch. That absolutely wasn’t fair.” He yawned in response, then dropped to the floor and rolled onto his back, his tail thumping the wood. Shorty, the corgi, was nowhere in sight. He tended to stick to her mom like glue.
Megan struggled to remember when she’d fallen asleep. She and her mom had talked an hour or longer, but she didn’t remember the conversation ending. She must have dozed off midsentence.
Considering the bomb she’d dropped, her mom had been understanding, even helpful. It’d been a tad humiliating to admit how she’d avoided Craig and had no idea how he was taking the news.
It didn’t take her mom’s raised eyebrows to realize she wasn’t exactly being a thoughtful lover.
From down the hallway, her mom’s door swung open and Megan heard her shuffling across to the kids’ rooms. Not wanting to get caught up in the getting-ready-for-school chaos, Megan swiped the cell—her mom’s—that’d been abandoned on the coffee table.
It was seven o’clock. Typically Craig was at work by now. “Come on, boy,” she said, heading for the front door.
The leash was hung next to it. Megan started to clip it to Sledge’s collar but hesitated. He’d been out last night before Tyler and Tess went to bed. They’d let him off the leash, and he’d stuck by Megan’s side like glue. She dug her fingers into the thick fur on top of his neck and scratched. “How’d my buddy like to try being off leash again?”
Sledge followed her outside obediently and paused by the edge of the porch. As the cool morning air swept over her skin and into her clothes, it occurred to her that she hadn’t taken the time to use the bathroom herself. Now that she was thinking about it, holding it was going to be a pain if Sledge took his time.
She was debating cajoling him back inside for a minute when he pricked his ears and cocked his head.
“What is it, boy?” Megan was reaching for his collar as if she had all the time in the world when he bolted off at a full sprint around the side of the house.
Please say he won’t go far. To her horror, the direction he was running sank in. He was beelining toward the pond out back. The pond where, very likely, Tyler and Tess’s spritely ducklings were returning after hunkering down somewhere for the night.
She clutched the leash but tossed the phone into a rocking chair and broke into a sprint. She was barefoot and in pajamas—lounge pants, an old T-shirt, and no bra.
She scaled the white wooden fence with relative ease, fueled by adrenaline, and did her best to sprint across the pasture, even though it was much more painful than the manicured yard. Stiff blades of grass and rock pricked her feet with each step.
A hundred feet away, Sledge was barking and circling the pond. There was a scatter of commotion along the water’s edge. Flapping wings and the honking of angry mallards.
Please don’t let him grab the babies. Her stomach lurched as she neared. Sledge was plunging into the water in pursuit of Tyler and Tess’s five down-covered ducklings and the three older mallards that had stuck around last winter. They’d formed a tight circle and their wings flapped wildly as they raced toward the center. Clouds of feathers filled the air.
But Sledge was still barking, which mercifully meant he had nothing in his mouth. He was leaping and bouncing along the edge of the water, but not moving in deep enough to swim.
“Sledge!” With all the commotion—the barking, honking, and flapping of wings—she knew she couldn’t get his attention. Not knowing what else to do, she skated down the bank and jumped in after him.
He lurched sideways while she was in midair. Megan, who was hoping to get her arms around him, fell face-first into the water. She bolted up, spitting out a mouthful and spluttering.
Her antics seemed to spur Sledge on. He barked louder and lunged deeper into the water, starting to dog paddle while Megan looked at him in dismay.
Then a shrill, commanding whistle pierced the commotion, yanking Sledge’s attention from the ducks. He whirled a hundred and eighty degrees and dashed out of the pond, up the bank, and out of sight.
Are you kidding? All I had to do was whistle? From her spot in the water, she couldn’t see anything. All she knew was that she was grateful to whoever had come to the rescue, thinking to whistle with that kind of authority.
Mucky water dripped down her forehead and hair. The smell of pond water was terrible on a good day.
She stumbled out of the water and up the muddy bank, soaked and shivering.
Then stopped in her tracks as she rounded the top.
Every one of her senses seemed to buzz with the impossibility of it, but Craig was standing in the middle of the pasture clipping a leash—the leash she must have dropped while running—to Sledge’s collar while Sledge sat obediently at his side, panting and wagging his tail. Oh my God, he’s here.
That whistle of his had gotten the miniature ponies’ attention too. They were trotting over with their ears flat back to check out Sledge, who was every bit as big as they were and who’d invaded their pasture.
&
nbsp; But all that paled in comparison to the fact that Craig was here. Fifty feet away. Dressed in tan slacks and a light-blue oxford. Ready for a day at the office. Which was exactly where, not even two minutes ago, she’d placed him as she imagined their conversation playing out.
Only he was here in Springfield. Standing in the middle of her mom’s pasture after securing an overexcited Sledge, a task she’d have thought impossible considering his general lack of animal magnetism. And he was being circled by two angry miniature ponies, one who looked about to bite, the other who looked about to kick.
She wanted to laugh, to cry, to run away and hide, to run straight at him and throw herself—her soaked, stinky self—into his arms. She wanted to sink to her knees in relief. Whatever was about to happen, it was all about to play out here and now. Emotion coursed through her like a busy day at the raceway.
And of all the wants and desires coursing through her, to her horror, the one that won out was hunching over and hurling up everything in her stomach. There wasn’t much inside, but it didn’t matter. She dry heaved until she saw red. When she was finished, her stomach was knotted into a tight ball, she was shivering, and Craig was standing beside her, looking concerned.
Their eyes met, and he smiled apologetically. Oh my God, he’s here. He’s right fricking here. Up close, he didn’t look as sharp and put together as he had from far away. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. He looked more exhausted than she’d ever seen him.
“I’d say ‘good morning’, but you might think I’m being flippant with the good part, considering the color and smell of that water dripping down your face and arms.” He brushed the tips of his fingers over her bare arm, which was covered in goose bumps.
Megan wiped her mouth on the back of her arm. They hadn’t even said hello, and he was making jokes like his showing up here was perfectly normal.
She shook her head and forced her numb legs not to buckle underneath her. “You aren’t funny.” It wasn’t just Craig and Sledge who’d come to her side. The ponies had followed and were circling angrily. “And neither are these ponies. If you haven’t noticed, they’re in attack mode.”
