The light turned in her favor. She crossed the street and kept on walking, her mind working overtime.
She eventually slowed her pace, and stopped to get her bearings. The breeze played havoc with her hair, and curling strands escaped her messy ’do to dance across her face, a chronic annoyance.
She’d gone through town and walked several blocks beyond the park. The wrought iron gates of Bright Hills Cemetery stood open, a gaping mouth yawning into acres of green, studded with flower-laden tombstones and stone benches, trees and shrubs in spring bloom. A blending of life and death, above and below ground.
Rebecca thought of Gwen, Caleb’s first wife and TJ’s mother, who died of cancer and was buried here. She and Gwen had been best friends, much as Brenna and Maddie were.
She passed through the tall gates and meandered along the narrow drive, noting the well-kept gravesites. Those which boasted frequent visitors stood out with flowers and mementos, but even the others were well-maintained by the groundskeepers.
A stone angel, at least eight feet tall, loomed at the curve in front of her. She veered from the drive and stepped onto the grass and beyond the imposing sculpture, kept walking across the lawn and around the markers and headstones toward Gwen’s resting place.
A granite headstone of bluish-gray caught her eye when its polished face reflected the late afternoon sunbeams and shone like a beacon. She squinted against the brightness and moved aside to ease the strain to her eyes, reading the etched name as she passed.
John “Jack” Connor Kinkaid, beloved husband, son, brother, friend.
Rebecca shivered. The cold leached into her bones and stayed with her, so she pulled her sweatshirt on. She stood in front of Jack’s headstone and stared at the words, sad for his loss because she loved the people who mourned him.
Here lay Jack Kinkaid. Maddie’s Jack, Sean and Brenna’s brother, Edie and Papa Ron’s son.
She must have passed this headstone a hundred times in the last few years. How had she missed it before? The surrounding perimeter exemplified an oasis of shrubs and blooms, thanks to Edie, no doubt, who of course would use her formidable landscaping skills to adorn her son’s grave.
The image of sweet Edie on her hands and knees here, digging and planting, working to show Jack in the best way she knew how that she loved him still, brought quick tears to Rebecca’s eyes. She blinked hard to stay the waterworks, but they came anyway. Damned hormones. She wiped her eyes and knelt on the ground.
“Hi, Jack.” Her low voice disappeared into the breeze rustling through the trees, comingling with the distant sounds of late afternoon traffic. “Thanks for getting Maddie and Caleb together. They’re crazy happy, but you probably know that already.” She swallowed hard. “You’re going to be an uncle, and if you’re still into giving advice, I could sure use some. I’ll take whatever you’ve got.” She touched her fingertips to the letters of his name and a self-deprecating laugh escaped her lips. She stood up, dropped her head back, and looked heavenward.
I am such an idiot.
Rebecca shook her head and looked back at the gravestone one last time before turning away. She took a step forward and the wind kicked up, blowing cool air over her face and causing her skin to pebble and pucker over her forearms in spite of the long-sleeves she wore. A sheet of paper tumbled over the grass and caught against the toe of her Nikes, refusing to dislodge when she shook her foot to kick it free. She bent to retrieve the paper, intending to throw it away on her way out of the cemetery.
She glanced down at the paper as she prepared to stuff it into her purse for later disposal. A flyer, it bore the stamp of the Methodist church in town, the one that Caleb had renovated a couple years ago, and advertised the upcoming Sunday sermon by a visiting minister.
THE TRUTH SHALL SET YOU FREE!!
Right. Rebecca balled it up, stuffed it in her purse, and took another step in the direction of Gwen’s grave.
A second sheet of paper, identical to the first, blew against her other shoe. As she bent to snatch it up, another flyer, and then another, and yet another, blew across the grass. Rebecca straightened and looked around. Flyers littered the cemetery ground. They tumbled along with each gust, catching on trees and gravestones, as if a few stacks of the things had fallen off a truck and been carried away by the wind. They were everywhere.
THE TRUTH SHALL SET YOU FREE!!
The hairs on the back of Rebecca’s neck prickled and she turned to the gravestone of Jack Kinkaid. She bit her lip, looked down at the polished marble, and rested her hand on top of the cold stone.
“Thanks, Jack,” she said, and headed back toward town.
Chapter 17
Sean reached into his desk drawer to grab a pen and shoved the drawer to close it. It banged halfway into its sheath and snapped back open like a sarcastic kid sticking out its tongue. Another attempt to close the drawer provided a similar result. Annoyed, he pushed it in and yanked it out a few times, jiggled it, and then abandoned it when it became apparent the damn thing wouldn’t budge.
Belle, asleep at his feet, picked her head up and whined. He scratched her behind the ears to reassure her, and she settled her muzzle on her paws to continue her snooze.
He didn’t have time to screw with a broken drawer. He had checks to sign and an appointment to meet that damned Wernecki for a Friday night drink and dinner at Chez Eloise. He didn’t want to eat at Chez Eloise again this week. And how did the damned drawer break anyway?
Voices traveled up the hall from the front office and he glanced at the time. After six. Shit. If that was a client he’d never make the restaurant on time.
Mrs. M’s laughter preceded her smiling face which popped into view a moment later.
“Rebecca Walker to see you, Mr. Kinkaid, and I’m on my way out. You’re in court first thing next week, so please leave those checks in my desk before you leave tonight so I can get them to the post office before noon Monday. Ta.”
Mrs. M disappeared with a wave of her hand, and Rebecca appeared in the doorway, her cheeks red and her hair a hot mess. Sean dropped the pen and stood. Belle picked up her head and emitted a little woof, and Sean flexed his palm in front of her face as a command to stay. It was the one thing at which she excelled, and she obeyed now.
“Hey. Everything okay?”
Rebecca nodded, but she looked jumpy as a junkie jonesing for a tweak.
Sean’s internal radar pinged and he braced for something serious. Some sort of fallout from the Artie Brewster mess? “Come in and sit down. Can I get you a drink? Soda, coffee, water?”
“I have something to tell you.” She drew in a shaky breath, blew it out, and looked past him to the photos on his credenza. “It’s something that’s hard to say.” She swallowed, and her throat made an odd gurgling sound. Red splotches bloomed over her face and throat. Any other time he’d think she looked adorable, but right now her demeanor had the hairs on the back of his neck prickling.
Sean stepped to the front of his desk and leaned against the edge, hoping his relaxed body language would put her at ease. He offered an encouraging smile. “Whatever it is, just say it. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.”
Rebecca nodded and stepped from the doorway into the room. She glanced at the photos on the credenza again, then met Sean’s gaze dead on, sucked in another deep breath, and blurted, “I’m pregnant.”
Sean stared at her. His throat closed up. All the air had somehow been sucked from the room. “You’re—what?” he croaked.
“I’m pregnant.” She sighed, deep and shuddering. “There, I said it out loud.” Her feet swung into motion and she paced in front of him, arms gesticulating. “I know you didn’t sign on for this. Believe me, I was surprised, too. Remember the antibiotics I took for my bronchitis? Apparently, they messed with my birth control. I won’t apologize, because I haven’t done anything wrong, but I’ve made my decision about what I want to do, and I thought you should know.”
Assaulted by a hundred different emotions, Sean ga
ped as she paced. His chest constricted and words fled him—him, a lawyer, for god’s sake, with nothing to say. Jesus.
He straightened away from the desk and searched for focus and air.
Breathe, for Christ’s sake.
He had to tell her, no choice now.
He found his voice but it sounded foreign, sandwiched between a triple decker helping of shock, misery, and resignation. “Rebecca. Please sit down, or—or don’t sit, but for the love of God, stop wearing out the carpet.”
Her head snapped around and she met his gaze for several moments before setting her stance and crossing her arms over her chest. She watched him, those mossy eyes delivering a direct hit to his soul while she waited for whatever he had to say next.
Sean broke eye contact to collect his thoughts without the distraction of her intense stare burning into him. She operated under some severe misconceptions, and he had to deliver the truth whether he wanted to or not. He turned his gaze back to her and laid the words down with as gentle a tone as he could manage.
“You obviously believe I’m the father, or you wouldn’t be here. I can tell you with certainty that I’m not.” He forced his next words through a tense jaw. “You need to be having this conversation with Nate.”
Rebecca’s lips parted and her eyes widened. If he had hit her in the gut with a baseball bat, she couldn’t look more surprised or hurt.
“Excuse me?” Her voice rasped in a raw whisper. “You think I’m so stupid I don’t know who the father of my baby is?”
Fuck. Sean pushed a hand through his hair, fought for the words. “I don’t think you’re stupid.” Now he was the one pacing like a caged lion. He forced himself to stand still, to look her in the eye. “As much as I wish it was otherwise, I can’t be the father of your baby, Rebecca. It’s impossible. I suffered a sports injury about five years ago that required some sensitive surgery. There was scar tissue, and I can’t—” He held her gaze and shook his head. “I can’t.”
Sean watched the import of his words break into her, saw her eyes widen and her lips part in surprise. He knew her well enough to see the wheels whirring in her brain, to know the intelligence behind those beautiful eyes must be homing in on the truth. Certain of how she’d respond—initial doubt, then acceptance—she rendered him mute for a second time when she said, “Here’s the problem with that, Sean. I haven’t been with anyone but you.” Her lips formed a stiff line, her nostrils flared, and her body trembled from head to toe.
He shook his head. She didn’t understand. What she believed to be true simply couldn’t be. It was impossible.
“Nate—” he began, but bit off the words when she shook her head.
“Only you.”
“Maybe—maybe something happened that you don’t remember. Maybe you had too much to drink one night, or—”
Her eyes flared. “Fuck you, Sean.” Ah, and there was her strong, confident voice. She’d found it, and it reverberated through the office. Her arms dropped to her sides and her eyes spit fire. “First, I was an idiot with no clue who fathered my child, and now I’m a drunken slut who doesn’t know who she’s slept with? Nice, Sean. Real nice.” She whirled away and stomped toward the door.
“Jesus, wait. Wait.” He caught up with her and grabbed hold of her arm, spinning her around. “Please. Just wait a minute.”
Rebecca’s gaze dropped to his hand holding her arm and then moved back to his face. Her eyes shot green fire, her voice coated him with ice, and both burned. She spoke with slow deliberation. “Let go of my arm and don’t touch me again. Never, ever. What I’ll do to you will make my displeasure with Artie Brewster look like love play.”
Sean released her arm and stepped back. “Try to see this from my perspective, please. I’m not physically capable of fathering a child, any child.”
“Don’t think another thing of it.” She stood ramrod straight with her chin up, and her eyes shimmered with angry tears that never fell. “I don’t need your help. I’ll handle this by myself. And just so we’re clear, you can relax. Your name won’t appear on any birth certificate that I fill out.” She started to leave but paused just outside the doorway, her voice dripping sarcasm. “Sorry for the drama. I know that wasn’t part of our arrangement.”
“Rebecca—”
She silenced him with a withering glare and strode away.
Rooted where he stood, Sean watched her go.
He told himself she’d go home, think it through, come to an understanding of the truth, and figure out who she really needed to talk to about her unexpected circumstance.
No, not a circumstance, for god’s sake. A pregnancy. The full import of that and all its ramifications settled over him like a shroud.
Rebecca—his Rebecca—pregnant.
But not with his baby.
He closed his eyes. Misery and disbelief washed over him, and he chided himself for it. It wasn’t like he didn’t know this would happen at some point. Sooner or later she’d marry Nate or someone else, and have the family she dreamed of. He knew it when he broke off their relationship. Hell, it was the reason he broke off their relationship. So she could have this.
And because he knew he didn’t deserve to share in it.
But, sweet Jesus, with every cell in his body he wished the kid was his.
Belle sidled over and leaned against his leg, whining and nudging his hand with her snout. He stroked her head with unconscious movements while he collected his miseries and frustrations and tried to relegate them to some dark corner of his mind, to box them up and file them away. It didn’t work. Not this time. Weighted down with the present and the past, he returned to his desk to close things up for the weekend. He texted Wernecki that he had to reschedule. He couldn’t deal with that asshole. Not tonight.
He eyed the wayward drawer and whacked it with his fist, an action that resulted in pain shooting up his arm and the same bang-and-hang of the drawer as before. He dropped into his chair, rested his elbows on the desk, and covered his face with his hands with a weary sigh.
“Want some advice?”
Sean raised his head at the sound of Mrs. M’s voice. “I thought you left.”
She stood in the doorway. “I got halfway home and realized I walked off without my purse.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to know you had a fight with your baby mama. So do you? Want advice?”
Sean sighed. “Do I have a choice?”
“Something’s stuck.”
“What?”
Mrs. M walked to the desk, gesturing with her hands. “At the back of the drawer. My desk drawer does the same thing, and it’s an easy fix. There’s something stuck at the back preventing it from going in all the way. Flawed design, I guess. Just pull out whatever’s stuck—it’s usually a pen—and it’ll be fine.”
Sean stared at her. “You heard my conversation with Rebecca and that’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”
The dark skin of her face rippled into a fond smile and she raised a brow. “Don’t be ridiculous. I always have more. Are you in love with her, Sean?”
Numb, he considered the scenario, all of it surreal, and nodded. “Yes.”
“Do you think she’s a liar? An idiot? A slut?”
“No, of course not.”
“Of course not.” Her dark eyes, warm and caring, stared into his. “Of course not. So if she’s not a liar, an idiot, or a slut, then it follows that she must be telling the truth.” She shrugged. “So believe her.”
“It’s not that simple, Myra.”
“Oh, but it is. Doctors are wrong sometimes, you know. And miracles happen every day, Sean. Believe that.” She nodded and smiled and walked from the room.
Weary, Sean turned his attention to the desk drawer. He opened it as far as it would go and shoved his arm inside and to the back, feeling around for whatever lodged item caused the problem.
There. Not a pen. Something hard and oval. Wedged. He had to work it loose, but at last it cam
e free.
He opened his hand and gaped at the item. The fine hairs on his arms and at the back of his neck stood on end. The eerie tingling spread over him like wildfire, and he swiveled the chair to face the credenza. He grabbed the photo of himself with Brenna and Jack.
He stared at his brother’s smiling face, allowed the familiar mournful ache to rear up and, instead of tamping it down as usual, he embraced it. Pain and joy rivaled inside him—pain for his loss, joy for the strength of their bond.
After a few minutes he stood, set the photo back in its place, and slipped the item from the desk into his pocket. He snapped Belle’s leash onto her collar and paused at the doorway to turn out the light. His fingers hovered over the switch and he glanced back at the credenza, smiled at the photo with Jack’s image, and, as he blanketed the room in darkness, said, “Wish me luck, Jack. And thanks.”
***
Rebecca fled Sean’s office and walked, her only thought and destination being “away, away, away,” and found herself back at the cemetery standing in front of Jack Kinkaid’s peaceful grave. The flyers that sent her to Sean’s office earlier still littered the ground, and she berated herself for being such an idiot.
“Not your fault, Jack,” she told him and kept going, this time all the way to Gwen’s burial place. Where better to weep undisturbed than at the grave of a friend? She sat on the cold ground with Gwen’s unyielding stone against her back, drew her knees tight to her chest, buried her head in her arms, and sobbed herself dry.
“I’m an idiot,” she hiccupped to Gwen, and imagined her dead sister-in-law sitting beside her, nodding in agreement.
By the time her tears faded so had the sun, and now, in the gloaming, all vestiges of warmth fled, and the North Georgia mountains plunged Bright Hills into nighttime shadows. The soft breeze surrendered to a brisk wind, and Rebecca began her trek home with her arms hugging her abdomen, hands pushed deep inside the sleeves of her sweatshirt to keep them warm. She stayed alert to her surroundings, because you never knew when a serial killer might jump from the bushes, especially in the twilight hours.
Love to Believe: Fireflies ~ Book 2 Page 28
