“You didn’t tell him about the baby?”
“I did. He told me to get rid of it.”
The napkin had disintegrated in my sister’s hands. “He has no right to tell you what to do with—”
“I know. And I didn’t. But he doesn’t want to be a father. He didn’t want me after I refused to have an abortion.” My last words trembled, and a small sob escaped. How easy it was to not think of Finn when I was planning the B&B or immersed in a new Kristin Hannah novel. But here, baring my heart to my sister and closest friend, the pain washed over me afresh, along with the horrible truth: I still had feelings for Finn. After all he’d done, after the limitations and restrictions he put on his love for me, I still cared about him. What was wrong with me?
“Oh, honey.” Maggie wrapped her arms around me again, squeezed tight. “He should be put in front of a firing squad for abandoning you.”
“Or drawn and quartered.” I forced a laugh.
Maggie sobered. “How far along are you?”
“Almost fifteen weeks.”
“A baby. My goodness, you’re having a baby.”
“I don’t know if I’m going to keep it, you know?”
“Whatever you decide, I’ll support you. We all will, Josie. You know that. We love you, and we’ll love this little child, too.”
A small smile curved my lips at the thought of Maggie spoiling my baby with hugs and cuddles and kisses. I straightened. “So now you know why going back to New York would be…complicated.”
“He has to support you in this. If not emotionally, then financially. If you decide to keep the baby.”
“And that’s a big ‘if.’” I swiped at my eyes. “Part of me feels this is so far from the plan I made for my life that it’s a no-brainer. This child deserves better than what I can offer. Being adopted worked out well for Dad, you know?”
“And the other part?”
I pressed my lips together, looked at the small wooden planter filled with red geraniums on the side of our table. “The other part of me feels this child is mine. That I’m what’s best for him or her despite my flaws and mess-ups, that I will forever regret handing my baby over to another family.”
Maggie moved back to her side of the table, tucked her shredded napkin beneath her plate. “It’s a big decision, and only you can make it. Being a mother is wonderful and hard and amazing and impossible. I can’t imagine doing it on my own, but Josie, if anyone can be a single mom, it’s you. And you wouldn’t be alone. We will always be here for you. I’m sorry you’re hurting so much, though.”
“Thanks, Mags, but I have no one to blame but myself.” I reached for my fork. “Our meals are getting cold.”
We ate a couple more bites before I spoke. “Mom’s going to flip, right? I mean, I’m an adult and all that, but this is going to really throw her for a loop.”
Maggie swallowed another mussel, and I could see her formulating a careful response. “She’ll be surprised, but she’s your biggest fan, Josie. In all things. Even this. Maybe especially this. When I decided to marry Josh, to become a mother to four-year-old twins, she was the one who cheered me on, more than the others. Mom’s not about loving you for your perfection, she’s about loving you in the unexpected muddle.”
Maggie’s words soothed my soul. She was right, wasn’t she? I breathed a little freer for the first time since the appearance of those double pink lines.
“You won’t say anything to anyone yet, will you? Even Josh? You know how this town can be. I want Mom and the sibs and Aunt Pris to find out on my terms, okay?”
She nodded. “I wouldn’t wait too long, though. And while I hate to be the voice of reality, I can’t help but wonder if having a baby in Aunt Pris’s home come fall will be a game-changer for the B&B. If you decide to keep it, that is.”
I groaned. “Of course. I hadn’t even thought of that. Here I was thinking I had another several months to decide the fate of my baby, but that’s not true at all.” Even if I was determined to be the best single mother ever, it wouldn’t be on my own. I couldn’t afford my own place, especially if I planned to attend classes. If I could work my way onto the payroll of the B&B, assuming it went forward, that might not be until the beginning of next year. My baby would be a couple months old by then. “Maybe I should be looking for a job to support myself instead of planning this crazy idea.”
“Hey, The Orchard House B&B is a brilliant idea. I just think Mom and Aunt Pris need to have all the information if you’re planning to live together. Something tells me Aunt Pris isn’t up for more surprises.”
“Tell me about it.”
“And if you decide to keep the baby, Finn’s legally responsible for child support. That’s how it works, and it’s only fair.”
I swallowed and nodded, but the thought of a confrontation with Finn over child support was enough to send me sinking below the table.
“Tripp doesn’t know, does he?” Maggie scrunched up her face, seeming to half expect me to throw something at her.
I shook my head, wanting to deny that it didn’t matter. That he didn’t matter. But the fact was the news would break his heart all over again. How did I put up with myself? “I am not looking forward to that conversation.”
“Just make sure he doesn’t find out secondhand, okay? He’s still hopelessly in love with you. Josie, he’d probably marry you tomorrow, pregnant with another man’s child and all, if you just said the word.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I snapped. “He’s such a frustratingly decent guy.”
“That’s a bad thing?”
“I don’t deserve him, and he most certainly doesn’t deserve me and my mistakes. I love Tripp, but it’s not like it was with Finn, all steamy and—”
“Lustful?”
I fought the heat climbing my neck. “We had chemistry. Don’t you have that with Josh? Don’t you think that’s important?”
Maggie leaned forward. “You’re telling me you didn’t like it when Tripp kissed you even a tiny bit last summer?”
I did. I had. Only then, I hadn’t been looking for someone to fit a grief-sized hole in me. I’d planned for school and a career to fit that hole, not a man. Turns out that didn’t work either.
“So you had chemistry with Finn, great. Where did it get you? Knocked up and alone.”
“Maggie,” I chastised, surprised by my sister’s brashness.
She leaned forward, grasped my hand. “All I’m saying is there’s different kinds of love, and not all of them are true. When affection and devotion disappear when it’s not convenient—that’s not the kind of love you should be pining for.”
“So you think I should just throw my arms open to Tripp because I need a man?”
“No.” Her voice stood firm. “You, Josie Martin, of all women I know, do not need a man. But I do think Tripp deserves your honesty. If not as a love interest, then as your best friend.”
I blew out a long breath, thinking of the hard conversations before me. Maggie was right. I didn’t have all summer like I thought. This baby wasn’t just about me and my mess. This baby would affect the entire family one way or another.
I thought about Tripp’s words a couple nights before, of him prompting me to open up and let him in. Could I do that, thinking of him as the friend he was and not as the love interest he’d always wanted to be? And what if Maggie was wrong? What if Tripp was wrong? Maybe there were some things about me even he couldn’t abide. I’d not only spurned his proposal, I’d practically run into another man’s bed. Tripp was good, but he wasn’t a saint. And I refused to take advantage of his good-natured friendship.
Quite likely, none of it would matter anyway. Quite likely, Tripp would make sure he was far out of the picture by the time October—and Finn’s baby—made an appearance.
If only the thought didn’t feel like the final nail in the coffin of my own undoing.
12
I inhaled the scents of bacon and eggs and cheese as I trod down the stair
s, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Dressed in a baggy t-shirt, it seemed my belly had grown twofold overnight. I didn’t think I could blame it on the lobster ravioli.
As I lay in bed that morning, staring at the small mound of skin and running my fingers over it, I spoke to the child within. I asked him or her what I should do with their future. In one scenario, I imagined myself a mother. In another, I imagined handing over my newborn babe to strangers.
As Maggie pointed out, I didn’t have time to vacillate. But then, why should I have to feel rushed because of the B&B? This wasn’t as simple as choosing waffles or eggs for breakfast—this was my life and the life of my child. I refused to be hasty.
But Mom and Aunt Pris did have a right to know about the possibility of a baby playing at least a small part in The Orchard House B&B.
I turned the corner to see the dining room sparkling. “Whoa. What’s the occasion?”
Candles, woven placemats, two wine glasses at each setting—one filled with orange juice and another with water, and elegant china. On the center of each plate sat a dainty bowl of blueberries, a sprig of mint in the middle. Beside that, a plate of Mom’s famous coffee cake. My mouth watered.
“Morning, honey,” Mom called from the adjoining kitchen. “Aunt Pris should be by in a few minutes. I promised her a sample of our five-course breakfast and figured I’d give the same treatment to everyone. Spinach Quiche or Stuffed French Toast this morning?” She stopped in the middle of cracking an egg over a bowl. “What’s the matter?”
I tried to fix my mouth into a smile, but it wouldn’t come. Had I duped Mom into all of this only to ruin it for her with news of a baby? Was I really so horrible?
I shook my head. “Nothing. Maybe we could talk sometime soon, though? Like today?”
She gave me a soft smile. “Of course. Are you worried about the estimate Tripp sent over? I have to admit it stopped me in my tracks, too.”
“An estimate?” I reached for my phone. “He didn’t text me.”
“He emailed it early this morning. Copied you on it.”
I opened my email, my heart tripping over itself. “Is it that bad? I mean, I knew it would be steep, but I hoped we’d have enough left over to put some elegant touches on it all. You know, high-quality sheets and towels, maybe organic coffees and teas.”
“No, that’s not it at all. It’s actually a lot less than I anticipated. I’m not sure what magic that boy worked, but I have a horrible feeling he’s letting us take advantage of him.”
I opened the document, skimmed to the bottom line. Then, assuming the number was a single price for the kitchen, or the bookshop, kept skimming. Nothing. I looked up. “It has to be a mistake, right? I’m not knowledgeable about construction costs, but—”
“I know. I’ll talk to him, or I’ll go above his head and talk to Ed.”
“Don’t get Tripp in any trouble, okay? He’s obviously trying to help us out.” My insides threatened to burst at Tripp’s generosity. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Okay. But please make it clear we’re not accepting charity. If that means we have to work a little harder, so be it.”
I nodded. “Got it.”
She mixed the eggs with enough force to send them into whipped mounds of whites. “I mean it, Josie. I will not have this hanging over my head.”
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll talk to him first thing after breakfast. And I’ll take the Stuffed French Toast if you’re still offering.”
“I am. Now what’d you want to talk with me about?”
“It can wait. Maybe we could take a walk after dinner tonight?”
“Sounds lovely.”
Another set of steps on the stairs. “What is that most holy and divinest of smells?” Amie collapsed beside me, squealing at the picture perfect place setting.
I chuckled at her melodramatics.
“This is superb, Mom. Your presentation is phenomenal. All this attention to detail…it’s art is what it is. Pure and simple. A masterpiece. I’m super impressed.”
Mom grinned over her shoulder. “Thanks.”
Lizzie rushed into the kitchen through the back door, holding flowers in her hands. “Will these do for the sides of the plates? I thought a little sprig of lavender would be nice.”
“Perfect.” Mom grabbed a pan from the oven, and worked over it while I finished the blueberries and started on my coffee cake.
“You ready for your finals, Amie?” I asked.
“As ready as ever. What I’m really ready for is my cap and gown.”
“What are your plans for the summer? Partying it up before officially entering the adult world?”
She rolled her eyes. “If you call a few college classes the adult world and hanging out with Becky partying, sure.”
“You still thinking of teaching art?”
“I’m not sure anymore.”
I stopped mid-bite. Had Dad’s death changed her future plans as well?
Mom put a plate of artistic culinary delight before me. “Avocado toast with pickled onions, cashew cream, dijon mustard, and greens.”
“There is no way Aunt Pris is going to turn us down with food like this.” I bit into the toast, the crispness of Mom’s homemade bread contrasting with the cream of avocado and the sweetness of pickled onions bursting on my tongue. “This is impeccable.”
Lizzie sat down with a plate of coffee cake. “I agree. Mom could make the Royal Queen grovel at her feet with this food.”
“You all are spoiling me with your praises, but I’m not saying I don’t appreciate it.” Mom winked at us, looked up toward the whistling coming down the stairs. “Morning, honey.”
Bronson put his hand on the banister, swung around the last step. “Morning.” He surveyed the table and gave a low whistle. “This looks a bit fancy for me, but if there’s food involved, I’m in.”
“Oh, there’s food.” Amie poked Bronson in the side. “Enough to fill you up, even.”
Bronson turned his baseball cap around, stretched his neck, cracked his knuckles. “I think I’m up for the challenge.”
“You look like you’re headed out to work. Painting with Matt again?” Mom asked.
“No, I took a look at Aunt Pris’s orchards yesterday. They’re still alive and well, beneath all the weeds. I’m going to try to clean a few trees up, see what’s under there.”
“Watch out for poison ivy.”
“And ticks,” Lizzie said. “I have some spray I’ve been using while hiking if you want to borrow it.”
“And make sure to drink enough water. It’s going to be hot today,” I added.
Bronson wrinkled his nose at us but forked a piece of coffee cake, cinnamon strudel crumbs falling onto his plate. “Just remember, ladies, it’s the food that’s keeping me here. The food and only the food.”
“Oh, you love us,” I said, and we all laughed, knowing that in some ways Bronson had it the toughest. We all doted on him, watched him with a mixture of fondness and wonder. No doubt he sometimes felt suffocated with our attentions.
The doorbell rang and Lizzie went to answer it while Mom put more avocado toast in front of us and brought the next course out. “Now, no word to Aunt Pris on Tripp’s estimate until we talk to him, right?”
“Right. I’ll clear it up quick and hopefully we’ll have it ready to bring to Aunt Pris by tomorrow.” I looked at the dish before me—Mom’s homemade granola, Greek yogurt, and bananas all in a beautiful parfait. “But after she eats this meal, there’s not going to be much convincing needed.”
“Aunt Pris.” Mom kissed the older woman’s cheek when she entered the room. From my great-aunt’s giant purse, Cragen yapped at us. “You look lovely today.”
I studied the older woman, her hair in tight gray curls, foundation a bit heavy on her face. She looked the same as ever to me, but I didn’t doubt Mom’s authenticity.
I pulled out a chair. “Here, Aunt Pris. Sit beside me.”
Cragen snarled. “No use trying to butter me up, girl.”
I bent over, kissed her cheek in an uncharacteristic display of affection. “Oh, you enjoy it.”
She grunted, and my heart went out to her. I couldn’t deny my gratitude, no matter our past. Giving us a chance to fulfill Mom’s dream rivaled the charity of paying for my graduate degree. I’d give her a kiss every morning if this all went through.
Aunt Pris surveyed the table. “You’ll be doing dishes all day, Hannah.”
Mom poured Aunt Pris a glass of orange juice. “It would be a big cleanup, but I think it’ll be worth the atmosphere we create to make guests feel pampered.”
Aunt Pris spooned a bite of blueberries into her mouth, eyeing Amie’s avocado toast.
“We should have everything ready to go over with you tomorrow,” I told my aunt.
“Tea time will be fine.”
I swallowed down a bite of banana and granola, a thickness starting in my throat. If we intended to give Aunt Pris all the information, that meant all the information. Including the possibility of a baby-on-board. How had I not seen how wretched this would all appear before we started down this path? Underneath all those hard edges, Aunt Pris must be excited about our endeavor. If she wasn’t, she would be after we fed her marvelous food and showed her extravagant business plans and beautiful flyers. More than likely she’d agree—how could I throw in the possibility of a squalling newborn as part of our bed and breakfast deal?
“And here is course number five. Josie chose the Stuffed French Toast, but I’m planning to offer guests a half plate of each entrée option if they choose.” She placed a pillowy mound of golden brown toast before me. Confectioner’s sugar sprinkled the top like snowflakes, cream cheese oozed out the middle. Sprigs of lavender adorned one side of the plate, two crisp bacon pieces decorated the other.
As wonderful as it looked, I fought a rising sense of nausea. Waves of nerves tunneled through me. I thought I’d been doing something good, something right for a change. But maybe I’d just twisted this entire thing to be self-serving while brandishing the sword of Mom’s dreams as my excuse for it all.
Where Grace Appears Page 11
