by Brenda Novak
“I’m not. I’m mad at myself. I’m mad at Drew. I’m even mad at the baby growing inside me—which is cruel, of course, and makes me hate myself even more.”
A year and a half ago, Serenity had wanted a baby. She’d pictured her life going in a completely different direction, would never have guessed what was just around the corner. But if she’d learned she was pregnant after she found those files, she knew she would’ve been as distraught as Reagan was. She couldn’t help feeling she’d dodged a bullet—the same bullet that had hit Reagan right between the eyes. “What you’re feeling toward the baby will change,” she said. Serenity wasn’t positive that was true, but she was hoping to offer some encouragement. “You’ll see.”
“If it doesn’t, I’ll have to give the baby up for adoption,” she stated with anguished honesty. “I can’t approach parenting with the same attitude my mother did. I always felt she saw me as a burden.”
“I can’t believe she really felt that way about you.”
“I think she did. She wasn’t cut out to be a mother,” Reagan insisted. “She’s big on responsibility, on being strong and getting the job done—whatever needs to be done. But she’s not good with kindness, understanding, nurturing. She probably only raised me because she was faced with something like this, something she thought she couldn’t get out of.”
Serenity slid across and patted the bed beside her. “Come sit down.”
Reagan walked over and slumped onto the mattress.
“Are you going to tell Drew?”
“What do you think he’d rather I did? Leave him out of it completely? Or give him a chance to be part of the child’s life?”
Serenity stiffened. “Why do we care what he’d prefer?”
“If he doesn’t want the child, I don’t see how forcing him into fatherhood will do me or the baby any good.”
“It’ll mean he’ll have to pay his share of the expenses.”
“I’d rather cover all the costs myself if it means I don’t have to take him into account. I’d settle for that in a heartbeat. I’m just not sure it’s fair to the child, not if there’s a possibility Drew might want to be involved.”
“What if he wants to be involved to the point of raising the child himself?” Serenity asked. “Will you give it up to him?”
“I can’t imagine that would ever be an option. When he grabbed me that day in his office, he wasn’t in it for...this. Think about it. His wife would be in the same position as Lorelei, and we know how unhappy she’s been.”
Serenity couldn’t believe Reagan’s luck. “These are not easy decisions.”
“Something strange, something like this, must’ve occurred in the lives of our mothers before we were born—or we wouldn’t be related. Do you think they felt the same panic and fear I’m feeling now?” she asked.
It wasn’t pleasant to consider that their mothers were mortified to be pregnant, but it was a reasonable possibility. “Maybe.”
“Will we ever find out what happened?”
Serenity thought of the letter in her purse. She’d tried to reach Uncle Vance on the drive back to Tahoe, but he hadn’t picked up, and he hadn’t returned her call. From what she’d heard about him, that wasn’t unusual, though. He was a lot easier to reach when he wanted something.
“Serenity?” Reagan said when she didn’t reply.
After getting up to retrieve her purse, Serenity handed Reagan the letter she’d discovered in her mother’s jewelry box.
“Where did this come from?”
“I found it here in the cabin while you, Lorelei and Lucy were out on a walk with Finn.”
Reagan’s gaze immediately skipped to the bottom of the page. “Who’s Vance?”
“My father’s brother.”
“I don’t understand. What’s this about?”
“Read it.”
Frowning, she started to read out loud. “‘Dear Charlotte, I’m sorry I stood you up last night. Chuck dropped in unexpectedly. At first I thought he knew about the baby, that you must’ve broken down and told him. But he didn’t say anything about that. You understand why you can’t, right? Please promise me you’ll never tell him. Love, Vance.’” Reagan dropped the letter in her lap and looked up. “Damn.”
“Sounds like they were having an affair, doesn’t it? There’s no date on that note, but the fact that it refers to a baby, and it’s so old and yellow, makes me think he was talking about me.”
“Where did you find this again?”
“Here in the cabin—in my mother’s old jewelry box.”
“Why would she leave it there, where your father could possibly come across it?”
“It has a false bottom. He’d never suspect that. I only thought to look because I had a similar jewelry box as a kid, and I loved the secret compartment.”
“Still. She should’ve burned this letter!”
Serenity grimaced. “The fact that she didn’t makes me believe his declaration of undying love might have meant something to her.”
Reagan paused to read the letter again. “This has to be upsetting for you.”
“It is. But it might solve the mystery of how we’re related.”
“How would he have known my mother and Lorelei’s?”
“From what I’ve heard, he’s lived in many places.”
“Cincinnati? Florida?”
Serenity took the letter back. “I can’t say for sure. I only know that he’s moved around.”
Reagan stood. “How can we find out more?”
“I’ve called him. He didn’t pick up, but he might call me back.”
“What will you say when he does? You’re not going to tell him you found this letter, are you?”
“No. My mom thinks he lives in Vegas. I was going to tell him I’m coming to Vegas for a few days, see if he might be able to have dinner with me.”
“And if he agrees? What will you say then?”
Serenity folded the letter and returned it to her purse. “I won’t say anything in particular. I’ll make small talk until he leaves the restaurant, and then I’ll take his glass and swab it for DNA.”
“Of course! Smart.”
“We should tell Lorelei,” Serenity said. The house had fallen quiet; she guessed Lorelei had finally gotten Lucy to sleep.
“Not my news,” Reagan protested. “I’m not ready to face how it’s bound to make her feel.”
Serenity touched Reagan’s elbow. “Just about the letter, then.”
She got up but Lorelei appeared in the doorway before Serenity could take more than a few steps.
“Is there any way you two would mind watching Lucy?” she asked. “I mean, she’s asleep and I’m pretty sure she won’t get up, so it shouldn’t be any trouble. But I wanted you to know I won’t be here, in case.”
“Where are you going?” Reagan asked.
“Next door to watch a movie with Finn and his brothers.”
Serenity had noticed that Lorelei had stopped wearing her wedding ring. And right now her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed. Her level of happiness had changed a lot in the last few days. Serenity hated to interfere with that, but she didn’t want Lorelei to end up in an even worse situation. Maybe one like Reagan’s. “Are you sure you want to get involved with Finn, Lorelei?”
“We’re just going to watch a movie,” she said as though Serenity was crazy to be worried, and after what Serenity had done last night, she didn’t feel in any position to preach.
“Okay. I’ll watch Lucy.”
“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,” Lorelei told Reagan and hurried off before Reagan could respond.
“I’m worried for her,” Reagan murmured once they were alone. “She’s falling too hard and too fast for Finn. She hasn’t even taken time to get over Mark.”
Serenity blew out a sigh.
“I know.”
* * *
lorelei
Davis went to bed almost as soon as Lorelei returned, but Nolan stayed up with them to watch a Marvel movie. Lorelei was actually grateful for Nolan’s presence; having him in the room kept things from moving too fast with Finn. She was excited about being with him without having to worry about how Lucy might be perceiving their relationship, but she was also supremely aware that the man she was lying beside on the couch was not her husband. She hadn’t been intimate with anyone else since meeting Mark twelve years ago.
Once the movie ended, Nolan said good-night, but Lorelei knew by then that she wouldn’t be staying. It wasn’t a question of not being interested in Finn; it was just too soon.
Finn seemed to understand, because he didn’t press her. When she said she needed to get back, he grabbed his coat—the weather had chilled off since she’d come over—and insisted on walking her home.
“Thanks for dinner tonight,” he said as they meandered back to Serenity’s cabin. “It was really good.”
Now that she was sure she wasn’t going to do anything she might regret, she was in no hurry to say good-night. “You’re welcome.”
He kept his hands in his pockets the whole way and they talked about how much she liked Nolan and how angry Davis was—and whether he’d get over it.
Once they reached the front porch and she turned to say goodbye, however, he caught her hand. “You’re not wearing your wedding ring anymore.”
She welcomed the warmth of his touch. “I told Francine that I’m not going back to Mark.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You finally spoke to her?”
“It was via text. She tried to call, but I wouldn’t pick up.”
“Do you mean what you said to her? That it’s over between you and Mark?”
She hesitated. “At times I mean it,” she allowed.
His hands were now holding hers. “And other times?”
“I think of Lucy and how this will affect her.”
“Mark was a good father?”
“He was—if you can call him a good father after he did something so obviously against her best interests,” she said with a shiver.
“You’re cold. Come here.” Pulling her inside his coat, he wrapped his arms around her. “What did Francine say?”
She savored the smell of him, which was so unique to Finn. “She was shocked. I think she expected me to forgive them both—that I’d somehow welcome her back as my best friend and accept her child. But that’s too weird for me. Every time I start telling myself I need to forgive them, that we can all go back to being happy again, I consider their baby and feel so betrayed. I doubt I’ll ever get over it.”
“There’s no need to make a quick decision—not when it’s this important.”
His voice seemed to reverberate in his chest. “I only know a few things for sure,” she said.
“And they are...”
“One, I want to stay for the summer.”
“I’m glad about that.”
“Two, I’m happy I met you.”
She felt a change in him, knew that if the situation was different, he’d be kissing her by now.
“I’m glad about that, too.”
“And three, I want to get a job—”
He let her go. “Get a job?”
“I have to do something to make money. Mark will cut me off if I don’t go back.”
The wind whipped at his hair. “He would really leave you and Lucy with no money?”
“He hasn’t yet, but I’m pretty sure he would.”
“What about child support, if not alimony?”
“He’ll owe that. I should get half the equity in our house, too, not that it’ll amount to much. But it will take time for the divorce and all those matters to be decided and settled. I have to be able to survive until then.”
“You mean there’ll be nothing making him pay beforehand.”
“Exactly. And he’ll feel completely justified in cutting me off because I have a choice, right? I won’t be in dire financial straits if I go back. He feels that I’m being unnecessarily difficult, and maybe unfair.”
“How could he ever accuse you of being unfair?”
“I’m withholding, being too harsh, whatever.”
Finn looked angry. “Wow, I want to punch him in the face and I’ve never even met him.” He shook his head. “What kind of job are you hoping to get?”
“It’ll only be for the summer, so I’d be satisfied if I could work as a waitress or in the front office of a motel or something. I only need grocery and spending money.”
“Maybe Nolan can get you a job as a waitress at the bar where he’s working this summer.”
“But you said that’s a half-hour commute. I need to get something close by, so that I can take the bus or walk.”
“You can borrow my car.”
“I don’t want to lean on you.”
“I work at home.”
“Still, I can take an Uber, if it’s close enough.”
“What if you helped us out this summer? Then you wouldn’t have to pay for an Uber or find someone to watch Lucy. I’m sure I can get my father to pay you for looking after Davis—have you wash and fold his clothes, make his meals, do his dishes, drive him around if he wants to go somewhere. We were considering getting someone to do those things, anyway. He’s so proud, it would be harder for him to accept our help. We’re the guys he’s had to compete with his whole life, right?”
She was about to decline. She didn’t want him to ask his father to pay her if Davis didn’t truly need her.
But she’d seen Davis. Until he got used to living with only one arm, he’d need someone to help him dress, hang up his clothes, cut his meat—or make sure what he was served didn’t need to be cut at the table in the first place. She wished she’d thought about that tonight but somehow it never occurred to her.
“Do you think Davis could tolerate Lucy’s questions?”
“Once she spends enough time around him she won’t have questions. Someone innocent and sweet like Lucy would be good for him. You’d both be great.”
She smiled. “Well, if it turns out that he does need someone, talk to him about me and Lucy before you ask your father. I want to be sure he won’t mind that it’s us.”
“He won’t care who it is—or even if there is someone. He doesn’t care about anything right now. That’s the problem. We need to make him care again. And who wouldn’t fall in love with you and Lucy?”
She hadn’t planned on kissing him, but the next thing she knew, she rose up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his.
But then he parted his lips to deepen the kiss and she felt a moment of panic.
Just before she could pull away on her own, the door opened behind her and they broke apart.
“I thought I heard voices.” It was Reagan.
“Is Lucy okay?” she asked.
“She hasn’t stirred.”
“Good. Well—” Lorelei cleared her throat “—I’d better go in. Thanks for walking me home.”
Finn didn’t rush off, didn’t act self-conscious or embarrassed in the least. Reagan said something she couldn’t hear, and he responded as Lorelei hurried to her room. Part of her was sad that Reagan had interrupted them. She was excited about Finn. But another part was relieved.
She had no business jumping right into another relationship—especially one that had so little chance of working out. She had a daughter to think of, and in order to take the best possible care of Lucy, she had to protect her own heart.
23
reagan
SHE HAD TO come to grips with being pregnant. She couldn’t mope around all day, couldn’t feel sorry for herself forever. After all, she had no one to blame but herself.
Well, she could blame Drew, sh
e supposed. He’d played an equal role in screwing up her life. What she was battling with was whether to tell him what had resulted from that “fifteen minutes of panting and one good climax” on his desk.
The next couple of weeks were filled with days when she believed it was wrong to deny her child access to her father. And other days when she was certain her child would be better off if he or she didn’t know. Different parenting styles could have an adverse effect on a child, and Drew had no good reason to cooperate with her. She’d have no leverage, and that frightened her.
So did the whole aspect of having to contend with his wife. She didn’t want to subject her child to someone who would have such a good reason to resent him or her.
Shouldn’t she simply parent alone?
She’d turned out okay—and she was raised by a woman much less empathetic than she was.
But she hadn’t had an easy childhood...
“What are you thinking about?”
She glanced up from her computer to see Serenity watching her. They were on the deck writing while Lorelei went over to Finn’s. Lorelei had started working for Finn’s brother Davis, who was so moody and pissed at the world that Reagan thought Lorelei deserved a medal just for putting up with him.
But Lorelei was falling in love with Finn, so Reagan figured being around Davis’s brother was the real reward. That went beyond the $100/day Davis’s father was paying her. She and Lucy were beginning to spend a lot of time next door, even when Lorelei wasn’t working. And Reagan had interrupted that kiss. She also saw the way Finn and Lorelei looked at each other when they thought no one was watching.
“You’re supposed to be writing,” she said to Serenity.
“I was writing, but when I glanced up the expression on your face was so pathetic, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for you.”
Reagan chuckled. “You should feel sorry for me. You and Lorelei both have the chance to heal from what you’ve been through and move on. Your wreckage is behind you. I, on the other hand, have to live with the consequences of my actions—”
“You act like having a baby is a death sentence,” she broke in.
