by Katie Powner
Nobody but nobody disrespected Juniper Jensen’s husband.
Grandpa didn’t respond. Bea looked between him and Grandma, searching for normalcy. Any minute now, Grandma would smile at Grandpa and tell him she was sorry for being snippy. Tell him she must be tired or something and didn’t know what had come over her.
Bea set her feet down on the floor and sat up a little straighter. “It’s something to think about, Grandma. But I’m not sure what I’m going to want to do when the baby comes.”
After the baby news had come out in the middle of the volleyball game, Dad had told Grandma and Grandpa about it over the phone, afraid they’d hear it through the moosevine. But she hadn’t yet talked with them in person.
Grandma’s eyes narrowed, and she jerked her hand out of her pocket. “Baby?”
“Yeah, remember?” Bea put a hand on her belly. Dad had told them about it, right? “I’m having a baby.”
She looked to Grandpa for confirmation, and he gave an encouraging nod. Grandma blinked once. Twice. A cloud passed over her face, and she stood. For a frightening moment, Bea barely recognized her twisted face. She and Grandpa Rand watched in stunned silence as Grandma spun around and stomped away. A moment later, the door to her room thudded to a close.
Tears stung the backs of Bea’s eyes, and she fought them. Was Grandma angry with her? About getting pregnant? What exactly had Dad said to her? If her mom was still around, Bea knew she would be beside herself with excitement. She would’ve already knitted booties for the baby’s feet and sewn curtains for the nursery. Grandma wasn’t as showy with her emotions as all that, but Bea never expected this.
She looked to Grandpa for answers, for hope, but his shoulders drooped. “I’m sorry, Bea. Your grandmother’s not feeling well today. Maybe you should go.”
Bea’s lip quivered as she rose to her feet, the hurt sinking deep. “Okay.”
She slowly put her jacket on, staring down the hall toward Grandma’s bedroom. “Your grandmother’s not feeling well.” The words tumbled around like a stone in her stomach. Dad had been right. Grandma wasn’t herself. In fact, this wasn’t Grandma at all.
Grandpa didn’t resist when she gave him a hug. He wrapped his arms around her tighter than he’d ever done before. When she pulled away and looked in his eyes, it was like watching a gathering storm reflect off the waters of Canyon Ferry Lake. Like a boat fighting the wind to get across. Like a man reaching out from the water, silently begging for someone to throw him a rope.
She opened the door and looked back, her voice cracking under the strain of holding in her emotions. “Tell Grandma I love her.”
TWENTY
When Bea turned on to Second Street and saw the Matrix in front of her dad’s house—parked the correct way—she burst into tears. Jeremy was home. All she wanted in the world was to have his arms around her.
It was all she could do to park the truck in the carport without ramming into a post, the way her body shook. She killed the engine and covered her face with her hands. She couldn’t get the shadowy look on Grandma’s face out of her mind. Or the sharp words she had spoken.
She opened the door and flinched at the cold night air. The chill and the dark, lonely alley took her back to the walk home on campus that night in Atlanta. A sense of panic bubbled up in her chest. She knew it was illogical to be afraid. No one was lying in wait for her on Second Street in Moose Creek. But the feeling was hard to shake.
Wiping her face, she took a couple of deep breaths. She was safe. She was fine. What would Dad do if he thought she couldn’t handle her life? What would Jeremy do? She was tougher than this. She marched around to the front door, eager to get inside, then slowed her steps when she saw her dad standing in Marge’s yard. Talking. To Marge.
His back was to her, so she slipped past without calling to him, questions swirling in her mind. How much more did she have to endure tonight? Why was Marge giving Dad goo-goo eyes? Dad and Marge didn’t have a . . . a thing going, did they?
Bea shook her head. No, of course not. That would never happen.
She found Jeremy in the kitchen, his full attention on his phone. Country music played from the speaker, making her smile despite the emotion still constricting her throat.
“Is that Alan Jackson?”
He jumped and spun around. “Oh, you’re back. Yeah, I remembered he was one of your dad’s favorites. Figured I better check him out.”
“You’re getting sucked in.” Her tease was halfhearted, but that didn’t stop him from protesting.
“No, I’m not.”
Her eyes burned, and she swiped at them. “Mm-hmm.”
“Wait.” He stood and reached for her. “Are you okay?”
Are you okay? Are you okay? How many times had he asked her that in the past month?
She buried her face in his shoulder. Everything was upside-down. What was happening to her grandma? What was going on with Dad? Would she ever be able to stand alone on a dark street without all the fear rushing back?
She wanted her mom.
When she’d regained some control over herself, she pulled away. Jeremy rubbed his hands up and down her arms, concern on his face.
“What’s going on? Were you at your grandma’s this whole time?”
She sniffled. “Yes. I just wanted to visit, but Grandma . . .”
Jeremy’s voice was gentle. “What?”
Dad appeared in the kitchen entryway. “You’re home.”
She turned to look at him, and his eyebrows raised. “What’s the matter, B.B.?”
Jeremy put a protective arm around her shoulder. “Could you give us a minute, please?”
“Did something happen with your grandmother?”
“Mr. Jensen, could you please—”
“It’s okay, Jeremy.” Bea ducked out from under his arm and took a seat at the kitchen table. “He should hear this, too.”
Resigned irritation puckered Jeremy’s face as he joined her at the table.
She put one elbow down, leaned her chin into her hand, and looked sideways at her dad. “Did you say something to Grandpa and Grandma about me? Something about the baby?”
His eyes narrowed. “I told them the news is all. Why?”
“Nothing else?”
“What else is there to say?” Dad crossed his arms. “What’s this all about?”
Bea sank further into her chair. “I think you were right. About Grandma. Something’s going on with her.”
Dad remained standing but moved closer, his voice tight with concern. “What happened?”
Bea chewed the inside of her cheek. “Nothing, really. She was just being so weird. She forgot that I wasn’t in school, and then she yelled at Grandpa. And when I reminded her about the baby, she . . . I don’t know. Shut down or something and left the room. Like she couldn’t handle talking about it. I thought she would be happy.”
Dad scrubbed a hand over his face. “What did your grandfather say?”
“That she wasn’t feeling well, and I should go.”
Jeremy covered her hand with his. “That must’ve been upsetting.”
Dad gave him a sour look. “Thanks, Dr. Phil.”
Another sob worked its way up from Bea’s chest and flew from her mouth. Why did he have to be so childish? Jeremy scooted his chair closer.
“And there was . . . hardly any food . . . in the fridge.” Bea’s words came in spurts through her sobs. “All Grandma had to offer me . . . was a beer.”
Jeremy’s eyes widened. “You didn’t take it, did you?”
Dad glared at him. “Of course she didn’t.”
“I’m worried about her.” Bea slumped back in her chair. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, Dad. What did the doctor say at the consultation?”
She had dismissed his concerns as soon as she heard what the appointment had been for and hadn’t given Dad a chance to explain any of the details. Now she turned to him with eyebrows raised. Ready to hear. Jeremy moved his thumb across the top of
her hand.
“He wants to do more tests,” Dad said. “We’re taking her for a CT scan and blood work next Friday.”
She hated to ask but needed to know. “Does he think she has dementia?” Her shoulders tightened as she waited for the answer.
Dad waved an arm. “He said not to jump to any conclusions.”
“But he must’ve given you some information about—”
“Yes.” Her dad joined them at the table, his face grim. “When I brought up your grandmother’s age, how she’s not even sixty-five, he admitted he was going to want to look into the possibility of the early-onset familial kind of Alzheimer’s disease. But he said it’s way too soon to know anything for sure.”
Bea tensed. Familial? She put a hand on her stomach. “Does that mean it could be hereditary?” She heard the panic in her voice and told herself to calm down.
Dad held up his hands. “The chances are so slim there’s no sense in worrying about it. Dr. Wilson said it could end up not even being a neurological problem at all. Her confusion and mood swings might be the result of some sort of chemical imbalance or nutritional deficiency or something.”
Bea took a deep breath. A nutritional deficiency. That sounded like a solvable problem. Maybe that’s all it was. Poor Grandma. No one had been making sure she was taking care of herself.
“Okay.” She wiped her nose with a napkin. “I guess now we wait for the tests.”
Jeremy gave her a reassuring nod and pushed back from the table. “Since there’s nothing we can do about it until then, I think it’s time for your surprise.”
Bea sat up a little straighter. “What is it?”
He made a goofy face and opened the fridge. As he reached inside and grabbed ahold of something Bea couldn’t see, the freezer-side door spit a handful of ice cubes onto the floor.
Bea gave her dad a look. “I thought you fixed that.”
“I tried.”
“May I present to you, my lady”—Jeremy spun around, one hand holding a white box and the other hidden behind him—“chicken and veggie lo mein from Hong Kong City.”
“Ooh!” She grinned. “My favorite.”
“And . . .” He pulled another box from behind his back. “A pumpkin, chocolate-chip cheesecake from Bighorn Bakery.”
It was the most beautiful cake she’d ever seen. If she’d been the swooning type, she would’ve fainted from joy right then and there. Oh, Jeremy.
She snuck a kiss on his cheek as he set the food in front of her on the table. “You’re the best.”
“You’re the best.” Pfft. The words rankled in Mitch’s brain as he lay awake in bed. He’d raised her, given her everything she ever needed or wanted, paid for her to move to Georgia and go to school, and all Jeremy had to do was give her a cheesecake, and he was the best? The kid couldn’t even drive a truck with manual transmission.
He growled. He wasn’t being fair. Daughters were meant to grow up and move on. Meant to give their hearts to another man and live a life apart from their fathers. He knew that. But he didn’t have to like it. The tune to Heartland’s “I Loved Her First” played in his mind. Boy, oh boy, did he feel that. And how had Jeremy paid for that food, anyway? With the money Bea had earned at the Food Farm?
Okay, okay, maybe Jeremy had made a little cash down at the Duncan place. But harvest was over.
Mitch turned to one side, then the other. This twin bed was not nearly as comfortable as his old queen. And he still hadn’t gotten used to sleeping alone. Two years might as well have been two days. He could still hear Caroline breathing in the night if he was quiet enough.
The words to “Sweet Caroline” replaced Heartland’s song, and Mitch grumbled to himself. He was never going to get any sleep at this rate. Then Marge’s face popped into his mind.
“Aargh.” He startled as if a boogeyman had jumped at him from the darkness.
What was she doing in his head? It was probably because of their exchange earlier. She’d caught him outside and reeled him into a conversation like he was nothing more than a northern pike on a line. And she’d brought up his birthday again. He’d said, “I’ll think about it,” but all he could think about now was how she kept touching his arm. It should’ve bothered him, but it didn’t. He’d gone without a woman’s touch for two years, and it had felt . . . nice. Two years on his own with many more ahead of him. Would he be alone for the rest of his life?
No one else had mentioned a thing about his birthday so far—not his parents, not Bea—while Marge had asked about it twice. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he wasn’t interested in lying awake all night trying to figure it out. Or in making a big deal out of his birthday.
His mind turned to his mother. He was sorry Bea had gotten upset, yet he was glad she was no longer in denial about his mom’s condition. Maybe she could help keep his mom calm for the next appointment. Maybe June would listen to her.
He rolled onto his back and groaned. How long had he been lying here? Was it midnight yet? At least he didn’t have to work tomorrow. A muffled sound came from above him, and he tensed up. What was . . . ? Was that . . . ?
Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. He flipped onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow, pulling it up on the sides to cover his ears. The lovebirds probably figured he was sound asleep by now, and boy, oh boy, did he wish he was.
TWENTY-ONE
Bea lounged on the couch, her hands resting on her stomach. “I’m so full. I shouldn’t have eaten that third piece of cheesecake.”
For breakfast. She’d had three slices of cheesecake for breakfast.
Jeremy gave her an affectionate look. “The baby must’ve been hungry.”
Bea laid her head back. Her stomach bulged from her huge meal, but otherwise there was no evidence of a baby growing inside her. She thought her waist had thickened a little but not enough that anyone would notice. Jeremy certainly hadn’t noticed last night.
She did a quick mental calculation. About ten weeks along. A quarter of the way through her pregnancy. When would she need to start wearing maternity clothes? Was her morning sickness over for good, or had she just been lucky the past couple of days?
“Hey, guess what?” Jeremy broke into her thoughts. “You know that antler shop downtown?”
She nodded.
“It doesn’t even have a website.” His expression was incredulous.
She shrugged. “I don’t think Mr. Van Dyken has any idea how to make a website.”
“He should at least be on Facebook or something. He could post pictures of each piece as he finishes it.”
Bea scrunched her lips to one side. It made sense, but she wasn’t sure if Mr. Van Dyken even knew what Facebook was.
Jeremy checked his phone for the time. “Well, I better get going.”
“What are you going out there for again?”
Harvest at the Duncan place had wrapped up a few days before, but Jeremy was still making trips down there to help out. When she’d said Montana agreed with him, she’d been right.
He shrugged. “I’m trying to get a feel for the people around here. What their needs are. How they run their businesses.” He winked. “It’s research.”
She made a face. “Okay, but what am I supposed to do here with my dad all day?”
They were currently hanging out in the living room because Dad was messing with the fridge again. He’d announced at breakfast that he was determined to get to the bottom of the problem if it was the last thing he did today. Bea planned to avoid the kitchen at all costs.
“You’ll be fine.” Jeremy stood and kissed the top of her head. “I won’t stay long.”
He pulled on a jacket, gloves, and boots. The temperature was only supposed to reach about twenty degrees.
“Don’t forget my dad’s making dinner tonight.”
“As if I could forget.” Jeremy gave her a half smile. Dad had been going on all week about how he was going to make them dinner. “I’ll be back in plenty of time.”
He
gave her another wink and headed out the door. She pulled her feet up on the couch and groaned, the pumpkin cheesecake sitting like a boulder in her gut. It had been worth it, though. And if her mom had been here, she would’ve been right there eating it with her.
With the sound of Dad making demands of the refrigerator in the background, Bea tapped a button on her phone to wake it up. On her home screen was an app that allowed her to monitor her baby’s development and keep track of how many weeks left until her due date. Jeremy had downloaded it for her.
Her finger hovered over the icon. What did her baby look like at ten weeks old? Was it the size of a thumbprint? A fist? She looked down at her stomach. How could something so small feel so big?
She shook her head and brought up the internet instead. As she typed early-onset familial Alzheimer’s disease into a search engine, the haunted look on Grandma June’s face burned in her brain. She hoped and prayed Grandma’s tests would reveal nothing more than the nutritional deficiency Dad had mentioned. But she couldn’t resist the pull of what if?
She knew how easy it was to get sucked into an online vortex of speculative information and terrifying diagnosis stories. She’d been through all that before when her mom got sick. Websites about miracle cures. Lists of which foods to eat and not eat. Testimonials about how one family prayed away their loved one’s cancer, while another watched them die a slow and painful death. It wasn’t exactly helpful. But she needed more information. If there was even the slightest possibility of Grandma’s condition being hereditary, she wanted to know.
Search results were at her fingertips in an instant. She chose the most scholarly-looking article from the list and began to read. Phrases such as unusually early age, incurable, and progressive loss of brain function jumped out at her like a deer leaping from the underbrush along Highway 288.
The article said symptoms often appeared in a person’s thirties, forties, and fifties, and in rare cases, in a person’s twenties. Children with a parent diagnosed had a fifty-fifty chance of inheriting the disease. She looked up from the phone. Her dad was turning forty-three in a couple of weeks. What if she, Grandma June, and her dad all had the disease and didn’t know it yet? Was that possible?