by Katie Powner
She rubbed her eyes and swiped the screen to shut off her show. Did Jeremy think about that conversation all the time, too?
Her body sagged. She couldn’t wait for her first trimester to be over. The app Jeremy had downloaded said the extreme fatigue should fade soon. She pulled her earbuds out and set everything on her bedside table.
“You throwing in the towel?” Jeremy asked.
She nestled deeper under the covers and closed her eyes. “Mm-hmm.”
“Mind if I work a little longer?”
“It won’t bother me any.”
She rolled on her side and wriggled so her back pressed against Jeremy’s side. She wanted to be close to him. Feel his warmth. Tucked up against him like that, she felt safe. The tickety-tick as he continued to type lulled her toward sleep. “I need you to choose me. I need you to choose me.”
“Bea? You still awake?”
She startled and opened her eyes. “Yep.”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Okay.”
“Remember when I said I would do some digging about your grandma losing a baby? I thought there might be a record of it.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I never found anything.”
Her eyelids drooped again. “Maybe we were wrong.”
“Exactly. Do you think there’s any chance your grandma’s aunt Gladys is still alive?”
“What?”
“I know she’d be pretty old, but there’s a chance, right?”
Bea’s sleepy brain worked to keep up with Jeremy. “She’d be in her late eighties at least.”
“I’m going to search for her online. Do you think she still lives in Chicago?”
“I don’t know.” She yawned. Why was Jeremy so interested in Great-Aunt Gladys? “Grandma’s never really talked about her. And when Grandpa Rand said they got married after Grandma’s visit to Chicago, that was the first I’d ever heard of any trip out east.”
His fingers continued tapping on the keyboard. “Doesn’t that make you wonder?”
Bea peered at Jeremy’s face. He had that look he got whenever he started talking about family. A look of longing mixed with pain and questions about what could have been. She understood him well enough to know it was a look that meant this was important to him.
She sat up and waited.
“Found her. Gladys Fennel. Twenty-four East Meridian Drive in Chicago.”
Bea’s heart began to beat a little faster. “How did you—could it really be . . . ?”
“Only one way to find out. There’s a phone number.”
Her eyes bulged. “You’re going to call her?”
“Not right now. But I have an important question, and I don’t know who else to ask.” Jeremy copied the number onto a scrap piece of paper from his nightstand. “Maybe Great-Aunt Gladys will have the answer.”
Her brow furrowed. He was taking this really seriously. “What question?”
“Why did Grandma June go to Chicago that summer?”
Bea tilted her head. “Why not? Maybe she went every summer.”
“I didn’t get that impression, did you?”
“No.” He was right. It hadn’t seemed like an annual event. And Grandma hadn’t been eager to talk about it. “Maybe she needed to get out of Moose Creek for a while. I can certainly relate to that.”
“Okay, but why?”
A shiver of possibility tingled down her spine. “Do you think this has something to do with what Grandma was talking about on the mountain?”
“Maybe.”
“A baby?”
“A secret baby.”
Bea rested against Jeremy’s shoulder and rubbed her forehead. She thought about the look on her grandma’s face that time at her house when Bea reminded her she was pregnant. About Grandma’s desperation to find a mysterious baby during the snowstorm. About her great-aunt Gladys.
Why had Grandma June gone to Chicago?
THIRTY-THREE
Mitch nursed a cup of coffee and listened to the men yarn. He enjoyed Wednesday mornings at The Baked Potato—they were so normal and familiar—but today he struggled to pay attention to the conversation. Too much else on his mind.
“How about you, Mitch?” Willy jerked his chin at him from across the table. “You have any luck over the weekend?”
“What?” Mitch shook his head. “Oh. No, I never saw a thing. If there were any elk up there, they had better camo on than me.”
Willy chuckled. “Is that what’s got your mug full of tears over there?”
One corner of Mitch’s mouth lifted. “Got a lot going on is all.”
Willy sobered. “Your mom still having a time?”
Mitch nodded. Dr. Wilson’s office had called yesterday afternoon about bringing his mother in to discuss the results of her CT scan. When they’d said they could squeeze her in this Friday in Ponderosa, he had been relieved. He didn’t want to wait any longer than necessary. But now that he’d had time to think about it, he wouldn’t mind a little more distance between himself and the appointment. It felt like a moment of truth just waiting to smack him upside the head.
“You hear about George’s boy?” Travis asked.
Heads shook all around the table.
“One of the only guys to get a shot off on Sunday, then he fell in some kind of hole tracking the dang thing and broke his leg in three places.”
Willy’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” Travis slid his chair back and pointed at his own leg. “Here, here, and here. Some cracked ribs, too. Gonna be laid up for months.”
Willy tossed his fork down. “Well, shoot.”
Mitch hated to hear that. George’s “boy” was a twenty-six-year-old named CJ with a wife and two kids. The wife stayed home with the little ones, and Mitch would guess CJ’s job barely paid their bills. They would’ve been counting on that meat to get them through the winter.
“What are they going to do?”
“Don’t know.” Travis shrugged. “It’d be a lot easier if their little rental wasn’t out to heck and gone. The missus took cinnamon rolls over there yesterday, but her old car’ll never make it up that hill once the roads get bad.”
Mitch thought of his parents. Their house was more accessible than CJ’s, but it was still difficult to check in on them as much as he would like. It wasn’t on the way to anyplace, and by the time he got off work at six or seven, it was already getting dark. Most of the time, he was plumb wore out. But he needed to make more of an effort. His dad said they were doing better, but it didn’t matter. He needed to be there for them.
He dropped a couple dollars on the table as he stood. “I better get to work.”
The other men mumbled their farewells, and Mitch stopped at the register to pay for his usual: two eggs, hash browns, bacon, and toast.
As Debbie rang him up, he pulled an extra twenty from his wallet. “CJ Tucker’s got a tab here, don’t he?”
Debbie nodded.
He handed her the cash. “Put this on it.”
Mitch brought the truck to a stop with a grunt, his wrists resting on the steering wheel. Of all the houses to be sent to for water-meter maintenance, why’d it have to be Marge’s? He’d tried to pass it off on Ralph, but Ralph had found great enjoyment in refusing. “I think she’d rather see your ugly mug at her door than mine,” he’d said.
Mitch dragged himself from the truck and carried a bucket, toolbox, and replacement parts to the door.
Marge flung it open before he could knock. “Hi, there.”
It’d been a while since he’d seen her without a big old smile on. She didn’t seem as happy to have him standing at her door as she always was to be standing at his.
He nodded. “Howdy. Sorry to have to bother you like this, but it should only take me a few minutes to get your meter back on track.”
“It’s no bother.” She stepped aside and ushered him in. “I’m just glad I didn’t get called in to work today.”
H
e caught a whiff of citrus as he passed her. Caroline never wore perfume, but she’d always smelled of vanilla from her shampoo. Vanilla made him think of home. Marge’s scent made him think of sunshine.
She fidgeted as he glanced around the house, trying not to gawk. He hadn’t been in here in a long time. It looked like nothing had changed since Bill and the kids left, almost as though the whole place were frozen in time, waiting for them to come back.
Like he could talk. Caroline’s Bible, glasses, and favorite lotion were still perched on the nightstand next to her side of the bed. Her lotion was vanilla, too. His eyes fell on a grimy pack of Newport cigarettes, and he grunted. He could practically see Bill’s fingerprints on it.
Marge’s long shiny earrings jangled as she shifted on her feet. “I keep meaning to throw those away, you know? I just . . .”
“Yeah.” He knew. They locked eyes for a second—a moment spanning the distance between them, a moment where he could see pieces of Marge in her eyes that he’d never seen before—then he cleared his throat. “Why don’t you show me where the line comes in.”
The moment passed.
She led Mitch down to the basement and pointed. “It’s right over here.”
He nodded and got straight to work, hoping to make his visit as short as possible. Being here alone with Marge gave him a peculiar feeling. Not bad necessarily, but different.
Most people left him to take care of business after showing him to the meter. Not Marge. She pulled a chair over, sat down, and crossed her short little legs. “Only four days until your birthday, can you believe it?”
He tugged at the collar of his shirt. That wasn’t the last thing he wanted to talk about, but it was pretty close. “I suppose not.”
“I know the party’s at noon, but if you need me to come over earlier, just let me know.”
The party was at noon? That was news to him. He didn’t even know there was a party.
She must’ve read the confusion on his face. “I talked with Bea.”
A light sheen of sweat formed on his forehead as he knelt beside the meter. Boy, oh boy. Bea and Marge talking?
“She’s going to be a wonderful mom,” Marge continued. “I just know it.”
He tried to keep his face from giving anything away but must have failed.
“What?” Marge leaned closer. “You don’t think so?”
His hands stilled. His voice lowered. “They’re just so young. They don’t even have a place to live.”
Why was he talking to her about this?
“Of course they do. They live with you.”
He let out a long breath. “Hardly the ideal situation to start a family.”
Marge’s eyes widened, then she laughed. She slapped her hand on her knee and let out a high-pitched hoot that made Mitch jump.
He frowned. “What’s so funny?”
“Listen to yourself.” She wiped at her eyes. “The ‘ideal situation.’ If everyone waited for the ideal situation, no families would ever start.”
He slowly turned back to the meter, his brow furrowed. She had a point. But he didn’t have to like it. He resumed his work while racking his brain for a different topic.
“You hear about CJ Tucker?” He shifted his body and jerked his wrist, making quick work of the meter’s attachment. “George’s boy?”
“No.” She put a hand to her chest. “Everything okay?”
“Had an accident.” Mitch leaned into the wrench and grunted. “Busted his leg real bad. I guess he’ll be laid up for quite a while.”
“That’s awful. What with his wife expecting and everything.”
He pulled a rag from his back pocket to mop up some water that had dripped onto the floor. “Expecting?”
“I heard she’s pregnant again. Poor thing.” Marge’s cheeks flushed. “Because of CJ’s accident, not because of the baby.”
The family had been on his mind all day. And they were having another baby? Looked like Bea and Jeremy weren’t the only expectant parents in a less-than-ideal situation. He wished there was something he could do to help.
“Puts them in a tight spot, that’s for sure.” He double-checked his work, then stood. “That should do it.”
“Thank you.” Marge rose from her chair, and they walked toward the stairway. “Can I get you anything before you go? I made banana bread.”
“No, thanks. I better get moving.”
“A cup of coffee?”
He reached the top of the stairs and paused. He couldn’t take any longer than necessary, or Ralph would never let him hear the end of it. And he had a lot more work to do today, anyway. But he was surprised to find the thought of sitting down with Marge and having a cup of coffee didn’t seem like the worst way in the world to spend the morning. There was a chance they had more in common than he thought.
He glanced at the box of cigarettes from the corner of his eye. “Maybe some other time.”
Her big smile returned. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
He gave her a small smile back. It wouldn’t be so bad, would it? At least he wouldn’t have to do much talking. “All right.”
As she opened the door for him, she put a finger to her chin. “You know, I’m on the women’s committee at church, and I’m wondering if we couldn’t pull together a fundraiser for the Tuckers. A chili feed maybe. Who doesn’t love chili and corn bread?”
He stopped on her front step and turned to her. It was the kind of thing Caroline would have said. Her corn bread had been the envy of every woman in Moose Creek.
His smile was bigger this time, and it tingled a little as it stretched his face. He hadn’t smiled much in the past two years. “That’s a darn good idea.”
THIRTY-FOUR
Bea sank onto the couch with a sigh. It felt good being in the living room with Jeremy, just the two of them. She rarely got home before her dad, but he was working late tonight.
Jeremy put his arm around her and pulled her close. “This is nice. I like snuggling when your dad’s not around.”
She leaned into him. “Have you called Great-Aunt Gladys yet?”
He brushed a finger over her cheek. “Your skin is so soft.”
“Okaaay.”
“Maybe we should make out.”
“Jeremy.” She squealed and smacked his knee. “Did you talk to Aunt Gladys or not?”
He laughed. “All right, we’ll save the making out for later. No, I have not. I thought we could do it right now.”
Bea gulped. “Now?”
He pulled out his phone. “Sure, why not?”
Her chest tightened. Why did the thought of talking to Great-Aunt Gladys make her so nervous?
Jeremy punched in the phone number and held out his phone. “Just hit talk when you’re ready.”
She shrank back. “Me?”
“Well, of course.” He gave her a puzzled look. “She won’t know who I am.”
Bea wasn’t so sure her great-aunt would know who she was either, but she took the phone from Jeremy’s hand. That look on his face was back. She couldn’t refuse him.
She pushed talk and listened to three rings. Four. Five. It was an hour later in Chicago. Maybe Aunt Gladys had already gone to bed. She could feel Jeremy tensing up.
“Hello?”
“Oh, uh, hello.” Bea cleared her throat. “Is this Gladys Fennel?”
“Yes, yes.” The voice was warbly and soft. “This is Gladys. Who is this?”
“Um, well . . .” Bea glanced at Jeremy, and he nodded his encouragement. “This is Beatrice Jensen. Juniper Jensen’s granddaughter.”
There was a long pause, and Bea could almost hear Aunt Gladys blinking.
“Put it on speaker,” Jeremy whispered.
Bea hit the button.
“I haven’t talked to Junie in ages,” Aunt Gladys finally said. “How is she? Is she still living in that old house?”
“Yes, she is. She’s . . . okay. She’s having a few health problems right now.”
�
�Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Aunt Gladys clucked her tongue. “Does she know you’re calling me, Beatrice?”
“Um.” Bea hesitated. “No. But she mentioned her stay with you in Chicago, and I was wondering—”
“She told you about that?”
Bea held the phone tight. “Yes.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.
“Poor Junie. She never was the same after everything with the baby. Wouldn’t speak to me after that.”
Bea glanced at Jeremy, her heart jumping. “Baby?”
“I thought it was awful the way her parents pressured her to give him up.” Aunt Gladys sniffed. “I never agreed with it. That’s why I told her she could live here with me. We could raise him together. But she was so young . . .”
Bea swallowed. What a hard position to be in. “What happened?”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ve heard it all already. She got pregnant out of wedlock, and her parents were ashamed. They said she couldn’t come home unless she put him up for adoption. She was scared, you know. Hated the big city.”
“Him?”
“Yes, indeed. A mighty fine baby boy, born right over at Mercy Hospital.”
“When?” Jeremy asked.
“Oh! Who is that?” Aunt Gladys asked.
“That’s my husband, Jeremy.”
“You’re married? How wonderful.”
Bea smiled but didn’t want Aunt Gladys to get sidetracked. “So when was he born?”
“I can’t believe Junie has a granddaughter old enough to be married. Makes me feel ancient.”
“Aunt Gladys—”
“I am, of course. Ancient. Only two more months and I’ll be eighty-nine.”
“Yes, that’s amazing. But when was the baby born?”
“I’ll never forget.” Aunt Gladys paused. “I’ve never seen a woman so broken. It was August 17, 1976. Junie was barely eighteen. She thought the adoption would be better for everyone, but . . .”