Tombstones (Beekman Hills Book 4)

by K. C. Enders

  “You going to bed already?”

  It’s early for Gracyn, but I feel like I could pass out in a heartbeat.

  Not even trying to hide her giddy excitement, Gracyn twirls—freaking twirls—as she inches farther away. “Sort of. Gavin’s in LA for one more night, so we’re going to”—she waves her hands in the air—“chat for a bit.”

  Her thousand-watt smile lights up the room, and I couldn’t be happier for her. From what she’s told me, she and Gavin have finally found a way to be together. All their mess is getting worked out, and they are for reals dating now, actually dating as opposed to the running-away and then long-distance crap they did.

  “Have fun, sweetie. Make good choices,” I call.

  “Pffft. What could happen? Not like we’re having reckless sex all over the place.”

  Sometimes, the unexpected just kicks you in the ass.

  ***

  AND, A MERE HANDFUL of days later, the truth of that thought darkens the doorstep of McBride’s Public House. The pub owner’s death took everyone by surprise. Francie, the man who selflessly took care of so many, making a small family of misfits, evidently didn’t want to burden anyone with his illness. Sneaking off for a rest late in the evening on St. Patrick’s Day, he went into his office by the stockroom. Gracyn was devastated when she found him hours later, splayed across the floor, already gone.

  Francie was known for taking in strays and giving them a purpose. In fact, until Gracyn walked away from her family’s accounting firm and offered to lend him a hand, Francie only employed young men from Ireland who’d found themselves wandering, in need of a soft place to land. His business model of hot men with a brogue kept the bar full, the beer flowing, and the drama low. Not that Gracyn amped up any drama when she started tending bar. That was just a matter of Francie’s health failing and him needing another set of hands before his favorite holiday. The fact that he passed on the day he did, knowing that he had helped one of his surrogate kids, just made the whole thing even harder.

  Aidan might have known Francie the longest, but Finn, Lis, and Gracyn were hit the hardest. Francie was the father each of them had seemed to be missing in life. I didn’t have the same relationship with Francie as the others, but they say funerals are not for the dead, but for the living. My friends here have made me feel more welcome, more a part of their tight-knit family than the group I grew up with or even my sorority sisters ever could, and I thought we were close.

  “Gracyn, you ready?” I ask softly.

  “Not in the least,” she replies, sniffling.

  The last three tissues pull free at the same time, leaving the box itself to tumble to the counter. I set the empty box in our recycling bin, replacing it with a fresh one.

  With my tote bag on the counter, I sift through the contents, adding several travel packs of tissues, mints, and a water bottle. “It’s time, G. We need to get going.”

  “How am I going to do this? I can’t say good-bye to him. I just can’t,” she says, fresh tears thickening her words. “He was more of a father to me in the last couple of months than mine was in the twenty-four years he had. God, Francie was always there for us. How …”

  “I know, babe. Come on. Let’s go honor him.”

  I reach for her hand, pulling her into a hug. Gracyn squeezes me and shuffles out the door of our apartment while I throw on my raincoat, grab one for Gracyn, and sling my tote bag over my arm. I push down the wooziness that seems to be lurking just on the fringe today and slip into the car waiting at the curb.

  Gavin turns, extending his hand through the front seats. “Kate, right? Good to finally meet you. Wish it were under different circumstances though.”

  I shake his hand, noting the way his eyes soften when he glances at Gracyn.

  At the cemetery, he hops out of the car and gathers his golden hair back into a perfectly messy bun, one I wish I could accomplish on the regular. The lead guitarist for The UnBroken is gritty and gorgeous onstage, but in a dark suit, he’s on an entirely different level. I wonder what Jack would look like in his uniform, rumpled, coming back from a mission. The formal one reserved for special occasions. More and more, I find myself wishing he were really a part of my life and not just a fleeting thing.

  We gather at the graveside, each of my friends supported by their person—Gracyn and Gavin, Lis and Aidan, Finn and Addie. And then there’s me. I tuck my hands into the pockets of my coat, using the fabric to mask how I splay them across my belly, the need to feel Jack close to me in this moment almost overwhelming.

  I’ve been camouflaging my changing figure. Big sweaters and A-line shirts, leggings and jeans with the top button popped. Hell, I’m a little surprised I was able to get my black dress closed, though I’m sure this will be the last time I can wear it for a while. Thank God funerals are not a common thing in my world. I should be done cooking this kiddo and back to my normal size before I have to do this again.

  Thoughts like this—clothes, random things—distract me from the cold, from the sadness. From my utter loneliness.

  The world tilts and spins, the ground threatening to rush up at me. I should’ve eaten something this morning, I know better than to trust the relative newness of not leaving the house with an empty stomach.

  Father Callahan lifts his head, meeting my eye as the final strains of “Amazing Grace” float off into the wind, and I can’t help feeling like I’ve been caught doing something wrong. I was raised in the church, not Catholic, but still, I know I should’ve had my head down, eyes closed. But, the minute I took that stance, I felt ill. Sick and more than a little woozy, but I shoved that shit down because this is not about me. My friends, the family that I’ve found far from my own, are grieving today. This is their good-bye.

  My heart breaks at the loss of Francie McBride, but there is no way—no fucking way—I’m going to steal from him in this moment. Francie was like a father to my friends Lis and Gracyn and especially Finn.

  Swallowing my misery, I brace as my stomach does another untimely flip and roll. Deep breath in, slowly blow it out. Deep inhale, slow release. I’m okay. I can make it through the service, and then I’ll go home to bed.

  With tears tracking down her face, Gracyn reaches a hand toward me. I quickly grasp it, giving her a squeeze, thankful for the grounding contact. Caretaker tendencies and distraction come together in that moment, and I dig into my bag, passing out packages of tissues. Anything to keep myself from falling apart as unbidden tears flood my cheeks. I’m not a crier. Never. Not at sad movies, not when I read. I just don’t, and today, they just won’t stop.

  “You okay?” Gracyn asks, leaning in close.

  I just nod, afraid to open my mouth because, at this stage, I’m either going to bawl my eyes out—and I’m without a doubt not a pretty crier—or I’m going to hurl. And no one appreciates it when someone pukes at a funeral. That’s just bad manners.

  “Kate? Honey, you don’t look good. Are you going to …” Lis, a nurse, leans in from my other side, assessing me as the priest continues his homily. Her hands flutter over me, taking my pulse, checking for a fever. “G, get the water bottle from her bag,” she directs.

  Gracyn rummages through my Mary Poppins bag and pulls out my water bottle, twisting off the lid. I reach for it, taking a tentative sip, praying silently that my nausea doesn’t choose this solemn moment to rear its ugly head again.

  A chair appears, seemingly out of nowhere, and I sink into it, dropping my head into my hands. “I’m sorry,” I mumble, sipping at the water bottle Gracyn thrust into my hands.

  Bagpipes keen and groan, their sad melody echoing across green hills. The remnants of an early spring shower chill the air as it swirls around the small crowd gathered on the hillside. When the service is done, when handfuls of dirt have been tossed into the open grave, and the cemetery is all but empty, Lis and Gracyn turn to me.

  “You going to make a doctor’s appointment, or am I going to drag you in?” Gracyn demands. “I know I’ve been
kind of preoccupied lately, but I haven’t missed you still feeling like shit. The way it comes and goes, how long has this been going on? Either the kids in your class really are cesspools of germs or you need a little boost to get over this and get healthy again.”

  “I made one. I’m going in tomorrow—in the morning, I think.” In fact, it’s at precisely nine in the morning. I prepped my substitute plan as soon as I made the appointment and am finally ready to do this and face the facts.

  “Who’s the doctor? Do you want me to try to get you in sooner with someone else?” Lis offers. “Or I can go with you. I have the day off.”

  We’ve all been so scattered, wrapped up in our own lives lately. I’ve missed my girls.

  I brush more of the never-ending tears away and smile tightly. “I’ll be okay, really. You need to sleep in once in a while, loll in bed with your sweet man.” I squeeze Lis’s hand and nod toward Aidan. “Let him take care of you. I’ll let y’all know when I’m done.”

  I hug Gracyn and say, “I’m going to go. I’ll grab an Uber and crawl into bed. Please raise a glass to Francie for me, okay?”

  “We will, but let us drop you at home. And I’ll bring you a plate from the pub later,” she insists. “Gavin, will you grab the car, babe?” She pulls my hand through her elbow, and we walk slowly toward the tree-covered lane that snakes through the cemetery grounds.

  ***

  AS SOON AS MY zipper releases and my dress falls to the floor, all the ickiness I was feeling earlier dissipates. Like the minor constriction around my middle was just way too much. I pull Jack’s big, soft T-shirt over my head and slide on flannel PJ pants that are so soft and cozy it’s like wearing nothing at all.

  It’s only late afternoon, but with all the emotion of the day, I crawl into bed, not even bothering with my journal. I’ll have all the details tomorrow after my appointment.

  Chapter 22

  Kate

  I’VE KNOWN DEEP DOWN inside. Of course I’ve known, but I didn’t want to face it because, once you acknowledge something like that, say it out loud, it’s real. And this just became all kinds of real.

  “Let’s just see what we’ve got here,” the nurse says as she moves the wand around on my belly. “We should get good heart sounds since you’re thinking maybe your first trimester is up.” She poses the statement like there’s no question, or maybe it’s a touch of judgment. That’s not something I’m going to worry about at the moment. I have enough on my plate as it is.

  The room fills with a rhythmic whooshing, and there’s no question that it’s my baby’s heartbeat I’m hearing. That’s my little Oops, thrumming away. I smile at the nurse, expecting to get the same right back, but as she moves the wand and tilts her head, a bad feeling washes over me.

  “That’s it, right? That’s my baby’s heartbeat?” I ask, worry seeping into my voice.

  She hums a noncommittal sound and sets the wand on the counter, her mouth a tight line. “I’ll just go get the doctor, so she can chat with you.” And she’s out the door before I have a chance to ask anything further.

  Tears sting the backs of my eyes. This is my fault. I drank wine and tequila in the mountains with Jack. I flew home for Christmas and drank my fill there. I have drowned this child in alcohol and bad decisions before it—he? she maybe?—ever had a chance. I should have come in as soon as I suspected I was pregnant. I should have had some kind of maternal inkling that made me make better choices. I should have something.

  Dr. Delaney walks in, all smiles, and rests a calming hand on my shoulder. “Hey, Kate. Isn’t this a surprise?”

  “Yeah.” I swipe at the gathering tears. “Is everything okay though? We were listening to the heartbeat, and the nurse got real quiet and then didn’t say anything other than she was going to get you. Oh my God, did I ruin it? Is my baby okay?” My words come out in a rush, desperation crawling up my spine.

  “Let’s take a peek, okay?” She pulls over a sonogram machine and squeezes a glob of warm gel on my stomach.

  I close my eyes, afraid to look. Petrified by what I’ll see, of what she’ll say. The same whoosh that I found so exciting a few minutes ago now fills me with dread. There’s an echo and a skip, not the solid thump-thump of a well-defined beat.

  “Well, there we are,” Dr. Delaney singsongs. She chuckles softly, moving the wand, clicking at the attached keyboard. “Looking good, Mama. You’re gonna have your hands full in a couple of months. Oh, Kate, honey, open your eyes. Look at your babies.”

  Babies?

  I pop one eye open, afraid to commit fully to looking at the screen. “Oh …” Hot tears tumble down my face. Babies. Two of them. “There’re two?” And that’s just proof that there is such a thing as dumb questions because I’m lying here, looking at the tiny little aliens bouncing on the screen.

  “Two. Can’t tell yet whether they’re going to be pink or blue yet, but you’ve got two healthy-looking babies measuring in right around fifteen weeks, give or take a couple of days.” She prints off a stack of pictures and wipes the goo off me, handing me extra paper towels to finish the job.

  I put myself back together, only half-listening to what the doctor is saying. What the hell am I going to do? I can’t do twins on my own, can I? Since Gracyn’s moving in with Gavin, I’ll have the room, but there is so much more to consider, to plan for. I need my planner. I need to sit down and see the schedule for the rest of the school year, figure out what needs to happen when. I need to tell my friends. And I need to cry. Holy shit, what am I going to do?

  “Any other questions?” Dr. Delaney asks, drying her hands and chucking the paper towel into the garbage can.

  I look around the room, realizing how much I’ve missed in the past few minutes. The exam room is tidied up; the nurse has come and gone, leaving a gift bag on the counter by the sonogram pictures; and evidently, I missed an entire conversation as well. My heart sinks when I think that this is why there is supposed to be two parents at these things.

  Holy fuck. I’m knocked up. With twins.

  Blowing out a deep breath, I blink a few times and say, “I have so many. But I think I need to process this, let it settle in my brain. Can I call the office in a day or so? I, uh … this wasn’t planned.”

  “Absolutely. We’ll see you in a month, but call us anytime.” She reassuringly squeezes my hand and adds, “Congratulations, Kate. It’s going to be fine.”

  I manage to hold my tears at bay until I’m tucked into my car, the heater running at full blast. Only as I touch the heart of Baby A and then Baby B on the sonogram image do I let the tears fall freely. Once again, life has thrown me for a loop, smacked me upside the head. There is no way past this, but through it. So, I dry my eyes, blow my nose, and send an SOS text, asking Gracyn and Lis to meet me. Gracyn responds that they are both at McBride’s.

  ***

  “HEY.” LIS HUGS ME tight. “What did the doctor say? You went today, right?” She holds me at arm’s length, taking note of my puffy eyes and red nose. “Oh, Kate, what is it?”

  Lis pulls me to a barstool, and Gracyn reaches for my bottle of tequila, setting it on the bar in front of me. I reach out and place my hands on either side of the bottle.

  “It’s going to be more than a minute before Mr. Patrón and I spend any quality time together again,” I say quietly. If I had my shit together, I’d have done something super Pinteresty to tell these girls that they’re going to be aunties. Instead, I release the bottle, bidding it a silent farewell, and reach into my bag.

  “Kate”—Gracyn pulls the bottle away from me—“did your sailor knock you up while he was ashore?” Her brows are high, eyes wide.

  “He’s in the Army,” I remind her and set the stack of black-and-white photos on top of the bar.

  Gracyn scoops them up, sifting through, handing each one to Lis as she goes. “Oh my God, he did. You’re having a baby,” she exclaims, cheeks pulled up in a cheesy grin.

  “She’s having two.” Lis looks from the last s
onogram picture to me and back again. Sifting through the photos a second time, she sets them down on the bar. “How long have you known?” She fixes me with the same kind of glare that the OB nurse gave me. The one that’s assessing and a touch judgy. The one I’ve been dreading.

  “A bit.” I spread the pictures apart, pausing on each. Those are my babies.

  “Totally makes sense,” Gracyn says, placing a glass of water in front of me. “You’ve been weird, didn’t come in for …” Her voice trails off as she looks to the framed black-and-white photo on the wall behind the bar. She sniffs and continues, “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

  I reach for her hand. “Gracyn, I’m so sorry—”

  “Nope, not going there right now. We’re celebrating babies.” She stills and looks at me—like, looks at me hard. Then, slapping both palms on the bar, Gracyn cackles. “Holy shit, you’re pregnant.”

  No shit.

  “Have you told …”

  “Jack,” I offer Lis, feeling bad that my best friends don’t know anything about the man who changed my world. I shrug, continuing, “I can’t. He’s deployed.”

  “FaceTime? E-mail? He doesn’t have an international phone?” Gracyn asks. “Gavin called from somewhere over there when he was on tour.”

  “It was a fling, short-term. Surely, you of all people understand that.” I look pointedly at Gracyn.

  Gavin was her spring break fling. And they went their separate ways, no contact until they ran into each other a year and a half later.

  “But you met him at school, right?” Lis pipes in. “His nephew? Or friend’s kiddo is in your class? Can you get ahold of him that way?”

  I pick up the picture with both babies, the one that has their little alien bodies in profile. “They’re Special Forces. Communication isn’t really an option. Jake and his mom hardly ever get to talk to Tripp. God, and the last thing I want to do is have his best friend’s wife know before he does. That’s just too much drama and shit.”

  Gracyn pushes my water glass toward me. “You’re not going to be hiding that for long. Especially not if there’re two in there.”