His Baby Dilemma

by Catherine Lanigan

  Louise put her hand on Grace’s shoulder. “Because it’s your destiny.”

  Grace looked up. “Really? You think that?”

  “Of course she does,” Mrs. Beabots affirmed. “And so do I. Sarah here is lucky that her design work keeps her close to home. Your life is in Paris. You’ve just got a tiny wrinkle in your plans is all.”

  Grace turned to Jules, who was playing with a SpongeBob rattle. “I wouldn’t say ‘tiny.’”

  “At the moment, he is. The big problem is blockheaded Mica,” Mrs. Beabots said, then she drained her teacup.

  Fresh tears sprang into Grace’s eyes. “Is he?”

  “Absolutely,” Sarah replied. “Yes, you should have told him. Yes, he could have been there when Jules was born. But you know, Grace, maybe your situation is just the thing Mica needs to yank him out of this self-centered pity party he’s had going on ever since the accident. Maddie and Olivia have both voiced concerns. Rafe wants to hire more help and Mica keeps putting up such a fight that nothing gets done. Fortunately, it’s several months until spring planting.”

  “And then the tension will be even worse for Mica,” Grace interjected.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Have I just added yet another burden for him to bear? Grace wondered. Maybe taking Jules back to Paris was the right thing after all. She had no idea if she was a good mother, if her career goals were admirable or simply selfish.

  Stop it, Grace.

  She’d worried over this far too long. She’d flown to Indian Lake. She’d taken the brunt of Mica’s anger. She’d dug in her heels. There was no going back.

  The doorbell rang.

  “There’s Annie!” Sarah exclaimed. “I was beginning to worry.” She jumped up, and Charlotte put out her arms for her mom, a grimace contorting her pretty pink cheeks.

  “I’ll be right back, sweetie.” Grace’s heart squeezed painfully. How would Jules react when she left him...not just for a few moments, but for months?

  Sarah came back into the room with Annie, who wore a neon-pink parka, white tights, white snow boots and a white sequined scarf around her neck.

  She certainly had a stylish streak. Grace wondered if the questions Annie had for her were about fashion.

  “Hi, Miss Grace!” Annie waved. “I’m so happy to see you. Mom said you could help me.”

  “She...did?” Grace threw Sarah a curious look.

  Sarah took Annie’s coat, while Annie toed off her boots. Grace noticed that her dress was a slim column of white T-shirt material with sequined collar and cuffs.

  Sarah put her hand on Annie’s shoulder. “Go ahead and ask, honey.”

  “What is it, Annie?”

  “Mom says you were Junior Miss Illinois.”

  “I was,” Grace said, feeling that old pang of not measuring up. Of not being perfect. She couldn’t reflect on her earlier win without remembering how she’d only been runner-up in Miss Teen Illinois. And it made her sad to think that she might be better known around town for her pageant days than her accomplishments in the fashion world.

  “I was wondering if you could...or would you, I mean, have you ever...coached kids like me?”

  “Coached?”

  “Yeah. You know. Like help me with my gowns and dresses and stuff. Mom says you know just about everything about clothes. Even more than Mrs. Beabots.”

  “That’s not possible,” Grace and Sarah said in unison and then laughed.

  “Well, almost, then,” Annie said.

  Grace’s spirits lifted. This wasn’t just about her past as a preteen beauty queen. “Annie, I would be honored to help you. You do know there’s more to it than just the clothes, right?”

  “Oh, I do. I’ve been taking piano and voice lessons for years,” Annie said, as if it had been decades.

  “She’s very good,” Mrs. Beabots said. “She sings ‘Over the Rainbow’ with more soul than Judy Garland.”

  “Who’s that?” Annie asked.

  “She sang it before Iz,” Sarah said.

  “Oh.”

  Grace stifled a laugh. “The other thing, Annie, is that I’m only going to be in town for a week or so. We’ll have to get together very soon. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you make up a list of questions and then, even after I leave, you can always text me or email me if there’s something we didn’t cover.”

  “Gosh, Miss Grace! That’s so nice of you! Thank you. I’ll be right next door while you’re here, so I can come over anytime!” Annie hopped from foot to foot.

  Sarah laughed. “Well, maybe not all the time. Grace does have her own things to do while she’s here,” she told Annie. Then she hugged Grace. “You’re the best. You’ve made her day...her month, probably!”

  “Absolutely.” Grace smiled at Annie. “We’ll have a blast.”

  Annie went over to baby Charlotte, still chatting away with Sarah, and with the practiced moves of a highly trained nanny, picked up the baby and cooed to her as if she’d been doing it for several lifetimes. Grace was struck with Annie’s maturity. She was only eleven and she seemed more at ease with her sister than Grace often felt with Jules.

  They all visited for another fifteen minutes, until Jules started to fuss. It was time to change his diaper.

  “You can change him in my bedroom,” Mrs. Beabots offered as Grace grabbed his diaper bag and Louise picked up the baby. “You needn’t go all the way upstairs.”

  Grace adored Mrs. Beabots’s bedroom, but she hadn’t seen it since Sarah’s husband, Luke—a master carpenter—had redesigned the room.

  Once they entered the elaborately decorated pearl-gray-and-salmon bedroom, Grace froze. In the center of the room was an antique Venetian crystal chandelier. The walls were paneled and crown molded in gold filigree that would have shamed half the rooms at Versailles, Grace thought. There was a huge four-poster bed with a pearl gray satin duvet cover, pillows and sheets. Several beaded, salmon pink pillows dotted the bed. An enormous antique escritoire was filled with books and a French fauteuil chair upholstered in pink brocade was pulled up next to it. Once she’d taken everything in, Grace unfolded the changing pad under Jules, who had started to calm down once he had his mother’s complete attention.

  “Annie is amazing, Aunt Louise.”

  “No more than you were at that age.”

  “What are you talking about?” Grace put the used diaper in a plastic bag and tied a knot.

  Louise sat on the bed and smoothed Jules’s dark hair. “Grace, the thing about you is that you grew up fast. When you were very young, you were already taking charge of your life, without direction from your parents or me. Annie is like you. She was taking care of her dad when she was six. You kind of did that for your mother. Being on that stage, learning your lines, being judged all the time would be difficult for an adult, let alone a child. But you sailed through it gracefully. Sorry...about the pun.”

  “That’s okay.” She chuckled. “But you’re right. I knew what clothes and accessories looked good together. I knew my piano concerto was strong. I saw the playing field, sized up the competition and knew how to win. How is that possible?”

  Louise shrugged. “Old soul. Talent. Hard work. All of the above. Some people come into this life with gifts. They have a responsibility to use them. We all hope for equal opportunities, but if we all had equal talents, I’d choose to be Beyoncé.”

  “Wouldn’t we all.” Grace laughed.

  “Instead, I wear silly hats and dance a jig around my shop for a little kid’s birthday. All I want is to see that child smile and laugh and come back to see me. For about forty years.”

  “And they do.”

  “I hope this little guy will want to come see his old Aunt Louise.”

  Grace pulled up Jules’s navy corduroy pants, then put on his matching na
vy socks with gold fleur-de-lis embroidered on the top rib. “One of the benefits of leaving Jules in Indian Lake for a while is that you’ll get to see him all the time.”

  “I hope so,” Louise replied sadly.

  Grace saw the mist in her aunt’s eyes. “What is it? Tell me what’s bothering you.”

  “Mica. That’s what. He’s being cruel, if you ask me. Treating you like that. You did the best you could under the circumstances. I don’t know if I would have done any differently, to be honest. If I didn’t have the ice-cream shop, I’d take Jules myself.”

  “Now, Aunt Louise. We discussed this. Mica is his father and he should be the one to step up. Besides, you’ve only had a few months with your back being nearly normal. I hate to say it, but you’re not thirty years old anymore. It’s too much to ask.”

  “Still and all, I’m here for you and Jules,” Louise replied firmly.

  “And I love you for it.” Grace kissed her cheek and started to tear up again. “You’ve been so understanding and you didn’t have to be...”

  “Stop that right now. I won’t hear it. You’re my family. Jules is family.”

  “And he’s Mica’s family, too.” Grace gathered him into her arms. “It’s really kinda scary, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “Jules doesn’t look a thing like me. He’s Barzonni all the way.”

  “Well, I hope he inherits your sweet nature and none of Mica’s arrogance.”

  Grace chuckled as she picked up the diaper bag. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  MICA HAD BEEN a jerk to Grace.

  Again.

  He’d put up his defenses because he was hurt. The shock of finding out he was a father had been one thing. The fact that Grace had not called him all those months ago and told him the truth had cut him in places he hadn’t known he had. He’d wanted to hurt her back, but striking at her repeatedly about not telling him the truth now made him ashamed.

  He owed her an apology and he had no idea where to start.

  He had to move fast because Grace was leaving in a week.

  That was another thing. Why did she have to leave so soon? Couldn’t she stick around another week? Or three. How does she expect me to learn to be Jules’s dad in a matter of days?

  They had things to discuss. Serious, life-changing decisions had to be made.

  He reached for his iPhone and searched his contacts for her name. When he found it, he stopped.

  Instead of Grace, he should rename the contact “Miss Hit and Run.” That’s what she was always doing, wasn’t it? She rolled into his life like an earthquake, stirring up his emotions, and then vanished, leaving him breathless and shaken.

  And why was that? For that month they’d shared, he’d hoped to continue the relationship, even if she was across an ocean. He’d expected to exchange emails and texts. Talk to her on the phone. Fly over for holidays. He was more than open to seeing where they would go. But her silence had cut to the heart. For a brief time, he’d hoped that he might have something with her—something that might bring joy to his life.

  But her silence told him that he’d lived a dream. And all dreams fade.

  Yet now they had a son who would keep them connected forever. Even though it was too late for them romantically, they had Jules.

  And it was all...

  Because of the accident. No matter how Mica tried to reprogram his mind-set, he couldn’t seem to get over the fact that he wasn’t the capable man he had been. And maybe Grace couldn’t, either. It wasn’t just his injured arm, but the way the injury had changed his life. He was being edged out on the farm. He was directionless. He didn’t know what it was going to take to get past that roadblock, if it was possible at all.

  Meanwhile, Grace was ambitious, focused and determined to take her career to the next level. No wonder she didn’t want to be with him.

  During their time together last October, he’d told her about the way things used to be, what he’d planned for his life.

  What he hadn’t done was tell her where he thought his life was going now. Which was nowhere. But it must have been pretty obvious to her.

  True, Grace was entrusting Mica with their son. Though his insecurities wailed inside him, he was determined to be a good father, to do the honorable thing. But the fact that she only seemed to see Mica as a convenient childcare provider hurt. A lot.

  He tossed the phone onto his desk, next to his computer. For weeks, even months, he’d been working on designs to retrofit the old tractor, but in the cold light of day, his ideas always seemed as inoperable as his arm. And Mica had found himself tumbling into a tunnel of depression.

  Since the accident, and the brief interlude with Grace last October, nothing in his life had had purpose or meaning, except...

  “Jules.”

  Mica leaned forward in his desk chair and rose to his feet. “Jules Barzonni.” He paused and let the sound of his son’s name roll around in his head. It was a good name. A sturdy and sound name. He liked it.

  “The only problem is...”

  He picked up his iPhone again and this time he tapped Grace’s number.

  She picked up on the second ring.

  “Hello? Mica?”

  “Grace,” he said, feeling a bit off-balance after hearing her voice. Sweet and tentative. Melodic and haunting. A voice that, for over a year, he had wished he could forget. “I need to talk to you about our son.”

  “Our son?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “If I drove into town, could we talk?”

  “I’m just about to give Jules his dinner. Then he needs a bath and—”

  “Okay,” he replied. “Tonight’s not good.”

  “I’ve been on the phone and at the computer all afternoon and evening. I haven’t had time to get to the store. I don’t have anything here to fix for dinner. So I’m not sure...”

  “What’s with you, Grace? You fly back here, specifically to hand Jules over to me, and then you shut me out? You make no sense.”

  “My fault,” she said. “After the way we left things, I didn’t know what to say or how to say it.”

  “So you pull the silent act on me again.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “We need to talk, Grace.”

  “We do. But not tonight. I’m dead tired and to be honest, I have a mountain of work I simply have to get done in the morning. By sunrise, my team will be on the phone and I have to take care of some very pressing matters, and I—”

  “Grace,” he interrupted. “I get it. What about tomorrow night? I’ll get some Chinese takeout. Okay?”

  “Uh, sure. I guess.”

  “See you about six?”

  Mica ended the call. He looked down at his battered jeans and scuffed boots. He remembered when he’d seen Grace at The Louise House when she’d first arrived back in Indian Lake. He’d looked like crap. Dirty. Muddy boots. She hadn’t liked it.

  Before tomorrow night, he had work to do. Laundry. Boot polish.

  Soap. Shower. That’ll help. He rose from the chair and turned off the computer.

  I hope.

  * * *

  IT HAD BEEN a long day at the computer for Grace.

  She’d been surprised to find over forty emails from her team. She’d expected to put in some hours during her time off, but she’d thought they’d give her at least a day or two before flooding her inbox.

  The first email she opened was from Etienne. He’d sent three photos of designs he’d executed per Grace’s directive. She groaned at the too-yellow chartreuse silk dress and the sky blue plastic rain poncho she’d thought would be killer. “Well, I need to bury it,” she mumbled as she typed a reply email to Etienne.

  When Grace had left Paris, she’d s
ketched fourteen day-wear designs and two gowns. She needed every single one of these pieces to stand out so she could secure a place in a show. These first stabs were a disaster. She’d been too rushed trying to leave Paris, distracted by thoughts of Mica and caring for Jules. Just hours ago, she’d doubted her decision to bring her son here, but now this proof of her subpar work renewed her confidence that she was doing the right thing. For Jules and her career.

  She sent the email back to Etienne and told him to scrap both pieces. The fabric for the dress was wrong, and the poncho didn’t sit right. It would be cumbersome to wear. She needed a different rainproof fabric. Perhaps a waterproof twill or a waterproof microfiber. She promised she would send new designs by the weekend.

  Rene sent his detailed spreadsheets regarding their menswear sales. She’d left him in charge because his business acumen was akin to hers. As expected, he ended his email with affectionate concern about her and Jules’s trip.

  She emailed him back that all was well.

  Grace opened her sketch pad, took her pencil and closed her eyes as she always did, allowing inspiration to come into her head. She made the first strokes and then her hand began flying across the paper. She imagined a muddy brown caplet with blood-red lining over a pencil-thin brown wool skirt and brown boots—cowboy boots, like the ones Mica always wore...

  Jules started to cry. He’d dozed off in his baby carrier and she’d let him rest. She needed the break to get her work done.

  Or some of it.

  She set aside her sketch pad and lifted Jules out of his carrier. “Oh, sweetie. Guess what? Your daddy will be here—” she checked her watch “—in ten minutes. And I still have to give you a bath and get your PJs on.”

  Jules swatted her face with his tiny palm and giggled. She nabbed his hand and kissed it. “You’re my fella. You know that? Not so tall, but dark and very, very handsome.”

  She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of formula and a half-used jar of pureed baby food. She heated both in the microwave.