Deacon turned to look at Jax. “Am I crazy? That PI was the third one I’ve called.” At first, the idea had seemed ludicrous, but as the weeks had passed, his need to find her only grew, with little pieces of memories and feelings until the idea of finding Clare no longer felt ludicrous. It felt crucial.
He imagined what Clare must think. About him. About herself. And believing that everything out of his mouth and everything between them had been a lie. Not only had he meant everything he’d said, he’d also meant a lot that he hadn’t.
“You’re the least crazy bastard I know.”
“I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”
Jax grinned. “Maybe not, but I know you, so… What’s your next move?”
“Wait. Wait and see what this guy comes up with. In the meantime, I have a life, which means getting back to work.”
“Let’s hit it.” Jax stood. He grabbed the last cracker and picked up his drink.
Deacon waited by the door. “Who’s on tonight?”
“Janet and Garret.”
Deacon nodded. They were two of their best techs, and more than that, he liked them. “So this means Garret will have eight uninterrupted hours to ask Janet out.”
“That’s what I was thinking. If he can’t get up the nerve tonight, I’d say it’s never going to happen.”
“Poor guy.”
“Yeah. Definitely better with animals than women.” Jax downed the rest of his soda and tossed the can in the trash.
“I think she’d say yes,” Deacon said as they walked from their office past a double row of kennels holding recovering patients.
Jackson shrugged. “I don’t know. He’d have to get the words out first.”
They took a left down the hall of exam rooms. “Care to have a little wager?”
“Already going,” Jax said and passed through the back swinging door.
Deacon shot off a text to his mom, just seeing what kind of day the girls had at preschool. He didn’t have to do as much checking as he had when they were infants, but old habits and all. He figured he could let up once they were in high school. No, he thought, grabbing the chart of his next patient. That would be the time to increase surveillance.
* * *
BARE FROM THE WAIST down, Clare shifted on the technician’s table, making the paper cover crack and crinkle under her back. In the past weeks, the reality had sunk in. She was having a baby. Deacon’s baby. She hated him, and she missed him. She hated herself for missing him. But there were odd moments when she remembered little things like his smile or how his hand had felt around hers. Would her baby have his smile? His eyes?
And in particularly weak moments, she wondered what it would have been like if it had been real. But those moments were brief and fleeting.
She fingered the pale-blue crepe paper covering her upper legs. Baby boy blue? She still couldn’t decide if she wanted to find out the sex or be surprised. Of course whenever she found out, it would be a surprise. And it would be fun to shop specifically for a girl or boy. One more thing she would know before Deacon. One more thing to keep to herself for a while longer. The thought came before she could stop it, followed by a sharp ache in her heart.
Telling her parents had not been the most pleasant conversation. More like painful silence followed by awkward questions than conversation. But what did you say when your daughter called with the news, Hey, I’m pregnant. Nope. Not by the man I almost married. Nope, you don’t know him. And hey, funny thing, he’s already married. Actually, she’d left off that last part for now.
She sucked in a breath at the feel of the cold gel the sonographer smeared on her stomach.
“It’s cold, I know. Sorry.”
“No. It’s fine,” Clare said.
“Your chart says thirteen weeks.”
“Yes. That’s right.” She was anxious to see her baby’s heart beating on the screen and hear that quick and steady sound. She already loved the little person growing inside her.
“Okay,” the tech said, sliding the wand over her lower abdomen. “There’s the head. I know you can’t tell much,” she said with a smile, “but trust me. There’s the spine and the heart.”
The rapid, repetitive whoosh made Clare’s own heart beat faster in great waves of love.
“And there’s…huh.” The technician paused.
Clare stopped breathing. “What? What is it?”
The tech pointed at the screen. Well… It’s another heart. And another baby.” She grinned. “Looks like someone is having twins.”
Chapter 15
DRESSED AND MOSTLY NUMB, Clare sat on the edge of the exam table. Twins.
Dr. Ashley Allen sat on a stool in front of her, looking over Clare’s chart. “Everything looks good, Clare. Both babies are just the size I would expect them to be at this point. They’re fraternal, separate sacs, and both sacs are intact. Everything looks really good.” She looked up and smiled. “My sister had twins. You’ll survive. I promise.”
Clare didn’t say anything. Couldn’t think of anything, except twins. Just that one word over and over. Twins.
“Three out of every one hundred women will carry twins, so it’s not as usual as some people might think. Fraternal twins are hereditary, so the fact that you have that in your family history takes your odds to one in seven. That’s pretty good odds.”
“Yes,” she said numbly, trying to smile. She knew that. Her own mother was a fraternal twin. Her great-grandmother had given birth to two sets of fraternal twins. But still.
Twins.
* * *
CLARE’S ANKLE BOOTS CLICKED down the hall of Saint Bartholomew’s to Sister Jean’s office. She pulled her sweater tighter around her. Even in the first week of May, it still wasn’t what she’d call warm. She’d found a note in her box saying that Sister Jean wanted to see her. She figured she wanted to talk to her about next year. There were no openings coming in the upper grades that she knew of, but she wouldn’t mind staying in kindergarten. She loved it more than she’d thought she would.
Or maybe, she thought nervously, the Nosy Nellies ratted me out for giving the class an extra recess yesterday.
She turned right at the end of the hallway, toward Sister’s office. She’d been thinking more and more that she would like to stay at Saint Bart’s. Other than Jess and her brother, she really had no reason to move back to Missouri, and it felt like a cop-out. Like she couldn’t make it on her own. She could stay in Chicago, have her children, and build a life. She was done looking back at the old.
She could see her children going to school here one day, wearing the little navy-and-green uniform. The church had a Mother’s Day Out program and a preschool. Two of Nicole’s kids were there now. She smiled, thinking it’d be nice to have her babies so close. She could work and make the three of them a home and a life. It might not be how she’d planned it, but it was going to be fine. Better than fine.
As she neared the principal’s office door, she tugged the sweater down and around her slight belly. She paused at the closed door and knocked.
“Come in.”
Sister Jean sat behind her neatly organized desk, a soft smile on her wrinkled face, her hands folded in front of her. “Hello, Clare.” Sister Jean spoke in that quiet, serene way she had that made Clare feel loud and extremely unholy. “Please, sit.”
Clare lowered herself onto the padded seat facing the wide, dark desk. The one a child would sit in, heart pounding, as they considered their poor choices.
“How are you, Clare?”
“I’m good, Sister. How are you?”
“Good. Good.” Sister Jean stared into her eyes.
Clare would swear the woman was looking straight into her soul. Clare’s heart began to pound.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
“Oh. What is it?” Was she retiring? Clare hoped not. She liked Sister Jean quite a bit, even if she did feel a little in trouble every time she saw her.
“I’m going to have to
let you go.”
“Let me go?” She stared in shock. “But…if this is about not following the playground schedule, I’m only trying to do what I think is best for the children.”
Sister Jean smiled sadly. “It’s not that, dear. How are you feeling? Are you well?”
A trickle of unease slid down her spine. “Yes. I’m fine.”
“But you’ve been sick at school a few times, isn’t that right?”
“Yes. A couple of times.” She’d thrown up several times, but she thought she’d covered herself.
“Clare,” Sister Jean said, her voice dripping with equal parts disappointment and compassion, “I know you’re carrying a child.”
Her mouth worked like a guppy’s. Open. Closed. It was rumored that no child left Sister Jean’s office without admitting their offense. “Yes. I am. Two actually.”
“Well. A blessing.” Sister Jean nodded. “But I’m afraid it does pose a problem. It’s most unfortunate, and I wish I could wait, but as there are still nearly two months left in the term…” She held out her hands, palms up. “A few parents have expressed concern, and more will follow, over the questions their young children will ask. Ones they’d rather not answer.”
Clare swallowed, and she fought her lip that wanted to quiver.
“I’ve talked to the superintendent, and she agrees, regretfully, that this does indeed fall under the moral conduct breach of contract. I’m sorry, Clare.”
No more brick walls. No more holding Leo’s hand during the Our Father. This wasn’t about playground schedules or being asked back next year. She was being fired.
Chapter 16
AT A QUARTER PAST six, Deacon opened the door to the sounds and scents of his life. Squeals, or were they screams, grew louder as he got to the kitchen. The sitter, Ivonne, drew her bag over her shoulder as she walked toward him. The poor girl looked exhausted. Eleven hours with two three-year-olds would do that. They were two weeks into summer break, and Ivonne was his third sitter.
“Daddy!” Margo and Maci ran to him, smacking their faces into his kneecaps.
“They’ve eaten,” Ivonne said. “But no bath.”
And from the looks of them, they needed it. He saw remnants of ketchup on both faces and what he assumed was glitter glue clumped in Margo’s hair near her ear.
He wrote Ivonne a check, said goodbye, and locked the door behind her when she left.
“Daddy! We missed you!”
“I missed you, too, Muffin. Let’s hit the tub, and you can tell me all about your day.”
Deacon answered the incoming call from his sister as he followed the girls up the stairs, gathering shoes and stuffed animals as he went. “Hey.”
“Hey. How did it go? Did she survive?”
“She was still upright. Wasn’t crying.”
Alex laughed. “Always a positive.”
“Thanks for hooking me up.”
“No problem.”
“She actually said they were good, but by the look of the house, she was lying. She did tell me up front that she wouldn’t be able to commit to anything permanent.”
“Well, at least she was honest.”
“Yeah.” But with six more weeks of summer looming, he needed to find someone who could cover at least three days a week. Four would be better. He didn’t want them in full-time daycare, and he could only enroll the girls in so many activities.
He started the water while the girls tossed in plastic toys.
“Have you thought about getting an au pair? Someone to live there?”
“For about a second. But I don’t need overnight, and I don’t think I want someone living here. I’ll figure it out.”
“I know you will. So…any word from your investigator?”
“No.” And it wasn’t looking like there would be. There just wasn’t enough to go on, and it was costing a small fortune for what was probably a waste of time. And moments like this, when he was tired at the end of the day, his girls needing the last bit of energy he had left, the doubts crept in.
If she’d felt at all the same way, wouldn’t she have reached out to him? How hard should he push this?
He brought his mind back just in time to catch Margo’s hand before she poured the entire bottle of bubble bath into the tub. “Whoa, baby. That’s enough.”
She tugged the bottle, her expression mutinous. “It’s not!”
“It is,” he said firmly.
Margo growled—actually growled—at him and walked away. What the hell?
“Have you decided to let it go?”
“Do you think I should?”
She sighed. “I don’t know, Deacon. Can I ask you something without you getting mad or offended?”
“No one ever starts off like that unless they’re about to say something offensive.”
“Well, consider this payback for all the times you asked me if that’s what I was wearing right before you got out of my car at school.”
“That was a legit question, as your style was questionable. But go ahead.”
“You need help. And that’s not a slight against your parenting or the girls. But you’re kind of buried right now, under work and the girls and no permanent sitter.”
“I don’t disagree. So?”
“So it would be a lot easier if you had someone there, someone to help.”
“I don’t want a stranger here at night.”
“I’m not talking about a stranger.”
He waited for her to get to the offensive part. Then it dawned on him. “Is that what you think I’m doing? Looking for Clare because I need a full-time sitter?”
“Are you sure you’re not? That there’s no part of you that thinks maybe you need to find her because you need her?”
Was he? He couldn’t deny he worried about his daughters growing up without a mother. But he’d dreamed of her again last night—not of a wife or a mother for the girls, but of Clare. For him it was more than a dream. For a few days, he’d known it. Lived it. He’d held her. Stroked her. Laughed with her. And he thought, even if he hadn’t known it at the time, he’d been falling for her. He still looked at the one picture he had of her every day.
“Just something to think about,” Alex said.
“Sure.”
An hour later, he had two sweet-smelling girls in matching princess pajamas. The bedtime finish line was clearly in sight. He wanted a moment of quiet and a beer.
“Daddy!” Margo yelled from the downstairs bathroom. “There’s water!”
“There’s supposed to be water when you’re brushing your teeth,” he called back.
“But, Daddy!”
“Just brush your teeth, girls. Please.”
Deacon looked around. Bits of Goldfish on the couch and a white crusty patch where milk had leaked from Margo’s cup and he’d forgotten to clean it. A smear of spaghetti sauce on the carpet from Maci’s face and a million white pieces of copy paper, each with a single mark.
Would Clare even want to be part of this chaos that was his life? What sane person would? But he could picture her here with them. He could see her smiling softly, laughing and following Margo’s and Maci’s ping-ponging ideas since her mind worked much the same way. He could imagine sinking into the couch with Clare in the crook of his arm as they sat there with their feet up at the end of a long day, the girls upstairs asleep.
He bent to stack the scattered papers and smiled at the wild giggles coming from the bathroom. “You two better be brushing.”
“We are!” they chorused.
“But, Daddy, dere’s bubbles!” Maci squealed. “Wots of bubbles.”
Hmm… Water. Bubbles. He straightened, feeling every hour of the day in his back. He laid the papers on the kitchen counter as the girls’ laughter grew louder. He rounded the corner and… Oh, hell. The entire hallway leading to the laundry room was covered in three inches of soapy bubbles. And two little girls sat right in the middle of it.
* * *
THE SUMMER SKY WAS a staggeri
ng blue, and July in Missouri was sweltering. The sun burned straight overhead, throwing a glare over the pages of her book. Clare angled it forward so she could keep reading while her other hand spritzed her bare legs with water.
“How big are the little guys today?” Jess asked, lying beside her on a cheap pool lounger, rocking a black bikini.
“According to this, they’re about the size of a kabocha squash. Whatever that is. But their heads are about the size of lemons, and they have eyelashes.”
“That’s so crazy.”
“I know.” Clare read on about her babies’ growth rate and open eyelids.
“I told you you should have just lived with me. You could do this every day.”
“Fun.” She sighed, glancing down at her belly mountain. At seven months, she was enormous. She tugged on the tank top she wore over her two-piece suit, and it still didn’t quite reach the bottoms. She didn’t mind being pregnant, not really. Not since the nausea had ended. She was round and ripe, headed toward bursting.
“You know, some guys think pregnant women are hot.”
“Mmm.” Clare sucked up more water. “I’m not sure that’s not creepy. I mean if we were together, that’d be awesome, or sweet, but just to be attracted because a woman had babies growing inside her…”
“Well, you should have lived here anyway.”
“Right. Me and the babies up at all hours of the night while you’re trying to sleep.”
Jess looked over and cracked one eye. “They won’t be up all night, will they? I mean they’re babies. Don’t babies mostly sleep?”
“I don’t think so, not at first anyway. Connor’s coming over, by the way.”
“Why?”
“Because he said he was coming over, and I told him I was here.” She picked up her phone, reminded she needed to text her brother Jess’s apartment gate code. Her brother checked on her at least three times a week. He was already on his way over to her house, just a few blocks from Jess.
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