A Sweet Life-kindle

by Andre, Bella

  “Not everyone knows you as well as I do,” she said softly, trying to set aside her own worries for a moment.

  Rebecca shrugged. “Oh, yeah? Well, they’ve had more than thirty years to get to know me. Anyway, I don’t care what they think.” This time her words didn’t ring entirely true. “I’m out of here in four months. But you have to stay behind, and I don’t want them treating you like an outcast.” As they’d always treated Rebecca? Delaney hesitated, wondering how to soothe her friend’s heartache, but knew there wasn’t much she could say at this late date. The damage had already been done, bit by bit over the years. And Rebecca would never admit to being hurt in the first place, so they couldn’t discuss it openly. All Delaney could do was reassure her that she wouldn’t suffer the same fate— even though she had no guarantees and feared exactly that.

  “If they do, it’s okay,” she lied. “You know why?” Rebecca didn’t answer, but her eyes betrayed her interest.

  “Because this baby was my decision,” she went on. “I let you push and prod, but deep down, I wanted to go to Conner’s room or I wouldn’t have done it. It’s that simple. So, for better or worse, I have only myself to blame, and I’m willing to accept the responsibility.”

  As the worry in Rebecca’s eyes began to clear, Delaney thought of the Assertiveness Evaluation she’d recently taken. Question: When you do something stupid, do you a) blame the person who talked you into it, b) smack the person who talked you into it, or c) take responsibility for your actions?

  Delaney smiled. She’d just chosen c. Maybe she was becoming more assertive, after all.

  Chapter Seven

  “HOLD HIM DOWN, Dwight,” Jonathan whispered, his mouth so close to Conner’s ear that he could feel the air stir. “And cover his mouth or he’ll start crying for his mama like the big baby he is.”

  Conner knew what was coming, but he wasn’t even tempted to cry out. He knew that would only heighten his uncles’ anger, make them more determined to get even with him later. He hadn’t bothered to summon help in over two years, since he was seven. The fighting between him and his uncles upset his mother too much, made her cry, and his grandfather was never around long enough to do anything about it. But Jonathan and his brothers always said that bit about crying like a baby. And they said a lot of other things, too.

  As Dwight pinned Conner’s hands above his head on the floor of his bedroom, Conner heard Stephen laugh. “Come on, rape baby. You think you can get away? You think you can take the three of us?” he taunted. Only he didn’t come too close. The last time he’d called Conner “rape baby,” Conner had managed to squeeze out from under Dwight and bloody his nose, even though Stephen was four years older than he was.

  But Dwight was prepared for him this time. And Jonathan was helping out, anchoring his feet. “Kick him, Steve,” he told his younger brother. “Kick the stupid rape baby. He thinks he’s got as much right to live here as we do.”

  Conner winced at the explosion of pain in his ribs and began to fight in earnest. He knew the whole episode would end much more quickly if he remained inert and let his uncles have their fun, but he’d never been able to do that. The anger inside him was too great. Scorching hot, it seemed to erupt like a volcano. And then he was suddenly free of Dwight’s and Jonathan’s grips and swinging and swinging. But he couldn’t hit anything....

  Conner woke in a tangle of sheets, drenched in sweat and, at first, didn’t know where he was. The Bahamas? Hawaii? Europe? He loved spending his uncles’ inheritance, loved knowing how much it bothered them that he was out playing while they were back in Napa, working for their father and trying to make good. Maybe he was a rape baby. But because of that, his grandfather gave him certain latitude the others didn’t get. And Conner was determined to ram it right down their throats.

  He blinked at the ceiling, the modest furnishings in the room, the bronze sculpture of a horse and rider on the bureau, the dogs, who’d taken to sleeping in his room. He wasn’t in the Bahamas. He wasn’t even in California. He was in Nowhere, USA, where his past had finally caught up with him and the pain he’d felt in his dream was only the soreness of his muscles from having worked all day. Over the past few weeks, he’d tossed bale after bale of hay to hungry cattle. He’d sat a horse in the bitter dawn, hunched against a chill wind, and helped move the herd closer to the streams and creeks that weren’t frozen over. He’d gone out searching for strays, the snow falling so thick he could hardly see Ray’s horse in front of him. He’d even learned to shoe horses and run a small tractor. Then, after spending his daylight hours outside, he’d used the evenings to work on the computer or the telephone, looking for information that might lead to possible salvation for the ranch, a fourth-quarter, come-from-behind victory.

  But he hadn’t found anything very promising, and on quiet, lonely nights like this, the old nightmares mingled with memories and crowded in, as though they were conspiring to tell him that Dwight, Jonathan and Stephen would eventually win.

  Slugging his pillow, Conner groaned and rolled over to face the window, listening to the wind and to the leafless trees outside clawing at the glass. He felt like he was one of those trees, as if Dwight, Jonathan and Stephen were tugging and pulling at him, trying to uproot him and blow him away....

  Don’t think about it, he told himself. Give it a break.

  Closing his eyes, he forced all thought of the ranch, his grandfather, his mother, his uncles, his past—everything— from his mind and rejoiced in the only positive thing that had happened to him since he’d arrived in Idaho. Delaney. Now, that had been a night in a million. She might not have given him her number, but she’d left him plenty to remember her by, and thinking about her never failed to put a smile on his face.

  But she wasn’t the only woman in Idaho, right? Now that he’d spent some time learning his way around the ranch, he needed to get out and start meeting people. Surely Dundee had a singles scene that was at least mildly entertaining.

  He finally drifted off to a more peaceful sleep, dreaming that Delaney was suddenly in his arms, once again a warm and willing partner. But when Conner opened his eyes in the morning, he realized dreaming wasn’t enough. He didn’t want another woman. He wanted Delaney. At least, he wanted the chance to get to know her, to be with her again. Which meant the only thing he could do was go to Jerome to find her.

  THE NOTICE, WHEN IT CAME, looked innocent enough. It was just bad timing that Aunt Millie happened to call the moment Delaney slid the typewritten page out of its envelope. “Oh, no!” she said as she read the two short paragraphs written on the city’s embossed stationery. Her involuntary cry interrupted Aunt Millie, who was asking whether or not Delaney wanted to participate in her Bonco group this month.

  “What it is, dear?”

  “The city finally has the funds to remodel the library and expand the book collection,” she said.

  “That’s good, isn’t it? You’ve been wanting to expand the book collection for a long time.”

  “But they can’t do it right now!”

  “Why not?”

  Delaney sank into a kitchen chair, feeling numb and even a little frightened. “Because on April fifteenth, they’re closing it down for three whole months. And they’re putting me on half pay.” Half pay—when she needed to be saving as much money as she could for the baby...

  “You can find something else to help you get by, can’t you?” Aunt Millie responded. “You won’t need much if you’re living here.”

  Delaney caught the not-so-subtle hint, but didn’t have the energy to comment on it or even worry about it. She had bigger things on her mind—like buying groceries and feeding her baby. “Dundee doesn’t exactly have a booming economy.”

  “So, what will you do?” Aunt Millie asked, her voice starting to reflect Delaney’s worry.

  “I’ll come up with something,” Delaney said as calmly as possible. She couldn’t deal with the prospect of Aunt Millie getting upset; she was too upset herself.


  “I know you will. You’re a mature, responsible person. Good things come to good people, Laney. I’ve always told you that.”

  Guilt assaulted Delaney, stabbing her right in the heart. She lied to Aunt Millie and Uncle Ralph every time she saw them by pretending nothing had changed. She’d never felt like such a fraud, and was finding it increasingly difficult to get through the day without blurting out her secret for everyone to hear—for better or worse. Especially when Aunt Millie started describing her as a saint.

  “I’m too old to be living at home,” she said suddenly. “What, dear?”

  “I said I’m too old to be living at home. I want to take care of myself. I’m going to take care of myself.”

  “I wasn’t trying to steal your independence, Laney. I only thought—”

  “I know what you thought. And it’s sweet and wonderful and I appreciate it. But I just can’t do it.”

  Silence.

  Delaney closed her eyes, knowing this wasn’t going well. But she was still reeling from the news about her job and didn’t know how to improve her methods. Those stupid role-playing things never panned out the way she envisioned. She wasn’t supposed to lose her job, for one thing. “You and Uncle Ralph have a nice routine worked out and lots of peace and quiet, which you need at your age.

  I’m not going to disturb all that.”

  “You wouldn’t disturb us, Laney. We want you here.

  Goodness knows how lonely it can get....” Oh God, now the guilt. “Aunt Millie...”

  The edge in her voice checked the flow of Millie’s words. “What?”

  Delaney sank into a kitchen chair, put her elbows on the table and dropped her head into her hands. “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to move back home. I like being on my own.”

  Another silence. Then Millie said, “But you need to be sensible, Laney. You’ve lost your job.”

  “Not exactly, and it’s only for three months.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll figure it out. I’m thirty, Aunt Millie, not eighteen.”

  “You’re sounding more and more like that friend of yours.” Aunt Millie always referred to Rebecca as “that friend of yours.”

  “That friend of mine is getting married and moving out.

  There’s no point in bringing her into this.”

  “I’ve never liked the fact that you two have been so close. She’s not a good influence.”

  Delaney hated the split loyalty she felt whenever Aunt Millie spoke of Rebecca. She loved them both, but they didn’t care for each other. “I don’t want to talk about Rebecca.”

  “Anyone who dyes her hair that ungodly purplish color—”

  “It’s a dark shade of auburn,” Delaney corrected. “—is no kind of lady. I, for one, will be glad when she’s gone.”

  Delaney felt exactly the opposite, but she didn’t answer. She was too busy staring down at her notice from the city, wondering why they were talking about purple hair when she didn’t know how she was going to buy diapers thirty-five weeks from now. She was barely making a living as it was. If she fell behind while she was pregnant...

  “Poor Mayor Wells has sure had his hands full with her,” Aunt Millie was saying.

  “What’s she ever done to you?” Delaney finally blurted, her irritation getting the best of her.

  “Nothing.”

  “Then, what do you have against her?”

  “You mean besides the time she ran away with that biker? She stayed in his room at the hotel for three nights before they left. And they weren’t even engaged.”

  Delaney squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think about Millie’s reaction once she learned the truth: I don’t know why I ever took her in. I should’ve known, what with her mother and all....

  “People make mistakes, Aunt Millie. I don’t think they set out to make bad choices, it’s just—” she hesitated “— it’s just that they’re...trying to fill the holes inside them. You know?”

  “What are you talking about—holes? You’re not yourself. What’s wrong with you?”

  Delaney shoved a hand through her hair and let her breath seep out in a long sigh. “I have something I need to tell you,” she said. “But I need to do it in person.”

  THE TICKING OF THE CLOCK sounded abnormally loud as Delaney sat in Aunt Millie and Uncle Ralph’s kitchen, waiting for Ralph to return from the hardware store. He’d been gone when she arrived. Aunt Millie was there, though. She sat across from her, drinking tea; Delaney’s own cup stood untouched on the table at her elbow.

  “Are you sick?” Aunt Millie asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

  “No.” Delaney glanced down at the dark tea in her cup, then out the front window at the gently falling snow. She felt her stomach tense when she saw Ralph’s big Cadillac turn the corner and make its way up the slippery street.

  “There he is,” Aunt Millie said.

  “Yeah.” That single word was all Delaney could muster. She was wondering how to tell the people who’d raised her, good churchgoing, law-abiding folk, that she was having a child out of wedlock, knowing it would humiliate and embarrass them in front of all their friends. Delaney would never run off like that flighty Rebecca, they’d always brag. Delaney’s such a good girl.... How Delaney could’ve had a mother like that, I’ll never know....

  Delaney swallowed a sigh. Breaking the news was just the beginning. She’d also have to explain how it had happened. Aunt Millie and Uncle Ralph knew she hadn’t been dating anyone—at least, not steadily—which certainly wouldn’t reflect well on her when she announced that she was having a baby.

  Delaney toyed with the sugar while she waited for Ralph to park the car and come in, letting the spoon clink against the sides of the old-fashioned porcelain bowl.

  “Stop that. It’s making me nervous,” Aunt Millie said, and Delaney put the spoon down.

  Outside, Delaney could hear Uncle Ralph stamping the snow off his boots. The door opened and closed, the floor creaked, then he appeared in the kitchen.

  “Well, if it isn’t our little Laney. How are you, girl?” he said, his face creasing into a ready smile the moment he saw her. “Millie didn’t tell me you were coming for dinner.”

  “I’m not here for dinner,” she said, standing to give him the hug he expected.

  “You’re not? Just came by to see the old folks, huh?” Delaney perched on the edge of her chair as Uncle Ralph glanced at Aunt Millie and finally seemed to grasp that this wasn’t a social visit. “What is it?” he asked his wife.

  Aunt Millie shrugged. “Ask Laney.”

  Short and wiry and nearly seventy-five, Uncle Ralph rubbed the bald dome of his head and turned his soft brown eyes to Delaney. “Is something wrong?”

  She was tempted to tell him about the library closing and try to distract him with that bit of bad news. But Delaney refused to be such a coward. She needed to take responsibility for her actions, get it over with.

  “I’m going to have a baby,” she said, as loudly and clearly as she could.

  Aunt Millie spilled her tea, and Uncle Ralph rushed to help mop up the hot liquid before it could burn her.

  “Come again?” he said, when the immediate crisis was over.

  Delaney curled her nails into her palms. “I’m pregnant.”

  Both jaws sagged wide open and two sets of dentures nearly tumbled out onto the floor.

  Aunt Millie seemed to recover first. “Did you say what I think you said, Laney?” she asked, her voice sounding oddly strangled.

  Delaney nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  Uncle Ralph finally closed his mouth. “Does this mean you’re getting married?” he asked tentatively.

  Delaney sat up straighter and shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”

  “But how could that be?” Aunt Millie asked. “Who...I mean how...I mean you—”

  “Out of wedlock?” Uncle Ralph cut in.

  “It...it was just a one-night thing, a mistake,” Delaney said.

  “Damn right it was a mistake
,” he nearly shouted. “Who did this to you?”

  “A man I met in Boise.”

  “Then, we’ll find him, make him own up to—”

  Delaney stood. “No. What happened was my fault. I take full responsibility.”

  Uncle Ralph didn’t seem to know what to say. He turned to Aunt Millie. “How could this have happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Aunt Millie said. “She’s always been so good.”

  “I’m still the same person,” Delaney said.

  “You’re not the same person,” Aunt Millie replied. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you’re not the same person at all!”

  The high pitch of her voice indicated impending tears. Delaney winced as Uncle Ralph put a protective arm around his wife. “How could you do this?” he asked. “Didn’t we teach you better? Hasn’t Millie been a good mother to you?”

  “You’ve both been good to me,” Delaney said. “And I’m grateful.”

  “Well, this is a heck of a way to show it,” he said.

  Then Millie started to cry in earnest, and he took her in his arms and tried to comfort her, and Delaney didn’t know what else to do except leave.

  EVIDENTLY DELANEY’S NAME was as unusual as Conner had thought. No one he’d met in Jerome had heard of a Delaney. But it was a much bigger town than he’d expected from her description. He couldn’t ask all 18,000 residents. And she might live in an outlying area. Or it was possible that her family wasn’t as well-known as she’d made it sound. He couldn’t be sure. He only knew that it was late, and he was tired and angry with himself for wasting so much time trying to find a woman who obviously didn’t want to be found. If she’d been interested in seeing him again, she would’ve left her phone number. He should just forget her and keep his mind on what he was doing.