A Memory Away

by Melinda Curtis

  “Yeah. That’s not happening.” The mischievous Duffy had gone, replaced by the resolute man she’d first met. “You’ll take my bed. I’ll change the sheets.”

  “No. Really. I’ll be fine right here.” She grunted attractively—not—as she lifted her legs onto the couch. It proceeded to swallow her in the crack. “I couldn’t get up if you asked me to.” But she would if Baby bounced one more time on her bladder.

  He leaned on the back of the couch and stared down at her with hauntingly familiar, caramel-colored eyes.

  “You were sleeping,” Greg said, leaning on the back of the couch. “I didn’t want to wake you.” She’d reached for him and he’d taken her hand...

  “Did you remember something just now?”

  “Not enough to be meaningful.” Had she looked at Duffy the way she’d looked at Greg? Her body felt as overheated as an oven set to broil. She tried maneuvering into a more upright sitting position so that Duffy could sit, too. The couch almost won the battle. “Greg had a great couch.” Cup holders and everything.

  “Sold it.” Duffy knelt by the fireplace, where there was split wood ready to be lit. Again she noticed his economy of movement, even when he started a fire.

  When Greg moved, there’d been bold statements and unleashed energy. There’d been excitement and noise. Drama and passion.

  Tired and wet, Jess appreciated Duffy’s calm. “So you went through Greg’s stuff and there was nothing about me?”

  “Nope.” He stood, leaning on the mantel and regarding her. Steady. Oh, so steady.

  She frowned as an image teased the corners of her mind. “Maybe I’m imagining it, but I think I gave him a picture of us at a...um...a local food festival?”

  “Nope,” he said again, not pulling any punches.

  The image sharpened. “It might have been in a heart-shaped silver frame. On his mantel.” Or was her memory influenced by the pictures in the room and Duffy next to the fireplace?

  “I found a heart-shaped frame, but it was in his desk drawer.” His gaze slid to the pictures on his right. He repositioned the Christmas photo. “The frame was empty.”

  Jess felt empty, too, as if someone had carved out her heart. “Why would Greg do that?” she whispered, rubbing her belly, where Baby’s little knee or hip was protruding, creating a numb spot.

  Duffy was back to studying her. He would have made a good trial lawyer. “Didn’t you find pictures of you two on your phone or social media?”

  “I shut off my social media accounts when I went to culinary school because I didn’t want to be tagged in something that would haunt me later.” The few friends she still had from foster care and high school could be irresponsible and post things that could cost Jess a job. “And since I’ve been on a budget, I’ve had a little cheap phone, nothing fancy.”

  “You made it easy for him.” Duffy shook his head. “You said a week before the accident your bank account was drained. Greg probably destroyed everything that tied you two together.”

  “I don’t want to believe Greg was like that.” That she’d meant nothing more to him than the money he could take from her.

  Duffy sank into the other couch corner, but he was tall and had long legs. He didn’t sink as far as she did. “Why is it so important to you that you meant something to him?”

  “Because of Baby. Every child deserves to be loved.” She shifted again, but Baby didn’t like it. A round of kicking ensued, delaying her explanation. “Every baby deserves to be created from love.” Jessica had no clue if she’d been created from love or not. Her mother had abandoned her in a homeless shelter when she was nine.

  Duffy stared pensively into the growing flames.

  Did he agree? Did he think she was a gullible fool? “Say something.”

  “I was just thinking that my parents tried for a long time to have a baby and then they had twins.” His gaze landed on her belly. “Do you want the baby? Are you going to keep it?”

  Give up Baby? If she could’ve launched herself out of the couch, she would have. “I’m excited to be a mother. I can’t wait to swaddle this baby with love.”

  “But children are such a huge responsibility in terms of time and money.” There was more than a note of caution in his voice. There was certainty. And rejection. But not of her.

  “Are you saying you don’t want kids because they’re inconvenient and cost a lot?”

  He hesitated, staring at her as if weighing how much he should admit to, and then he nodded.

  Jess glanced from the pictures of his family, and then back to him. “You never want kids or a family?”

  He didn’t so much as flinch. “I might get married someday, but no. I don’t want any additional responsibilities. I don’t even have a dog.”

  “Or a cat,” she murmured, inexplicably saddened. “Why not?”

  * * *

  BECAUSE DUFFY WANTED a break from responsibility. Permanently.

  After fifteen years of struggling to make ends meet, the thought of having a child, of being responsible for another life for eighteen years plus, had Duffy’s muscles drawn tighter than a guide wire strung from post to post in the vineyard.

  He didn’t have to answer Jessica, but he felt compelled to.

  “When I was fifteen, my dad was in an accident at work. It put him in a wheelchair.” Duffy gestured toward the photos on either side of the fireplace. “He qualified for worker’s compensation. And he got a lawyer who sued the company for a long-term settlement. But it took years for that money to come in. Years.” In the meantime, for a teenager there’d been uncertainty, fear and shame as little by little everything he’d taken for granted had been stripped away—nice clothes, dinners out, the promise of a car when he earned his license. “My mom had to hire someone to care for Dad so she could work. I got a job to help out. And Greg... Well, he always said he had a job, but he never contributed money to the household.” The words stung. “He’d come home with things he’d found ‘by the roadside’—a new television still in the box, a microwave when ours broke. You get the idea.”

  Jessica frowned, palms cradling her baby bump.

  “When Dad’s settlement finally came in, I was incredibly relieved. I’d been accepted to college and I was on the brink of not going because money was just too tight.” Duffy had lost ten pounds worrying about his future and theirs. “But the check came in. Dad paid for my first semester of college and off I went, leaving my brother behind to take care of them.” Or so he’d hoped.

  Jessica bowed her head, as if steeling herself to hear the worst.

  “Greg offered to help run the household by paying the bills. Dad gave him access to his accounts. Greg said he had a new job, and he bought a new car. Soon he had the latest cell phone and a new wardrobe.” Duffy swallowed, wishing there was a different ending to the story. He hadn’t been smart enough to protect his parents at eighteen, but he could protect Jess by being honest so she’d never get swindled again. “Greg told my parents he was being sent for training in San Francisco. He left the week before Thanksgiving, and then he disappeared, along with the money in my dad’s bank account.” Duffy couldn’t look at Jess anymore. But he had to finish. She had to know. “We didn’t have a lot to be thankful for that year.”

  Jessica sat very still. “He wouldn’t.”

  “He did.” Duffy forced himself to meet her gaze, to keep the emotion out of his voice, to pretend he was over Greg’s betrayal. “Dad didn’t believe it, either. He refused to file a police report. He thought it was all a big mistake.” That went on for about a year, until his old man could no longer avoid the truth—Greg was a thief. And not even a principled thief like Robin Hood. “I found a job working at a vineyard and kept going to school. I lived frugally—no cell phone, a car I was constantly working on to keep running, borrowing books from friends taking the same clas
ses. Because my parents still needed financial help.”

  Outside, thunder rolled. Inside, a log popped. Between them, tension crackled.

  It had to be done. If she continued to romanticize Greg, she’d be an easy mark for the next guy. She had to hear all of it.

  “I tried to find Greg after I graduated from college. I never located him, but I learned he was quite the ladies’ man, seducing women and taking their money.” Most of the women had been married and didn’t want to admit they’d been played. “I have no idea why Greg filled out next-of-kin papers on his bank accounts or created a living trust for his assets. That’s the only way we found out he’d died.”

  “You really think he stole from me?” she asked in a small voice, staring at her baby bump.

  “I know he did.”

  “So...” Those dark, trustworthy eyes lifted to his. “Some of the money you recovered could be mine.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “I’M NOT ASKING for money,” Jess clarified, not only because she meant it, but because Duffy’s face had pinched and paled. “That’s not why I’m here.”

  His features hardened like an overcooked scone. She’d ruined scones, ruined pastry with promise, ruined the fragile fabric of friendships. She’d come to Harmony Valley for her memories. She’d found so much more—the possibility of a family for her little one. She didn’t want to ruin this for Baby.

  Jess tried again. “I was only pointing out that if Greg took the money—which I’m sure he didn’t—it would have been in his bank account. I’m not asking for anything. I just want my memories back.”

  His cool gaze said he didn’t believe her.

  Baby decided her bladder made a lovely pillow, one that needed fluffing. Jess wasn’t feeling fluffy or pillow-soft. She was feeling as cold and hard as a lump of stale brown sugar. “I’ve always made my own way. And I’ve owned up to my mistakes. If what you say is true about Greg...” She paused to adjust how she was sitting, so both she and the baby were comfortable, using the time to remove the note of hysteria from her voice. “It’s a mistake I made.”

  “Most people would disagree,” Duffy said, as if aware of the tightrope they were walking with army boots on. “How much money did he take from you?”

  Enough to buy a no-frills new car or start a great college fund or allow her to spend several months home after the baby was born. “It doesn’t matter.” The door to resentment, the one filled with embarrassing, hurtful memories of a life with no alternative but charity, banged open. And with that bang came a biting rush of outrage at being thought of as destitute. “I spent nine years living in a foster-care barracks with seven other girls. The woman who asked we call her Mother received a good salary to take care of us.” It hurt to swallow the indignity of being boarded like a dog. There’d been no love, no nurturing, just a head count. “She got a salary. To be called Mother.”

  “But how much—”

  “I won’t ask you for a cent!” She awkwardly pushed herself to her feet. She’d had enough of relationships measured by dollar signs. If she told Duffy a figure, that’s all she’d be to him, that’s all her child would be to him. “I won’t take your money. I won’t even sleep in your bed tonight. The sheriff mentioned I could sleep at the jail.”

  Thunder rolled across the valley. It might as well have been resentment rumbling in her veins.

  “Somehow, I don’t think the jail will be as comfortable as my bed.”

  “I don’t care.” She was shaking. Her hands, her legs, her voice. “I’ve slept in worse places.” On air mattresses and park benches and concrete floors.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” He got to his feet, arms out placatingly.

  She didn’t see Duffy. She saw Greg. Heard his voice. Wondered if he’d lied. I need a little money to tide me over. You trust me, don’t you?

  Suddenly, Jess didn’t feel as if she’d trusted Greg. But she’d loved him. She just knew. She’d loved him.

  “Duffy, I want to look after myself and my baby. And to do that, I can’t blame my situation or my mistakes on someone else. I can’t accept a handout.” Her mother’s face came to mind, thin and taut with worry as she stroked Jessica’s hair that last night at the homeless shelter. You’re a strong girl, Jess. You can make it on your own. Jessica had clung to her mother’s words after she’d disappeared, locked them tight in her heart when times were tough. She stepped around the corner of the couch, nearer the door, nearer the bathroom.

  “I never said...” Duffy moved to block her path, looking perplexed. “Can we back up the conversation? To somewhere around the time I invited you to spend the night because the road’s flooded?”

  “No.” The bathroom was in her sights and Baby was fluffing the bladder pillow again. “I told myself I’d never be like my mother and walk away from a child because there wasn’t enough money. I work hard so that won’t happen.”

  But what if she couldn’t make it work? Vera had already begun asking questions about maternity leave and schedules once she returned. She’d hired Jess out of culinary school, and Jess suspected she was the highest-paid baker of the bunch, the only one with formal training, the only one who didn’t speak Spanish, the only one who didn’t fit in.

  The tremble in Jessica’s limbs locked her shoulders back.

  Duffy was frowning. His frown conveyed doubt. Not suspicious doubt, but a kind of self-doubt, as if he was questioning what he knew. “I don’t know what went on between you and my brother. I don’t know how he got your money. But one thing I do know. You’re never giving up that baby.”

  His words touched her, soothed and comforted. She was no longer shaking, no longer on the defensive.

  “So you’ll stay.”

  She gave him the stiffest of nods, and then beelined to the bathroom.

  * * *

  HE’D SAID TOO much about Greg and the assets he’d liquidated after his brother’s death. But other than pointing out the money in Greg’s bank account was most likely hers, Jessica claimed not to want anything from him.

  Doubt prickled his insides like a porcupine with raised hackles.

  His brain whispered, Don’t believe her. She was in league with Greg.

  But there was his heart—the part of him Greg had called soft and sentimental more than once—smoothing the hackles of suspicion: She’s not like Greg.

  Duffy changed the sheets on his king-size bed. He used the flannel set his mother had given him for Christmas, the ones he didn’t like because they were too warm. Jess needed something soft and warm tonight. Duffy needed something no one could give him—complete faith in Jessica. He wanted to trust her, but there was Greg and there was a history of lies upon lies, twist-tied with lies.

  “I’ll sleep on the couch.” Jess stood in the doorway. Her hands pressed into the small of her back as if it ached. “May I have a pillow and a blanket?”

  “No.” Clearly, this woman had developed an independent streak nearly as strong as Duffy’s distrust of Greg. “The pillows and blankets stay in this room.”

  “I’m pregnant. Baby can sleep anywhere.” Her smile had a you-should-believe-me quality that Duffy found hard to believe. She hadn’t looked comfortable sitting on the couch. How would she sleep on it?

  “If my mother hears I let you sleep on the couch, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  Jess hesitated, and then asked in a soft voice, “You’re going to tell her about me?”

  “Yes.” He hadn’t thought about it until then, but his parents would want to know. Or at the very least, they should be told. He’d held up on telling them about Jess because he wasn’t sure of her agenda in tracking him down. He was still hesitant about the money, but... “My mom’s going to spoil that kid rotten.”

  “Do you think so?” Jessica’s whisper was pockmarked with wonder, thready with ho
pe.

  Her reaction made him put on a show of confidence. “Please.” Duffy rolled his eyes for effect. “She points out babies to me like other parents point out good job opportunities.” That much was the truth.

  Head bowed, Jess rested her palm on her stomach. “Did you hear that, Baby? Grandparents are in your future.”

  For the first time, Duffy understood Jess. She had no parents. She couldn’t remember her baby’s father. She didn’t want to let her child down as her mother had done. What to him was a casual mention of his mother’s involvement was the promise of a special gift to her: family.

  He hoped he hadn’t misspoken. He hoped his mother would be excited about the news.

  “I’m taking this pillow from the bed for me,” Duffy said carefully. “Don’t get any ideas.”

  She blinked at him. But it wasn’t the I’m-remembering-something dazed look he’d seen her get every once in a while. Jess stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. As Duffy, not Greg’s mirror image.

  That look registered something deep inside him, something that warmed and eased, something he’d kept locked away and refused to name. A feeling he immediately dismissed.

  Because Duffy had sworn off taking on any more responsibility, be it community, friends or family.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  AS SHE PREDICTED, the rain rivaled the storm of 1992. All the roads out of town remained flooded.

  Eunice cackled. She was thrilled. Jessica wasn’t leaving today.

  Eunice was only being neighborly taking over this warm dish for breakfast. It had nothing to do with uncovering what might or might not have gone on last night. The question burning in her elderly mind was: Whose baby was Jessica’s?

  “Eunice.” Duffy opened the door wearing blue jeans, a maroon T-shirt and thick wool socks. He stared down on her with a look that would have chilled younger beings. “What a surprise.”