by Sarah Morgan
“I guess that’s part of it.” He rubbed his fingers over his forehead. “I’m tired, Jenna. I can’t do this now. I have to go.”
“But we’re talking, and—”
“I don’t want to talk.”
She was left floundering like a fish in shallow water. “But you’re the one who always says you can sort most things out by talking about them.”
“Yeah, well it turns out that’s not as easy as it sounds.” He scooped up his jacket and his car keys and strode out the door, slamming it behind him.
Jenna flinched.
She stood staring at the door, her stomach clenched.
He’d left the house without kissing her goodbye. He always kissed her before leaving the house. Always.
But not today.
When something was wrong in her life, she talked to Greg, but this time she and Greg were the problem. Who was she going to talk to?
This was too personal to discuss with just anyone. She hadn’t even mentioned it to Lauren, despite the fact they’d been running together almost daily for the past few weeks. It felt disloyal. Also her sister finally seemed a little better and Jenna didn’t want to burden her with anything else.
Maybe she’d give Greg a few hours to calm down and then call him.
Maybe when she told him the news she’d been holding inside her, he’d be so thrilled that everything would be forgotten and forgiven.
It was early May and the mornings were lighter and brighter. She drove with the windows open so she could smell the sea air.
Despite her unease about the situation with Greg, happiness bubbled inside her.
She was late.
Not late for school. The other type of late. The type of late that made her heart beat faster and made her glance in store windows at baby clothes. The type of late that insulated her from all external assaults on her happiness. Nothing could destroy her mood right now. Nothing.
She’d been trying not to get excited, but she wasn’t only a day late, or even two.
She was five days late. Five days.
She lifted her hand and pressed her boobs. Was she imagining it or were they a little more tender than usual?
The thought that she might be pregnant filled her head and made her float along like a helium balloon. If she was right, she’d soon be the same shape as a helium balloon. She didn’t care. She wasn’t going to complain if she had stretch marks. She was too grateful to be pregnant. If all she did for the next nine months was vomit and sleep, she wasn’t going to complain about that either.
A baby.
Whatever was wrong between her and Greg, she was sure that once she told him her news it would all be fixed. He’d be as thrilled as she was. She’d already done the calculations and their baby was due on January 21. The downside was that it would be born right in the middle of a harsh Vineyard winter. On the plus side she’d be able to snuggle up in their cottage and focus on being a mother.
There was a pregnancy test sitting in the bottom of her purse, but so far she’d resisted the temptation to use it. She’d bought in bulk from the internet to avoid giving fodder to the island gossips, but going through so many was costing her a small fortune. At this rate the tests were going to cost her more than putting a child through college, which was why, this time, she’d waited until she was sure.
She parked in the school parking lot, aware that she had a silly smile on her face.
She was tempted to call Greg and tell him, but they’d waited so long for this she wanted to break the news in the most exciting way possible and standing in the school parking lot didn’t fit that brief.
Maybe she’d put a fluffy toy in his cereal bowl and see if he guessed.
Or perhaps a romantic dinner would be best.
We’re going to be a family.
The smile stayed with her as she walked into school.
Nothing, not even the situation with Greg, could put a dent in her happiness.
“Good morning, Mrs. Sullivan.” Her class chorused her name as she walked into the room and she reflected on how far they’d come since that first day.
Tansy Wilkins put her hand up.
“Yes, Tansy.”
“You’re smiling, Mrs. Sullivan. Did someone tell you a joke?”
“No one told me a joke. I’m happy, that’s all.”
She set them a task, half her mind on her own situation.
Boy or girl?
They hadn’t even chosen a name.
Maybe that’s what she should do. Leave a book of baby names in his cereal bowl. She liked Darcy for a girl. Darcy Sullivan. It had a nice ring. And maybe Adam for a boy. Had there ever been an Adam in the family?
She floated through the day and was clearing up the classroom after the children had left when she made up her mind.
She was going to do the test. Right here. Right now.
Impulse: a sudden desire to do something.
She walked to the restroom and locked herself in the cubicle.
The test was right there, in the bottom of her purse, where it had been for weeks.
She ripped open the packaging and then paused, nervous, as if delaying it might change the result. As if nature hadn’t already decided.
A few minutes later, she had her answer.
She stayed in the cubicle for ten whole minutes. During that time two people came and went but Jenna stayed silent, her shoulders pressed against the cold tiled wall, her eyes squeezed shut against the scalding sting of despair. She knew she needed to leave the cubicle and get herself to her car but she was scared someone might talk to her and she knew she couldn’t handle that. She wasn’t sure she could walk as far as her car without breaking down.
Why had she done the test here?
Why hadn’t she waited until she was home?
Because she’d truly thought that this time—
She covered her mouth with her hand, holding back the emotion that threatened to hemorrhage out of her.
She wasn’t going to be a mother. Not this time and probably not ever. She was never going to give birth, feed her child, pick her up when she fell, listen to teenage woes, be present at her wedding...
Grief ripped through her, the raw pain of a loss so intense that she couldn’t breathe.
She fumbled for her phone, intending to call Greg, but then remembered the slammed door.
If it had been good news, she would have called, but how could she call him with this?
The last thing he’d want was her dumping her baby misery on him again. Their relationship felt too fragile to withstand the extra load.
She slid her phone back into her purse and stood in the impersonal cubicle feeling empty and alone.
She needed to get out of here before someone started to ask questions, but where could she go?
Not to The Captain’s House, and not home because Greg might be there. She wasn’t ready to talk to anyone.
The beach.
She could walk on the sand, breathe the air and cry as much as she liked. Once she’d got it out of her system, she’d be able to face people again.
Confident that she’d composed herself sufficiently to walk out the door, she left the bathroom and immediately bumped into Heather Summer, the principal.
“Jenna! I’ve been looking for you. I wanted to talk to you about the summer show.”
Jenna knew that if she opened her mouth the only thing that was going to emerge was emotion.
She needed time on her own.
“I have an appointment.” She pushed the lie through the thickness in her throat. “Could we talk later in the week?”
“Of course.” Heather looked at her closely. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything is fine.”
Two lies in quick succession.
They made a dat
e, which Jenna immediately forgot as she stumbled the distance to her car.
It would take her ten minutes to drive to the beach, that was all.
Luck wasn’t on her side.
She reached her car and saw Andrea Corren strapping Daisy into her own car.
“Jenna!” She emerged from the car, red faced and smiling. “I’ve been meaning to catch up with you. I wanted to thank you for listening that time a few months ago.”
Not now, not now.
“No problem.”
“Things are much better.”
“Great news.” Jenna fumbled with her keys and dropped them. Shit. Shit.
Andrea closed the car door and lowered her voice so that Daisy couldn’t hear her. “Todd and I—well we’re trying again. He said it was a mistake. He said he was sorry, and I believe him.”
Jenna wondered how many times her father had said that to her mother. “Glad it’s working out for you.” Her hand closed over the keys and she gripped them so hard they marked her flesh.
“There’s something else—” Andrea leaned in closer. “I haven’t told anyone else this yet, but I’m pregnant.”
Jenna felt the world around her fade slightly. There was a buzzing sound in her ears. “What?”
“Pregnant. I guess it must have been that one episode of makeup sex.” Andrea was scarlet. “But I’m happy. I think this will be a new start. It’s what we need.”
People didn’t always get what they needed, Jenna thought. Nor did they get what they wanted.
Devastated: very shocked and upset by something.
She managed to push out some words. Pleased. Congratulations.
Andrea looked at her oddly. “Are you all right?”
“I ate something,” Jenna said. “Bad seafood. Must go.”
She slid into her car and drove toward the exit, braking to allow a mother and her toddler to cross the road.
Jenna stared at the blond curls and the smile, the chubby hand curled around her mother’s.
Her child probably would have had curls exactly like that, and maybe freckles.
Except there was no child and maybe there never would be.
The emptiness felt like a giant crater and she was teetering on the edge, trying hard not to fall into it.
Tears blurred her vision and she blinked rapidly, forcing herself to concentrate on the road. A few more minutes and she’d be able to give in to her emotions. A few more minutes.
But the tears weren’t willing to wait that long.
She knew she should pull over but there was nowhere safe and her destination was only five minutes away.
Half-blinded, she misjudged the edge of the road as she made the final turn.
She spun the wheel hard, trying to compensate, but the tires hit soft ground and she slammed hard into the ditch and rolled. She screamed, knowing for sure that this was the end. Her bag flew and hit her on the cheek, her head smashed against the window hard, and then there was a sickening crunching sound and the car settled on its roof.
The seat belt kept her trapped there, suspended upside down as she tried to work out if she was dead or alive. Her head throbbed and her vision was blurry.
Still gripping the wheel with one hand, she reached to open the door with the other, but it had buckled during the impact and wouldn’t budge.
She was trapped.
Panic ripped through her. Now what? Did cars catch fire in real life as easily as they did in the movies? Was she about to be burned alive?
Her survival instincts kicked in and somehow she undid her seat belt and landed in an ungainly heap on her back. The pain made her cry out and the only thought in her head right then was relief that she wasn’t pregnant.
Of course if she had been pregnant she wouldn’t be in this situation now.
She’d be at home with a smile on her face waiting to break the news to Greg.
Greg.
He’d be driving home around now but he wouldn’t be worried about her because she’d told him she was going to be late. No one knew where she was.
She felt something warm flowing over her cheek and realized she was bleeding. She felt dizzy and sick.
She needed to find her purse.
She wiped the blood away with her palm and forced herself to stay calm as she looked around the car. It had to be here somewhere. Could she smell gas or was it her imagination? Oh God, oh God—she found her purse half-hidden under the blanket she always kept on the back seat.
She grabbed it, opened it with shaking hands and pulled out her phone.
Please let there be a signal.
Please don’t let the car catch fire.
Mercifully the phone was still working and she dialed 911 and then made one more call.
The moment she heard her mother’s voice, it felt like coming home.
Emotion filled her throat, tears filled her eyes and suddenly she was a child again.
“Mom.” She could barely get the words out. “Help me.”
28
Lauren
Test: to put under severe strain
“Lauren?” Scott’s voice came from the kitchen, where he’d been working all week. “I need to show you something.”
Lauren carried on painting the wall. She’d postponed working on the Sail Loft, hoping that Scott would have finished before she started but in the end she’d had no choice. The Captain’s House was all but done and they needed somewhere to live. Unless she wanted to share living space with chipped paint, she needed to get to work.
She’d started at the top with her mother’s studio, a whole floor away from Scott. Not that it made much difference, because she was constantly aware of him. The knowledge that he was a mere turn of the stairs away from her made her skin tingle and her heart beat faster. And every time she felt that heady rush of desire, she also felt guilt.
To stop herself thinking about him, she focused her attention on the work she was doing.
Her plan for the Sail Loft was to keep it simple, in keeping with the casual beachfront setting.
She’d contemplated using a fashionable gray on the walls, but in the end had opted for a soft white that reflected the intensity of the beach light. She’d painted the wide planks on the floor white, too, and had already found a blue-and-white-striped rug in a thrift shop. The place felt calming. Relaxing.
“Lauren?”
She closed her eyes. The place would never be relaxing while Scott was working in it, and yet she also found herself dreading the moment he finished because then he’d be gone.
“I’ll be there in a minute. If I stop now, I’ll have streaks.”
“That’s today’s excuse?” His voice was closer this time and she glanced over her shoulder.
“Excuse me?”
He was leaning against the door frame. His eyes were hooded and watchful, but there was a hint of a smile on his mouth that told her he knew exactly how she was feeling.
He claimed he wasn’t good at intimacy and yet every look and every word that passed between them was threaded with meaning.
“I worked here for two weeks before you showed up at all.”
She put the brush down. “I was busy—”
“And then when you did show up, you made sure you were never in the same room as me.”
“We’re working on different things. You’re fixing up the kitchen.” And the kitchen was the smallest room in the house, which was another reason she’d been avoiding it.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the large mirror she’d hung on one of the walls. Instead of wearing her oldest clothes, she’d chosen jeans that skimmed her hips and a tailored shirt that nipped in slightly at the waist. Common sense might have abandoned her but it seemed vanity hadn’t.
“Did I do this to you?” His voice was rough. “Is it my fault?”
“Do what?”
“Make you so cautious and careful you no longer dare be who you are.”
She didn’t want to have this conversation. “This is who I am. None of us are the same person at thirty-five that we were at eighteen.”
“I think you’re the same person, but you haven’t let that person out in a long time.”
Was he right? There were days when she couldn’t remember the person she’d been back then.
“Life changes all of us, Scott. When you and I were together I was a teenager. Now I’m a mother and a wi—” She’d been about to say wife and then realized she wasn’t a wife anymore. She was a widow.
She hated that word so much.
“When did you last jump off the Jaws Bridge?”
The question made her laugh. “It’s been a couple of decades since I talked my sister into that one.”
“Let’s do it.”
“You have to be kidding me.”
“I’m not kidding.” He strolled toward her and she felt her heart beat faster.
“Scott, I’m not jumping off the Jaws Bridge. I’m thirty-five years old and I just lost my husband. Can you imagine what people would say?”
“You never used to worry about what people thought.”
“Life seems a lot simpler when you’re eighteen.”
“If not the bridge, then come sailing with me.”
“I’m not going sailing with you either.”
“Why not?”
Because she’d found a way to live without him. What she hadn’t worked out was how to let him back into her life in a way that didn’t destabilize everything.
“I have a house to decorate, a child to raise—”
“A life to live.”
She straightened her shoulders. “This is my life now.”
“You make it sound like a sentence.”
There were days when it felt like a sentence. Days when she dragged herself out of bed and pushed herself from one job to the next. She’d read somewhere that if you gave your brain tasks to do it stopped overthinking. She’d given herself a lot of tasks. Sometimes she felt like a robot.
It seemed like a lifetime since she’d felt human. A lifetime since she’d been hugged and held. It wasn’t just Ed’s arms that she missed. She missed Mack’s. She missed the laughter, and the female bond they’d shared.