Firefly Island

by Lisa Wingate

  The most difficult mountain to cross is the threshold.

  —Danish proverb

  (Left by Donna Sue, on a lakeside getaway with Mary Kay)

  Chapter 17

  In the cyber world, the difference between keeping a secret and revealing it is the touch of a button—a few lines of code, an accidental click, a careless email forward, a glitch in programming logic that causes something unexpected to happen for reasons no one can explain. If there was one lesson I should have learned after starting The Frontier Woman, it was that one.

  When the phone rang early Monday morning, my head was pounding as I reached toward the nightstand. Daniel’s side of the bed was empty, the house quiet, Nick apparently sleeping in after our big day at the church and the lake. Outside, the morning was cloudy and the light muted, so that it seemed earlier than seven o’clock.

  Grabbing the receiver, I fell back against the pillow, rubbed my eyes, and muttered, “ … Ellll-oh?”

  “What. Is going. On?” Trudy was on the other end, and she did not sound happy.

  “Trude? Huhhh? Wha …” I blinked, tried to clear the sleep clouds from my eyes, but they were red and sore from my late-night blog-o-rama. There was a note from Daniel on the nightstand. Jack called, coming back today. My head pounded harder. No wonder Daniel was up and gone so early this morning.

  The nirvana I’d felt last night while writing articles about the supper gardens and the kids in Chinquapin Peaks flipped over in my stomach and became a sense of dread. “Oh, man, I think I stayed up too late. I have a blog hangover.”

  “Yeah, really?” Trudy was not amused. “Well, if you don’t already, you will when I get through with you. And when Mom gets to you, you’re going to be dead meat, little sister.”

  Adrenaline pushed through my body, thick and slow like syrup, waking me up piece by piece. Trudy was really in a mood this morning, and it was somehow aimed at me. I hoped this over-the-top emotion didn’t have anything to do with another failed in vitro. She wouldn’t talk yet about the fact that this one had made it farther than any of the others, and as day after day passed with no bad news, I was hopeful. “What’s Mom upset about? What did I do?” It takes a special kind of skill to get in trouble with your family from hundreds of miles away. “Listen, Trudy, I’m not feeling so great this morning. Can you just tell me what’s wrong?” Please, please don’t let her foul mood have anything to do with bad news about the in vitro. How could I sit here and console Trudy about the loss of another chance at a baby, when I was hiding my own pregnancy?

  “Well, maybe it’s morning sickness.”

  I rolled onto my knees, suddenly ready to bound off the mattress and dance around the room. “Trudy, you’re pregnant? Really? How long have you known for sure? Can we tell people now?”

  “We’re not talking about me, but apparently you’re in the family way. And that’s a good question: How long have you known?”

  I hovered in an awkward squat on the bed, a dozen questions and a plethora of emotions washing over me at once. Daniel had told people? Without talking to me? Without asking when and how I wanted to share the news? Trudy knew already? And my mother. Ohhh … my mother! “Trudy, what are you talking about?”

  Her response was a disgusted snort. I knew exactly what expression would accompany that look—her short, pert nose crinkling, her lip jerking upward to reveal that orthodontically perfect smile. “And you go putting it on your stupid blog and announce it to the world without even telling us first? Really? This is how I find out. If you’ve got half a brain in your head, you’ll get on there and take that post off before Mom sits down with her morning coffee and checks in with The Frontier Woman. And then you’d better call and give Mom the news, because there’s no telling who else has already read it.”

  A bass drum reverberated through my body. Boom, boom, boom, boom, beating the seconds away. “I didn’t put that on the blog … I mean, that was just … I was just …” I was out of the bed and running for my laptop before I could finish the sentence.

  “Mallory, there was so much stuff on there this morning, it took me forty-five minutes to catch up. Imagine my surprise when I got all the way to the end and found this … well, diary entry basically … with you pondering parenthood. At first, I thought you were just talking about Nick, and then I realized, You’re pregnant. You’re pregnant, and you’re telling the world, and you haven’t even told me. I was right, by the way. It was the antibiotics.”

  “Trudy … hang on a minute … I’m trying to …” Tucking the phone on my shoulder, I flipped open the laptop, waited impatiently. “To get to the blog.” Surely she was just calling my bluff, trying to get me to admit to a positive pregnancy test. Every time she’d asked me the past two weeks, I’d hedged and told her there was nothing to report.

  “What, you’re not going to just take my word for it?” she taunted. “It’s not like I could make this kind of stuff up. You …”

  “Trudy, just a minute!” My hands were shaking, and I couldn’t even think of my own password.

  “I wetted my bed,” Nick’s squeaky whine echoed through the house, and then there he was in the doorway, drowsily rubbing his eyes, his Spiderman pajamas dripping a little round stain on the icky yellow carpet.

  “You wet your bed?” I repeated, trying to think of the blog password. CongressAvenue1. That was it.

  “Not me,” Trudy quipped, “but apparently, there’s been something going on in your bed.”

  “Trudy, just … let me …”

  I set down the phone. Nick was coming across the room, dripping all the way, his eyes two big, soulful saucers, brimming with tears. “I dweamed I was swimmin’,” he sniffed.

  “Nick, it’s okay.” I turned back to the computer, waiting, waiting, waiting for the blog dashboard to load. “Just go take everything off and put it in the bathtub.”

  His lip trembled, and a tear spilled over, drawing a glistening line down the smooth skin of his cheek. “I messed-ed up my Spidey-mans. My new ones from Nanbee and Gwampa. My big boy wa-a-ones.” The sentence crumbled into a sob. The pajamas had come in the mail from Daniel’s parents two days before. Nick would have worn them morning, noon, and night if he could.

  The dashboard inched onto the screen, I looked at Nick. The dashboard inched, I looked at Nick.

  “I’m not a big boy-e-e-e.”

  “Nick, honey.” I abandoned the computer and crossed the room, then pulled him close, cradling his head against my ribs. “It’s okay. That just means it’s time for the Spidermans to go in the washer and have a bath, and you know what? They get even more comfy after they’re washed.”

  “I’m not a big boy-e-e-e,” he whimpered again. Before the wedding and the move, Daniel had determined that Nick needed to move out of Pull-Ups pants at night and into regular undies. Daniel had reinforced the switch with copious amounts of big boy talk.

  “Honey, even big boys have accidents sometimes.” I turned him around and steered him toward the bathroom. “But guess what? We can just run a little bath, and get out some clean clothes, and the washing machine will be so happy, because it gets to have the Thomas the Tank Engine sheets and the Spidermans all at once. I mean, if you were a washing machine, you’d think that was awesome, right?”

  Nick looked at me like I was nuts, but in short order I’d removed the stinky Spidermans, turned on the bathwater, and cheered Nick up with soap crayons. By the time I got back to the computer, it was more than clear that I’d published a blog-a-palooza of information last night. Before I’d even finished cleaning up the dashboard, the phone started ringing—Trudy again. Following that, I heard from my mother, Kaylyn and Josh calling on speakerphone with friends from their office, three former coworkers, my two middle sisters, and finally Corbin, phoning in because Carol was tied up in a Junior League meeting and couldn’t call. She’d texted him and told him to find out what was going on. By then, hours had passed, and Nick was happily playing in the backyard.

  “You live
an interesting life,” Corbin commented. “First, you move into an alleged murderer’s backyard, and now there’s a baby on the way. Kind of sudden, isn’t it?”

  Leave it to Corbin to state the brutally obvious. “It wasn’t planned, Corbin, okay? You can tell Carol that. I’m sure she thinks we’re completely nuts, but we’re not.” I instantly felt bad for being short with Corbin. Of my brothers-in-law, he was the one I was the closest to. He’d covered the political beat for years, so we had something in common. “It was an accident—antibiotics and birth control pills don’t mix, it turns out. Remember, I had that root canal right before the wedding?” Carol would never understand, no matter what I said. Carol’s children were perfectly spaced, three years apart. Undoubtedly, no bed in her house had ever sat for hours with befouled sheets, while tinkle-soaked pajamas waited in a wad on the bathroom floor.

  “Good to hear,” Corbin replied pleasantly. “I’ll relay that to your sister. Find any dead bodies around there yet?”

  “Ohhh, Corbin,” I groaned, letting my head fall into my palm. “Not today, all right? Listen, call waiting is beeping. Tell Carol I love her and not to worry about us, okay?” Right now I just wanted to get off the phone. I hadn’t had so much as a cup of coffee. My head felt swirly and my stomach was about as happy as a bear coming out of hibernation. Nick’s bed had probably dried into a crusty, smelly mess by now.

  I ended the call with Corbin and pushed the flash button. Al was on the other line. We went through the baby conversation again. I had the distinct impression that the baby news was less than pleasing to Al. “All I can say is, if you’re gonna have one, make sure you take the time for it after it gets here.” Al’s words were strangely hard-edged, almost bitter.

  “Well, it wasn’t planned,” I explained for what seemed like the hundredth time. Whenever this poor child did come, everyone in the world would know it was an accident.

  Al muttered something, and a sliver of discomfort needled under my skin. Who was she to question my ability to take care of a baby, anyway? She didn’t have any children. And besides, weren’t babies born every day to mothers who had to figure it out as they went along?

  “Keren says to tell you they missed you and Nick today at the summer class.” Al’s tone was flat, as if I’d offended her in some way. “She says thanks for what you wrote on your blog about the supper garden program, the kids, and the bridge up in Chinquapin Peaks.”

  “Tell her I’m really hoping it’ll bring some action, but I’m sorry the blog was such a mess today. I didn’t mean to publish it with all that … personal stuff and …”

  Outside the window, Daniel’s truck came racing up the driveway, and I cut the conversation short just as he walked through the back door. He closed it behind himself and stood with his hand clutching the knob, his eyes blinking wide. “I just had a phone call from my mother.”

  “Ohhh, shoot,” I groaned. I’d been so busy dealing with the shockwave on my side of the family that I hadn’t even thought about Daniel’s parents. “I’m an idiot. Your mother probably thinks she has the worst daughter-in-law ever.” Not only had Daniel’s mother been forced to relinquish Nick to a woman she barely knew, now I was proving to be a monumental doofus, as well.

  “Are you kidding? She’s thrilled.” Daniel paused to scratch his head, dark curls falling through his fingers. “She thought it was a little strange to find out about it on your blog, and she wasn’t exactly happy I hadn’t called her first thing.” He pulled his lips on one side, frowning. “I thought we weren’t going to tell anyone for a while, though.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” I moaned. “I was up last night writing stuff … just … just kind of for me, really … thinking about the day, the baby, and Chinquapin Peaks … and, well, everything. I was just rambling, trying to work it all out in my head. I meant to publish a piece about the supper garden program and maybe a little bit about the bridge and the long school bus rides, but somehow, I stuck it all on there. Trudy called first thing and informed me of my blunder. I’ve been dealing with my family all morning.”

  Laughter pressed past Daniel’s lips. Considering Jack was back, he was in a remarkably good mood. Maybe Jack hadn’t returned after all. Maybe God had realized that a baby news bomb, numerous family confrontations, and a wet bed were enough for one day.

  Daniel released the door handle and came across the room, his chin tilted sympathetically. “Bet that was interesting. What did your mother say?”

  “That any woman with a modicum of sense would’ve known about the antibiotics thing. She’s sure that, between the dentist and the pharmacist, someone must have warned me, and I just blew it off. She’s convinced that I thought I knew better than everybody else, just like always, which proves her point that I do need to keep my mother in the loop, now, always, and for the rest of my born days, amen. She also made the point that, if I would have told her about the root canal instead of hiding it from her, she’d have warned me to take precautions.” Daniel’s cheeks twitched, and I rolled a look at him, warning him not to say anything cute. “I didn’t tell her about the root canal when it happened because she was already in such a twist about the wedding. I figured one more thing would push her over the edge. Anyway, now she’s back to wanting us to move home and set up housekeeping in the rumpus room.”

  Daniel chuckled.

  “Don’t laugh.” I sighted the gun finger at him. “She’s planning to have my dad use his connections to find the perfect job for you.”

  “Eewww, I wonder what I’ll be doing.” His wry grin attempted to lighten the moment.

  Folding my arms on the table, I hid my face in them like a grade-school kid. “I’m sure my mother will let you know.”

  The icky yellow carpet crinkled, stiff and sticky under Daniel’s shoes as he came closer. His touch was featherlight, sweeping my hair aside before he kissed the back of my neck. “I love you,” he whispered. “We’ll be okay. We’re not the only people to ever have a baby before we meant to. Nick wasn’t planned, and look at him. I wouldn’t trade him for anything.”

  I knew he was right. I was overthinking all of this. It wasn’t like we’d be having the baby tomorrow. We had months to prepare. But, somehow, knowing that a baby was coming made everything else seem more critical, more pressing. We were on a timeline now. Within just a matter of months, everything had to be perfect.

  “You’re right. I know you’re right.” I was embarrassed, as much as anything. When you grow up being teased by four older siblings, you don’t handle public screw-ups well. “So, what else did your mom say?”

  “They want to come for Thanksgiving. Dad’s excited about seeing the ranch. They’re hoping Chad might think about bringing his bunch, so we can all be together.”

  “Wow.” Amid the warm, sweet anticipation of a family Thanksgiving, there was panic over the house, the fact that there was no place to sleep that many people, and unless they wanted macaroni and cheese and peach pie, I wasn’t sure what we’d eat. “You guys must have talked quite a while. Where in the world was Jack all this time?”

  “Otherwise occupied.” Daniel moved to the chair beside me, leaning over it rather than sitting.

  “Okay, what’s going on? Spill. This is not the usual mood for a day with Jack. How in the world did you have time for a phone call? And how did you get away to come home for lunch?” Usually after a return from Houston, Jack was wound like an eight-day clock, irritable, driven, and suspicious of everyone. He decompressed by patrolling the ranch and berating the ranch hands, complaining about the lab and the test fields, and changing the parameters for Daniel’s job.

  “Jack’s not alone this time.” Tapping his thumbs to his lips, Daniel gave me a look that was somewhere between hopeful and perplexed. “His son is with him.”

  “The one he doesn’t speak to? That son?”

  “They’re speaking now, apparently.” Daniel stood and stretched the knots from his back. He looked so good when he did that. “They seemed pretty chummy, in
fact. Jack spent the whole morning giving a tour of the laboratory and showing him the growth environments and the test plots. The great thing was, I got to follow along and finally see everything. Jack didn’t even seem to care. When he and Mason left the lab, he hung the keys right there on the pegboard by the door, with all the other ranch keys. I helped myself to a full lab tour while they were out driving around the pastures.”

  “Okay, you’re talking about the son who’s the state senator or something, right? Or does he have another son?” Maybe I’d misunderstood something along the way.

  Outside, Nick was sitting on the porch of the little house having an intense conversation with Pecos. Daniel smiled at him. “Far as I can tell, this is the son everyone keeps mentioning. Mason West. I didn’t ask too many questions. If it keeps Jack off my tail, I’m not gonna breathe too hard on it.” He pointed at Nick. “What do you think they talk about?”

  “Nick and the dog? Or Jack and the mystery son?” I wasn’t really ready to change subjects. Maybe it was the strange karma of the day so far, but this new development made me uneasy in some way I couldn’t quite define, as if some sixth sense were warning me that disaster was on the way.

  “Either one.”

  Outside, Nick stood with his hand on one hip, pointing and delivering orders to Pecos.

  “Well, right now I’m afraid he might be pretending to be Jack. Scary thought.” As soon as I said it, I knew I shouldn’t have. There was no sense in raining on Daniel’s parade. It was nice to see him feeling good about things for a change. “Sorry. If Jack’s happy, I’m glad. Really.”

  “I’m just hoping this reconciliation with his son is a long-term thing.” A wrinkle of concern straightened Daniel’s smile, then disappeared. “It’ll make my job a whole lot easier. Sounds like the son is planning to be here awhile. Apparently he’s staying in the cabin on Firefly Island—working on a book or something. I heard him tell Jack he didn’t want to bunk at the big headquarters because he needed a quiet place to write.”