Another Way Home

by Deborah Raney

  “When did she tell you?”

  “She didn’t. A mother knows these things.”

  He cocked his head. “That’s a pretty serious . . . accusation, Audrey.”

  “Prediction. A mother knows,” she repeated.

  “You think a sister knows, too?”

  Audrey shook her head. “I don’t think so. But Corinne is probably waiting as long as possible, knowing it will be hard news for Danae to hear. Especially in public.”

  “Well, that might explain the tension between them. But why wouldn’t she tell us?” Grant frowned. “Has Danae said anything about how they’re doing on that front?”

  “The baby front?” Audrey shrugged. “I haven’t asked in a while. Lately it seems like she’d rather not talk about it.” She took the damp dish towel from his hand and replaced it with a fresh one.

  He had to admit to being disappointed. A person would have thought there’s-a-baby-on-the-way news would have been celebrated in this family, but if Corinne and Jesse’s news was rife with tension, it would mean that exactly half of the new grandbaby announcements in their family had come with trepidation. It just wasn’t right.

  2

  The first week of October had brought Indian summer to Cape Girardeau, and Dallas Brooks was actually looking forward to a good workout, which was something after the workday he’d had. He pulled in to the parking lot to find his brother already waiting outside the gym.

  Andrew jogged over to the driver’s side.

  Dallas rolled down his window. “Hey, Drew. What’s up?”

  “It’s packed in there.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the fitness center, then glanced up at the cloudless sky. “We could do the Cape LaCroix trail. Weather’s great.”

  “Sounds good. Hop in. I’ll drive.”

  Drew went around and climbed into the passenger seat. Ten minutes later the brothers were jogging along the scenic trail that connected several of the parks in Cape. They ran hard, concentrating on breathing instead of talking for the first fifteen minutes, but when they ducked beneath a tree-canopied section of the trail the dusky shadows forced them to slow their pace.

  “So how’s everything with you?” Drew asked, still breathing hard.

  “Good . . . good.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

  “Danae doing OK? How’s the fertility stuff going?”

  The encroaching darkness made Dallas braver. He needed someone to talk to, and he couldn’t very well confide in Danae, since she was the problem. In a sense, anyway. “It’s . . . going. And going and going and going. I’m about sick to death of it. I tell you, I never thought I’d see the day that I dreaded . . . sleeping with my wife.” He laughed but he knew his brother wasn’t fooled.

  “Bro?” Drew looked askance at him. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “I’m exaggerating, but not by much. She’s a slave to that thermometer, and every month I can pretty much mark my calendar to be miserable when she starts her period and—”

  “Whoa!” Drew formed a cross with his index fingers. “TMI, bro. You forget I’m a bachelor ignorant of the ways of the fairer sex.”

  “Sex?” Dallas slugged his arm. “We’re not allowed to use that word, remember? Mom would have washed your mouth out with soap.”

  Drew’s laughter made Dallas grateful to have and to be a brother.

  “Anyway, as I was saying when I was so rudely interrupted . . . this black cloud descends on the house and God forbid I should say anything hopeful or positive.”

  Drew’s expression turned serious. “How long have you guys been at this anyway?”

  “You mean the fertility stuff?”

  Drew nodded.

  “Too long,” he said, too quickly. “I don’t know. More than two years, I guess. Probably closer to three.”

  His brother shook his head. “That’s a long time with no hope. Do the doctors think there’s still a chance?”

  “So they say. Hope springs eternal and all that. They do keep saying there’s no reason she shouldn’t be able to conceive. Sometimes I think they just have us on a hook, and want to keep us there as long as we pony up another three hundred dollars. Shoot, at the rate we’re going we won’t be able to afford a kid if we do get pregnant.”

  Which wasn’t true. He made good money as a plant manager at Troyfield & Sons. Maybe he wasn’t exactly changing the world one high-efficiency particulate absorbing air filter at a time, but he didn’t mind his job. Somehow he’d acquired the knack for placing workers in the position that best utilized their talents and skills. He had a gift for managing people. Except, apparently, people he was married to.

  “Have you thought about adopting?”

  Drew’s question jarred Dallas from his thoughts. He clenched his jaw and sped up. His brother matched his pace but didn’t press for an answer, jogging in silence alongside him.

  “That’s not an option,” Dallas said finally.

  “Man . . .” Drew shook his head. “You of all people should be able to convince Danae to at least give it a try.”

  He ground to a stop, planting his hands on his waist, his breath more labored than their easy jog warranted. “It’s not her that has a problem with it.”

  “What? Then why aren’t you pursuing it?”

  “You really have to ask that?”

  Drew jogged in place, facing him. “I don’t get it. Why wouldn’t you consider it?”

  “Are you serious?” This was the second time his brother had brought up the subject, and it was seriously ticking him off. “You’ve apparently forgotten a few things.”

  “I haven’t forgotten that adoption got me a great brother.” Drew clapped him awkwardly on the shoulder.

  “I appreciate the mushy sentiment, but I wouldn’t put a kid through that for anything.”

  “Through what?” Drew seemed genuinely puzzled.

  “You know. What I went through. Wouldn’t be fair.”

  “Your circumstances weren’t the norm, Dal. Nothing says it would be the same if you adopted a kid.”

  “Yeah, and nothing says it wouldn’t.”

  His brother shrugged and took off at a slow jog.

  Dallas followed suit, but stayed half a step behind Drew to avoid being scrutinized. So far, in this journey with infertility, he’d mostly managed to avoid the adoption subject, but the more time that went on without Danae conceiving, the closer he got to being forced to examine, again, all the issues entwined with his own adoption.

  It was no secret he’d been adopted as an infant after his parents had been married for ten childless years. Then, miracle of miracles, when he was three, his mom conceived. Andrew Wayne Brooks had been born in time to be his Christmas gift. Dallas had loved his baby brother from the start, and not until his teens had he really understood or felt the differences between them.

  As far back as he could remember, his parents spoke matter-of-factly about his adoption, so there’d never been a day of shocking revelation for him, or even a time of wondering where he’d come from, since they’d shown him his adoption papers and told him his story from the beginning.

  He and Drew looked enough alike that they could have been blood brothers. In fact, Drew had been a strapping four-year-old, and at seven, Dallas had been on the scrawny side, so for a while they’d often been mistaken for twins. A fact Drew had relished and Dallas pretended to despise. But looking back, it had made him feel like they were real brothers. Not half-brothers, as one of Drew’s former girlfriends had labeled them after finding out they were adopted. Which, as Drew had quickly pointed out, wasn’t even accurate. “Maybe we don’t share any blood, but we’re as much brothers as any—and that’s by law.”

  Dallas had clung to his brother’s declaration. They’d had the same fights and competition and brotherly hugs that turned into wrestling matches as he imagined most blood brothers shared. All in all, they’d had a great childhood, and he’d never felt like less of a son to Wayne and Marsha Brooks tha
n Drew.

  Until he turned eighteen.

  Then everything hit the fan. Their dad had a seizure, and two weeks later, a stroke that felled him. Their mother was distraught and, like an idiot, Dallas had chosen that time to go through a world-class identity crisis. One for which he would likely never forgive himself. One he’d cried bitter tears over at their mom’s funeral three years later. Sometimes he still wondered if he’d been responsible for her death—even though the coroner’s report said it was heart failure that killed her. At fifty-eight.

  Nine years ago now. He and Drew had been orphans for nine years. It didn’t seem possible. And even though now, at thirty, while he’d mostly worked through things, his reaction to his brother’s question told him it wouldn’t take much to send him plunging back into the abyss he’d fallen into on that long-ago October day. A day he’d tried hard to forget.

  “Hey, man . . .” Drew surged ahead of him on the trail, then turned around and ran backwards, making it impossible to avoid his eyes. “I’m sorry if I was out of line. I know that was a hard thing and I—”

  Dallas waved him off. “Don’t worry about it.” Desperate to change the subject, he dug his phone out of the pocket of his running shorts and checked the time. “I’d better get home. Danae has supper in the Crock-Pot.”

  They came to the spot along the trail where they usually looped around again. “You going another lap?” he asked Drew.

  His brother hesitated for a millisecond. “Yeah, I think I will. You have time? Got to get rid of this gut.” He patted his flat belly.

  Dallas rolled his eyes, looking for a note of levity to exit on. “I don’t even want to hear it, you big stud, you.”

  That won the smile he was hoping for from his younger brother, and they jogged on in silence.

  But driving home later, he couldn’t quit thinking about his brother’s comments, and when he pulled into the garage, he struggled to put it out of his mind, knowing Danae would be able to tell something was wrong. Her radar always pinged his moods with annoying accuracy.

  He caught a whiff of supper and hollered for her in the kitchen. Getting no answer, he did a quick sweep of the counters and her desk in the keeping room where she usually left notes for him if she was going to be gone when he got home. Finding nothing, he checked the calendar on the refrigerator. Nothing there either. She must have gone out to her parents’ or to see one of her sisters. Her family had a way of always keeping her longer than she expected.

  Which was fine tonight. He’d have time to get his act together before he had to face her. He was trying to trust God with all this—his past, and his future with Danae. But it was easy to say and a whole lot harder to do.

  He lifted the lid on the Crock-Pot and inhaled the spicy barbecue before heading for the shower. He found the Cardinals game already in progress on the Bose in the bathroom and turned it up loud enough to hear from the shower in their master bath. As the warm water from the rain showerhead pelted him, he mentally switched gears to the barbecue waiting in the Crock-Pot and found escape from the troubling thoughts Drew had stirred. Squeezing the shower gel harder than necessary, he made a mental note to steer clear of the subject next time he was with his brother.

  * * *

  Danae hiked her purse up on her shoulder and rearranged the bulky items she’d been juggling for the past half hour. The store would close in ten minutes but she’d changed her mind about this bedding three times, and now, as she headed for the checkout counter, she was feeling a little guilty for how much it cost. Especially when Dallas would be home when she brought her packages in from the car. Not that he ever cared when she spent money—and they did need bedding for the second guest room.

  When they’d first bought the house, she’d had a blast redecorating the rooms to suit her taste. And Dallas’s, of course, although he didn’t have many strong opinions when it came to home decor. At the time, she’d been glad she wasn’t working, since getting settled in the house was pretty much a full-time job, especially if she factored in her frequent doctors appointments. But the house had come together quickly and she was starting to regret giving up her part-time position with an accounting firm. Maybe next spring—if she wasn’t pregnant by then—she’d pick up some hours during tax season.

  She looked at the price tags on the bedding again and did the math. It was even more than they’d spent on the bedding for their master bedroom. Still, it would last forever. Or at least until she grew tired of it. Mind made up, she secured the items in her arms and started for the cash register.

  “Danae?”

  She turned at the uncertain voice behind her and saw Heather March hurrying her way.

  “Danae Whitman! It is you!”

  “It’s Brooks now, but yes, it’s me.” She laughed, genuinely glad to see an old friend. Heather and her family had attended Langhorne Community’s youth group back when they were in high school, and she and Heather had been quite close their sophomore year. “How are you? It’s been forever!”

  “I know. Can you believe it? I’m married too.” Heather held out her left hand, showing off a huge diamond.

  “Congratulations. Anyone I know?”

  “Probably not. I met Jake in college. He’s from Chicago. How about your hubby?”

  “Remember Dallas Brooks? He was a senior when we were sophomores.”

  “Oh. My. Gosh. You married him?”

  Danae giggled. “I did. Four years now.”

  “Wow, four years? Do you have kids?”

  And there it was. “Not yet.” She pasted on a smile that felt uncomfortably familiar and groped for the routine deflection. “How are your parents?”

  “They’re good. Still in Langhorne. And yours?”

  “They’re doing well. They opened a bed and breakfast about a year ago and it keeps them hopping.”

  “Really? A B&B? Where?”

  “At our house out on Chicory Lane, where I grew up.”

  “Oh! I always loved that house.”

  “You wouldn’t recognize it now. They totally redid it. Named it the Chicory Inn. Dad did almost all the renovations himself after he retired, and now he helps Mom run the place, but it’s mostly her baby.”

  “How about the rest of your family? Did those handsome brothers of yours ever get married?”

  She swallowed. The second hardest question she got asked. “Link’s still single. Tim was married. You probably didn’t hear, but . . . he was killed in Afghanistan—”

  Heather gasped. “Oh, Danae. I’m so sorry! I didn’t know.”

  “Four years ago. Almost five now, I guess.” She was surprised at the math.

  “I’m so sorry,” Heather whispered again. “I didn’t know.”

  “No, of course not.” She patted her friend’s arm. So often it seemed like her family ended up doing the comforting where Tim’s death was concerned. “It’s been hard, but in some ways it’s brought us even closer. Even with Tim’s wife, Bree.”

  Still visibly shaken, Heather nodded. “You guys were always so close. All you Whitman kids.”

  “Yeah, we still are. Corinne and I both live in Cape, and everybody else is in Langhorne or nearby.” She shifted the bundles of bedding in her arms and tried to read the watch on Heather’s left wrist. Dallas was probably wondering where she was.

  “Oh, you know, I ran into Corinne a couple weeks ago at my obstetrician’s office.” A blush crept up her neck and painted her cheeks. “I thought I was pregnant, but it was a false alarm.”

  “Oh . . . I’m sorry.” Maybe she’d found a kindred spir—

  “Oh, gosh! Don’t be sorry! We are so not ready for that yet. Scared us to death!” She clutched her throat dramatically. “But your sister seemed really happy. What does this make for them, four?”

  “No. Just three. They have three little girls.”

  “All girls? I bet they’re dying for a boy this time. Or does she already know what it is?”

  “This time? Um . . . yeah,” she finished lamely,
rewinding Heather’s words, trying to make sense of them.

  “Well, whenever we are ready for a baby, I hope Dr. Pharr is still delivering. I really liked him, and everyone says he’s the best.”

  “It was . . . Dr. Pharr’s office? Where you saw Corinne?”

  “Yes. She said he delivered her girls too.” She hesitated, looking puzzled.

  “Yes. Yes, he did.” Despite the store’s twenty-foot ceilings, the room was closing in on her. She looked pointedly at her wrist, even though she wasn’t wearing a watch. “I really need to run. But it was so good to see you, Heather.”

  “You too.” Heather reached around her for an awkward hug, given the bulky packages in Danae’s arms. “Maybe we can do coffee sometime?”

  “Yeah . . . sure.” She carried the bedding around a corner, desperate to get out of there. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, she deposited the carefully chosen merchandise in a sale bin like so many rags. Casting about for an exit, she hurried toward the nearest one and pushed open the doors, drinking in the brisk autumn air.

  Struggling to remember where she’d left the car, she pointed her keys in the general direction of where she usually parked and gave a little gasp of relief when taillights flashed and a familiar short blast of the horn sounded. She managed to hold it together until she was inside the car.

  She forced herself to take deep breaths, and tried to remember exactly what Heather had said. Maybe she was confused. Maybe it hadn’t been Corinne she had spoken to at the obstetrician’s office at all. Or maybe it was much longer ago than she thought. Maybe it had been when Corinne was pregnant with Simone.

  But Heather had said “a couple weeks ago,” and she’d known Corinne had three girls. She’d said “this time.”

  She held her hands in front of her and watched her fingers tremble, as if they had a life of their own. She dug her phone out of her purse and punched in Corinne’s number.

  “Hey, sister. What’s up?” Corinne’s cheery, matter-of-fact greeting gave Danae hope that it was all just a huge misunderstanding.

  “Hi. Do you have a minute?”