by Jo McNally
“Where’s her father in all this?”
“Killed in a plane crash. The year before Dylan died.”
The furniture shop was usually Asher’s sanctuary from his youngest son’s ghost, but Dylan’s memory was so sharp in here tonight he could almost feel it brushing against his skin. He turned away to hide his grimace, taking another drink.
How could he explain to Michael that parenthood simply wasn’t worth it? How could he explain that putting all your hopes and dreams onto a child meant the risk of losing all those hopes and dreams? What was it the golden-eyed brunette had said in the grocery store that morning? Our children will always be our children... She was wrong. Children weren’t always your children. Sometimes children died. He took one more gulp of liquor to bolster his resolve.
“Count me out.”
“Dad...”
“No.” His voice hardened, and the walls went up around him so solidly he could almost see the bricks stacking. “I won’t be a part of it. You’re too young, and she’s definitely too young. You’re being reckless with your life and with hers.”
“That’s rich coming from someone who had me at twenty-one.”
“But your mother was twenty-three, not a freakin’ teenager. And we didn’t get married for another two years, after I was out of college and had a job.”
Asher could see his younger self standing in the hospital, holding another baby boy in his arms, dreaming all those golden dreams for the boy’s future. Twelve years later he was back in that same hospital, holding his son’s lifeless body, cursing the universe and everyone in it. He drew in a deep breath and forced the words out.
“And look at me now, Michael. The marriage is over and your brother is gone. Gone. Are you ready for that to happen to your baby? Because I don’t think you are.”
Michael’s face paled and his lips pressed thinly together for a moment. He stared long and hard at the glass in Asher’s hand, as if trying to convince himself it was just the booze talking. His son had no idea how deep Asher’s fears ran—right to the marrow of his soul.
Michael ended the conversation by walking away, looking over his shoulder at Asher when he reached the door. “I’ll text you the time for the brunch. If you don’t care about meeting Becky, at least show up for me. I don’t imagine her mom will be too crazy about me considering the circumstances. But I guess you aren’t, either.”
“Michael...” A shot of regret hit Asher’s heart, but his son was gone, the door closing softly behind him. The tinkling of the bell over the door, there to alert him to customers during the day, seemed cruel and mocking in the middle of the night. He turned the lock, then leaned against the door.
For some reason, the Fixer was in his head again, suggesting he and Michael would look back on this time and laugh. He’d liked the cadence of her soft Southern accent and the glimpse of fire she’d shown out in front of his shop, but she couldn’t be more wrong.
This mess would never be a laughing matter.
CHAPTER THREE
“I’M SORRY...YOU’RE WHAT?”
Nora brought a shaking hand to her forehead, wondering if she was losing her mind. She had to be hearing things. Or hallucinating. That was it—she was hallucinating. Maybe she’d bought the wrong kind of mushrooms at the store the other day. Hot Produce Guy had distracted her, and she’d bought hallucinogenic mushrooms. That would explain why she’d just imagined her daughter saying something that couldn’t possibly be true.
The Thanksgiving table was eerily silent. Amanda held her wineglass suspended in midair, not quite reaching her lips. Blake’s mouth kept opening and closing, with no sound coming out. Their twelve-year-old son, Zachary, muttered a quiet “Uh-oh.” But it was the youngest child, Maddie, who broke through the quiet, clapping her hands together.
“Annie Becca have baby!” Unable to pronounce Ts yet, all of Maddie’s aunties were annies at this point.
Becky sat directly across from Nora, eyes wide but steady. The only hint of emotion was the rapid tapping of her fingers on the edge of the table, like she was playing an invisible piano. Her light brown hair was pulled up into a high ponytail tied with a ribbon, making her look even younger than her eighteen years.
Eighteen!
“I’m sorry, Mama.” Becky’s hands fell to her lap. “I didn’t mean to blurt it out over dinner like that, but you kept insisting it was okay to drink wine with dinner and I can’t, and I had to tell you anyway, so it just came out. I’m sorry.”
Nora shook her head. The news simply wasn’t computing. Amanda reached for her, but Nora jerked away. If anyone touched her right now, she’d shatter. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at her pregnant teenage daughter.
“Rebecca Scarlett Bradford, did you just apologize for the bad timing of the announcement? Yet you’re not apologizing for being pregnant? At eighteen?” Every word grew louder and louder, which was a new experience for Nora. She prided herself on maintaining her composure at all times.
Her late husband’s shenanigans had tested that composure on a regular basis, but she’d rarely cracked. She rose to her feet in a flash of hot temper. She was definitely cracking now. In fact, she felt like she was about to burst into a thousand shards of fury.
“How could you be so careless? So stupid? Your life is just beginning, and now you’re telling me you’re pregnant? My God, Becky, I raised you to be smarter than that!” Her pulse was pounding in her ears. Rage? Panic? Was there a difference? “You have a scholarship at Vassar, for God’s sake! And you’re throwing it all away because you couldn’t keep your legs...”
“Nora!” Amanda’s voice was sharp. Her two children were at the table. Nora’s face burned. All she could do was glare at her daughter and wonder what the hell they were going to do. How was she going to fix this?
Blake cleared his throat as awkward silence returned. Nora was still standing, leaning over the table as if she wanted to leap across it and pummel her daughter. And, right now, the idea had a shocking amount of appeal.
“I think it’s safe to say dinner is officially over.” Blake gave his wife a pointed look. “Let’s take a little break before dessert, okay? The kids and I will go down to the resort, and you ladies can talk.” It was obvious he intended for Amanda to be the referee. Amanda. Her cousin who’d spent more time with Becky than she had over the past few months. Nora looked down, her own voice sounding like cracking ice.
“Did you know about this?”
Her cousin threw her hands up in defense. “No! I knew she had a boyfriend, but...”
A heart attack. That was what this was. Nora was having a heart attack and this was all a crazy dream. They’d take her to the hospital, and when she woke up, no one would be pregnant. No one would have a boyfriend they hadn’t mentioned to their mother. Because Becky told her mother everything.
“You told Amanda about having a boyfriend and not me?”
Becky shifted in her chair, then raised her chin defiantly. “If you knew I was seeing someone here, there’s no way you would’ve let me come to Gallant Lake so often...”
“He’s here? In Gallant Lake? How long has this...”
“Two years.”
Amanda sucked in a sharp breath, which somehow made Nora feel better. At least her cousin didn’t know everything. Nora knew Becky had made friends here, of course. She visited often, and they all went snowboarding and rock climbing together. Even when she was home in Atlanta, Becky was always texting or video chatting with someone in Gallant Lake. It just hadn’t occurred to Nora that there was a boyfriend in the picture. She was such an idiot.
Two years. Becky would have been sixteen. Nora settled down into her seat like a balloon slowly losing air. Sixteen. Someone had taken advantage of her innocent child and now she was pregnant. Okay. They could fix this. First, Nora would make sure this monster was prosecuted for.
..something. Anything. A stranger had come into her happy family and tried to destroy it, but Nora wouldn’t allow that to happen.
“How old was this...this man?”
“When we met? Eighteen.”
There was an odd bit of relief in that. At least it wasn’t some forty-year-old cyber-stalker who’d victimized her daughter. It was a horny teenage boy. Who, at eighteen, had still been old enough to know better and could still be held responsible.
“So this young man pressured you into having unprotected s...”
“Blake is right,” Amanda interrupted, standing quickly and reminding Nora once again there were children present at this train wreck of a holiday meal. “He and Zach can clear the table and go for a walk with Maddie. The three of us can take a minute to collect our thoughts, then we’ll sit in the solarium and figure this out over tea.”
Everyone stood, and Nora stared at her daughter, trying to understand how this had happened. Becky was an intelligent young woman with big plans. She was going to work to protect the environment and make a difference in the world. Was that a baby bump? How far along was she? Was it too late for options? Would Nora support that choice if Becky made it? Her pulse amped up another notch.
“There’s nothing to figure out, Amanda.” Becky looked at Nora for a long moment, then her hand moved across her belly. “I know you’re disappointed, Mom. This wasn’t part of your precious plans. Michael and I didn’t plan it, either, but we’re happy to be having a baby together. We love each other, and Michael asked me to marry him. I said yes.”
As that bombshell sent shock waves through the room so forceful that Nora physically felt their impact, her daughter walked away from the table.
* * *
NORA GLARED SO hard at the back of the bearded man holding her daughter’s hand that she was surprised she didn’t bore a hole right between his shoulders. His sweater sleeves were pushed up to expose a small tattoo of a key on his right forearm. It now rested right next to the padlock on Becky’s arm as they walked down the sidewalk in Gallant Lake.
Well. That explained that.
She wanted to hate this horrible young man who’d gotten her daughter pregnant and ruined all the plans Nora had for Becky’s future. This...this...Michael person had made a mess of everything. She narrowed her eyes on the back of his head.
He nudged against her daughter’s shoulder in what appeared to be some affectionate ritual between them, and Becky nudged back without looking at him. Nora wanted to hate him. But she couldn’t.
Michael Peyton had been mature and charming over brunch. He clearly worshipped the ground Becky walked on and was constantly attentive to her every need. They seemed to be truly in love with each other. Of course, it was young love, and who knew if it would last, but still, it seemed real for the moment. It was honestly the kind of love she’d dreamed Becky would find, but she’d wanted her to find it ten years from now. Without being pregnant. Her eyes narrowed again.
While Nora had been making plans to take a tour of England with her daughter, Becky had been making plans of her own. She was at the end of her first trimester, and she’d already made arrangements to leave Vassar. Michael was transferring to the law program at Albany, which was closer to Gallant Lake than Columbia was. Becky said she was looking at “other options” for school, but she vowed the baby wouldn’t stop her from getting her political science degree. Michael was already renting a two-bedroom bungalow in Gallant Lake, and they wanted to stay in this town, where they’d met and where they had friends.
There were some major gaps in their plan, such as the loss of scholarships and a source of steady income, but Nora had to admit they were approaching this in a fairly mature manner, so far. Nora had told Becky yesterday she could move north to help, but her daughter was adamant about not needing Nora there. She was just like her father that way—always so sure everything would turn out rosy. So quick to dismiss Nora’s concerns. When she tried to point out that having a baby was hard work and they would need help, Becky just laughed.
“It’s time to start living your own life, Mom, and stop running mine.”
Her daughter didn’t want her here. And that hurt.
Michael glanced over his shoulder at Nora, his blue eyes clouded with worry.
“Mrs. B., are you sure you want to do this?” It took her a moment to realize what he was referring to. “I have no idea how Dad will react to us just showing up...”
Nora smiled before she could catch herself. Darn it all, she kept forgetting she wanted to hate this kid! His mom lived in LA, but his father lived right here in town. The man hadn’t bothered showing up for brunch, leaving Michael so embarrassed she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
“Of course I’m sure, Michael. In the South, there isn’t a problem in the world that can’t be fixed over blueberry cobbler and strong coffee.”
Becky turned with a laugh. “Don’t you mean a smile and a plan, Mom? Isn’t that how you solve everything?”
Nora nodded. “The plan is to make him smile over cobbler, then we’ll get him talking and win him over.”
Becky pulled up short, forcing Michael to stop with her. Nora bobbled the white box of cobbler in her arms to keep it upright. “Mom, what exactly are you winning him over to? Are you saying you’re on our side now?”
The smell of freshly ground coffee was a welcome distraction from answering that heavily loaded question. They were standing in front of Caffeine Cathy’s Coffee Café. The place didn’t exactly hold happy memories for her—she still hadn’t managed to get the coffee stain out of her jacket. But maybe they should pick up coffee here instead of expecting Michael’s father to provide it unannounced.
“Mom?”
Nora looked back to her daughter—her pregnant daughter with a plan—and the tall man at her side, arm now draped affectionately over her shoulders. The young man who loved her daughter. The father of her daughter’s child. There was a tightness in her chest that was something other than pain. It was a flood of emotion so strong she almost couldn’t breathe.
“Rebecca,” she said, ignoring the wince on her daughter’s face at the use of her full name, “there are no sides here. There’s just a baby. And two very young people who are obviously going to love that baby. I’m not a fan of you getting married...” She shook her head when Becky started to protest. “I really want you to wait before having a wedding. Your plans sound very nice and tidy, but life isn’t tidy. And you’re going to need family. For you, that’s me. For Michael, that’s his mom and dad. So let’s bring his dad some cobbler and coffee—” she tipped her head toward the coffee shop with a smile “—and see if we can help him accept his impending grandfatherhood.”
Michael placed a soft kiss on the top of Becky’s head, and Nora blinked, then stared out at the blue lake across the road, surrounded by russet-colored mountains. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, and felt her daughter’s arms surround her.
“Thanks, Mom. I didn’t expect you to be so...cool about this.”
Nora laughed. “I wouldn’t go so far as saying I’m cool with it, but you’re my baby and I love you.” Michael headed into the coffee shop. Nora looked at the For Sale sign in the window and winked at Becky to lighten the moment.
“I could always buy a coffee shop in Gallant Lake so I could be closer to you.”
Becky started to laugh. “Oh, God, Mom, that would be a disaster! You don’t know anything about business, much less running the world’s ugliest coffee shop. Besides, I already told you it’s time to live your own life. I don’t need you running mine anymore.”
Nora couldn’t decide which emotion to go with. Pain that her daughter thought she was incapable of running a business or panic at the realization that she had no idea what living her own life might look like. She pulled her jacket more tightly around her as a cold breeze blew off the lake. She
lifted her chin and gave Becky a bright smile to hide her roiling emotions.
“Maybe I’ve always wanted to run a place like this. Well, not looking like this, but an artsy little coffeehouse...”
“You’ve always wanted to own a coffee shop? For real?”
Nora had never in her life thought about owning a coffee shop. But she did enjoy sitting with a good book in the one near Peachtree Mall.
“Whatever, Mom.” Becky took the box of cobbler from Nora’s arms. “Buy a coffee shop somewhere. Toss away that stupid planner of yours and start living.”
Michael returned with coffee, and they headed next door to the plain brick building with a carved sign reading Peyton Custom Woodworking. A beautiful arts and crafts chair and side table sat in the window. On the table were two dark bowls made of polished burled wood. If Michael’s father had built this, then the man truly was an artist. A bell jingled above the door when they walked in.
Furniture and carved pieces were displayed in the front of the shop, creating a showroom of sorts, anchored by a large oriental rug. In back was a work area. Workbenches full of tiny drawers lined the walls, and in the center sat a half-finished cherry sideboard and an oak dining table with a pile of steel wool sitting in the middle of it. The whole place smelled of sawdust and varnish. Guitar music was coming out of speakers on the wall, bluesy and mellow.
The masculine presence in the room was so strong she could breathe it in and taste it. This was a man’s space, through and through. Exposed brick walls, light bulbs hanging from the ceiling with round metal shades above them. It was orderly, but raw somehow. As raw as the board lumber stacked high against the back wall.
She ran her hand across the silky-smooth top of the sideboard and heard footsteps approaching. A side door opened and a man walked in, wiping his hands on a rag. When he looked up, she took in a sharp breath and stepped back. It was Hot Produce Guy. The man who’d been so rude in the grocery store. The man she’d yelled at on the sidewalk...she cringed inwardly...the sidewalk right outside his business.