Right All Along

by Heather Heyford

Mother looked up from her chair, curiosity on her face.

  He was dying to see Harley, too. But not for the same reasons as the twins. He longed to cup her face in his hands and take her features apart, one by one. Kiss her soft lips . . . hold her tenderly in his arms and wish her a Merry Christmas in a very special way.

  “Why did Harley have to adopt a baby?” asked Freddie, her brow wrinkled.

  “Because she doesn’t have a husband,” said Frankie matter-of-factly. “Sister Mary Margaret told us how it works. The husband puts his penis in the wife’s vag—”

  “Harley’s probably really busy,” Jack interjected. “Maybe we’ll go see her another day. Babies are a lot of work. Especially when they’re brand-new.”

  * * *

  Harley’s parents returned late Christmas morning, weighed down with gift bags, large and small, and Dad’s macaroni and cheese. While Mom fed the goats and Dad busied himself in the kitchen, Harley concentrated all her attention on the baby.

  After a late lunch with her parents, Harley reluctantly left her daughter’s side to allow Mom to take over while she did the dishes.

  She was getting a taste of how completely children took over your life. But now, staring out the window at the sleeping vineyards covered with snow, she wondered what Jack and the twins were doing this Christmas Day. And then she remembered Jack’s many cousins and nieces and nephews. She imagined the grand estate, alive with the voices of adults and the excited chatter of children. She doubted that Jack had time to be thinking of her.

  Dad came up behind her and slung his arm around her. “If you’re okay, we’re going to head home. We’re beat.”

  “Of course. Just let me finish washing this casserole dish and you can take it with you.”

  Alone again, she changed the baby’s diaper and laid her in her bassinet. She told herself she was grateful for the quiet, when there was a knock at the door.

  She scurried toward it, heart pounding.

  “Merry Christmas.”

  “Frankie! Freddie!” Harley peered over their heads expectantly.

  “It’s just us,” they said in answer to her unasked question.

  Her heart sank.

  “Can we see the baby?”

  “Of course,” she said, opening the door wide.

  Their noses were red with cold.

  “Did you walk?”

  They nodded.

  Jack and his mother must have loosened the reins a bit. About time.

  “Come on in and get warm.”

  They stomped the snow from their boots onto her hardwood floors.

  “Why don’t you take off your boots, and I’ll make us some cocoa?”

  * * *

  “Have you seen the girls?” asked Mother, peering out the window at the back of the house in the early twilight.

  “Last I looked, they were making snow angels,” said Jack.

  “I can’t see them anywhere.”

  There was a sharp rap at the front door.

  “I’ll get it,” said Mother.

  “Alfred,” he heard her say.

  “It’s getting dark. I wasn’t sure if you knew. Just saw the girls walking up the meadow.”

  “What?”

  “Cutting across the vineyard toward the Victorian.”

  Mother looked worriedly at Jack, who was already out of his chair. “I’m on my way,” he said, yanking open the coat closet, pulling his coat off the hanger.

  His headlights shone hazy cones through the fog. As he drove through the dreary evening, his gaze swept the fields, concern for his girls uppermost in his mind. But he had little doubt where he’d find them. The second he knew they were safe, he would be able to appreciate seeing Harley again. It was Christmas, after all. How could she turn him away?

  Minutes later, he was striding up her porch steps and stabbing the bell, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart.

  “Jack.”

  Harley looked cozy and natural, wearing a pink sweater with her hair piled up on top of her head. She didn’t seem surprised to see him.

  “Are the twins here?”

  She turned so he could see into the living room. “They’re here.”

  The house smelled like peppermint candles and hot chocolate. Jack crossed the foyer, stopping at the entrance to the living room, and a scene of light and warmth and his daughters bent over a cradle by the decorated tree, giggling.

  “Your father’s here,” called Harley, passing him in a cloud of fragrance that tempted him to grab her and pull her into his empty arms.

  “Dad!” They grinned and waved him over excitedly. “Come see.”

  He used to be welcome here. Now he felt like a formal guest. He meandered to the cradle and peered down into it, his hands in his jeans pockets.

  “Look how tiny she is!” exclaimed Frankie.

  “Her name’s Angelica,” said Freddie. “Isn’t she cute?”

  Jack glanced at Harley. “She?”

  Harley nodded. She hesitated briefly before asking, “Do you want to hold her?”

  No. He knew what babies did to you. Sucked you in . . . grabbed hold of your heartstrings and didn’t let go. He couldn’t afford to get attached to this one.

  “Go ahead. We already had our turn,” Freddie assured him.

  He glanced at Harley to make sure.

  In response, Harley reached into the cradle, gingerly picked up the bundle and deposited it into his waiting arms.

  The baby’s eyes were shut tight. From within her cocoon of blue, she worked her tiny rosebud lips. She smelled milky sweet . . . a Christmas miracle, altogether innocent of the mixed-up, muddled-up world into which she’d been born.

  “Hey there, little one.” Tears sprang to Jack’s eyes. He bounced her expertly, like the experienced father he was.

  Frankie gasped. “The present! We almost forgot.”

  Freddie dashed to her jacket, lying across a chair, and dug through the pockets, returning with a battered, misshapen gift box.

  “What’s this?” asked Harley. She looked at Jack questioningly.

  “Don’t ask me,” he said. “The girls picked it out.”

  “It’s for Angelica,” the girls replied. “Sorry, the bow fell off. Open it.”

  She sat down on the couch and patted the cushions on either side of her. “Here,” she said. “Come sit by me.”

  Happily, the girls flanked her, bouncing in anticipation.

  She tore back the paper and lifted the lid on a velvet box to reveal a silver rattle.

  “Oh, girls.” She hugged them one in each arm in exactly the same way Jack did. “I will treasure it always.”

  The girls hugged her back.

  Jack cleared his throat.

  Harley looked up at him as if only now remembering he was there.

  “She’s asleep,” he said.

  “I’ll take her.” She took her from him and returned her to her bassinet.

  “We should get going,” Jack said to the twins. “Mimi’ll be wondering where we are.”

  “Can’t you call her and tell her?” they begged. “Pleeeeze?”

  “No. Let’s let Harley and the baby get some rest.”

  “You girls are always welcome to come visit,” said Harley.

  You girls. Not him.

  When they were all bundled up again, Jack tried one last time to catch Harley’s eye. But while she squeezed the girls yet again at the threshold, she sidestepped his awkward attempt at an embrace.

  It was Christmas, and Harley wouldn’t even hug him. Pain stabbed at his heart.

  “Come on, girls.” Jack herded his magpies out into the bleak night and down the steps, shivering as the cold seeped through his jacket and settled deep in the marrow of his bones.

  * * *

  “Whose car is that?” asked Frankie as they pulled into their driveway after being at Harley’s house.

  Jack’s headlights shone on an unfamiliar sedan parked in the drive.

  “I don’t know,” said Freddie.<
br />
  “It’s still early. Probably someone stopping by to wish us Merry Christmas.” Most likely a relative. But the person Jack most wanted to spend time with didn’t want anything to do with him. “Guess we’re about to find out,” he said, putting the truck into Park and getting out.

  The girls followed the sound of women’s voices to the living room. Jack trailed not far behind, despite wishing he could disappear to his office. He’d had enough of this Christmas. He just wanted it to be over.

  “Frankie! Freddie!”

  The blonde who rose from her chair and opened her arms to the twins looked so much like Emily it stopped Jack in his tracks.

  “Remember me?” she asked, giving the girls a squeeze.

  But the girls only stared, confused.

  “Aunt Cait!” she said, as if it were obvious.

  “Girls. You remember Mommy’s sister,” scolded Mother, embarrassed.

  “I don’t blame them if they forgot. It’s been a while. A couple of years, the summer you came back to Oregon to visit.”

  Before that, it was Emily’s funeral in Marlborough. The girls had only been five. Still, Cait’s resemblance to Emily was almost spooky.

  Jack and Cait exchanged holiday greetings and the briefest of hugs. “What brings you to Ribbon Ridge?” he asked her.

  “There’s a new rollout in Newberry. I’ll be working here for the next couple of months.”

  “What’s a rollout?” asked Frankie.

  “It’s when a company adopts a new computer software system. My job is to train the employees.”

  “Cait travels all over the country—” said Mother.

  “—which is why I’m only now getting to see you since you moved back to the States. I spent the fall in the New Orleans area.”

  “Where were you before that?” asked Freddie.

  “Chicago. Before that, New York, and before that . . . well, you get the picture. But now that I’m going to be back home in Oregon for a while, I’m hoping to spend some time getting reacquainted.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  The day after Christmas, Harley hummed along with a chorale singing “Joy to the World” in the background, while the glass balls on the tree danced in the reflection of the lights.

  She had just fed Angelica her bottle. She was gliding across the parquet floor in her furry slippers, her baby on her shoulder, listening for that satisfying burp! when her phone rang.

  “Oh! Who’s that calling us, angel? Must be Grandpa or Grandma. Hold on here.”

  She was still new at this mothering stuff. Between juggling the baby, the burp towel, and the phone, she had all she could handle.

  Angelica mewled.

  “Don’t fuss, now. Mommy has to get the phone. Hello?”

  “Harley.”

  At Stacy’s tone, Harley’s slippers halted in midstep.

  “This is the hardest call I’ve ever had to make.”

  Angelica started wailing as panic struck Harley. “Shh. It’s okay, baby,” she said, jouncing her up and down. “Don’t cry.”

  “I just got off the phone with Kelly’s attorney.”

  There was a distant roaring in Harley’s ears, like an approaching storm.

  “Dragging this out would only be more cruel. I’ll get straight to the point. Kelly and her husband have decided they want to raise the baby after all.”

  The room began to sway.

  “Harley? Harley, are you there?” Stacy sighed. “You have my most profound sympathy. The husband and their attorney have already left for Newberry. You should expect them within the hour.”

  * * *

  Three hours later, in the glow of a Peter Pan night-light, Harley rocked in a melancholy rhythm, staring at the empty crib.

  She was vaguely aware of her father hunched next to her on the knitted pouf, head hanging, arms draped across his knees, and her mother standing helplessly in the nursery doorway, hugging herself, watching her rocking . . . rocking.

  She held a blue blanket to her nose. The sweet smell of baby lotion was the only thing she had left of the daughter she had had for one idyllic day. All the gifts . . . the stuffed lion in the crib, the giant giraffe propped in the corner from her parents . . . she’d sent them all with Angelica—if that was still her name.

  All that she had left of her was the silver rattle. She rolled it back and forth between her fingers like a lifeline, the metal warm from her touch. It was the only thing keeping her sane.

  * * *

  Harley’s parents had no reason to hide what had happened with the baby. Once the news leaked out, it spread quickly through Newberry’s taverns and tasting rooms and shops.

  Jack was at the gas station pumping air into his truck tires when the owner of Ruddock’s restaurant came up and asked how Harley was doing.

  When he told him Harley lost the baby, Jack immediately called her. He stood outside his truck in a fine drizzle, listening to her phone ring. When it went to voice mail, he punched End and tried again. And again. He was wracked with guilt. If he had never wrecked the parade float, she wouldn’t be infertile. She wouldn’t have had to adopt in the first place.

  A voicemail couldn’t begin to express the depth of his concern. But at the same time, she’d told him in no uncertain terms that she wanted nothing more to do with him.

  He climbed back into his truck, racking his brain. Her parents’ house was on his way home. He’d stop and ask them how she was doing.

  But when he slowed down to turn in at their unpaved driveway, neither of their vehicles was there. He continued onto Ribbon Ridge Road, swerving a hard right at the last minute, downshifting to climb the steep hill that led to the Victorian.

  Cindy Miller opened the door, looking years older than the last time he’d seen her.

  He wondered what, if anything, Harley had told her about their breakup.

  “I just heard.”

  Cindy stepped aside for him to enter.

  “How’s she doing?”

  “She’s in bed.”

  “It’s been, what? Three days?”

  Cindy nodded.

  He knew what a death in the family felt like. He’d gone through it twice before. Though Angelica hadn’t died, Harley was mourning, just the same. But he’d never lost a child. He couldn’t imagine that kind of agony. Three days was hardly enough time for the reality to set in.

  “I tried calling her, but she won’t pick up. Do you think there’s a chance she’ll see me?”

  Cindy sighed. “I’ll ask. But don’t get your hopes up.”

  She disappeared, leaving Jack to stare blindly out the window onto the sleeping vineyards, wishing he could ease her grief, if only a little.

  He heard returning footsteps and turned and gazed anxiously up the staircase.

  But when Cindy was only halfway down and her head was shaking, her lips in a straight line, his hopes plummeted.

  “Tell Harley that I care, would you?” he asked, fists balled inside his coat pockets. “And that I’m thinking of her, and if there’s anything she needs, anything at all, I’m there for her.”

  “I will, Jack. And thank you.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Around Jack, life went on.

  Cait started her new job. Mother had all but insisted she stay with them at the estate. But Cait’s company paid for her apartment and she said she didn’t want to be any trouble.

  The twins went back to school and their evening and weekend classes.

  Mother had extended Cait a standing invitation for dinner, however, and she showed up like clockwork, every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday at seven-thirty on the dot.

  “Frankie. Elbows,” said Mother.

  Cait gave Frankie a look. From her blond good looks to her slightly monotonous voice and quiet mannerisms, she bore an uncanny resemblance to Emily.

  Frankie removed her elbows from where she’d propped them on the dinner table.

  “Tomorrow night, I think we should go out for dinner instead of dining
at home,” said Mother.

  “The taqueria!” shouted the girls simultaneously.

  Mother raised an eyebrow. “I was thinking more along the lines of Ruddock’s. What do you think, Jack?”

  “How about Tart? It’s not as casual as the taco place but less formal than Ruddock’s.”

  “Cait?” Mother asked. “You grew up here. Is there a place in Newberry you haven’t been back to in a while, or a new place you’ve been wanting to try?”

  Cait kept her eyes on her plate. “I’ll go along with whatever you decide,” she said.

  Just like Emily.

  Mother glanced at Jack, a satisfied smile on her lips. “How is your piece coming along, Freddie?”

  “Fine.”

  “I want you to play it for me after dinner.”

  “You don’t have to check on me.”

  “Yes, I do. Your recital’s coming up soon. Next Wednesday, and I want to make sure you’ve got that F-sharp down.”

  Jack looked up from his dinner. “Wednesday?”

  “It’s been on the calendar for months,” said Mother.

  He knew that. He set down his knife and fork and pulled out his phone to check his calendar. “I don’t know how I did this, but I committed to that wine dinner at Visaggio’s. They booked a hundred people. It’s sold out.”

  “Wine dinners give vintners a chance to talk about their wines directly to consumers and win converts,” Mother explained to Cait. “They’re a key part of the slow winter months.”

  “We’ve been jockeying to get in Visaggio’s for years,” added Jack. “Last year, we lucked out when another winery canceled at the last minute and we got their slot. But being that we were out of the country, we had to send a representative.”

  “So, this year, you should definitely make an appearance,” said Cait.

  “I should, too,” said Mother.

  “You two go. I’ll take the girls to their recital,” said Cait.

  Jack turned to the twins. “Would you mind terribly if we missed this one?”

  “I don’t care,” said Frankie, picking up the green bean she’d dropped and popping it into her mouth.

  “How about I go to Visaggio’s, too?” asked Freddie, brightening.

  “You’re going to the recital,” Mother stated unequivocally. “Aunt Cait will take you. She can record your performances, and your father and I will watch them later, when we get home.”