Maybe This Time

by Joan Kilby

  “If she hadn’t pushed so hard, I might have come around to the idea and we would never have gotten divorced.” Seeing Alana change gears to rev up in Emma’s defense, he held up a hand. “I said might. I was to blame for other things.”

  “But you’re right,” Alana said, subsiding again. “I could ask Dave for a moratorium on baby talk for six months so I can sort out how I really feel.”

  “That sounds like a good idea. You’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain. In the meantime, keep talking to Dave. Who knows, maybe whatever it is you’re afraid of is just in your head.”

  “What makes you think I’m afraid of something?”

  “Everyone’s vulnerable on some level.”

  She glanced at her feet, and scuffed the pavement with the toe of her running shoe. “I’m afraid of only being a mum. I’m afraid if I stay home all the time I’ll get stupid and boring. Dave’s ex-wife was an engineer. She’s running her own company now.”

  “And we saw how well their marriage worked out. I’d guess Dave doesn’t care about his wife’s profession so much as what kind of person she is.”

  “He and his ex both worked all the time and hardly saw each other. The kids were in day care ten hours a day. Dave hated that.”

  Darcy nodded sympathetically. “He’s probably afraid your family will go the same way if you start working too much.”

  “It’s all about finding balance, isn’t it?” Alana said. “But he’s got to find that balance, too.”

  “The main thing is having the same goals, the same commitment to the relationship.”

  “Wow, you are so understanding.” Alana gave him a mock punch to the arm. “Are you sure you’re not a girl?”

  Darcy laughed. “As a bartender, I’m an agony aunt to half of Summerside.” His smile turned wry. “Now if only I could sort out my own life.”

  * * *

  HOLLY WAS SITTING in the stroller, her bright red-gold curls peeking out beneath her sun hat. Emma pushed her around the zoo. They stopped to watch the monkeys swinging between the bare-limbed trees in their enclosure. Holly giggled and pointed at their antics. Emma was happy. They always had a good time at the zoo. Darcy had taken a rare day off and come with them. She glanced around, wondering where he’d got to. Then she saw him, coming toward them holding a bobbing red balloon.

  He kissed Emma on the cheek. “Look what I got for the baby.”

  “She’s hardly a baby anymore,” Emma said, laughing. She kneeled down and turned the stroller around.

  Holly wasn’t in the seat. A baby boy smiled up at her. He didn’t look like Billy, but somehow she knew it was.

  “You can’t just replace Holly,” Darcy said. Then he handed Billy the balloon as though nothing was out of the ordinary. “But we can go look at the lions.”

  Emma woke up. She kept her eyes shut, hanging on to the image of Holly. She could still see her so clearly as if she were alive, laughing and real. This was the first dream she’d had of Holly that wasn’t a nightmare. It wasn’t even sad. It was...happy. There was even a certain peace.

  She opened her eyes and reached for the photo of Holly she’d rescued from the corkboard and put in a frame for her bedside. It still hurt to look at her, but now the pain was tempered by memories of the joy and love her baby had given her. Thanks to Darcy.

  Outside her window, birds piped in the dawn and her room slowly grew lighter. She would have to get up soon. Billy usually woke around six. Although her nursing classes were over for the year, exams would begin in a few weeks and she had to study. For the moment she lay there thinking and enjoying the quiet before she had to get on with her day.

  Confession was supposed to be good for the soul. She had felt better telling Darcy her awful secret. He’d been wonderful, making her feel that it wasn’t her fault. She knew it wasn’t, not really, but she’d lived with the guilt for so long she hadn’t been able to get it out of her mind until he’d absolved her.

  Darcy was buying a house for Billy, for when his son came to visit. That was a big investment, especially when he was already stretched with the renovations on the pub. She couldn’t tell herself any longer that he wasn’t a good father. He’d proven himself beyond all doubt. Unfortunately, now that he wanted to be a father, he didn’t want to be married to her.

  Or did he? He’d made love to her as if he adored her. When they danced, he looked into her eyes as if she was the only woman on earth. He showed he cared in so many practical ways. She couldn’t ask for more. So why hadn’t he said he loved her and that he wanted to get back together for their sake?

  Maybe he was happy with their present arrangement. They were friends again, a huge advance from where their relationship was a year ago. He could see Billy as often as he wanted. He had his hands full with the pub. The sex, well, she couldn’t see that continuing unless they made some sort of commitment. The times they’d made love had been fantastic, but she wouldn’t be happy doing it again without knowing they had a future.

  The clock radio came on. Six o’clock. Time to get up. The newsreader droned in the background as she moved between the bathroom and her room, washing, getting dressed. Across the hall Billy was babbling to himself in his crib. Was it coincidence that he’d gotten over his colic and his general grumpiness when Darcy had come into their lives? Maybe it was because she was less stressed. Maybe it was simply his natural development. Now when he woke in the morning he didn’t immediately cry to be picked up. His morning soliloquies were a great delight. No intelligible words, of course, just pure sound but she would swear that to him, he was making total sense.

  For the next hour she was occupied in her routine of feeding Billy, having breakfast, tidying up. While she hadn’t been paying attention, the seasons had moved along, and spring was in full bloom. She left the door open to the small balcony off the living room so Billy could sit in his playpen with his toys in the fresh air and sunshine.

  It was so inviting she stepped outside. In the backyard of the house next door, an old man was working in his vegetable patch. Suddenly she missed her tomatoes. At this time of year she should have the seedlings planted and the stakes in the ground ready to tie up the trusses.

  The balcony caught the sun for most of the day. She couldn’t buy a house with a yard and a garden, but a few potted plants would provide some much-needed greenery. Although it was too late in the year to start plants from seed, the garden center would be bursting with seedlings.

  “Come on, Billy, we’re going shopping.”

  Then she thought about trying to carry large pots plus bags of soil plus seedlings and push Billy in the stroller. Darcy had mentioned yesterday that he had the contractor coming again today, so she didn’t want to burden him with babysitting duties. She could wait for the weekend.... Or she could ask Marge.

  As she was dialing the number she had a better idea. “Marge, it’s Emma. When I saw Roy yesterday he was doing much better. Do you have any more news?”

  “He’s coming home the day after tomorrow.” The relief in Marge’s voice was palpable.

  “Oh, then I guess you’re busy getting ready for him.”

  “Not really. I’ve been doing nothing but housework and baking to keep busy while he’s been sick.” She paused then added hopefully, “Did you need me to look after Billy?”

  “I do need your help. I want to go to the garden center, but I can’t manage on my own. Would you be able to come? There’s a café there. We could have lunch.”

  “I would love that. I’ll buy Roy some potted freesias for his homecoming. I can be ready anytime. When do you want to go?”

  At the garden center, Marge pushed Billy in the stroller while Emma maneuvered the trolley through the outdoor aisles. Three big bags of potting mix lay beneath large black plastic pots. Now she was selecting tomato seedlings—cherry, roma, beefsteak, black Russian...oh, and some of these heritage varieties. Was that too many for her tiny balcony? She’d thought she was over gardening, but cruising through these ai
sles gave her planting fever.

  “Darcy was over last night,” Marge said.

  Emma’s ears pricked up. “Oh?”

  “Do you think he’d like lemon basil?”

  “Darcy?”

  “Roy. Darcy and I went to visit him.”

  She loved Marge to bits, but the older woman’s conversation tended to be fragmented. “I think he’d love it.”

  “He talked about you.”

  “Roy?”

  “Darcy.”

  “Did he say anything in particular?” Like he was thinking of asking her to get back together. Would he talk about that with his mother? They were close but...

  “He said you two are going to work out an arrangement about Billy.” Marge touched her arm and smiled. “I’m so happy about that. I was thrilled when you rang this morning. I don’t see why we can’t still see each other even if you and Darcy aren’t married.”

  “You’re Billy’s grandparents. I will always want you in our lives.” Emma gave her a hug. “We’re friends, no matter what happens between Darcy and I.”

  So, Darcy hadn’t mentioned anything about wanting a future with her. What if he didn’t think she wanted him? She’d told him she was fine on her own, that she wanted to raise Billy herself. She hadn’t said any different, so why would he think she’d changed her mind?

  Where do we go from here? he’d asked. She knew where she’d like to go—straight to the church and get married again. Then home with him and Billy, to start afresh. She wished she’d told him that instead of leaving. Yes, they shared heartbreaking memories, but also many, many joyous ones. She’d learned the hard way to cherish the good and endure the bad.

  A year ago she’d been prepared to meet someone else, someone who shared her dream of a home and family. She’d come full circle to Darcy. There was no one she’d rather travel through life with. He was a link to her past, a joy and comfort in the present, and part of her hopes and dreams for the future. She loved him. How could she ever have thought she could replace him? It was like Latin dancing. She didn’t want any other partner but him.

  Emma looked at her trolley, full of dirt, pots, fertilizer and seedlings. She had everything she needed to make something grow. All she had to do was plant, water and hope for the best. Trust and pray that he cared enough to give her a second chance.

  * * *

  DARCY LOADED THE last of the boxes of stuff he and Emma had taken off the walls of the pub into the back of his truck. When his dad was feeling up to it, he might enjoy looking through everything and deciding what he would like to keep as a memento.

  The tables and chairs were stacked near the back, ready for the workmen to take to a local furniture refinisher. He liked the old bentwood chairs, and the round wooden tables with the turned legs had character. Sanded down, with a fresh coat of varnish, they would look better than modern furniture. He would buy a couple of the tall tables and chairs, though, for along the window onto the street.

  The mugs he’d decided to keep on their shelf above the bar. Not many people still used them, but as long as his father and his friends were around, he would maintain the tradition.

  Walking through the empty pub with the bare walls gave him a funny feeling inside, part nostalgic, part regretful, part looking forward to what came next.

  On the bar sat the box of family photos he’d taken off the corkboard to be distributed to the appropriate people. He and Emma could divide between them the photos of Holly. A photo of the three of them was on top. How would they divide that? He could tear the paper down the middle but to actually separate himself from Emma? In the two years they’d been apart he’d found out he couldn’t do it. It had felt like ripping off a limb, or tearing out his heart. She was part of him. She always would be. Having her and Billy living here for even a short while was the happiest he’d been in a very long time.

  When she’d said she wanted them to go their own separate ways, he’d been gutted. Sure, he’d been the one to leave the first time around, but he’d changed since then. And yes, she’d been great about letting him into Billy’s life, but she’d made it clear they weren’t a family.

  Riley came through the door wearing his navy pants and white shirt uniform. He walked in, gazing around. “You’re really doing it.”

  “Yep,” Darcy said. “It reminds me of the time we jumped off the end of the Frankston pier when we were twelve. We didn’t know how deep the water was or if we would drown or swim.”

  “John broke his fool leg as I recall. Those were the glory days, all right. How long will you be closed for?”

  “A couple of weeks, until the worst of the construction is over.” Darcy moved behind the bar. “Coffeepot’s still on. Interested?”

  “Always.” Riley leaned on the polished mahogany. “If you’re short of something to do while the pub is down, you can come and work with Summerside’s finest as detective.”

  “I think I’d do rather well at that. A publican gets to be pretty observant.” Darcy set two mugs of coffee on the bar. “We notice things.”

  Riley’s eyebrows rose. “Give me an example.”

  “You, my friend, have just come from the barber, where your hair has been freshly cut.”

  Riley passed a hand over his dark glossy hair. “It’s that mousse crap they put on that gave it away, isn’t it? I hate that stuff.”

  “No, it’s the thin border of paler skin around your hairline. And the sprinkling of dark hair trimmings on your shirt.”

  Riley grinned and brushed off his shoulders. “Very impressive. Can you tell me what I’m thinking right now?”

  “I said I had powers of observation, not the ability to read minds.” He wished he could read Emma’s mind. She’d been brooding over something the other day. He would like to know what it was. She’d seemed to like staying with him at his apartment. Was it possible she regretted leaving? The place was too small, too cluttered with furniture, for the three of them for very long.

  “Seriously, what are you going to do with yourself? Are you going on a holiday?” He eyed Darcy over the rim of his cup. “Perhaps with a certain mother and child?”

  “I want more than a weekend with Emma. I want the rest of my life with her,” Darcy said, spilling his guts. “I’ve never stopped loving her, not even when I thought I had. How am I going to convince her to risk another chance on me? I screwed up so badly the first time.”

  “Just you? Marriage is usually a team effort.”

  “Okay, we were both at fault. But that’s because we were hurting.”

  “Have you got that sorted now?”

  Darcy thought of the afternoon when they’d taken down the photos. He was afraid of the strength of his feelings sometimes. Love, grief, regret...they seemed too big for his chest to contain.

  He and Emma had done more than mourn their daughter’s loss, although that had been cathartic. They’d both opened up for the first time since Holly died, gotten some things off their chests they should have been able to talk about at the time, but hadn’t. Guilt was a terrible burden. “I reckon we have got it sorted. Maybe not completely but we’ve made a good start.”

  “Then what are you waiting for? Go jump off that pier.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  EMMA PICKED UP the landline to dial Darcy’s number. There was no dial tone. Odd. “Hello?”

  “Emma?”

  “Darcy? I just picked up the phone to call you.”

  “I dialed, but it didn’t ring.”

  “Great minds think alike.” She smiled, glad to hear his voice. “What were you calling about?”

  “You go first.”

  “No, you.” She paced the kitchen. Why was she so nervous? It wasn’t as though she was going to propose over the phone. She was only calling to ask him out on a date.

  “How’s Billy?”

  It was always his first question. She loved him for it. “He’s in his high chair, spreading pabulum all over the tray.” She moved the receiver close to Billy. “Daddy�
�s on the phone.”

  Billy slammed his hand into the puddle of mush and splashed it onto his face. “Goo!”

  “Did you hear that?” Emma said. “I think he understood what I was saying.”

  “Clearly. And he thinks my name is Mr. Magoo.”

  “Did you call to ask after Billy?”

  “Not entirely.” Darcy cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you and Billy would like to go on a picnic.”

  A picnic.

  Why a picnic? Picnics were a symbol of everything that had been wrong with their marriage. If only he’d gone on a picnic with her and Holly—

  No, she couldn’t stay stuck in that mind groove, blaming him for what happened. That afternoon at the pub when they’d cried in each other’s arms should have cured her of that. Guess it was harder than she thought to change well-worn thought patterns. But she would, because if she ever wanted to be with him again, they needed to start on a clean slate.

  And maybe a picnic was symbolic for him, too, of a desire and determination to make up for the past, and to show her that he was willing to change.

  “Em, are you still there?”

  “A picnic would be lovely. What should I bring?”

  “I’ve got it covered. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

  She clicked off the phone and picked up Billy, twirling with him in her arms. He giggled. “We’re going on a picnic. We’re going on a picnic.”

  Humming a salsa beat, she danced to the nursery to change his diaper and dress him in a clean T-shirt and track pants. Then she carried him to her bedroom to get herself ready. Stroke of luck that Darcy had wanted to see her today, the day she’d chosen to make her bid for his future. Was it a coincidence or was it a sign the universe was conspiring to bring them together?

  Still holding Billy she stood before her closet. “What should I wear, skirt or shorts?” Billy had no opinion on the matter, being more interested in chewing on a lock of her hair. “Don’t do that, sweetie. I should have asked Darcy where we’re going. Will it involve sitting on grass in a park or rocks by the sea? With you coming we’ll have to go someplace baby-friendly. A skirt probably wouldn’t be out of place.”