Then Comes Baby

by Helen Brenna

  Okay, stop. You’re taking a break from men, remember?

  She had the worst luck of any woman she knew with regard to men and relationships. Every guy she’d ever dated turned out to be a total jerk.

  But there was no harm in being neighborly. Right?

  Grabbing a plate of chocolate chip cookies, she stepped off the porch. “Come on, kids, let’s go visit our new neighbor.”

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS is happening.” With his phone on speaker, Jamis paced the floor of his kitchen, his celebratory meal completely forgotten. Except for the wine. He’d downed that first glass while dialing his attorney’s number, a man who also happened to be an old friend, and had immediately poured himself another. Too bad he’d quit stocking hard liquor in the cabin after losing a couple weeks his first winter here. A shot or five of tequila would make this situation, if not acceptable, at least more palatable.

  “Jamis, relax,” Chuck Romney said. He might be Charles to his fellow partners in the largest, most reputable law firm in downtown Minneapolis, but he’d always be Chuck to his old college party buddies. “Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think.”

  “She’s starting a summer camp for kids.”

  “This is a joke, right?”

  “So you had no clue this was in the works?”

  “None.”

  “You were supposed to be watching for that house going up for sale. What happened?”

  “The property never went on the market,” Chuck explained. “The woman inherited the estate from her grandmother when she died. What was I supposed to do?”

  “What did you do?”

  “I made a few inquiries with the attorneys handling the estate, asked if the new owner might be willing to sell and got shot down.”

  “That’s not good enough.”

  “If she doesn’t want to sell, Jamis, there’s nothing I can do.”

  “Then you’re fired.”

  “Yeah, so what else is new?” Chuck said, unmoved. “I’ve got a novel idea. Why don’t you move and leave this poor woman alone? There has to be some uninhabited private island in Wisconsin. You could buy your own piece of rock and never have to worry about this again.”

  Jamis glanced around his house and broke into a cold sweat thinking of what it would take to pack up his loft office. Every wall was lined with built-in bookcases stuffed to the gills with research books, manuals and such. When he’d remodeled this old dog of a log cabin, he’d hired electrical engineers and computer technicians to connect him to the world via satellite. Everything was wireless, including his TV, network, speakers and Internet connections. He could work on his laptop in any room in the house, out on his porch and deck, even down by the lakeshore. It’d taken him no less than a year to get this house set up so that he’d never be able to find an excuse to leave Mirabelle.

  There was no good reason that woman or her camp needed to be on this island. Jamis, on the other hand, had every reason to keep himself away from the rest of the world. Away from her and her kids.

  “I have a book due in three months,” he whispered, his mouth suddenly dust dry. If he was late with this publisher, he’ll have burned his last shaky bridge. What would he do if he couldn’t write, couldn’t sell his books? “She needs to move.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Don’t people have to get licenses or something for that many kids in one house?” Frustrated, he pounded his hand onto the granite countertop. “You know like pets?”

  “There are all kinds of laws that apply to organizations that care for children. If you want me to, I’ll check into it and make sure she covered her bases.”

  “Do that. Find something that’ll close her down.” He took a deep breath, calming himself.

  “Jamis, maybe it’s not such a bad thing that you have neighbors. Maybe this is good—”

  “When’s the last time you read one of my books?”

  There was a short pause on the line. “No offense, Jamis, but you know they’re not my cup of tea.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about. Would you want to live next to me?”

  “Yeah. I would.”

  “You have to say that. You’re my friend.”

  “Well, at least you’ll admit to the friend part. For God’s sake, Jamis, come back for a weekend at least. Let’s have lunch.”

  How long had it been since Jamis had had a beer with a buddy at a bar? Went to a football game? Asked a woman to dance? “Can’t do that, Chuck. I need her gone.”

  Chuck sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Jamis disconnected the call and stared out the window toward that house. It felt strange knowing there were people, live human beings, no less than a hundred yards through those trees. Not for long, if he had anything to say about it.

  His stomach grumbled and he went to his kitchen to see if any part of his meal was salvageable. The steak was tough as a hockey puck, but it’d fill his stomach. He took the plate to his computer and set to work answering the e-mails he’d left unanswered for the past several weeks while he’d finished this last book.

  A strange noise sounded downstairs. What the—? Was that a knock? On his door? That’s something he didn’t hear every day. Or ever, for that matter. Could he ignore it? Pretend like he was…out?

  “Hello!” a voice sounded from outside.

  Dammit.

  He pounded across the hardwood floor and yanked open the door. With a couple kids piled up behind her, that woman—what was her name again?—stood outside.

  “We brought you cookies,” she said, holding out a plate covered in plastic wrap.

  “Cookies.” Was she serious?

  “Homemade. Chocolate chip. Can we come in?”

  “No.”

  As if she hadn’t heard him, Natalie, that was her name, took a step toward him. “Oh, goodness, look what you’ve done to this place.” She stepped close, too close, and he was forced to back away. “This cabin used to be a ramshackle dump. My brothers and sisters and I used to play hide-and-seek in here. I can’t believe the changes you’ve made. It’s gorgeous.”

  While the other kids stayed outside, yelling at each other and roughhousing and jumping from one large rock to the next in his yard, the littlest girl stuck close behind Natalie and cautiously eyed Jamis with those too-big brown eyes.

  “This is Toni.”

  Not names again. No, no, no. He really, really didn’t want to know, let alone remember. “Can you just…go?”

  She glanced up at him, no anger, only concern. “I’m sorry. I…”

  “Look. It’s not you. It’s me. I came to this island for peace and quiet. Believe it or not, that’s the way I like it. So…could you not…bother me? I won’t bother you, either. Not a word. Pretend like I don’t exist.”

  At first, she looked confused, then, as understanding dawned, supremely and frustratingly undaunted. “I can see you need some space.”

  Yeah. Try five miles of it.

  She set the plate of cookies on the side table by the door. “Come on, Toni.” She turned the girl around and went outside. “Kids, let’s go.”

  Jamis watched the kids run willy-nilly through the woods, feeling something curiously bordering on regret. “I haven’t always been this way,” he whispered.

  Years and years ago in Minneapolis, he’d lived like everyone else, worked and went to coffee shops and parties. Some people—okay, only a few—had even liked him, once upon a time. He’d been so normal, in fact, that those first years of being alone here on Mirabelle had nearly killed him. That’d been the outcome he’d been after, he supposed. Instead, he’d simply adapted over time and become comfortable with the silence. Now, Jamis couldn’t imagine life any other way.

  Oh, for crying out loud. His thoughts were jerked back to the present. She was taking the group straight through the poison ivy. They are not your problem. Do not get involved. Why should he care if every single one of them developed a horrible, itchy, miserable rash?

  At the ed
ge of the forest the smallest girl looked back over her shoulder. When she saw him watching them, she scurried forward and, apparently frightened of him, grasped for Natalie’s hand. Smart girl. Kids somehow always managed to see the truth inside a person.

  Something long dormant stirred inside him. Compassion, sensitivity, humanity? Impossible. Jamis no longer felt those emotions.

  He glanced at the plate of cookies, grabbed one and took a big bite. Cringing, he spit the mouthful into his hand. Had the woman used an entire box of baking soda or just half?

  “That has to be the worst thing I’ve ever tasted.” He tossed the remainder of the cookie to Snickers. The dog caught the thing in midair, dropped it to the floor and sniffed at it disdainfully.

  “Unbelievable.” Jamis shook his head. On second thought, maybe he’d get lucky and those kids would starve to death. Yeah, that’d get rid of ’em. Or drowning. Carbon monoxide poisoning would work, too. Aliens. Evil spirits. Water demons.

  Suddenly he realized what he was doing. Again.

  Stop it! Geez, Jamis! Don’t you ever learn?

  I take it back. I take it all back. Every single word.

  Disgusted with himself, he glanced down at Snickers. “Let’s go for a run, pup. A long one.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE NEXT DAY AROUND lunchtime, creativity having eluded him all morning, Jamis glanced into his refrigerator. Pickles, ketchup, mustard and mayo. Yum. That’d make a spectacular meal. Closing the door, he muttered to himself, “You’ve put it off long enough.” He didn’t relish the idea of going into town and bumping elbows with the tourist crowds, but his cupboards, too, were just about bare.

  The decision made, he grabbed the package he needed to mail, his backpack, a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses and set off on the path through the woods to the road into town. Familiar with the once-a-week ritual for groceries and mail, Snickers led the way into town until a white-tailed deer leaped onto the road and Jamis stopped. “Snickers. Sit.”

  The dog plopped his butt down by Jamis’s side and Jamis grabbed his collar to make sure the silly mutt didn’t run after the deer and get his skull kicked in. They both watched as a string of three female deer ran in front of them and disappeared into the woods. Afterward, they continued on their way with chickadees and finches chirping in the trees.

  About a five-mile walk down a paved, heavily wooded and narrow road, he walked fast, considering it part of his workout for the day. It normally took him about an hour one-way. He could have his groceries and mail delivered directly to his house, but that would require conversing with these islanders, something he tried to keep to a minimum. He left them alone and they left him alone. The arrangement had worked out very well for years.

  His first sight of civilization was the Mirabelle Island Inn, and as soon as its red-tiled roof became visible, his stomach took a tumble. People. Talking, laughing, breathing. This summer seemed busier than last. In fact, he had to walk on the cobblestone street to avoid the crowds on the sidewalk. The damned pool and golf course they’d built last year were wreaking havoc on his once-quiet island.

  On reaching Newman’s Grocery, Jamis stopped. Snickers immediately sat on Jamis’s left and looked up at him, waiting. He knew the drill. Jamis hooked a leash to Snickers’s collar and tied him to the lamppost. Out in the woods, Snickers could run untethered to his heart’s content, but in town the leash became a necessity.

  “Stay,” Jamis said to Snickers, putting out his hand palm forward. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Jamis slipped on the hat and sunglasses and walked into the store. One time, not long after he’d moved to Mirabelle, a reader had recognized him and made a fuss. “It’s Quinn Roberts,” she’d screamed, practically swooning. “I’m your biggest fan.” Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Jamis had ignored the woman, but a crowd had gathered. In the end, he’d left his grocery cart and run, not walked, out of the building. He’d even skipped the post office that day, the only part of this routine he halfway enjoyed.

  In the produce department, he selected his usual fruits and vegetables and glanced around. What was going on here? There seemed to be a bigger selection of items. Fresh artichokes. More varieties of chilies. Arugula. Vine-ripened tomatoes. The meat department was carrying a new brand of Italian sausage that looked amazing. Some organic selections had been added in frozen foods, so he decided to try a few things. And the variety of cheese was outstanding. There appeared to be one upside to Mirabelle’s newfound popularity.

  While waiting in the checkout line, several tourists eyed him, but he refused to look at them. After paying and stuffing his groceries into his pack, he collected Snickers and walked to the post office, a couple blocks inland off Main. Tying the dog to another lamppost, he entered the small brick building to the sound of a soft chiming.

  The usual clerk, a woman with short salt-and-pepper hair, came to the counter, looking as cantankerous as ever. She had to be close to retirement and acted as if the event couldn’t come quick enough. No matter the time or day of the week, this woman treated him as if he’d just disturbed her lunch hour. Without a word, she stared at him from the other side of the counter.

  “I’m here to pick up my mail,” he said.

  “Your name?”

  She did this every time, and every time he chose to ignore her. Today, she’d finally gotten to him. “You gotta be kidding me.”

  “Name.”

  “Jamis…Quinn,” he said, punctuating every syllable.

  “Identification.”

  He glared at her, wishing there was something, anything, he could do to mess with her, but there wasn’t. He’d tried on numerous past occasions to ruffle her feathers and had more than once left completely disappointed. Nothing fazed this woman. If he didn’t show her his driver’s license, he wasn’t going to get his mail. No ifs, ands or buts. He flipped out his wallet.

  After taking her time studying his ID, she slowly walked into the back room, returned what seemed an eternity later with a stack of envelopes, papers and flyers all banded together and tossed it on the counter toward him.

  “I need to mail this package,” he said, setting a large padded envelope between them.

  “Is there anything liquid, perishable or flammable inside?”

  “What do you think?”

  The only thing he’d ever sent out of this post office had been paper. Every manuscript he’d ever written he mailed to his mother. Why, he couldn’t say. Although she never read any of his books, every time he finished one he had to send it to her. Most likely he was still looking for some crumb of acknowledgment from her, but he wasn’t holding his breath.

  The postal clerk cocked her head at him. “I think if you don’t answer my question, I won’t mail your package.”

  “No. There is nothing liquid, perishable or flammable in the damned thing.”

  She put the package on her scale and came up with a charge. He flipped out his credit card to pay.

  “May I see your ID, please?”

  He laughed. “You’re funny, you know that?”

  “Just doing my job.”

  “I already showed you my ID. Besides which, I’ve been coming here once a week for years picking up my mail and mailing packages, so you know very well who I am.”

  “Correction. You’ve been coming here once a week for four years and have never once said thank you or please.”

  She had him there. “What’s your name?”

  “Sally McGregor,” she said with virtually the same intonation as he’d used with her.

  “Well, Sally, you’re right.” He snapped up his credit card. At this point, not drawing out his ID again was a matter of principle. “Can I please pay with cash?” He threw a ten spot onto the counter. “Thank you.”

  Jamis took his receipt and left the building. That had been one of the longest face-to-face conversations he’d had with any islander since coming to Mirabelle, and it was, in a strange way, invigorating.

  With early summer sun
shine beating down on his shoulders, he collected Snickers and headed for his next stop. He was almost there when he noticed his new nemesis, brood in tow, ready to spread her good cheer down Main Street. Damned, if Natalie Steeger didn’t seem to know every single person she passed on the sidewalk. It was just his luck that she’d stopped not far from Henderson’s, and he with a long list of drugstore items yet to be purchased.

  Slipping his sunglasses back on, he pulled his hat lower on his brow. With any luck, he’d get out of Dodge without her noticing him.

  “THIS IS PRETTY,” ARIANNA announced as they approached Mirabelle’s town center.

  “Horses!” Toni said as an old-fashioned carriage rolled by them on Island Drive.

  “I bet they have a bomb candy shop,” Chase said, nudging his brother.

  After morning chores and lunch, Natalie had decided to bring the kids into town to explore. A sense of community was important in a child’s life, at least it had been in hers, and there was no better place than Mirabelle for feeling connected. As long as she’d been on Mirabelle, she’d never felt alone. Getting Galen involved, though, straggling as he was at the back of their pack and looking extremely disinterested, was going to take some concentrated effort.

  Before reaching Main Street, she’d noticed the town was much busier than she remembered the last time she’d visited her grandmother, so they’d parked their bikes and walked. Now, as the children followed her down the cobblestone street, she realized not much had changed in the two years since she’d been here, although everything looked somehow brighter and fresher.

  Whether it was new coats of paint or changes in colors, she wasn’t sure, but the green and white striped awnings marking most businesses looked new and fresh. The American flags hanging from every other old-fashioned black lamppost and the gold and black signs on every street corner listing the shops on the upcoming block were nice new touches.