It Started with a House...

by Helen R. Myers

  “You’re going to be such a good mommy. But what’s wrong if he proposes? I would think that would be a relief.”

  “He did. It’s just that we barely know each other.”

  “I would say you know one important thing—he’s fertile.”

  “Paige—”

  “Okay, I’m searching through my Rolodex,” Paige said, flipping cards. “Ah! I’ve found her. Tracy Nyland. She’s our age, maybe a few years older…I remember liking her. Her office is between here and Mt. Pleasant. I’ll give her a call and put in a good word for you. Got a pen?”

  “Ready,” Genevieve replied.

  After she hung up with the ob-gyn’s office, Genevieve continued to sit in her chair and felt fatigue weigh her down to where she couldn’t have risen at that moment if she’d wanted to. Nevertheless, things had been set in motion. Tomorrow she would have lunch with her mother. Next week she would meet with Dr. Nyland. The baby would get the best care. It was a start.

  Finally pushing herself to her feet as though she was days away from giving birth, she checked that the back door was locked and passed through the living room to check the front door before she went to lie down again. On the way her eyes met Adam’s in his favorite military portrait.

  “Hey, you,” she murmured. “Where are you these days? I haven’t felt you for such a long time. I suppose that’s a sign that I should let you go and get on with things, huh? But you know I don’t want to. And you probably can see what a mess I’ve made of my life. I’m confused and afraid, Adam. Do you even want to hear that I still miss you?”

  There were no apparitions, no angels, not even voices in her head. And yet she felt only love projected from that photo. Stroking her fingers tenderly down the dress jacket of his uniform, she continued to her room.

  She must have napped, but when the phone rang again she was awake and staring at the ceiling, although it was completely dark except for the night-light she’d turned on when she’d first returned to the bedroom. Caller ID told her that it was Marshall.

  “You don’t have to keep checking on me,” she said after picking up the receiver.

  “Humor me. I left you in a bad state.”

  Partly due to her poor behavior. “Want me to start filling out a journal as to where I am when, what I’m doing and thinking, and turn it in weekly?”

  “Daily, please. With special attention to the ‘what are you thinking?’ part. How needy or paranoid does that sound?”

  He sounded so unhappy. If he was here, she wouldn’t have been able to resist sliding her fingers into his hair to soothe him. “Believe it or not, I understand.”

  “You do?”

  The almost boyish hope in Marshall’s voice tugged at her heart. “It’s amazing what a nap can do for your perspective. Don’t suggest that I’d taken one sooner.”

  “The impulse is erased from my memory banks. I’m just grateful you could get a little rest. When did you last eat?”

  “Don’t push your luck.”

  “Okay, we’re tweaking the software program…tweaking…”

  Genevieve couldn’t help but smile. How did he do this to her? They’d almost been fighting a scant two or three hours ago. Now he made her wish he was here with her. “I was busy after you left,” she told him.

  “Sweetheart, not already diving back into the workload?”

  “More like making calls about a certain third party.”

  “Anything you want to share? You have my undivided attention.”

  “There’s a clue that you need to think about getting a life of your own,” she said in all seriousness. “My real estate work kept me sane, and will again.”

  “I liked it better when you were about to share what happened after I left.”

  Now he sounded like a kid who didn’t like that a bedtime story wasn’t being told fast enough. “My mother and I are having lunch tomorrow. I really do think I should tell her the news first.”

  “Am I invited?”

  “Absolutely not. It will be hard enough to tell her by myself. And that’s all I’m prepared to do yet.”

  “Shouldn’t Bart be there? He is like a dad to you.”

  “He’s out of town and I can’t risk waiting for his return, not the way gossip travels in this town.”

  “How do you think Sydney will take the news?”

  “Well, that’s why I’m telling you. I’m sure she’ll find an excuse to call you—or just blatantly knock on your door as soon as I’m out of the house.”

  “You are going to tell her that I’ve already proposed marriage, yes? That woman strikes me as someone who knows her way around a .357 if the situation arises.”

  “It’s a 9 mm.” Genevieve added, “But if she’s tough with anyone, it will be with me. She’ll push me to accept your proposal.”

  “I’ve said from the beginning, your mother has a wisdom that transcends her modest age.”

  “I think I feel my morning sickness returning.”

  Marshall chuckled softly. “Okay, I’ll quit. I’d rather talk to you than the dial tone anytime, even when you’re mad at me.”

  “I wasn’t mad mad,” she told him. “You just drive me a little crazy.”

  “Let me come over and I swear I’ll fix it and make it better.”

  He was using his best suede-leather voice on her and she was weakening fast. “This is so beyond hopeless. Okay, if you’re not going to behave about anything else, listen to this please—I’m not ready for our news to go any further yet, do you understand? I’m not even telling the girls at the office.”

  “Say ‘our’ again.” When she failed to humor him, he sighed. “Okay, then let me ask you this. Does that case of morning sickness you take with you everywhere know about this plan of yours?”

  “I know, I know. But I have to think strong. I also made an appointment with an ob-gyn next week. My doctor here in town, Paige Kelly, recommended her. Dr. Tracy Nyland—she’s out of the county.”

  “You have been busy.”

  “I knew making calls from my office wouldn’t be convenient.”

  “So you’re going back to work tomorrow?”

  “If at all possible. As I told Paige, I guess I suspected for days what the real problem was, but I think denial made me get sick as much as the hormone shift did.”

  “I’m proud of you—and feeling a little sorry for myself. Big Daddy has no role in this operation yet.”

  “Big Daddy” had her pressing her lips to her mouth and tears flooding her eyes.

  Marshall continued, “But I am grateful you’re letting me in on things. Can I at least go to the doctor with you?”

  “Not this time.”

  He latched on to that. “So I can ask to go the next time?”

  Genevieve stroked her tummy. “Marshall, do you not realize men tend to bribe women to avoid any and all appointments with an ob-gyn?”

  “That’s their business—and mistake.”

  While her heart melted to the consistency of warm bread pudding, Genevieve grappled for some last ounces of practicality. “You know what would help enormously? A copy of your medical report. Dr. Nyland will have questions and I have absolutely zero answers.”

  “No problem. I actually keep a copy on file. I just have to locate the right box in my office. You’ve just inspired me to quit procrastinating about that part of the house. Also, if you let me know the time of your appointment, I’ll be on standby and you can call and we can answer any other questions by phone. You already have the answer to the most important one. The father is thrilled.”

  Swallowing, Genevieve managed, “I believe you.” She had to clear her throat. “Marshall…I know I’ve been hard on you.”

  “You’ve had every reason.”

  “That doesn’t discount you being so understanding and patient.”

  “You mean I should have slung you over my shoulder and carried you back to my glass and brick cave after all?”

  “Okay, go back to being patient and understanding
.”

  Marshall chuckled. “You’re going to need me, you know. You’ll soon be yearning for foot rubs and back rubs, and someone to complain to at the end of the day. You don’t even have a parakeet to talk to, do you?”

  “I’m not home enough to have a pet.”

  “Well, that will change.”

  A mental red light flashed in Genevieve’s mind. “There you go again.”

  He exhaled. “Medically. I was speaking about having to adapt to what’s going to happen. I think—ask your ob-g-whatever—that you won’t be able to keep the hours you have been. You have a little parasite sucking you dry. It seems logical that you’ll have to reprogram.”

  “Parasite…reprogram? Marshall, say something nice so I don’t have nightmares that I’m going to give birth to something out of those Alien movies because I’m going to hang up in five seconds.”

  “Dream about me watching you nurse our baby. And me holding you both as you sleep.”

  Along with his velvety tender voice, the sensual, romantic images worked all right, she thought as she said goodnight and hung up. Too well. Now she would do well to sleep at all thanks to him triggering her libido. And she was sure he’d done that on purpose.

  Chapter Six

  For her luncheon with her mother the next day, Genevieve picked up two Cobb salads at The Garden Shed, an indoor-outdoor eatery in town. It turned out to be a good idea, since Dorothy had asked for the day off to spend with her visiting grandkids. The Northeast Texas area was enjoying some lovely autumn weather, making it warm enough to eat outside, which was what Sydney had prepared for.

  With no showings today and only paperwork she could catch up on this afternoon, Genevieve considered her russet suede pants suit and agreed that would be a fine idea as long as she sat under the patio table’s umbrella. “I’m surprised you don’t have your landscaper here already planting chrysanthemums and pansies,” she said as she carried the shopping bag through to the kitchen.

  Dressed in one of her ruby-red sweat suits, her mother led the way making her 18k charm bracelet jingle as she flicked her wrist. “Mr. Martinez says I need to wait one more week. This El Niño weather will supposedly play havoc with the pansies. Warmer than usual now, but colder than we need later. He said only the chrysanthemums will be happy. I think he’s just buying time taking care of his commercial customers first.”

  As usual her mother saw a conspiracy. “Mother, your yard is gorgeous and Mr. Martinez values you as a client. With perfectly lovely flowers still going strong, why tear them out before you have to just to be the first one in the neighborhood with seasonal blooms?”

  “Because I’m Sydney Sawyer and people expect me to keep to a standard.” Opening the French doors to the back patio, her mother indicated the set table. “I poured us both decaffeinated sweet tea. Is that okay, or would you prefer wine? There’s not much difference calories-wise, is there? But I’m working on a presentation to a women’s club in Houston next week and needed a clear head.”

  With a private smile, Genevieve nodded. “So do I. Congratulations on that. Will you and Bart make it a mini-vacation? I’ll bet he’d like to try a golf course or two while you’re down there.”

  Drawing out two chairs from the white iron table with the hunter-green umbrella shading it, Sydney made an affirmative sound. “He’s meeting one set of friends at Memorial the morning after we arrive. He has another date at Eagle Point the next day and at Oakhurst the day after that. I’ve a good mind to fly home and let him drive himself back—if he ever realizes that he misses me.”

  What was this? Sydney didn’t think Bart was giving her enough attention? “You two didn’t have a spat, did you?”

  “He’s been so grumpy lately.”

  “I haven’t noticed that.”

  “He adores you, of course he’s not going to let you see anything but his Saint Bart persona. But he’s complaining that I haven’t cut back on my time in the office—as he claims I promised, although I don’t remember any such conversation. And he thinks I meddle too much. I don’t meddle. I’m interested in what people have to say.”

  “You meddle.”

  “Well, of course you’ll be on his side. I don’t know why I even said anything.”

  As Sydney unfolded her green linen napkin, Genevieve urged, “Oh, Mother, stay in Houston with him and let him show you off to his friends’ wives. You know that will mean as much to him as a good day on the greens.”

  “I’ve gained six pounds with this book,” Sydney muttered, “and that twenty-first-century pirate Jack Denny has taken a trophy wife. I don’t need to sit across a table looking at someone that could be your twin pretending that I’m thrilled to be there.”

  “She can’t be much of a trophy wife, Mom. Jack’s been cleaned out by ex-wives three times already.”

  “Bless your memory, you’re right! Goodness, this may be fun after all.” Sydney leaned over and patted Genevieve’s cheek. “Thank you for this, Gigi. I’ve missed our visits. Are you feeling better? You still look fragile.”

  Genevieve had suspected her mother’s generation would be the last who could get away with using that term without sounding as though they were rehearsing a Tennessee Williams play. “I’m…regrouping and better, thanks.”

  “Did your doctor ever find out what the problem was?”

  Taking their salads out of the bag, Genevieve placed her mother’s before her and removed the clear plastic dome lid. “I did, although I don’t see the doctor until next week. Here’s your extra dressing, Nana.”

  “Oh, these Cobbs are worse than cheesecake on the thighs and derriere. If I had an ounce of restraint left in me, I’d throw out the dressing, but you know I won’t. I do need the occasional sinful pleasure. I can’t have my characters having all of the fun.”

  It took until Genevieve was opening her own dressing container that Sydney uttered a strangle-voice squeak and dropped her fork. “What did you call me?”

  Genevieve shrugged. “You knew something was up.”

  “I suspected that you were going to take Avery as a partner, or wanted to buy a larger building. You’re pregnant? My baby?” As soon as she finished that gush, Sydney turned worried. “It is Marshall’s, right?”

  Genevieve almost choked on her first bite of cracker. “Thanks for the compliment, Sydney. As I’ve told you before, I have nothing in common with some of the so-called heroines in your novels.”

  “As independent as you are, for all I know you went to a sperm donor bank before Marshall barely entered the picture.” She leaned closer. “Does he know?”

  Reaching for her sweating tea glass, Genevieve replied, “Yes.”

  “When’s the wedding?”

  “Marshall has asked me to marry him, but I haven’t accepted.” Picking up her fork, Genevieve scooped up a bit of bacon and egg, ignoring her mother’s aghast expression.

  “Why on earth not? I knew the man was all but besotted with you when we stopped by his house that night.” Sydney gasped. “That was the night, wasn’t it? You could barely look at him and he couldn’t take his eyes off you. Mercy, I ran straight to my office to jot down notes.”

  “Have you no shame?”

  Charms and earrings jangled as her mother expressed her confusion. “I just paid you a compliment.”

  Feeling her insides quiver, Genevieve took a few deep breaths to stave off a wave of nausea. Once more in control, she said as calmly as she could, “I haven’t accepted because we have no business being married. We barely know each other. I’d have to look at his closing paperwork to remind myself what his birth date is. He doesn’t have a clue as to what mine is or much of anything else.”

  “Except for where your erogenous zone is located,” Sydney muttered, still piqued. “Mother!”

  “I like him. Gigi, the man has already proposed, what more can you ask for? If you don’t accept, you’ll live to regret it.”

  “Thanks for the support.” Genevieve glared at the cube of avocado on her fork. �
�I can’t believe you’re more upset with me not immediately accepting the proposal of the man—”

  “Not any man.”

  “—than you are that he made me pregnant.”

  “Well, you had a little to do with that, didn’t you? And plenty have wanted to be in his shoes. The fact that you’ve never been tempted and this time gave in speaks volumes to me.” Sydney leaned close and touched Genevieve’s cheek. “My precious girl. I wish you would let yourself be happy.”

  “I’m not unhappy. I get to feel a deep sense of satisfaction every time I’m sitting at a closing table.”

  “I’m not talking about that kind of happiness.”

  No, she wasn’t, but what her mother was referring to didn’t come along very often. Probably never twice in one lifetime. “My heart was broken!”

  “I understand. So was mine!”

  “At least you had Daddy longer.”

  “Oh, and that made it easier?”

  Genevieve put down her fork and folded her hands, understanding that if she didn’t let her mother speak her fill, she would be hearing asides and observations from third parties for the rest of her pregnancy. “You have my attention.”

  “Peace of mind and the joy that comes from knowing you’re with the one you should be is the kind of happiness I’m talking about,” her mother began quietly. “That special someone who can make you laugh one minute and turn your knees to melting butter the next. Someone who is there with that strong shoulder on a very bad day, even when it’s because of a bittersweet memory of time past. I applaud your hard work and success, Gigi, but without someone to share it with, it’s a hollow victory.”

  “Did you just paraphrase from an old tearjerker movie?”

  Sydney paused and thought. “It does rather sound like Bette Davis, doesn’t it? Hell, maybe I just stole from one of my old books, I don’t know. The point is such feelings cross the parameters of time.”

  For all of the theatrics, Genevieve knew her mother had a point. “Whatever. I didn’t really come here for a pep talk. I came prepared to apologize for the embarrassment I might cause you down the road.”

  Sydney drove her fork into a calorie-filled cube of avocado and eyed it with relish. “You handle things the way you feel you need to. I’ll be fine, and so will Bart.”