“You need to go back to that apartment and let that man know he’s going to be a father. He’ll have to pay you child support,” Lexi said very practically.
I probably should have, and maybe even would have, had I taken note of his address. The truth is, I was still drunk when I woke up and all I could think to do was hightail it out of there before I had a witness to my walk of shame. I had absolutely no idea how to find the father, so I decided to forget he existed.
After going to my doctor to make sure I was disease-free—I’ll never put myself in that situation again—I settled down and tried to enjoy my pregnancy. In my eighth month, Silver Spoons decided to cut my position, claiming they couldn’t afford a senior buyer and two junior buyers, so they offered me six months’ severance to go away. I probably could have sued them for wrongful termination, but I was fat and tired and all I wanted to do was lie on my couch and watch classic romantic comedies until my baby was born. So, that’s exactly what I did. Thank goodness too, as Faye came twenty-six days early. Frothingham babies historically like to show up to the party ahead of schedule.
Chapter Three
“Who’s the prettiest baby in the whole world?” I hear my mama, Gracie, ask in her soft Southern drawl. She’s making duck faces at Faye, while I unpack my daughter’s things in the spare room. One thing is for certain, Mama loves my precious girl, and doesn’t seem the least bit concerned about her lack of a daddy.
I’d always dreamed of naming a daughter Faye after my maternal grandma. I certainly didn’t think my last name would still be Frothingham, though. The alliteration alone would have turned me off the idea. But, being a single mother in my hometown, I cannot realistically expect to have any more children. I’m pretty sure they spray painted a scarlet letter on my backside when Faye and I crossed the city limit line, or more accurately, when we crossed the tracks to the right side of town, where the Frothinghams live.
Mama carries the baby around while saying, “This here girl is as sweet as shoo-fly pie. I could just eat her up.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind watching her while I go meet with the uncles?” I ask.
“I might never let you pry her out of my arms!” She snuggles her giggling five-month-old bundle. “Isn’t dat right, little missy?”
Faye squeals in delight. I love this tiny person so much I’d cut off my foot and sell it for groceries if I had to. Luckily, I don’t have to. What I do have to do is go meet with my uncles about the job they used to lure me home. While I’m grateful for their kindness, I feel like I’m taking a giant step into the past by considering it.
Once they found out about Faye, they said, “Emmie, get back here where you belong! We can’t let you raise a Frothingham in that big city all alone.” As much as I expected the citizens of Creek Water would judge my indiscretion, I knew my family would be nothing but supportive. I am more thankful than I can say.
I truly did think of staying in New York City, but the thought of handing off my baby to a total stranger to raise while I worked hellishly long hours to support us did not seem appealing in the least. Not to mention the fact that I saw Armie Hammer lookalikes everywhere I went and couldn’t help but wonder each and every time if he was Faye’s daddy.
Don’t worry, I googled the actor’s whereabouts on the night of the conception and discovered he was nowhere near Brooklyn. More’s the pity. So, I lived out the length of my severance and then gave notice on my apartment before shipping my worldly possessions home.
*****
Uncle Jed’s wife, Auntie Lee, is the first to greet me when I walk through the door of Frothingham Brothers. She’s sitting at the reception desk addressing notecards when she looks up to see who’s invaded her space. “Emmie!” She jumps up and dances around me like I’m a maypole and she’s vying for queen. “Look at you. Welcome home, honey.” She hugs me so hard she nearly pops the stuffing out of me. Then she holds me at arm’s length and declares, “Will you just look at those boobies?”
I’m still breastfeeding Faye, so my regular B-cup has jumped to a D. You’d think I was a walking sideshow the way she’s ogling me. Uncomfortable, I tug up the already modest neckline on my sweater dress and say, “Hey, Auntie Lee.” I give her a kiss on the cheek. “I’m here to see Uncle Jed and Uncle Jesse.”
“Honey, they’re waiting for you in the big office. They’re just finishin’ up a meeting with the contractor. You might as well go on in.”
I steel myself for this step back in time and wish there were a way to stop my racing heart. I tentatively knock on the door and Uncle Jesse booms, “Get in here.”
It sounds like he’s expecting someone else, but I open the door anyway. My uncles nearly tackle me to the ground when they rush me and give me great big hugs. I’m not sure who’s saying what, but there’s a lot of “Girl, look at you!” and “Finally, our Emmie’s home!” and excited sentiments like that. It’s nice to be the recipient of such a warm welcome. Their support combined with my postpartum hormones brings tears to my eyes.
But before I can start blubbering, Uncle Jed pulls back and says, “You remember Zachary Grant, dontcha?”
I turn to see a tall, shockingly gorgeous man with sparkling green eyes get up off the sofa and walk over to greet me. My god, Armie Hammer lookalikes are everywhere. Ever since the night Faye was conceived, I’ve been bombarded by them.
Zach’s metamorphosis is so astonishing I would have never guessed he was the same boy I knew in high school. Of course, a lot can happen to someone in a decade and apparently has in his case. Gone is the gangly teenager with braces and acne. He’s been replaced by a virtual movie star. That Mother Nature sure is a wonder.
Zach lets his gaze stray to my bosom before meeting my eyes and saying, “Hey, Emmie.” He smiles shyly, almost expectantly.
I flash back to the time he asked me to the spring dance at the club his senior year in high school. I was a sophomore. I said no because, well, it was at the club. Mama and I weren’t members at the time, and I didn’t want to draw any more attention to myself. The less those nasty gossips saw of me and Mama, the better. Unfortunately, I never explained that to Zach.
“Hi there, Zach,” I say back.
I feel like he’s waiting for something more, like maybe an apology for turning him down without an explanation. I know I hurt him because he went out of his way to never speak to me again. Seriously, he’d be walking down the hall at school, lay eyes on me, and turn around and go the other direction just to avoid me.
I segue into wondering if apologizing after all this time would even be appropriate. He’d probably think I was pretty stuck on myself to think he even remembered.
Uncle Jed explains, “Emmie and Faye have just moved back home and Emmie’s going to work on the new project with us. Isn’t that exciting?”
Zach clears his throat and attempts to nod, but looks more like a bird pecking at some crumbs. “Ah, yes? I guess.” He’s not selling his enthusiasm in the least. Then he asks, “Who’s Faye?”
“My little girl,” I answer, squaring my shoulders, ready to do battle, even if it is only for a judgmental lift of the eyebrows.
I might as well have said my pet giraffe considering how surprised he looks by this news. “You’re married?”
Uncle Jesse quickly says, “No, our little Emmie lost her fiancé to friendly fire in the Middle East.”
Say what? I look at him in complete shock. My daddy’s brother just puts his arm around me and continues to say, “It’s been what, a year now since Armand died? We’re all still so shaken up by it.”
I can’t seem to force any words out of my mouth. First of all, apparently my whole family knows about my infatuation with Armie Hammer. I only ever told my mama, but it seems the news has traveled. And secondly, my what?
Uncle Jed reads my mind or my expression and pipes in, “Your auntie Lee has gone ahead and told folks about him, honey. There’s no shame in having a precious baby with your fiancé. It’s not your fault he died before
the wedding.”
My head starts whirring like the spin-cycle on a washing machine. So that’s how they’re playing it. I should have known they wouldn’t want a Frothingham bringing a bastard child home without an acceptable explanation. As mad as I am, I decide to perpetuate the lie, at least temporarily, until I decide how to play this long-term. Plus, I need the job.
I smile at Zach as though I’m forcing it through thick layers of sadness. “It was such a tragedy.”
“How long were you two together?” he asks.
I answer, “Three years,” at the same time Uncle Jed says, “Two years, if you can believe,” while Uncle Jesse contributes, “Just a year, but still it’s so hard.”
For crying out loud, if we’re going lie, we should get out stories straight first. I try to make sense of this farce by saying, “We had our first date three years ago, got engaged two years ago, and he’s been gone for a year.” God rest his soul.
Zach looks at us in the same way I imagine he’d look at the Three Stooges after one of their ridiculous skits. Then he says, “I guess I’ll see you all at the warehouse tomorrow morning.” I swear he shoots me a dirty look on his way out the door.
As soon as he leaves, I turn on my uncles and demand, “What the heck was that all about?”
Chapter Four
Uncle Jed starts, “Honey, it was your auntie Lee’s idea. She thought it best. You know how the ladies at the club can get when anything out of the ordinary happens.”
Those club ladies are a menace. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve been intimidated by their judgment. Part of me wishes I could just tattoo a big “Screw You” on my forehead and meet them for tea some afternoon. I could bring my poor fatherless child and discuss the benefits of nipple piercings. Not that mine are, mind you, I’m so boring I only have one hole in each ear, but still, if they’re gonna gossip so much, I might as well give them a reason.
“What do those club ladies have on you, Uncle Jed?” I demand. “You got some extra kids of your own out there they know about?”
“You watch your tongue, young lady,” Uncle Jed chokes out as Uncle Jesse snickers in the background.
Uncle Jed is the oldest brother at fifty-five, my daddy would have been fifty-two, Uncle Jesse is the family surprise at only forty-two.
Uncle Jed explains, “There’s just certain ways things are done here, and folks expect the ring before the baby, otherwise they assume you’re trash.”
I arch an eyebrow, and he continues, “Not that we think you’re trash, honey. Good lord, it’s not like any of us waited until we got married, we just didn’t have any accidents.”
Uncle Jesse jokes, “Or if we did, we took care of them.”
“This is not a conversation I wish to be having with either one of you,” I say primly, or as primly as an unwed mother can. “I’m here to talk about your job offer, not to hear any proselytizing about my personal life.”
“Who’s preaching?” Uncle Jesse asks. “Jed here was just explaining that the people of Creek Water live by certain rules, is all. Sure, they’re archaic and dried up, but being that we rely on this town for our income, we think it’s best if we play along and don’t stir the pot.”
“About the job …” I prompt.
“Right, about the job,” Uncle Jed helps change the topic. “We bought the old sewing machine factory down by the river a few months ago and we’ve got some big plans for it. We’re going to turn the ground floor into a restaurant, coffee place, gourmet food shop, and the like.”
Uncle Jesse says, “That’s how we got the idea to hire you. We thought with your experience in New York City, you’d bring some real class to the operation.”
“Are you planning to own all these businesses?” I ask, hoping the answer is no. If my uncles were to open a restaurant, they’d probably only serve fried pickles and jalapeno poppers.
“No, no, no,” Uncle Jed says. “We’re going to rent the space out to other businesses, but we thought we’d go ahead and own the gourmet shop, what with your expertise and all. What do you think?”
“Uncle Jed,” I start to say, but he waves me off with, “Girl, I feel like Buddy Ebsen every time you say that. Can we just disperse with the uncle nonsense already?”
“Who’s Buddy Ebsen?” I ask.
“Uncle Jed from The Beverly Hillbillies.”
Uncle Jesse adds, “And I’m not that much older than you, so you best start calling me Jesse.”
“I suppose if we’re going to be business partners that would be okay.”
Jed says, “Who said anything about partners? We just wanted to hire you on as our employee.”
“No, sir,” I say. “I’ve spent most of my life with this town thinking I was some kind of piglet sucking off the family tit. I’m not going to be anything less than your business partner on this venture.”
“On the whole building?” Jesse wants to know.
“If I’m managing the whole building, then yes.”
“But, girl,” Jed says, “you didn’t put up any of the capital.”
“But Jed,” I respond using his Christian name for the first time, “I’m the one with the know-how. Now do we have a deal or not?”
Jed looks at his brother and says, “This here girl’s done grown into her britches in the Big City.”
Jesse nods his head. “I’m okay with giving her ten percent.” Then he looks at me and says, “But that means you don’t get any money until we start making a profit on the project.”
“Fine by me,” I answer. “I’m going to live with Mama, and I have enough savings to cover Faye’s and my expenses for several months.” And let’s face it, living rent free, I might even be able to swing longer. I didn’t want to be unemployed in New York or I would have blown through my savings in a fraction of the time.
We shake on it and Uncle Jed declares, “Your daddy would be right proud of you, Emmie. I’m pretty proud of you myself.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Now, I need to get out of here ’cause I’m starting to leak all over my dress.”
Both of my uncles jump to their feet and don’t so much as look at me. They’re craning their heads upwards, pretending fascination with the tin ceiling. I think I’m going to enjoy being around them again. I just had to make sure I came home on equal footing. I’m not going to have any of the gossipy biddies in this town accusing me being a charity case, again. Heaven knows they’ll find enough to say about me without giving them that, too.
Chapter Five
“Do you know what Auntie Lee told the ladies at the club about Faye’s other parent?” I’m loath to call him her daddy because he’s no such thing. He’s merely an anonymous donor of genetic material. But that sounds so cold, and from my limited memory, that night was anything but cold.
“I know, Emmie, but I support her one hundred percent. There’s no sense bringing this precious child home only to have certain folks make her feel unwelcome.”
I roll my eyes so hard I think I just got a peek at the back of my skull. “By ‘certain folks,’ you mean Cootie Wilcox and her gang.”
“Of course. Who else would I mean? That Cootie was a pistol in high school and she’s still going strong. Only now she has more power than ever.”
“Who gives her this power?” I demand. “Seems to me that if folks would just dethrone her already, they wouldn’t have to walk around on eggshells. They’d be much happier.”
“You know how it is in small towns, honey. Folks get bored and if there isn’t any drama, they create it. It’s human nature, I suppose.”
I pick up Faye and inhale her fresh baby scent. It has an immediate soothing effect on my frayed nerves. “Mama, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but they have this thing called Netflix now, and if you need drama, you can get as much as you want for a very reasonable monthly rate.”
She comes over and wraps her arms around me and the baby. “If it was only that simple, sweetie.” Then she sets us free and starts tidying up the baby toys in the
living room. “I invited the family over for dinner to meet Faye, so why don’t you get the table set for me?”
“Who’s all coming?” I ask.
“Jed, Lee, Amelia, Beau, Davis, and Jesse, of course.”
All three of my cousins settled right here in Creek Water. Amelia was two years ahead of me in school, Beau and I were in the same grade, and Davis was a year younger.
“Is Uncle Jesse dating anyone?”
Mama laughs. “You know him. He courts like it’s his profession, but doesn’t seem to be interested in settling down.”
“Breaking hearts as he goes, I suppose.”
“I believe that men have more wild oats to sew that we gals do. It’s better he gets it all out of his system now,” she says.
“I love your antiquated notions that men are somehow hornier than women. Who do you think they’re sewing their wild oats with? Sheep?”
She shoots me a look that suggests I shouldn’t be using such a word, before giggling, “Well, there’s still Otis Gunther.”
Otis is a sheep farmer on the outskirts of town. He’s been a dedicated bachelor his whole sixty some years, but word is he always has a special animal friend. I can’t even let my mind go there, so I don’t. “How about the cousins? They have anyone serious?”
“Amelia was dating a nice lawyer who lives in St. Louis, but things have cooled off a bit lately.” At my questioning look, she explains, “He wanted her to move up there and she wasn’t having any of it. She’s got her bead shop in town and says she has no intention of relocating.”
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