Honeysuckle Season

by Mary Ellen Taylor

  “I know. Open it.”

  One tug and the ribbon gave way, allowing him to lift the top. Inside was the blanket. “I didn’t have time to get it personalized. But I figure the kid can’t read, so it doesn’t matter.”

  “He was born two days ago. We just brought him home.”

  Sadness and happiness twisted in her belly. “Wow. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” He smoothed his hand over the fabric. “Soft.”

  “The clerk in the baby store said new parents can always use big blankets.”

  He replaced the top. “Good to know.”

  “Honestly, the gift was an excuse.”

  Thick brows knotted. “For what?”

  “To see a familiar face. To talk with someone who knew my dad.”

  His brow knotted. “What’s going on?”

  She wanted to smile, but the tears choking her throat would not allow it. Unable to look at him, she sat on the curb.

  He sat beside her, setting the present on his lap. “What’s up?”

  “I found out Elaine Grant is my birth mother.”

  “Who’s she?”

  “Remember Woodmont, that estate where the wedding was a couple of weeks ago?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She owns it. Been in her family since the eighteenth century.”

  “You sure it’s her? I thought your birth mother was a superspy or an international fashion model?” he teased.

  Jeremy’s deadpan question coaxed a smile.

  Whenever they had drunk wine together, she would theorize about her birth mother. The common denominator had always been that circumstances had prevented her mother from raising Libby.

  “She had the money and the means to raise me,” Libby said. “But she was young and headed to law school.”

  “Do you fault her for that?” Jeremy asked.

  “I want to, but I don’t. I’m a little miffed that it’s taken thirty-one years to find out the truth.”

  “Why the big secret? Did her family disapprove?”

  “That’s part of it.” She tugged at the frayed edges of her jeans. “The big shoe to drop is my birth father.”

  He drew in a breath. “Who was he?”

  “My dad.”

  “Your dad, as in Allen McKenzie?”

  “The very one.”

  He whistled, running a hand through his hair. “Shit.”

  His shocked gaze was reaffirming. She could have told all this to Colton, but she was not sure he would have understood the depth of the news like Jeremy would. And Sierra would have been deeply disappointed in her father, and right now Libby could not handle that.

  “Wow. And he knew?” Jeremy asked.

  “Oh yes.”

  “And your mother. I mean, your adoptive mother—I mean, Mrs. McKenzie.”

  “I know what you’re saying. I don’t know. Possibly. Likely.”

  They sat for a moment, each staring at the cracked pavement in front of his house. Weeds had grown up through them, stretching toward the sun.

  “So what are you going to do?” Jeremy asked.

  “Get on with my life. Photograph a wedding this weekend. Go home. Keep working. One foot in front of the other. What’s the alternative?”

  His brows drew together, but he did not reach out and take her hand or hug her. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Honesty hummed under the words, and she appreciated that he wanted to be there for her. Maybe if all this had come out sooner, and they were still together, the news would have bonded them closer. Libby would have found a way to deal with her losses better.

  “How can I help?” he asked.

  “You can’t. This is all on me,” she said, tapping her finger on the blue box. “You’ve got your own new life.”

  He ran his finger over the soft blue ribbon. “When my son was born, my first thought was that I was sorry he wasn’t ours.” He cleared his throat. “We tried so hard, and I know how much you wanted a child.”

  She sighed, pushing back grief that would always be there in some form. “I did. I still do. But you know what, I still might. Our time is up, but I’m not dead yet. As it turns out, I had a great-grandmother who had a very similar medical history to mine, but she ended up eventually having a son.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Yeah. That’s one of the silver linings in all this. I feel like I might still have a shot at it.”

  “Hey, do you want to come in and meet the baby? He’s taking a nap, which means he’s at his best right now. I can’t promise how long it will last. He’s a terrible sleeper.”

  “Like you?”

  “Yeah. My mother used to say she hoped I had a baby that didn’t sleep. Something about payback.”

  “Thanks for the invite, but maybe another time. I really do need to get on the road. I just wanted to stop and get a little moral support from a friend who knows me best.”

  This time he wrapped his arm around her, and she rested her head against his shoulder. “I’ll always have your back.”

  Rising, she dusted the gravel and dirt from her bottom. “Thanks.”

  “Take care of yourself, Libby.”

  “You too. You’re going to make a good father. That’s one of the many reasons I picked you.”

  His brow knotted, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “You really think so? I feel like I’m messing up. Maybe I should be more patient when he doesn’t sleep or needs a diaper change.”

  “Once he starts sleeping through the night, it will all get better. You’ll figure out the dad thing pretty quickly.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I know so.”

  She got in her car, waved goodbye, and drove off. At the first stoplight she removed Jeremy’s profiles from all her social media accounts.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  LIBBY

  Saturday, August 1, 2020

  Virginia

  Libby spent the better part of the summer working out of town. She took jobs as a second shooter, assisting other photographers because she wanted to stay busy and away from Bluestone. She made excuses to Colton about work and life and why she was too busy to see him or return home. However, as her excuses started to run together, the frequency of his communications waned. Colton was trying to keep up with her, but she was the one doing the running.

  After several weeks, he stopped texting. Sierra called her daily, calling it her proof-of-life call, and each time Libby promised to be back in town soon. But when the work ran out, she took a week vacation to Paris and indulged in lavish foods and historical walks.

  But running took stamina, and as the summer progressed, hers started to wane. By the time she landed in Dulles International Airport, she was not feeling well. She had been sprinting through her days, and her body was simply bone tired.

  It was not until she was standing in the crowded customs line waiting for her turn that it dawned on her what really might be happening.

  Another hour later, she was in her car and headed south, back to Bluestone. She made a quick stop at the grocery store, buying crackers, sodas, and chocolates—and three pregnancy tests.

  She pushed through the front door and dropped her purse on the couch as she kicked off her shoes. She put away her groceries and carried the pregnancy tests to the bathroom. They worked best in the morning, so to try now would likely render a false read.

  When she stepped under the shower’s hot spray, she allowed the warm water to pulse on her face and willed it to chase the tension away. It’s the flu. A bug I picked up in Paris.

  When she had drained all the hot water from the tank, she reluctantly stepped out, toweled off, and slid on an oversize T-shirt, then opened each kit. She lined them up neatly on the bathroom counter and went downstairs and lay on the couch. The clock on the wall ticked as she turned off her phone and willed her body to relax.

  Sometime during the night, she did drift off to sleep, and when she woke with a start, the sun was shining in
the room. She jumped up off the couch, hesitated as a wave of nausea washed over her, and bolted up the stairs.

  Libby should have saved one of the pregnancy tests and retested tomorrow, but it was too late now. If she needed more, she decided she would make another trip to the pharmacy. She followed their instructions to the letter. Once done, she lined them back up on the bathroom counter, and she went downstairs to the kitchen. She dug out a packet of saltines and a cold can of ginger ale from the refrigerator. It wasn’t lost on her that her one-night stand with Colton had theoretically produced a pregnancy.

  The last three times she had been pregnant, she had felt terrific. There had been no morning sickness. She had had energy and a strong appetite.

  I have the flu. That’s all.

  She had not spoken to Elaine in the last five weeks, but Elaine had begun to email her pictures of Olivia and Woodmont. Libby supposed that was Elaine’s idea of a soft sell.

  Sipping the ginger ale, she climbed the steps to the bathroom and stood at the threshold, staring at the three white tests lined up on the counter. “It’s the flu.”

  But a glance into the little windows said otherwise. Three bright-pink plus signs stared back at her. She picked each up and held them to the light.

  “This is wrong,” she muttered. “They are false positives. I can’t get pregnant,” she said to each stick. “The doctors said it was such a low chance that it was unlikely.”

  Immediately, Libby listed off diseases that might mimic pregnancy. Hormonal imbalances. Massive tumors. Or maybe it was cancer like Elaine’s. Her worst-case list was more comforting than the idea of another lost pregnancy.

  A hard pounding on her front door wrestled Libby’s attention back to the moment. The pounding grew louder.

  She tossed the sticks in the trash can and went downstairs. Sipping her ginger ale, she glanced toward the front door and saw the outline of a man. She crossed to the door and opened it. Colton was standing on her front steps. Talk about timing.

  “Colton.” Apologies rushed to the tip of her tongue, but all sounded lame, so she did not bother. “What are you doing here?”

  He studied her a long beat, but it was impossible to decide if he looked mad, upset, or relieved. “Elaine tried to call you, but you didn’t answer your phone.”

  “Elaine?” She glanced at her phone and saw two missed calls from Elaine. “Why? Is she all right?”

  “Lofton has been arrested.”

  “Lofton. Why should that have anything to do with me?”

  “That’s what I asked Elaine, and she said you would know.”

  “How did you even know I was back in town?”

  “I saw Sierra at her jobsite this morning. She said your car was back.”

  There was no sneaking back into Bluestone. “Does Elaine want me to bail her out?”

  “No, Lofton is in the hospital, but she’s headed to jail once the doctors release her. She wrapped her car around a tree. She’s lucky to be alive.”

  “And where is Elaine?”

  “New York. She’s trying to get a flight back.”

  Libby gathered her purse, keys, ginger ale, and a sleeve of saltine crackers from the kitchen. “Great. Can’t pick your family, right?”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll go now.”

  “I’ll drive you.”

  “You don’t have to. Seriously. I’ve been MIA all summer, and I’m honestly amazed you’re even here now.”

  “So am I. And while I drive, you’re going to tell me about your vanishing act over the last five weeks.”

  She would have argued if she did not feel like she was going to throw up on his shoes. “Fine. Drive.”

  He followed her down the front steps and to his truck. She slid into the passenger seat and hooked her seat belt.

  After starting the truck, he pulled onto the quiet street and wasted no time getting to the heart of his irritation. “Where have you been?”

  “Working. Vacation.”

  “You said you’d explain it all when you returned. You have returned.”

  “Obviously, I have had some stuff to deal with,” she said. “And if you know me for more than five minutes, you’ll realize I don’t handle loss well.”

  “What did you lose?”

  “My identity, the life I thought I knew,” she said.

  He was quiet for a moment, but his jaw was tight and pulsing at the joint. “Does all this have to do with Elaine?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  She rested her head against the seat. “Turns out she’s my birth mother.”

  He shot a glance at her, his expression shocked and a little relieved. “What?”

  “Yeah, it’s a shocker, isn’t it? Could have knocked me over with a feather.” Her stomach tumbled, and she nibbled on a cracker.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Oh yes. When I go AWOL, it’s usually for a good reason. I found a letter from my great-grandmother, Olivia Carter, to me in my father’s study.”

  “Dr. McKenzie knew about Elaine?”

  Laughter bubbled in her throat. “Oh, he sure did.”

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  It still felt like she was telling someone else’s story. “Allen McKenzie is not only my adoptive father but my birth father.”

  Colton did not speak as he processed the information.

  “Dad had a one-night stand with Elaine. And here I am.”

  “That explains why Elaine said you’d know what to do for Lofton,” Colton said.

  “And for the record, Lofton is not taking the whole older-sister thing well. I guess getting knocked down a peg in birth order doesn’t sit well with the landed gentry.”

  “I caught her throwing rocks at the greenhouse. I didn’t realize it was her until she took off in her car. I was right behind her and saw her hit the tree. I pulled her out of the wreck and called the cops.”

  “Boy, you’ve had some night. We Carters are quite the handful.”

  “Why go after the greenhouse?”

  She watched as the small streets of Bluestone gave way to the ramp that fed onto the interstate. “I suppose because it’s the project that Elaine created to get to know me better.”

  “Is that what she said?”

  “Yes.” She pressed the cool ginger ale can to the side of her head. “She also wants to leave me Woodmont.”

  “Why?”

  Her head fell back against the headrest. “Elaine knows Lofton won’t hesitate to either sell it or chop it up into housing tracts.”

  “That explains a lot with Lofton.” He released a breath, letting go of weeks’ worth of tension. “I called Ginger and told her that Lofton was at the hospital.”

  “Good.”

  “You don’t look well.”

  She sipped her ginger ale. “I’ve been running myself kind of ragged. I’m coming down with the flu.”

  “How did you find the letter from Olivia?” he said.

  She eased back in the seat. “My dad had cleaned out his desk and left only the important papers. It was in an unmarked file. All I had to do was open the desk. But remember, I don’t deal with loss well, so I spent the spring avoiding Dad’s office.”

  “Okay.”

  She rolled her head toward him. “This hasn’t been about you. It’s all me and my crazy family.”

  A half smile tipped the edge of his lips. “I can deal with crazy families.”

  “Be careful what you say. There’s no telling who else is going to fall out of my family tree.”

  He took the exit ramp into Charlottesville and followed the hospital signs to the medical center. He parked, and the two got out.

  She downed the last of her ginger ale, staring at the hospital entrance. Now would be the time to get a blood test to confirm the drugstore pregnancy test that boasted a 98 percent accuracy rate was wrong. “There might be another shoe to drop.”

  A fresh tension
rippled through him, as if he was bracing himself for round two.

  She paused on the curb near the emergency entrance. Wasting diseases aside, she had to be honest with herself and him. “Remember when I said the chances of me getting pregnant were really slim? Well, even long shots are possible. I just put up a pink plus sign on not one, not two, but three home pregnancy tests.”

  He took her arm in his. “Say that again.”

  “I’m five weeks knocked up. Before you freak out, I’ll remind you I’ve had three miscarriages.” She felt tension ripple through Colton, prompting her to continue babbling. “The last three times I was pregnant, I felt amazing. But this go-round, I feel like roadkill.”

  “We were in the greenhouse five weeks ago.”

  “Like I said, don’t freak out.” She closed her eyes, fighting back tears. The odds were against this kid making it into the world, and that realization bound and twisted around her heart like barbwire. “With my pregnancy track record, I won’t be able to go the distance.”

  “That doesn’t mean you’re going to lose this one.”

  “Seriously, don’t bond with this kid. Don’t.” Tears welled in her eyes. “She’ll leave, and she’ll break your heart.”

  “She?”

  “Or he.”

  He took her hands in his, unfurling her fists. “Once we deal with Lofton, we’re finding Ginger. She’ll run a test.”

  “It’s still so early, Colton. I’ll give it a few weeks and then track her down.”

  “We’ll see her tonight. Do you have any signs you’re in distress?”

  “No.”

  “Then for now, it’s all hands on deck to help you keep it.”

  She studied his face, searching for any sign that he was upset or angry. She did not see any traces. Hell, she thought she saw a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. “Don’t get excited, Colton.”

  He shrugged. “Too late. I care about you and have spent most of the last few weeks wondering what I did wrong.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  He released a breath. “And I’m not about to start. I’m sticking with you and the baby.”

  Libby and Colton found Lofton on the fourth floor. The nurse directed them to her room. When Libby pushed past the curtain, she found Lofton lying in the hospital bed, clutching a plastic basin. Her face was pale and drawn.