Sisters Like Us
Sisters Like Us
Susan Mallery
#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR‘Warm, witty and romantic. The perfect feel-good read’ – Sarah Morgan on You Say It FirstTwo sisters who couldn’t be more different if they tried…Harper put being a wife and mother above thoughts of a career, and has watched her sister become a celebrated scientist from the sidelines. But when her life is turned upside down by divorce, can she learn to put herself first?Stacey is left reeling by her unexpected pregnancy. More at home with neurological diseases than nappies, she can’t help feeling she lacks her sister’s maternal genes. What if she just doesn’t have what it takes to be a mother?Separately they may be a mess, but Harper and Stacey are about to discover that, together, they can face anything.Praise for Susan Mallery:‘Susan Mallery never disappoints…. She is at her storytelling best.’ -Debbie Macomber, #1 New York Times bestselling author‘Heartfelt, funny, and utterly charming all the way through!’ Susan Elizabeth Phillips‘Mallery returns to Mischief Bay with another set of friends dealing with dramatic yet relatable turmoil, which she treats with compassion, discernment, and subtlety’ Kirkus Reviews on The Friends We Keep‘An engaging read to be savoured all the way through.’ Publishers Weekly on The Friends We Keep‘ highly original and fascinating page-turner you may lose sleep over. Mallery brings our inner lives to the surface and evokes deep emotions from her readers. You will fall in love with the girls of Mischief Bay.’ -RT Book Reviews on The Friends We Keep‘Mallery, a best-selling romance writer, can write a believable love story. But what makes this story remarkable is how strong and relatable the friendship between the characters is. This is a welcome return to Mischief Bay.’ -Booklist on The Friends We Keep‘Once again, Susan Mallery has created an inviting world that envelops her readers' senses and sensibilities… Fans of Jodi Picoult, Debbie Macomber, and Elin Hilderbrand will assuredly fall for The Girls of Mischief Bay.’ -Bookreporter‘Fresh and engaging…the writing is strong, the dialogue genuine and believable. There's a generational subtext that mirrors reality and the complexities of adult relationships…filled with promise of a new serial that's worth following.’ -Fort Worth Star-Telegram on The Girls of Mischief BayPerfect for fans of Debbie Macomber, Melissa Hill, and Trisha Ashley, Sisters Like Us is a story of laughter, tears, and the unbreakable bond between sisters.
The grass is always greener on your sister’s side of the fence...
Divorce left Harper Szymanski with a name no one can spell, a house she can't afford and a teenage daughter who's pulling away. With her fledgling virtual-assistant business, she's scrambling to maintain her overbearing mother’s ridiculous Susie Homemaker standards and still pay the bills, thanks to clients like Lucas, the annoying playboy cop who claims he hangs around for Harper's fresh-baked cookies.
Spending half her life in school hasn't prepared Dr. Stacey Bloom for her most daunting challenge—motherhood. She didn't inherit the nurturing gene like Harper and is in deep denial that a baby is coming. Worse, her mother will be horrified to learn that Stacey's husband plans to be a stay-at-home dad…assuming Stacey can first find the courage to tell Mom she's already six months pregnant.
Separately they may be a mess, but together Harper and Stacey can survive anything—their indomitable mother, overwhelming maternity stores and ex’s weddings. Sisters Like Us is a delightful look at sisters, mothers and daughters in today’s fast-paced world, told with Susan Mallery’s trademark warmth and humor.
#1 NYT bestselling author SUSAN MALLERY writes heartwarming, humorous novels about the relationships that define our lives – family, friendship, romance. She’s known for putting nuanced characters in emotional situations that surprise readers to laughter. Beloved by millions, her books have been translated into 28 languages. Susan lives in Washington with her husband, two cats, and a small poodle with delusions of grandeur.
Also by Susan Mallery (#u85d27302-be68-5d93-8bf7-c5d87ea4b5ac)
Secrets of the Tulip Sisters
Daughters of the Bride
Happily Inc
Second Chance Girl
You Say It First
Mischief Bay
A Million Little Things
The Friends We Keep
The Girls of Mischief Bay
Fool’s Gold
Best of My Love
Marry Me at Christmas
Thrill Me
Kiss Me
Hold Me
Until We Touch
Before We Kiss
When We Met
Christmas on 4th Street
Three Little Words
Two of a Kind
Just One Kiss
A Fool’s Gold Christmas
All Summer Long
Summer Nights
Summer Days
Only His
Only Yours
Only Mine
Finding Perfect
Almost Perfect
Chasing Perfect
For a complete list of titles available from Susan Mallery, please visit www.SusanMallery.com (http://www.SusanMallery.com).
Copyright (#ulink_75a2c67a-57f6-56ba-88e0-ff2823a3e99d)
An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018
Copyright © Susan Mallery Inc. 2018
Susan Mallery Inc. asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © February 2018 ISBN: 9781474074728
I acknowledge it is very, very wrong for an author to have a favorite book. Books are like children and we should love them all equally. Yet I will confess (but only to you) that I had great fun writing this one. So much fun. And I love all the characters, even Bunny, and I admit that Lucas turned out to be much more amazing that I’d ever anticipated.
This book is for those of you who will unexpectedly fall wildly in love with Lucas…even though you think you shouldn’t!
Contents
Cover (#u952a37b4-0cec-5775-863d-137b39896f7e)
Back Cover Text (#ue1d8cf39-e28f-54ae-9533-d533fc36467d)
About the Author (#u0b13ebf4-1766-5ebf-a07d-88189acaf4ce)
Booklist (#u33ea2f6b-a2bb-5776-b707-8ee326620553)
Title Page (#ubfdc562f-af39-58da-9425-1cacc571b5e3)
Copyright (#ulink_07543897-89b7-5b5d-95b4-470e8f559d2c)
Dedication (#u9c5b7bf4-7ccf-5c4d-866b-1ff97cc2f4aa)
Chapter One (#u3b25c165-f2d5-57c8-a934-b9f33204e8ec)
Chapter Two (#u21ce440d-945d-505a-a914-87c921ea137a)
Chapter Three (#u4aab83b2-8bdb-57f4-b20e-4706888ea7eb)
Chapter Four (#ub0d65973-f817-53a6-9396-779a0673ed87)
Chapter Five (#uf40590c6-e9e4-5a17-af1f-28860ec0e6b3)
Chapter Six (#u4b8ab0e8-8a4a-5634-8e7a-2c4bd8b0bcc7)
Chapter Seven (#ucdd6b42c-d387-5a15-82b5-fc35e01c001f)
Chapter Eight (#uf2335727-5018-597a-bb85-2d95b12b9bb9)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Reader’s Guide (#litres_trial_promo)
Suggested Menu (#litres_trial_promo)
Discussion Questions (#litres_trial_promo)
Potatoes Grand-Mère (#litres_trial_promo)
Strawberry Avocado Salad (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u85d27302-be68-5d93-8bf7-c5d87ea4b5ac)
THERE WASN’T A holiday on the calendar that Harper Szymanski couldn’t celebrate, cook for, decorate, decoupage, create a greeting card about or wrap in raffia. There were the biggies: birthdays, New Years, Fourth of July. But also the lesser celebrated: American Diabetes Association Alert Day, Auntie’s Day, National Massage Therapy Awareness Week. Why weren’t there greeting cards to honor that? Didn’t everyone need a good massage?
Despite a skill set that made Martha Stewart look like a slacker, Harper had never figured out a way to monetize her gift for setting a table to commemorate anything. She’d tried catering about ten years ago, but had quickly discovered that her need to overbuy and overdeliver had meant losing money on every single job. Which left her in the awkward position of trying to make a living the hard way—with two semesters of community college and sixteen years of being a stay-at-home mom.
Retail jobs and the pay that went with them hadn’t been close to enough to support herself and her daughter post-divorce. Three online aptitude tests had left her even more confused—while getting her degree in biochemistry and going on to medical school sounded great, it wasn’t actually a practical solution for an over-forty single mom with no money in the bank. Then an article in the local paper had provided an interesting and almost-viable idea. Harper had become a virtual assistant.
If there was one thing she knew it was how to take care of the details. You didn’t get good at a basket weave Fourth of July cake without paying attention. One year after filing her business permit, Harper had five main clients, nearly a dozen more who used her services intermittently and almost enough income to pay her bills. She also had her mother living in the apartment over the garage, an ex-husband dating a gorgeous blonde who was—wait for it—exactly fourteen years younger than Harper because they shared a birthday—a sixteen-year-old daughter who had stopped speaking to her and a client who was desperately unclear on the concept of virtual in the world of virtual assistants.
“You don’t have to drop off your bills every month,” Harper said as she set out coffee, a plate of chocolate chip scones that she’d gotten up at five-thirty that morning to bake fresh, a bowl of sugar-glazed almonds and sliced pears.
“And miss this?” Lucas Wheeler asked, pouring himself a mug of coffee. “If you’re trying to convince me coming by isn’t a good idea, then stop feeding me.”
He was right, of course. There was an easy, logical solution. Stop taking care of people and they would go away. Or at least be around less often. There was just one problem—when someone stopped by your home, you were supposed to take care of them.
“I can’t help it,” she admitted, wishing it weren’t the truth. “It’s a disease. I’m a people pleaser. I blame my mother.”
“I’d blame her, too, if I were you.”
She supposed she could take offense at Lucas’s words, but he was only stating the obvious.
In some ways Harper felt as if she was part of the wrong generation. According to celebrity magazines, fifty was the new twenty-five, which meant almost forty-two should be the new what? Eleven? Everyone else her age seemed so young and carefree, with modern attitudes and a far better grasp of what was in style and popular.
Harper was just now getting around to listening to the soundtrack from Hamilton and her idea of fashionable had a lot more to do with how she dressed her dining room table than herself. She was like a 1950s throwback, which might sound charming but in real life kind of sucked. On the bright side, it really was her mother’s fault.
“Speaking of your mother, where is she?” Lucas asked.
“At the senior center, preparing Easter baskets for the homeless.” Because that was what women were supposed to do. Take care of people—not have actual careers that could support them and their families.
“I, on the other hand, will be paying your bills, designing T-shirts for Misty, working on the layout of a sales brochure and making bunny butt cookies for my daughter.”
Lucas raised an eyebrow. “You do realize that bunny butt is just a polite way of saying rabbit ass.”
Harper laughed. “Yes, but they’re an Easter tradition. Becca loves them. Her father is dropping her off tomorrow afternoon and I want the cookies waiting.”
Because maybe if there were bunny butt cookies, her daughter would smile and talk to her the way she used to. In actual sentences that shared bits of her life.
“You sorry you didn’t go?” Lucas asked.
“To the memorial? Yes.” She thought for a second, then added, “No. I mean I would have liked to pay my respects and all, but Great-Aunt Cheryl is gone, so it’s not like she would miss me showing up.”
The drive from Mischief Bay to Grass Valley would take practically the whole day. Harper couldn’t imagine anything more horrible than being trapped in a car with her ex, his girlfriend and her daughter. Okay, the Becca part would be great, but the other two?
The worst of it was that while Great-Aunt Cheryl was actually Terence’s relative, Harper had been the one who had stayed in touch, right up until her death two months ago.
“Terence is forty-four. What is he thinking, dating a twenty-eight-year-old?” She glared at Lucas. “Never mind. You’re the wrong person to be having this particular conversation with.”
Because while her client was a handsome, single, fifty-year-old man, he also dated women in their twenties. In his case, their early twenties.
“What is wrong with you?” she demanded. “Is it all men or just you and my ex? Oh, dear God, the one thing you have in common with Terence is me. Did I do something to make you all date twentysomethings?”
“Calm down,” Lucas said mildly. “I was dating younger women long before we met. It’s not you, it’s me.”
“Where have I heard that before?” She glanced pointedly at the clock on her microwave. “Don’t you have crimes to solve?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.”
He rose and carried his dishes to the sink. Lucas was about five-ten, nicely muscled with a belly way flatter than hers. He wore jeans, cowboy boots and a long-sleeved shirt. He was a detective with the LAPD, and from what she’d learned about him in the nine months she’d been working for him, he’d always been a cop.
He returned to the table and slipped on his shoulder holster, then grabbed his blazer. “How do you make bunny butt cookies?”
She laughed. “It’s easy. You take a round sugar cookie frosted in pink icing, add two small oval sugar cookies decorated with pink candy for feet, use a miniature marshmallow for the tail and viola—bunny butt cookies.”
“Save me a couple.”
“I promise.” She would put them in a little box that she would decorate for the holiday. Because she simply couldn’t hand someone cookies on a plain paper plate. If she tried, the heavens would open and release a plague of locusts at the very least.
Oh, to be able to buy packaged cookies from the grocery store. Or prepared spaghetti sauce. Or a frozen entrée. But that would never happen because it wasn’t what Harper was supposed to do.
She carried the rest of the dishes over to the sink, packed up the uneaten food, then retreated to her large craft room with its built-in shelves and giant tables and cupboards. After finding a nice bunny-butt-cookie-sized box, she studied her ribbon collection before selecting one that would coordinate. While her glue gun heated, she sorted through her fabric remnants to find one that was Easter appropriate and wondered what other women did with the time they saved by not making every stupid thing by hand.
But Harper was her mother’s daughter and had never been very good at bucking tradition. Her sister, Stacey, was the rebel while Harper did what she was told. It wasn’t that she didn’t like making bunny butt cookies or decoupaging gift boxes, it was that she wanted just a little more in her life. More challenges, more money, more communication with her daughter. And while it was fun to blame all her problems on her mother, Harper couldn’t help thinking that in reality, everything she wanted but didn’t have was very likely her own damn fault.
* * *
The smell of waffles and turkey sausage filled the kitchen and drifted down the hall toward the master bedroom. Stacey Bloom slipped on her sleeveless dress, then glanced at herself in the mirror. With the loose style and knit fabric, not to mention her body shape, she looked as she always had. No one would guess, which was the point. She didn’t want the questions that would inevitably be asked—mostly because she didn’t want to be judged for her answers.
She knew that was her problem, no one else’s. The judging thing. If it were any other topic, she would be able to provide a brief but accurate response, one that would explain her position while making it clear that while the questioner might think his opinion was important, she did not. Except for this time.
She stepped into her lace-up hiking boots and tied them, then pulled a blazer from the row of them in her closet. She had learned years ago that having a kind of work uniform kept her mornings simple. She bought her black sleeveless dresses online, three or four of them at a time. Her blazers were of excellent quality and lasted for years. She changed them out seasonally—lighter fabric in summer, heavier in winter—although the temperate climate in Mischief Bay, California, meant her decision to switch one for another was based purely on convention and not necessity.
As for the hiking boots, they were comfortable and offered a lot of support. She spent much of her day standing in a lab or walking between labs, so they made practical sense. Her mother kept trying to get her to wear pumps and stockings, neither of which was ever going to happen. The shoes would cause foot pain and pressure on her lower back—these days more so than ever. Besides, something about her hiking boots seemed to intimidate the men she had to work with, and although that had never been her purpose, she wasn’t going to deny she liked the unexpected benefit.
She walked into her kitchen and hung her blazer on the back of her chair. Her husband, Kit, stood at the stove, humming to himself as he turned the sausage. The table was set and there was a bowl of sliced fruit by her place mat. A thermal to-go cup stood next to her backpack. She wanted it to be filled with delicious hot coffee, but knew instead it contained a vegetable-infused protein shake. Without looking she knew that her lunch was already packed in her backpack.
Kit turned and smiled when he saw her.
“Morning, sweetie. How are you feeling?”
“Good. And you?”
“Excellent.” He winked, then went back to his cooking.
As it was the last Friday of Spring Break, he wasn’t teaching today, so instead of his usual khakis and a button-down shirt, he had on sweats and a T-shirt with a drawing of a cat on a poster. Underneath the poster, it said Wanted Dead or Alive: Schrodinger’s Cat.
She wasn’t sure which she loved more—that he fussed over her by fixing her meals and making sure she was taking her vitamins, that he called her sweetie, or that he had a collection of funny science T-shirts. She supposed there was no reason she had to pick any one thing. Until meeting Kit, she’d never been sure that she believed romantic love existed. She could have explained the chemical processes that took place in the brain but that wasn’t the same as believing in the feelings themselves. Now she knew differently.
He set two plates on the table, then sat across from her. A pot of herbal tea sat in the center of the table. She poured them each a cup. Kit wouldn’t drink coffee in front of her although she guessed he had it when she wasn’t around.
“Harper called,” he said. “She invited us over for dinner tomorrow night. Becca will be home from the memorial.” He frowned. “Who is Great-Aunt Cheryl? She didn’t come to the wedding.”
“She’s not related to Harper and me. She was Terence’s great-aunt, but she and Harper were always close, which our mother found threatening. Great-Aunt Cheryl was an army nurse during World War II and some kind of spy in the 1950s. She raised dogs.”
“Like poodles?”
Stacey smiled at her husband. “No, these were specially trained dogs used in spy missions. Apparently their training was far more advanced than regular military canines. I tried to get her to talk about her work, but she said it was all top secret and I didn’t have clearance. Still, what she did tell me was fascinating to hear about. I was most intrigued by the lack of morality involved. When someone is trained to kill, there are psychological ramifications, but with animals, there is simply the task. Pushing a button that will ultimately arm a bomb requires little more than the command and subsequent reward for good behavior.”
Kit chuckled. “That’s my girl, always with the cheerful breakfast conversation.”
“So much of life is interesting to me.”
“I know, and you are interesting to me. Now, about the elephant in the room...”
She automatically glanced at the calendar on the wall. It was about one square foot and rather than show the date, it counted up to 280. Kit tore off a sheet each morning. Today was day 184.
Stacey involuntarily put her right hand on her round belly. Right hand rather than left because she was right hand dominant and therefore would be in a better position to protect with said right hand. Not that there were any threats in the room—they came from outside the haven that was their home.
Her gaze returned to her husband. Kit’s kind expression never changed. His brown eyes danced with amusement from behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his mouth smiled at her. He needed a haircut because he always needed a haircut.
They’d met nearly three years ago, when Stacey had spoken at the Mischief Bay High School career day. As a science teacher, Kit had reached out to Stacey’s biotech company and asked for someone to address his students. He’d specifically requested a woman to inspire the young women in his classes.
Stacey had volunteered. She spoke regularly at conferences and symposiums, so had no fear of talking in front of a crowd. Lexi, her assistant, had helped her put together a presentation that assumed little or no knowledge of disease pathology, or science, for that matter. The students had appeared interested but the bigger surprise of the day had been meeting Kit.
She’d found herself flustered in his presence and when he’d invited her out for coffee, she’d accepted. Coffee had turned into a long weekend and by the end of their third week together, he’d moved in with her.
She had never been swept away before, had never fallen so completely for anyone. More importantly, she’d never felt so accepted by a man who wasn’t family.
In the vernacular of the day, he got her. He understood how her brain worked and wasn’t the least bit intimidated by her intelligence or success. When regular life confused her, he was her buffer. He was normal. Just as important, he took care of her in a thousand little ways that made her feel loved. While she tried to do the same with him, she was confident she failed spectacularly, but Kit never seemed to mind.
“I’ll tell her,” she murmured, getting back to the topic at hand.
“Technically you don’t have to. In about ninety-six days you’ll pop out the baby. I’m pretty sure Bunny will be able to figure it out from the broad strokes. You know, when she holds her granddaughter for the first time.” He paused to sip his tea. “Unless you weren’t going to say anything then. I mean, we can wait until Joule learns to talk and we can let her tell Bunny herself. Most kids start forming sentences around eighteen months or so but with your genes floating around in our daughter, she will probably be on her second language by then. I say we let her tell her grandmother who she is.”
She knew Kit was teasing. She also knew the problem was of her own making. She’d been the one to put off telling her mother she was pregnant. She’d told Harper right away because Harper was her sister and they’d always been there for each other. Harper was easy and accepting and would understand. Bunny wouldn’t. Bunny had very clear ideas on what women should or shouldn’t do in their lives and Stacey was confident she’d violated every one she could so far. Having a child would only make things worse.
One week had slipped into two. Time had passed. Stacey had told Kit she was going to wait until after the amniocentesis, but they’d had the results weeks ago and still Stacey hadn’t said anything to her mother.
She got up and circled the table. Kit pushed back enough for her to collapse on his lap. He wrapped his arms around her as she hung on, burying her face in his shoulder.
“I’m a horrible daughter,” she whispered.
“You’re not. You’re wonderful and I love you. As for Bunny, if she can’t take a joke, then screw it.” He touched her cheek until she looked at him. “Stacey, I’m serious. You do what you want. I’m with you. If you don’t want to tell Bunny ever, then that’s okay. I’m just trying to point out, she will find out at some point, and the longer you wait, the harder it’s going to be.”
“It’s already hard.”
“I told you so,” he said gently, before kissing her. “Go finish your breakfast.”
“I will. I love you, too.”
He smiled at her. She returned to her seat and began to eat. Because she had to stay healthy for the baby. She was comfortable being a vessel—she could do the vessel thing. It was the idea of parenting that tormented her. Who was she to think she could be a mother? She wasn’t like other women—she didn’t want what they wanted. She had different priorities, which she probably could have lived with, if not for her mother.
Because Bunny knew Stacey wasn’t like everyone else and she had no trouble pointing out that fact. Once she found out about the baby... Well, Stacey could only imagine.
“I’ll tell her tomorrow at dinner,” she said.
“Good for you.”
Which was his way of saying There is not a snowball’s chance in hell I believe you, but sure, say it because it makes you feel better.
“She’s going to be mad I waited so long.”
“That she is.” He smiled at her. “But don’t worry. I won’t let her hurt you. I promise.”
She knew he meant what he said—that he would do his best to protect her. The problem wasn’t that her mother would physically abuse her—the problem was what Bunny would say. In the Bloom family, words were the true weapon, and expectation was the ammunition. The rest of the world considered Stacey a brilliant scientist with a string of credentials and awards. Bunny saw little more than a daughter who refused to be conventional in any way that mattered—in other words, a failure. What on earth was her mother going to say when she found out her daughter was six months pregnant and had never said a word?
Chapter Two (#u85d27302-be68-5d93-8bf7-c5d87ea4b5ac)
HARPER CHECKED HER daily calendar to confirm all she had to get through that day. As it was the end of the month, she would be billing her clients for her work. In addition, she needed to email Blake and remind him that his mother’s birthday was in two weeks. She already had several gift ideas noted in case he wanted her help with that.
She wrote the email to Blake, a Boeing sales executive who spent his work life traveling the world. Blake sold private jets to the über-rich, and then made sure the customization of said planes was to their liking. She never knew where he was at any given time, or who he was meeting with, but it all sounded very exciting. She thought of him as the sales world’s James Bond.
Her regular clients were Blake, Lucas, a nurse turned stand-up comedian named Misty, Cathy, a party planner, and the City of Mischief Bay. When she’d first started her business, she’d had no idea what she was doing. A half-dozen college extension courses later, she’d mastered several computer programs, learned the basics of a handful of others, knew how to file a DBA, keep basic records for her business and pay her taxes. Harper Helps had been born.
Lucas had been her first client—she’d met him through a friend of a friend. After being shot on the job, Lucas had spent several weeks recovering. During that time, his bills had gone unpaid and his lights and water had been turned off. When he’d recovered, he’d decided to let someone else handle the details of his life and had hired her. Blake had found her through a Facebook ad, of all things, and Misty was one of Lucas’s former nurses.
The work with the city had come through an online posting requesting a bid to design a mailer. She’d applied, offered samples of her work and had been hired.
The irony was Harper had started her home business because she didn’t have any skills—now she would certainly be qualified to work in an office, only to find she didn’t want to. She liked making her own hours and being around for her daughter—not that Becca was especially interested in her mother these days, but still. Harper was here should her daughter ever want or need her.
Harper went into the kitchen and poured herself another cup of coffee. The back door opened and Harper’s mother walked in. Bunny Bloom was petite, slim and in her early sixties. She dressed in high-end knits, wore her dark hair short and spikey and always, always put on makeup before stepping outside her apartment.
Bunny had lost her husband a couple of years ago and while Harper had been a mess in the months following her father’s death, Bunny had soldiered on, taking care of what needed doing. Once the dust had settled, she’d moved into the apartment above Harper’s garage both to be close to her only grandchild and to help Harper financially. There were months when Bunny’s thousand-dollar rent check meant the difference between hamburger for dinner and a box of mac and cheese. Figuratively, Harper thought as she smiled at her mother. She would never use boxed mac and cheese. She would make it herself, from scratch, including the noodles.
“Hey, Mom. How are you?” Harper asked, automatically pouring a second cup of coffee before pulling a freshly made coffee cake from the bread box and cutting off a slice.
“Old. Have you heard from Becca?”
“Just that they’re planning on heading home tomorrow.” She didn’t mention that since the text two days ago saying her daughter had arrived, she hadn’t heard a word. These days Becca just wasn’t talking to her and for the life of her, Harper couldn’t figure out why.
They settled at the round kitchen table and she gave the plate of coffee cake to her mother. Each of the four matching place mats had a rabbit motif, as did the salt-and-pepper shakers in the center of the table. The sugar bowl and creamer had rabbits and tulips, celebrating the holiday and the fact that it was spring.
“Good.” Bunny poured cream into her coffee. “I need to see my only grandchild for Easter. Have you started preparing dinner?”
“I have.”
Although no matter how much she prepped, she would spend most of Easter Sunday in a frenzy of cooking. The menu this year included strawberry avocado salad, a glazed ham, Potatoes Grand-Mère, both roasted asparagus and creamy spring peas, along with lemon meringue pie and an Easter Bunny cake. Oh, and appetizers.
All that for five people, or possibly seven if Lucas came and brought a date. She was never sure with him. Regardless, there would be food for twenty and lots of leftovers. And none of that counted the special “welcome home” dinner she would make tomorrow.
“Do you need help?” her mother asked.
Harper did her best not to scream. Of course she needed help! She was working sixty hours a week in a desperate attempt to stay afloat financially, taking care of her house, dealing with a sixteen-year-old, decorating for the holiday and getting ready to cook a fancy meal. Help would be nice. Help would be grand. But, in Bunny’s world, the woman of the house did not ask for help. No, she did it all herself, seemingly effortlessly. Family came first. The measure of a woman was how well she looked after her family and so on. Harper knew it all by heart. The problem was, from her perspective, the only person who cared about all that was Bunny herself. Bunny who no longer had to do anything for anyone because somehow all that responsibility was Harper’s now. Bunny was free to spend the day with her friends, dress perfectly for every occasion and judge her oldest daughter.
Harper smiled at her mother. “I’m good, Mom. I have it all under control. You just show up and look pretty.”
“All right. Stacey and Kit are coming to dinner?”
“Last I heard.”
Which could be interesting, Harper thought. At some point her sister was going to have to reveal her pregnancy and wouldn’t that be a conversation starter? She wasn’t sure if she wanted it to happen at Easter dinner, though. Not with all the work that went into the meal. Maybe after would be better, when everyone was still digesting, although that could be problematic, as well.
She supposed the actual issue was that there was simply no good time to confess to your mother that you were six months pregnant. At sixteen it made sense to hide the truth, but Stacey was forty.
Harper held in a sigh. She knew exactly why Stacey wasn’t eager to share the information. Their mother would have a million rules and shoulds, all of which Stacey would ignore. Then there would be fighting. Given that scenario, keeping quiet sort of made sense.
“Do you think she left you anything?”
Harper stared at her mother. “I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re asking.”
“Do you think she left you anything?”
“Saying the same thing again doesn’t make it any clearer, Mom.”
Her mother sighed. “In the will.”
Oh, right. Because Bunny would rather buy store-bought bread than actually say Great-Aunt Cheryl’s name. Which would be really funny except Harper had a similar problem with her ex’s girlfriend. She went out of her way to never say Alicia if at all possible. Although there was a huge difference, what with Alicia being twenty-eight and gorgeous and Great-Aunt Cheryl not being a relative at all and, well, dead.
“I have no idea,” Harper admitted. “A couple of years ago she asked me if I would take her dogs. I made it clear there was no way.”
Great-Aunt Cheryl had been many things, including a former army nurse who had somehow become a spy during World War II. After that, she’d traveled the world, taken lovers and generally lived a life that would have left anyone else exhausted. In the past decade or so, Great-Aunt Cheryl had taken to training dogs for the government. Harper was pretty sure they could arm a nuclear missile if instructed. They were also huge, slightly scary-looking Dobermans that she in no way wanted in her house.
“So no jewelry? No antique silver tea service?”
“Great-Aunt Cheryl wasn’t the antique silver tea service type.”
“Pity.”
They both knew that wasn’t true.
“I’m not expecting her to leave me anything, Mom. She was Terence’s aunt, not mine.”
“Yet you were always so close.”
There was a slight sniff at the end of the statement, but Harper ignored it.
“We were. She was lovely and I miss her a lot.” Great-Aunt Cheryl had always encouraged her to do more with her life than just take care of her family. When Becca had started kindergarten, Cheryl had offered to pay for Harper to go to college.
Harper, being an idiot, had refused. Why should she take time away from caring for her family to do something as ridiculous as going to college? It wasn’t as if she was ever going to be on her own and having to support herself and her daughter.
After the divorce Harper had wanted to tell Great-Aunt Cheryl how much she appreciated the offer, even if she hadn’t taken it. But at that point she’d been afraid it would sound too much like begging for money, so she’d never said the words. Now she couldn’t.
Regret was a mean and vindictive bitch.
* * *
Harper heard a knock at the front door, but before she could run to open it, she heard a familiar “It’s me.”
“In the kitchen,” she yelled as she deftly maneuvered hot lasagna noodles into the casserole dish. She wiped her hands on a towel, then reached for the bowl of marinara sauce—homemade, of course—and a spoon.
She glanced up as Lucas strolled into the room, then returned her attention to what she was doing. There was no point in looking at what she couldn’t have, she reminded herself. Not that she wanted Lucas—not exactly.
Yes, the man was ridiculously good-looking. Tall and fit, with an air of confidence that was just shy of being a swagger. He was fifty, so older than her, and unexpectedly kind. While he was always underfoot, he was rarely in the way and whenever he came to dinner—which was surprisingly often—he always brought thoughtful little gifts.
He stood on the other side of the kitchen island and studied the ingredients she’d set out earlier.
“Let’s see,” he began. “Lasagna goes without saying, so there will be garlic bread. Some kind of salad.” He paused. “The chopped one with the homemade basil dressing. Which means we’re having Becca’s favorite dinner.”
“In celebration of her return.”
“She was gone three nights. How are you going to show she’s special when she heads off to college for months at a time?”
“I don’t want to think about that,” Harper admitted. Not her only child being gone nor how she was supposed to pay for out-of-state tuition. “I made a chocolate cake.”
“Of course you did. What time is dinner?”
“Terence said they’d be back between four and five, so maybe five-thirty or six.”
“I’ll be here.” He looked around at all the mess. “This big dinner is in addition to the Easter feast tomorrow?”
“Of course. They’re totally unrelated.”
“And we couldn’t just let one of them go?”
“Seriously? You’re asking that?”
“Yeah. You’re right. What was I thinking?”
She finished sprinkling on a layer of grated cheese, then glanced at the clock. It was nearly three. She figured she could risk leaving the lasagna out on the counter until she popped it in the oven at four-fifteen. She’d made the bread days ago and had defrosted a loaf already. The garlic spread was done and the salad was in the refrigerator. She only had to pour on dressing and that was good to go. There was still the table to set. She returned her attention to Lucas.
“Are you bringing someone?”
One corner of his mouth turned up. “Persimmon.”
Harper wiped her hands on a towel. “You have got to be kidding. That’s her real name?”
“It’s on her driver’s license.”
“Which you saw because you check their ID before you date them?”
“I like to be sure.”
“That they’re not underage or that they’re not too old?”
“Sometimes both.”
“I get the biology,” she said, studying him across the kitchen island. “The young, healthy female should produce the best offspring. But we’re not living in caves anymore. You drive a Mercedes. If you’ve evolved enough to handle freeway driving, why can’t you date someone remotely close to your own age? I’m not suggesting an old lady, but maybe a woman in her thirties.” She walked to the pantry and got the small box of cookies she’d set aside for him.
“Never mind,” she told him as she handed him the decorated box. “You don’t have an answer and I have no right to question your personal life. I just work for you.”
“And give me cookies.” He studied the ribbon and appliques. “It’s beautiful, but I would have been happy with plastic wrap.”
“That’s not how we do things around here.”
“Which is part of your problem.”
“I know that. Unfortunately, knowing and doing something about it are two different things. Go wash your hands, then you can help me set the table.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He did as she requested, then met her in the formal dining room. Harper remembered when she and Terence had been looking for a house in the area. They’d passed on several because the dining room wasn’t big enough. When he’d pointed out their family wasn’t that large, she’d reminded him that she had a huge table, a giant hutch and massive buffet to find room for. He’d grumbled about her having too many dishes—every now and then she thought maybe he was right. After the divorce she’d sold two full sets and still had more stock than the average department store.
Her basic set of dishes were white, allowing her to use them as a base for any holiday or event. Now she studied her tablecloths and napkins, then thought about the bunny fest that would be tomorrow’s table.
“Becca likes pink,” Lucas offered. “Isn’t pink a spring color?”
“It is, and that would work. Thanks.”
She pulled out a pale rose tablecloth with matching napkins. She would use gold as the accent color, along with a little dark green. The dinner would be attended by Bunny, Becca, Lucas, fruit date, Kit and Stacey, and Harper, so seven.
She handed Lucas the tablecloth before digging out seven dark green place mats. The rest was easy: seven gold chargers, seven sets of gold flatware, her favorite crystal glasses, white plates. She had a collection of salad plates in different patterns, including eight that were edged in gold. She would make custom napkin rings by dressing up plain ones with clusters of silk flowers. She had three hurricane lamps with gold bases.
She left him to put the linens on the table, then hurried into her craft room to double-check supplies. Honestly, she should have planned her table a couple of days ago, in case she needed to go to the craft store. Now she was going to have to wing it.
She plugged in her glue gun, then dug through a large bag of silk flower pieces and found several tiny pink blossoms, along with some greens. She had glass beads, of course, and plenty of ribbon. Ten minutes later, she had secured the last of the flowers to the clear plastic napkin rings she bought in bulk. She picked up bags of colored glass beads and the ribbon, then turned and nearly ran into Lucas.
“What are you doing?” he asked, sounding more amused than concerned.
“Decorating the table. Can you get those hurricane lamps, please?”
“There’s something wrong with you,” he told her as he picked up the lamps and followed her back into the dining room. “Your crafts don’t make you a penny, yet you have that huge room for them. At the same time, you cram your office into that tiny bedroom in back.”
“Sometimes I have to use my craft room for work,” she said, trying not to sound defensive. “When I work for my party planner, I do.”
“Yeah, sell it somewhere else. Harper, no one’s going to take you seriously until you take yourself seriously.”
She thought of the stack of bills on her desk and how every month was a struggle. It was the house, she admitted to herself. She’d wanted to keep it after the divorce so that Becca wouldn’t have to move and she didn’t want to be forced to sell it when her daughter turned eighteen. Buying out Terence had decimated her half of their joint assets, meaning he got to keep all the cash, savings and most of their retirement accounts. In return she had the house and little else.
“I take my income very seriously. At some point I’ll switch out the craft room with my office, but not yet. The craft room makes me happy.”
“I doubt that. It’s a constant reminder of how you have to be perfect.”
The unexpected insight caught her off guard and made her feel embarrassed and exposed. Like he’d walked in on her going to the bathroom.
Lucas was like that. Not that he walked in on her doing anything, but every now and then he was uncomfortably intuitive.
They returned to the living room, where he put the hurricane lanterns on the sideboard. She wrapped rose and gold ribbon around the bases before setting them in place. After scattering the glass beads down the center of the table, she studied the effect.
“It’s beautiful,” Lucas told her. “Becca’s going to love it.”
“Bunny will complain I haven’t done enough.”
“Want me to take her on for you?”
“You’d never take the chance,” she told him. “What if you got old lady cooties?”
“There is that.” He followed her back into the kitchen where she pulled the garlic spread out of the refrigerator.
“So who is Great-Aunt Cheryl anyway?” he asked.
“Terence’s great-aunt. I first met her when he and I were still dating. She was wonderful. Funny and irreverent. She never married, but there were always very interesting men hanging around. She had a million stories and they were all so interesting. Just when I started to think she was making it all up, she’d pull out something like a letter from President Truman thanking her for her invaluable aid to our country.”
She sliced the French loaf lengthwise. Lucas leaned against the counter.
“You admired her.”
“I did. Very much. She was always very sweet to me.”
“Bunny hated her and was jealous of your relationship.”
Harper stared at him. “How did you know?”
“Come on. Really? Your mother is the most traditional person I know, and she’s convinced you that if you buy bread instead of making it, the sun won’t rise in the morning. Bunny is all home and hearth. Great-Aunt Cheryl would make Bunny’s teeth hurt. Worse, she would have violated every one of Bunny’s core beliefs.”
“They weren’t close,” Harper admitted. “Over the past couple of years, Great-Aunt Cheryl and I weren’t in touch as often. I thought she was busy. It was only after I found out she’d died that I learned she’d been sick.”
Harper still felt guilty for not pushing harder to find out what was going on. “She didn’t want to be any trouble, or something like that. I wish I’d been with her at the end.”
“Was she alone?”
“No, she had Ramon.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Ramon?”
“Great-Aunt Cheryl was a little like you when it came to her lovers.”
“Good for her. Why didn’t you go to the memorial?”
Harper had all her socially correct excuses at the ready, but with Lucas, she found herself blurting out the truth.
“It’s nearly a day to drive to Grass Valley and I didn’t want to be in the car that long with Terence and her.”
“Alicia?” Lucas asked sweetly. “Is there a reason you can’t say her name?”
“Yes. It’s like Beetlejuice. If you say her name too many times, she’ll rise up with horrific powers and do unspeakable things. I’m being cautious.”
“The world thanks you.”
“As it should.”
She finished coating the bread. After slicing it, she wrapped it in foil so it was ready to pop in the oven.
“Expecting anything from Great-Aunt Cheryl?” he asked.
“No. We were friends and that’s plenty.”
She went into the pantry and scooped flour into a sifter, then sorted through her folder of stencils before finding the one she needed. Technically it wasn’t Easter until Sunday, but she wanted something fun for her daughter’s return.
Lucas didn’t speak as he followed her outside. She stopped at the end of the walkway, then put the stencil on the concrete path before straightening and gently turning the handle on the sifter.
Flour drifted down, landing on the stencil. When she lifted it up, there was a perfect set of rabbit footprints.
Lucas stepped around her and headed for his car. “You’re a scary woman, Harper Szymanski. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
“With Pomegranate.”
“Persimmon.”
“Does it actually matter?”
He got into his white Mercedes convertible, turned to her and winked. “Honestly, it doesn’t.”
Chapter Three (#u85d27302-be68-5d93-8bf7-c5d87ea4b5ac)
STACEY TOLD HERSELF that everything was going to be fine. The scientific research on the power of positive thinking was extensive. When an outcome was utncertain, focusing on optimistic possibilities relaxed the body and cleared the mind. Otherwise, thinking could be crippled by fear, like hers, right now.
“She’s going to kill me when I tell her about the baby,” she murmured, glancing at Kit as he drove the handful of blocks to her sister’s house.
“Bunny would never do that. You’re her daughter and she loves you.”
“She’s going to be disappointed in me. She’s going to give me that look that makes me feel inadequate and small, as if I’m the most disappointing daughter ever. Then she’s going to tell me there’s something wrong with me.”
Kit reached across the console and took her hand. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Stacey. You’re brilliant, loyal, kind and funny.”
“But she is going to yell at me and be upset.”
It was the latter that would be the most difficult for her to handle. Stacey might not get along with her mother, but she didn’t want to hurt her feelings, either.
“She’s not going to understand why you didn’t tell her before,” Kit said quietly.
She squeezed his fingers as tightly as she could. “I couldn’t. She’s going to say things that I don’t want to hear.” Stacey was terrified enough about the baby as it was—she didn’t need her mother making the situation worse.
Most mothers worried about their child having a problem or about the pain of delivery or if they could handle the reality of juggling their already-busy life with an infant thrown in. She got that and shared some of those concerns, but her real worry—her real fear—was that she wasn’t going to be an adequate mother.
The baby wasn’t real to her. Hearing the heartbeat had brought Kit to tears while she’d simply monitored the rhythm and strength and found it to be within the normal range.
She had no sense of life growing within her. Yes, she understood the biology of what was happening, but that was simply science. Emotions were different. She could see herself as the vessel in which the baby grew, but not as the infant’s mother. She couldn’t imagine holding her daughter or rocking her. Kit talked about how excited he was for her to be born while Stacey had no sense of after.
“I just need to get through this,” Stacey whispered, thinking both of telling her mother and having the baby. “Once I know how she’s going to react, I’ll be fine.”
“Even if you’re not, I’ll be right there, next to you.” He drew back his hand and flashed her a grin. “Harper will provide cover while we’ll be ready to run if Bunny starts swinging.”
Stacey managed a slight smile. “She would never hit you or even say you were wrong. You’re the man and, by default, special.”
“It’s good to be me.” His grin faded. “I know I’ve asked before, but I want to double-check that you’re okay with Ashton moving in with us.”
The change of subject was welcome but the new topic matter confused her. “Why would there be a problem with Ashton?”
Kit pulled up in front of Harper’s house and turned off the engine. He faced Stacey. “You barely know him. He’s going to be living with us through the summer. The baby is due in late June. Any one of these could be considered a problem for most women.”
Kit was a rock-solid guy, but his sister was not. She’d spent most of her life in and out of drug rehab. Every now and then Stacey wondered if she should have specialized in addiction. The brain had an amazing capacity to fixate on pleasure—whatever its source.
Kit’s sister’s lifestyle had played havoc on her son’s life. Ashton had bounced around, living with friends and distant relatives while his mother dealt with her issues. Over the years Kit had tried to bring Ashton to California to live with him, but his sister wouldn’t allow it.
Now that Ashton was eighteen, he was free to do what he wanted. Kit and Stacey had agreed the young man could live with them until he started MIT in the fall. He only had two classes left to complete his high school diploma and he would take both of those online.
“He’s been very responsible and pleasant both times I’ve met him,” she said. “I’m sure we’ll get along.”
Plus, having another person in the house would allow her to be distracted from the impending birth. Not that she would admit that to Kit.
“You’re being very generous,” Kit said.
“I’m not. I like Ashton.”
“I meant about us supplementing his college.”
Ashton had a scholarship that covered his tuition but little else. Kit and Stacey would take care of his room and board, along with whatever else he might need.
“I’ve always been well compensated and the house is paid for. We have money set aside for Joule’s college fund. Helping Ashton is our way of paying it forward.” Perhaps if she put out enough good deeds, the Universe wouldn’t notice that she had no interest in her daughter.
Kit leaned close and kissed her. “You’re the best wife ever.”
“I wish that were true.”
They got out of the car and started for the front door. Stacey paused to study the bunny footprints on the walkway. Inadequacy gripped her with cold, bony fingers.
She would never be able to do anything like that, she thought, trying not to panic. She wouldn’t even think to do it, let alone be clear on how to execute the plan. Yes, Kit would be the one staying home with their daughter, but still—she was completely and totally clueless.
Harper opened the front door and smiled. “Hey, you two.” She ran down the steps and hugged her sister before embracing Kit. “I hope you’re hungry. I made lasagna.”
Because it was Becca’s favorite, Stacey thought automatically. Harper always did that sort of thing. She took care of the details of life. Details Stacey rarely noticed.
They went into the house. From the foyer Stacey could see the decorated table, the place settings and the crystal glasses. She thought of the plain dishes she and Kit had at home and wanted to whimper.
“Come on,” Harper said, leading them into the kitchen. “I’m trying a new herbal tea I read about online. It’s supposed to be perfect for pregnant women. It supports both the baby and the mother.” She grinned at Kit. “For you, I have a beer.”
“You’re my favorite sister-in-law,” he told her.
Harper laughed. “Of course I am.”
Stacey watched Harper pour hot tea into a mug. “I’m going to tell Mom today.”
Harper rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. Sure you are. I usually resent you being both the pretty and the smart sister, but right now you do have your issues. I say wait until Joule is born, then hand her over. Mom will get the message.”
Kit got a bottle of beer from the refrigerator. “That’s what I said.”
The back door opened and Bunny walked into the kitchen. “You’re here,” she said, smiling at Stacey and Kit. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
She hugged them both, then looked around at the kitchen. “Do you need help with dinner?” she asked Harper.
“Thanks, Mom, I’m good.”
Stacey sipped her tea. Harper always made everything domestic look so easy. Her house was perfectly decorated for whatever season and always tidy and clean.
Bunny took a mug of tea and sat at one of the counter stools. She looked at Stacey. “So what’s new?”
The room went totally silent. Stacey could feel her husband and her sister both watching her, waiting to see what she would do.
She had to come clean—she understood that. If only her mother would understand. But Bunny wouldn’t. She hadn’t approved of Stacey keeping her own last name when she married Kit, that she still worked full-time, that her job had always been the most important part of her life, at least until she’d met Kit.
Stacey sucked in a breath and opened her mouth. “Mom, I—”
“Knock, knock!”
The call came from the front of the house. Harper walked by and murmured, “Saved by the bell, so to speak. I can’t figure out if you have the best or worst luck.”
“Me, either.”
Harper’s client Lucas walked into the kitchen with a tall, thin redhead at his side. The young woman looked to be maybe twenty or twenty-one. She held a large, fabric-covered box, which she handed to Harper.
“Lucas said this is for you.”
“It’s beautiful,” Harper said as she set it on the counter. “Where did you find it?”
“Etsy,” Lucas said, handing Bunny a bouquet of flowers. “Hello, Bunny.”
Her mother batted her lashes and smiled at Lucas. “Hello, Lucas.” She turned to his date. “And you are?”
“Persimmon,” Harper said with a grin.
“Oh, dear.” Bunny’s mouth grew pinched. “That’s an unusual name.”
“I know, right? I have a sister named Kumquat.”
“I can’t imagine what your parents were thinking.” Bunny gave her an insincere smile. “Let me get these in water.”
With Lucas and Persimmon around, Stacey was able to relax. There was no way she could tell her mother the truth now. Maybe after dinner, when Lucas and his date had left.
Stacey settled on one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter and prepared to watch the dynamics of the interactions between Lucas, Harper and Bunny.
Harper got her guests drinks. Lucas took a beer and Persimmon wanted to try the herbal tea. Stacey wondered if she was old enough to legally drink alcohol. Bunny fussed with the flowers, all the while eyeing Lucas’s date.
In a way, Bunny’s dilemma was interesting to observe. She didn’t approve of his young girlfriends, yet he was a man and therefore right by default. Stacey wondered about his preference for dating women so much younger than himself. He was attractive, intelligent and had a very responsible job. By all accounts he should be more comfortable with women closer to his own demographic. Yet he clearly favored young, beautiful but vapid women.
Kit’s theory was that Lucas had had some trauma in his life. Stacey had asked Harper, but she didn’t have any insights.
Lucas settled next to Stacey, then leaned close. “Still not coming clean?” he asked quietly.
“How did you know?”
“There’s no screaming and Bunny isn’t hyperventilating. Want me to tell her? She doesn’t scare me.”
“She doesn’t scare me, either.”
Lucas raised his eyebrows.
“Okay, she doesn’t scare me much.”
He winked at her and she laughed.
Harper pulled her cell phone from her jeans pocket and glanced at the screen. “That’s Becca,” she said, sounding relieved. “They’re pulling up now.”
Everyone walked toward the front of the house. Kit grabbed Stacey’s hand and squeezed her fingers. She looked at him and sighed.
“I know,” she told him.
“You’ll get there.”
Stacey hoped he was right.
They all went out front, careful to avoid the rabbit footprints. A large black BMW pulled into the driveway. Stacey noted that Terence’s girlfriend was driving rather than him, which was unusual, but not as unexpected as the three incredibly large dogs in the back seat with Becca.
The car came to a stop and Terence nearly fell out of the passenger’s side. His face was red, his eyes practically swollen shut and he was coughing and choking. Alicia, his girlfriend, got out and shook her head.
“I guess he is really allergic to dogs, huh?”
Becca was the last to leave the vehicle, followed by three huge Dobermans. The dogs were sleek and muscled, black-and-tan, with alert but wary expressions. Stacey watched her sister stare at her daughter, then at the dogs.
“No,” Harper breathed. “She didn’t.”
“Mom, it’s not what you think!”
All the Bloom women had dark hair and blue eyes, with heart-shaped faces. Stacey was the tallest at five-seven. Bunny and Harper were both a few inches shorter, and Becca was in the middle. Seeing them together, no one could miss the family resemblance.
Alicia sighed. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Harper. Great-Grandmother Cheryl or whatever she was to you didn’t leave you the dogs.” The blonde woman’s expression turned smug. “She left them to Becca. All three of them. Good luck.”
Harper took a step toward her daughter. “She left you the dogs and you never thought to give me a heads-up?”
Her daughter’s chin rose. “I knew you’d overreact and tell me I couldn’t bring them home.”
Terence continued to choke and cough. Becca looked at him.
“Dad is allergic to dogs, like you said. He took all kinds of meds but he still had a hard time. I guess it was being in the car and everything.”
Harper barely glanced at her ex, instead keeping her attention on Becca. “We cannot have three dogs.”
“They’re huge and dangerous,” Bunny piped in. “And that one’s pregnant.”
“Her name is Bay,” Becca said, still sounding defiant. “And they’re mine. Great-Aunt Cheryl wanted me to have them and you can’t take them away from me.”
Kit put his arm around Stacey. “To think we almost named our daughter Bay,” he murmured. “Awkward.”
She appreciated his attempt at humor but was more concerned about Becca and Harper fighting. If her sister couldn’t get along with her daughter, what chance did Stacey have with her child? Harper was the perfect mother. She knew how to do everything.
“Becca, be reasonable,” Harper said. “They’re huge dogs. We don’t have enough room for them. Plus, they’re specially trained. Shouldn’t the government take them?”
Becca’s eyes filled with tears. “I knew you’d be like this. You never want me to have what I want.”
Alicia had opened the trunk. She started pulling out bags and boxes. “No one needs to help me,” she said sarcastically. “I’m fine.”
Both Kit and Lucas walked over and finished emptying the trunk. Terence stumbled into the car while Alicia got behind the wheel. They drove off without saying a word.
Lucas glanced at the dogs. “What’s the boy’s name?” he asked.
“Thor and the other one is Jazz.”
“Thor, come.”
Lucas’s voice was firm. The male Doberman trotted over and sat in front of him. Lucas held out his hand. Thor sniffed, then looked at him.
“Good boy.” Lucas patted him on the head. “I’ll take him.”
Harper spun to face him. “You’ll what?”
“I’ll take him. I have a yard and I’ve always wanted a dog. It’ll be great.”
Becca sniffed. “That would be okay, if you promise to be a good puppy dad.”
“I do promise.”
Stacey met the gaze of the pregnant dog. The animal looked calm and kind of sweet, in a very large, I could eat you in a hot minute kind of way.
“We’ll take, um, Bay,” she said without thinking. Maybe she could learn something when the dog had her puppies. If nothing else, it would be nice to have another pregnant female around.
“Stacey,” Bunny said disapprovingly. “You can’t just blurt out things like that. You have to talk to your husband first. What if Kit doesn’t want a dog?”
Kit met Stacey’s gaze. She saw the understanding in his eyes and knew he got what she’d been thinking. Still, she should have asked him—a dog was a big responsibility and she spent her days at the lab.
Kit smiled at her, then he called Bay. The Doberman hurried to sit in front of him.
“Want to come home with us?” he asked.
She tilted her head as if considering the offer.
Persimmon clapped her hands together. “This is so wonderful. Like a Hallmark movie. The whole family pulled together.” She smiled at Harper. “Now you have to let your daughter keep the dog because it’s just one. I could so cry right now.”
“Me, too,” Harper muttered. “Becca, the only way we’re keeping a dog is if you take responsibility for it. I mean that. You have to do everything. If you don’t, it goes. Am I clear?”
“I’ll do it, Mom. You’ll see. I’ll handle it all.”
“I want to believe you,” Harper began, then stopped herself. “All right. Let’s sort through all this stuff and figure out what goes where. Did Great-Aunt Cheryl leave an instruction sheet or something?”
“There’s a whole book,” Becca said eagerly as she wiped away tears. “They know some really cool stuff, Mom. You’ll see.”
“I’ll do research on pregnant dogs,” Kit said. “We’re going to have puppies.”
And a baby, Stacey thought, knowing there was no way she could tell her mother the truth today. As Harper said, Stacey either had the best or worst luck in the world. She just couldn’t decide which.
Chapter Four (#u85d27302-be68-5d93-8bf7-c5d87ea4b5ac)
BECCA SZYMANSKI CARRIED her suitcase and backpack into the living room and let both fall to the carpeted floor. She was happy, sad, mad, annoyed and relieved all at once, and her chest wasn’t big enough for that much emotion.
She’d known her mom was totally going to overreact to the dogs and she hadn’t been wrong. Just once, just one single time, she would really appreciate it if her mother would listen and respond like a thoughtful person instead of always jumping to the conclusion that not only would it go badly but it would all be Becca’s fault because she wasn’t responsible enough.
Becca was responsible. She’d gotten through her parents’ divorce without letting either of them know how devastated she was. She’d gotten through her best friend’s moving away without anyone seeing how shattered she was inside. She lived a thousand emotions her mother knew nothing about...and never would.
Becca collapsed to the floor and started to cover her face with her hands only to hear a faint whimper. She looked up and saw Jazz standing just inside the front door, her expression worried, her brown eyes questioning.
“Oh, Jazz, I’m sorry. I forgot you were there.” Becca bit her bottom lip. Did saying that make her mother right?
No, she told herself quickly. Of course not. She’d been home five seconds—it would take a while for them all to adjust to a pet.
She shifted onto her knees, then held out her arms and said softly, “Jazz, come here.”
The black-and-tan Doberman approached, then sat obediently. Becca threw her arms around the dog and hung on. “It’s okay,” she whispered against the dog’s warm body. “You’re going to be safe now, I promise. I’m going to be here for you.”
She drew back and looked into Jazz’s face. “Thor is going to stay with our friend Lucas, and Bay will be with Aunt Stacey. Lucas is a good guy. He’s a detective with the Los Angeles Police Department. He’s been my mom’s client for about a year now.” She smiled. “He’s a grown-up, so you know what that means, although he’s pretty cool with me.” She wrinkled her nose. “He always has really young girlfriends. It was creepy at first, but finally I asked him if I had to worry that he would want to date one of my friends in a couple of years.”
Jazz’s ears perked up, as if she were interested in the answer.
“He said the younger woman thing was because of trauma and that he promised he would never embarrass me that way. He said he wanted me to know that he totally respected me and my mom and that he would be there if we needed something.” She stroked the dog’s head. “To be honest, he has been really supportive and stuff with us. I’m telling you this so you won’t worry about Thor.”
She thought about her aunt Stacey. “I’m sure Bay will be good with Kit and Stacey. They have a nice house and a yard. Uncle Kit’s really fun and Aunt Stacey is super smart. She’s going to cure MS or maybe help people with MS have less symptoms. I’m never sure when she talks about her work.” She hugged Jazz. “I get it. Even though you know everyone is okay, you’re going to miss your friends, though, aren’t you? I so get that. I miss Kaylee, but she’s off having fun with her new friends. You should see what she posts on Instagram all the time.” Becca waved her hands in the air. “Look at me! Look at me!”
Jazz’s steady gaze never wavered. Becca dropped her arms to her side.
“You have no idea who I’m talking about, do you,” she said with a sigh. “Sorry.” She thought briefly of pulling out her phone and showing Jazz the videos, then told herself the dog still wouldn’t care. Because this was all new to Jazz and no matter how well trained she was, she had to be scared.
“I remember the first night my dad left,” Becca admitted in a low voice as she sat on the floor and continued to pet the dog. “I was crying, my mom was crying, my grandmother kept asking my mom what she’d done wrong. It was horrible. Uncle Kit and Aunt Stacey had just gotten married and were on their honeymoon, so she wasn’t here.”
Becca sighed. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you this, but Great-Aunt Cheryl is gone. She was really old and she died.” She shifted so she sat directly in front of Jazz. “I promise I will always take care of you, Jazz. I’ll be here. I have to go to school and stuff, but then I’ll come home. You belong here now. With me.”
She smiled. “I always wanted a dog, but Mom said we couldn’t because Dad was allergic. After the drive home, I guess he really is. Anyway, I want you to know I’m going to take care of you. I have the book of instructions Great-Aunt Cheryl left me. I’ll get copies to Stacey and Lucas. You have to believe in me, okay? I’m going to be here. I’m not going to die like Great-Aunt Cheryl, and I’m not going to leave you like my dad.”
Tears unexpectedly formed. Becca brushed them away. It was one thing to be upset about the dogs, but she refused to cry over the divorce. It had been two years and she should be over it. At least that was what everyone else seemed to think.
She knew, compared to some of her friends, she had it easy. She wasn’t shuffled from house to house and she didn’t have to deal with a bunch of new stepbrothers and sisters. In fact, she rarely saw her father. He was too busy with his new life and Alicia.
“How’s it going?”
She looked up as Lucas walked into the living room, then leaned her head against Jazz. “We’re still getting to know each other. It’s only been a couple of days, so Jazz is a little scared.”
“Sure.” He sat in a club chair across the room. “There’s been a lot of change. How are you holding up?”
She glanced at him and rolled her eyes. “Why are you asking? You know I’m mad at my mom.”
“Yes, I do. Want to tell me why?”
She didn’t know what it was about Lucas, but she could always talk to him. Maybe it was because he didn’t speak to her like she was a kid—he treated her as if she were a regular person with thoughts and opinions and feelings.
When she’d first met him, she’d wondered if he was one of those creepy old guys she and her friends were always being warned about. One of her friends had a stepdad who’d tried to touch her, which was horrible and disgusting.
But Lucas wasn’t like that. He was nice. He listened and when he was around, her mom was a lot calmer. Becca had even gotten used to the really young girlfriends. Some of them were complete airheads, but a few had given her some fashion advice. Still, what was with naming your kid Persimmon?
“She always says no,” Becca grumbled, remembering the question. “I’ve begged for a dog forever and she said it was because of my dad. Then he moved out and she still said no. Great-Aunt Cheryl left the dogs to me in her will. They’re mine. Mom should respect that.”
Lucas didn’t say anything, but then he didn’t have to. She squirmed slightly. Jazz gave her a quick lick on her cheek before flopping to the floor. Becca sprawled out next to her and held her paw in her hand.
“Fine,” Becca said with a sigh. “Three dogs would be a lot, and I’ve never taken care of a dog before.” She glared at him. “There are instructions in the book and I’ve been reading them. I know how much they eat and when they have to be walked. I’m going to take care of Jazz. I’ll feed her and play with her and pick up after her.”
She shuddered as she thought of the volume of poop the three dogs had generated over the past couple of days. Gross didn’t come close, but everything had a price.
“I’ll even clean up the yard. I’m going to be a good dog mom. You’ll see.”
“Sounds like you have a plan.”
“I do.” She sat up. “Are you really taking Thor?”
“I am. He’ll be spending his days here while I’m at work, so Jazz won’t be alone.”
“Does Mom know?”
“I’ll tell her after dinner.”
Becca chuckled. “Thanks. She can’t tell you no and there’s no way she can watch Thor and make me get rid of Jazz, so thank you.”
“That wasn’t my master plan but it does seem to solve a lot of problems.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a DVD case, then handed it to her. Becca look at the cover and laughed.
“You didn’t! Sixteen Candles. Thanks, Lucas. You know it’s my favorite.”
“I do know.”
Becca had a thing for the ’80s. The clothes, the overstyled hair. How on earth did anyone ever wear leg warmers? But Madonna’s music was great and the John Hughes movies were always fun to watch.
“Come on,” Lucas said as he rose. “Bay and Thor are playing outside. Jazz should be with them to get the kinks out from her long drive down.”
“Okay.” Becca turned to her dog. “Come on, Jazz. Let’s go in the backyard.”
The slim, muscled dog rose and stretched, then walked at Becca’s side. Becca stroked her head and ears. She was all Jazz had now.
“I’ll be here,” she told the dog. “You can depend on me.” Because she knew all about what it was like to be an afterthought, and she never wanted Jazz to feel that way.
* * *
Stacey arrived at her office shortly after seven Monday morning. On days Kit had to get to school, their mornings were less leisurely and they both liked to be at the office early.
Except for dinner at Harper’s, they’d spent Easter Sunday getting Bay acclimated to her new home. Stacey had lost her nerve again and didn’t tell her mom about her pregnancy, rationalizing that she didn’t want to monopolize everyone’s attention on the holiday.
She and Kit had taken Bay on two long walks so she could get familiar with the neighborhood. Stacey had read up on pregnant dogs and had researched veterinarians in the office, while Kit had installed a doggie door so Bay could come and go as she liked during the day.
Bay was exceptionally well behaved. She’d slept in her dog bed in their room and had eaten. According to all Stacey had read, the dog seemed to be adjusting.
Stacey reviewed the latest test results from their new research direction. Proteins were an obvious area to investigate, but narrowing down exactly which ones and how they reacted was the tedious challenge. Still, progress was being made.
“Morning.”
Stacey looked up as her assistant, Lexi, walked into her office. Lexi, a tall redhead in her midthirties, placed a mug on Stacey’s desk.
“Herbal tea,” she said with a grin. “In case you were hoping I was going to slip you a little caffeine.”
“You’d never do that,” Stacey said with a smile. “You always take excellent care of me. How was your weekend?”
“Good. Busy. The Easter Bunny did his thing on Sunday morning. Oh, Sam fell out of a tree, which had me sweating a broken arm, but he’s fine. Still, what is it with kids and trees? It’s not like the trees climb all over them. It’s a tree—leave it alone.”
Stacey wanted to say that Lexi could simply tell her son not to climb trees, only she knew that advice would not be welcome. She wasn’t sure if it was all children or simply Lexi’s, but hers didn’t listen very well.
Her assistant was bright and capable. As she frequently did, Stacey thought it was a shame that Lexi hadn’t gone to college. She could have been successful in many different areas. Not that she wasn’t an excellent assistant—she was. But with three kids to support, Lexi was frequently scrambling to make ends meet. A career with a more lucrative pay scale would have been appreciated.
But Lexi had gotten pregnant in high school and then again a couple of years later. She’d married in her late twenties and had her third child by her now ex-husband.
People made interesting choices, Stacey thought. Some made sense while others simply confused her. She was never sure how much of that was her inability to relate to them versus the decision not making sense in the first place.
“How was your Easter?” Lexi asked as she took a seat across from Stacey’s desk.
“Very nice. Harper prepared a wonderful meal. I brought plenty of leftovers for lunch if you’d care for some.”
Lexi closed her eyes and moaned. “You know I love your sister’s cooking. What that woman does with brownies should be illegal.”
Lexi’s interest in food greatly contributed to her weight problem. Stacey had tried to explain that she should think of food as fuel—like gas for a car. Perhaps that would allow her to lose weight. Lexi had told Stacey that while she was the best boss ever, she wasn’t allowed to comment on her personal appearance and if she did it again, Lexi would write her up.
It had been the only moment of tension in their otherwise-successful working relationship.
Stacey honestly hadn’t understood what she’d done wrong. Kit had tried to explain that Lexi probably knew she had a weight problem and wasn’t looking for Stacey to try to solve it. Which made absolutely no sense. Not only were there health risks, but Lexi was always complaining about being tired and that she couldn’t buy cute clothes. Simply eating less would make it all go away.
But Stacey appreciated Lexi and wanted to keep her happy, so she had vowed not to say anything ever again. She’d brought in brownies Harper had made as a peace offering and all had been well.
Lexi opened her eyes. “Did you tell her?”
No need to ask, tell who what? Lexi had known about the pregnancy since Stacey had had her first ultrasound. She wanted to pretend confusion as to why it had been so easy to tell Harper and Lexi about the baby, yet so hard to tell her mother, only she couldn’t. She knew exactly why she didn’t want to confess all to Bunny.
Maybe it was a bit like Lexi and her addiction to food. Knowing the right thing to do didn’t make it any easier to accomplish.
“We have a new dog.”
Lexi blinked at her. “There’s a non sequitur. You have a dog?”
Stacey explained about Becca and the inherited dogs. “We took Bay. She’s beautiful and so well trained. With all the confusion, it didn’t seem like a good time to tell my mother about the baby.”
“Uh-huh. I’m sure someone believes that, but it wouldn’t be me. You are lucky you’re tall enough that your pregnancy doesn’t show or she would have guessed by now anyway. You’re going to be one of those annoying women who doesn’t look pregnant until the last three days.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Stacey, you know it’s only going to get harder to tell her the longer you wait, right?”
Stacey nodded, although she couldn’t imagine it being any more difficult than it was right now.
“You also have to let Karl know,” Lexi added.
“I’ve told HR,” Stacey said defensively.
She’d already filled out all the required paperwork and requested her leave. The chain of command had been alerted. Which was not, she admitted to herself, the same as telling the head of her department.
Karl wasn’t exactly her boss—Stacey had autonomy in her department. As long as her team produced results, she was left to her own devices. Still, Karl was the closest thing to a manager she had, and at some point he needed to know. Just not right now.
“Did I mention Bay is pregnant?”
Lexi’s eyes widened. “Your new dog is pregnant?”
“Yes. Significantly so. I’m going to make an appointment to take her to the vet to get her checked out.” She frowned. “Thor’s been neutered, so he can’t be the father. I wonder who it was. Regardless, we’ll have puppies soon.”
“You’re pregnant. You haven’t told your mom or Karl, but you now have a dog who’s going to have puppies?”
Lexi’s voice was filled with incredulity and shock, which didn’t make any sense.
“Why are you saying it like that? What does one have to do with the other?”
“You’re going to have a baby,” Lexi said forcefully. “Your life is going to change in ways you can’t begin to understand. The last thing you need is puppies in the house.”
Stacey disagreed. Puppies were exactly what she needed. Being around Bay would allow her to observe motherhood in a safe and nonjudgmental environment. She planned to learn from the dog and use those lessons to help herself feel more connected to her own child.
“I think Bay and her puppies will be good for me,” she said.
“You’re the boss.” Lexi stood. “I’m going to finish proofing your article, then email it back to you. In the meantime, if you have any questions, remember I’ve had three. I know it all.”
“Thank you.”
Stacey planned to call on her assistant when the time came. It would be good to have an extra resource for those questions she couldn’t ask her mother or sister.
Too much of the literature she’d read mentioned hormones and instinct kicking in when the baby was born. While Stacey appreciated the power of innate intelligence, she was concerned she was somehow lacking vital pieces—especially when it came to being a mother. She’d never been normal before—why would that change now?
* * *
Becca walked slowly up the front steps to Mischief Bay High School when what she wanted to do was run or skip or even dance. Spring Break was over. Finally! She glanced around, wondering if anyone else was thinking the same thing, then sighed. Of course they weren’t. Everyone else had gone away for Spring Break or had fun with their friends. Everyone else had plans. She’d been the only one counting the days until she could get back to something close to a life.
She sat on the stone bench to the side of the huge open double doors and faked looking for something in her backpack. She needed a second to remember how to pretend all the things she was supposed to pretend. That she didn’t miss Kaylee every second of every day. Her best friend had moved to Boston at the end of last summer. After swearing she would never have another friend as amazing as Becca, after crying for weeks about how she would never fit in, Kaylee had settled into life in Boston easily and happily.
Between Instagram and Snapchat, Becca had a clear idea of exactly how perfect Kaylee’s new life was. She even had a boyfriend. Just like Jordan, Becca’s second-best friend. Becca, on the other hand, hadn’t even been kissed, not unless you counted a couple of stupid birthday parties with kissing games, which she didn’t.
She knew it was wrong to be jealous of Kaylee learning to sail and dating the younger brother of a naval cadet, and in a way, she wasn’t. She wanted Kaylee to be happy—it was just she also wanted to be missed as much as she was missing her friend. But the texts were getting less frequent and less personal. These days it seemed as if Kaylee was texting her grandmother rather than her friend.
As for Jordan... Becca shook her head. She had no idea what to do there. Jordan and her family had gone to Mexico for Spring Break. Back in November, Jordan had begged Becca to go with her. If she didn’t have her best friend along, she would die. Then, over Christmas, Jordan and Nathan had started dating and in the end, Jordan had taken Nathan instead.
There were other friends—she was part of a group, just like pretty much every other girl in high school. But those were just regular friends. Becca had never been good at being close with a crowd. She preferred one or two people in her life, which made her weird and left her sitting alone on this stupid bench, freakishly excited about school starting in twenty minutes.
She looked around at everyone talking about their vacations, listened to the laughing and teasing and felt...sad. No, she thought. Not sad, exactly. Small. She was so small and everyone else was big and sometimes she felt as if she were getting smaller and smaller and one day she would just disappear.
Her phone chirped.
Where r u? omg I need to c u now
Becca smiled as Jordan’s drama played out in text, even as she heard her friend’s voice in her head.
Muinoup, she texted back, abbreviating “meet you in our usual place.”
She started toward the science building where she and Jordan would meet up in the girls’ bathroom. No one hung out here before school started, which meant the bathrooms were usually empty, allowing plenty of privacy for whatever revelation Jordan might want to share.
Becca wanted to hear all about her friend’s vacation. Jordan had been oddly quiet during her trip, only posting a handful of Snapchat videos and three Instagram pics. Once Jordan was finished—because Jordan always had to go first—Becca wanted to talk about her new dog and her dad and his upcoming wedding that her mom still knew nothing about.
And the car. At some point Becca was going to have to come clean about the car.
She wondered how her mom would react when she found out her ex-husband was getting married. Would she be mad or would she cry? Becca didn’t know what she was supposed to say. She wasn’t happy about it, either. Her dad already pretty much ignored her. He’d promised to take her driving over Spring Break and that had never happened—not even on the long drive to Grass Valley. She needed her fifty supervised hours. Her mom always said she was too busy, and now her dad kept flaking out on her.
She ran up the steps to the science building, pushed open the door and turned into the girls’ bathroom. Jordan was already there, texting. She smiled when she saw Becca.
“Finally! My God, I’ve been waiting and waiting. Where were you?”
Becca automatically started checking stalls to make sure they were alone. Jordan shook her head.
“I did that already. You’ll never guess. Try. You won’t, but try.”
Becca looked at her friend. Jordan was one of those people who had been born beautiful. She had dark skin and hair, and big brown eyes. She was tall, thin and always knew what she was supposed to wear.
Becca and Kaylee had been friends since kindergarten. It had always been the two of them until junior high when they’d met Jordan. Then it had been the three of them. Kaylee had always been the pretty friend, but when Jordan came along, Kaylee had to give up her crown. As for Becca, well, she was funny and smart. As if that mattered.
“How was your vacation?” Becca asked.
“Perfect. Amazing. Life changing.” Jordan spun in a circle, then grinned. “Do I look different? I feel different. More mature, you know?”
Becca studied her. Jordan wore skinny jeans and a cute, cropped sweater. Her hair was long, hanging down to the middle of her back. She had about a dozen bangles on her wrists, one ear cuff and a tiny diamond nose stud.
“You look great,” Becca offered.
Jordan grabbed her arm and pulled her close. “You can’t tell anyone. You have to swear.”
“I never tell. You know that. What? Tell me.” But as she asked, she got a sinking feeling she already knew.
Jordan released her, then sucked in a breath. “Nathan and I had sex. Not just fooling around. We did it. All the way.” She paused. “He actually put it in!”
Becca didn’t know what to say. Sure, she’d known this could happen eventually. Jordan and Nathan had been together for a while now and they had other friends who were hooking up, but still. Sex? Yet one more way Becca was being left behind.
She felt stupid and ugly and unwanted. Like aliens had come to school and abducted everyone but her because why would she be interesting to experiment on?
Jordan looked expectant. Becca tried to think of the right question. She and Jordan had talked about what it would be like to do that of course. More since Jordan and Nathan got serious, but to have done it...
“What was it like? Where did you do it? Do your parents know?”
Jordan exhaled slowly, then smiled. “It was nice. I liked it better when we were just, you know, fooling around, but it was good, too. I feel so different.” She looked at herself in the mirror. “I keep waiting for my mom to figure it out but that would mean she noticed I was alive.” Jordan rolled her eyes. “You know how she is.”
Jordan’s mother was a successful lawyer and her dad was a judge. They both adored and ignored their only daughter.
“Anyway, on Tuesday night Nathan sneaked into my room. We were fooling around, and then he got really serious.” Jordan’s eyes filled with tears. “He said he loved me and I said I loved him, and then it just happened.”
How did something like that just happen? “Did it hurt?”
“Yes, but not for long. He was so sweet. He stayed the night.” Jordan turned back to her. “I hope you find somebody, Becca. A good guy who wants to have sex with you.”
Because the only ones lining up were bad guys?
Jordan smiled at her. “I want you to know that I’m still going to be friends with you. That you matter to me. Even though we’re in different places in our lives now.” The smile gentled and became annoying like a mom’s. “You’ll catch up eventually.”
Jordan glanced at her phone. “Okay, we have a few minutes and I know you want all the details. Some are kind of personal, but still...”
Irritation flared. “I had a Spring Break, too, Jordan. It wouldn’t kill you to ask about it.”
“All you did was stay home.” Jordan sighed. “Don’t be jealous, Becca. I’m not going to be sorry that I have Nathan and you don’t have anybody. You’re my best friend and he’s my boyfriend. You’re going to have to find a way to get along.”
“Why do I have to get along with him? Why doesn’t he have to get along with me?” Becca shook her head. “And that’s not the point. Nathan and I are fine together. This isn’t even about that.”
“You’re not making any sense. Are you mad at me because everything is so great for me?”
“No. Of course not. I’m sorry.”
The words were automatic, then annoying. Becca couldn’t figure out what she was thinking or why she was apologizing. Why did Jordan get to be so selfish and Becca was the bad guy? What was going on with everyone?
She picked up her backpack. “We should go. It’s time for class.”
Jordan walked to the door, then glanced back at her. “I wish you could trust me not to leave you behind, Becca.”
Becca thought longingly of the instruction book Great-Aunt Cheryl had left her. Maybe there was a command that would make Jazz bite Jordan. Not hard. Just enough to have her friend realize she was being the biggest bitch on the planet.
Chapter Five (#u85d27302-be68-5d93-8bf7-c5d87ea4b5ac)
HARPER COULDN’T SHAKE the feeling of being watched—probably because she was. Even though Thor and Jazz were lying down on huge beds that nearly filled her tiny office, their eyes were open and firmly fixed on her. As if waiting for something. She supposed some of her unease came from the fact that they were huge, muscular dogs trained to do God knew what. For all she knew, they were assessing her and if she showed weakness, they would simply kill her and hide the body, then pretend nothing had happened.
“I can’t believe I’m dog sitting,” she muttered, as she moved the picture around on her computer screen. She had a one-off job to provide online content for a new boutique by the boardwalk. The owner had called in a panic after realizing that just because her twelve-year-old could design a slick website, he wasn’t necessarily prepared to develop content. Harper was hoping the owner would be happy enough to keep her on to-do monthly updates.
She forced herself to concentrate, despite the sense of foreboding the two dogs engendered. She’d been expecting to have to deal with Jazz, but then Lucas had told her he was adding dog sitting to her duties. She would have refused only she not only needed the money—Jazz ate more than the average grizzly, and the food Great-Aunt Cheryl recommended cost as much as dinner for five at a decent restaurant—but she thought the two dogs might keep each other company, thereby freeing her from having to entertain Jazz.
She settled on a location for the pictures, cut and pasted the text, then studied the effect of the page. She’d added a section for featured clothes and had made the “style of the week” section bigger. Fifteen minutes of brainstorming over coffee had given her a list of suggestions she planned to share with the owner. One of them—a shop-your-closet feature—could give clients a reason to either come to the website or read the newsletter without feeling they were being sold to at every turn.
She got up to pour herself more coffee. Both Jazz and Thor raised their heads to watch her. She couldn’t tell if they were curious, still confused about their new location or assessing her viability. She paused to lightly pet each of them before going into the kitchen. Clicking nails told her she was not alone. So far the dogs had followed her from room to room, including trying to get into the bathroom with her. She’d insisted they wait in the hall, telling them that she wouldn’t watch them go and in return they couldn’t watch her.
Now she poured her coffee, then turned and saw they were both standing there, staring.
“I know you want something, I just have no idea what,” she admitted. “Do you want to go out?”
They both glanced at the back door, then at her. She sighed. She’d been very clear with Great-Aunt Cheryl. The last thing Harper wanted was one more life-form to take care of. She had enough on her plate—but had the woman listened? Okay, sure, technically, but not really. At the end of the day, Harper was still going to be a pet parent, whether she liked it or not. Becca had taken care of Jazz over the weekend, but the dog was still new to her. How long until her daughter was too busy or wasn’t home to handle things?
Harper’s cell rang. She pushed the button on her Bluetooth headset. “This is Harper.”
“Harper, it’s Cathy. Do you have a sec?”
“Sure.”
She carried her coffee back to her office, then quickly found Cathy’s file. The event planner used Harper to fill in when she needed an extra pair of creative hands. Harper could address two hundred envelopes in decorative calligraphy or paint a pin-the-tail-on-the-elephant poster or make custom napkin rings for a high-end dinner party.
“Okay, I talked to my clients, the ones hosting a fiftieth anniversary party for the parents. They’ve chosen the gift bag they want.”
“Great.” Harper sorted through the pictures she’d taken and slipped into the file. Next to each were the supplies needed, along with what they would cost and how long it took to assemble each bag.
She’d created three custom gift bags—not what went in them, just the bags themselves. Cathy had wanted them to be special, so they were all unique and not easy to put together.
“I have my information right here,” Harper said.
“They’ve picked number three. Now you said it was going to be twenty dollars a bag, but we both know that’s ridiculous. I told them I could get it for five dollars. I hope you’re okay with that.”
Harper stared at the picture, then scanned her notes. The bag was rose gold with a raffia handle. She’d applied delicate printed paper from France to the front of the bag, then edged it in tiny beads. After making by hand a flower done in shades of gold, she’d stenciled on the couple’s name and the date of their wedding, fifty years ago.
The price she’d quoted wasn’t just all the paper and trim, it was the time. Her heart sank. Cathy frequently tried to undercut Harper’s prices and most of the time Harper went along with it, but there was no way she could do the bag for that.
“The supplies cost more than five dollars,” Harper said, trying to sound firm. “It will take me thirty minutes to complete each one.”
“Can’t you work faster? My God, it’s a gift bag. Seriously, Harper, no one is going to pay twenty dollars for that.”
“Then they should pick one of the other ones.”
“They want the one they want.”
Harper’s stomach tightened. Irritation mingled with fear. She needed the work, but refused to take a loss. “The paper is imported...there are multiple layers. If you want something unique and handmade, that is the cost. I’m sorry, but my price is firm.”
“I’m sorry, too. I hate to lose you as a resource, but if you’re not going to work with me, then I don’t know if we can keep doing business together.”
The threat was like a kick to the stomach. Harper didn’t think she made any noise, but suddenly Jazz and Thor were both standing next to her, looking intent. Thor glanced toward the doorway and growled low in his throat.
She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had stood up for her like that. The unexpected support brought tears to her eyes, which was completely insane. She swallowed and petted both of them before clearing her throat.
For a second, she wondered if she could somehow buy the supplies cheaper. Maybe on eBay. No, she told herself. There was no time to search them out.
“I’m sorry, Cathy. That’s my price.”
“Then goodbye.”
The other woman hung up. Harper did her best to ignore the knot in her stomach. She drew in a breath. “I might have just lost a client. No problem for you, Thor. Your owner has plenty of money.”
She wasn’t exactly sure how Lucas had so much cash to throw around. He drove a very expensive two-seater Mercedes convertible and she didn’t think detectives made that much. Still, she wasn’t going to ask too many questions. He paid his monthly bill the same day he received it—she knew because she paid his bills for him and why, yes, she did pay herself first. It was one of the very few perks of her work.
She returned her attention to the boutique website and continued to add pictures and text until she was happy with the layout. She saved everything, then sent a note and the link to the owner, asking for feedback.
“That’s done,” she told the dogs, who were still watching her. She swiveled in her chair to face them. “This would be a lot easier if you’d just tell me what you need.”
Before they could answer, her phone rang again.
“This is Harper.”
“It’s Cathy. You’re being ridiculous, so you know, but you do good work and I want to see if we can find a point of compromise. How about ten dollars a bag and I’ll need them in three days?”
Harper held in a groan. There were forty bags, at about thirty minutes each, plus she had to go to three different stores to buy the supplies. That was twenty hours of work plus all the running around, for a grand total of four hundred dollars.
She didn’t dare do the math to figure out the pitiful sum she would be making by the hour, but if she stayed up most of tonight and tomorrow night, she could meet the deadline.
“Harper?”
“Fine. Ten dollars a bag.”
“Great. I’ll let them know and I’ll be by Thursday morning to pick them up. You’re the best, Harper. Thanks.”
Cathy hung up before Harper could say anything. Harper returned her attention to the dogs.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she muttered. “I’m letting her take advantage of me. That I’m probably making two dollars an hour on this job. Well, it’s not this job, is it? It’s all the other work she brings me.”
Jazz’s steady gaze never wavered. Harper sighed.
“You’re right. I let her take advantage of me and that doesn’t make any sense. I should be firm. I should tell her my price and stick to it. I’m training her to always undercut me. I get that.”
She was sure the dog had more to say, but before they could continue the conversation, the doorbell rang. Thor and Jazz immediately rose. Jazz looked at Thor, who gave a low warning bark.
“Yes,” Harper said, pushing past them. “I heard it, too, but thanks for mentioning it.”
The dogs kept pace with her, but didn’t walk ahead of her or run. When they reached the front door, they both sat and waited.
“I really need to read that instruction book Becca got,” Harper told them as she opened the door. “Yes? Can I help you?”
A tall, gangly twentysomething guy stood on her porch. He was blond and wore board shorts, a T-shirt and athletic shoes. The T-shirt had a drawing of a cartoon version of him on it, along with the phrase Leader of the Pack.
“Harper Szymanski?” the guy asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m Dwayne. I’m here to walk your dogs.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and glanced at it. “Thor and Jazz. It’s a daily service, which means Monday through Friday. I drive them to the beach and we walk along the boardwalk. It’ll take about ninety minutes.” Dwayne flashed her a smile. “Your husband paid for the top dog package. He must really like your dogs.”
Harper didn’t know what to say beyond, “He’s not my husband.” Because there was only one person who would have thought to arrange a dog-walking service. She would guess Lucas had done it for Thor, then added on Jazz. Damn the man for being thoughtful, good-looking and only interested in gorgeous bubbleheads in their twenties.
She held open the door for Dwayne to come inside. He saw Thor and Jazz and grinned.
“Oh, wow. Dobies. You guys are beautiful.” He held out his hand so they could sniff his fingers, then he squatted in front of them and said, “Shake.”
They both obliged.
“Lucas said you two were the bomb. He’s right. Super great manners.” He stood and looked at her. “I need their leashes.”
Harper got them from the bottom drawer in the table by the front door. She handed over a new roll of poop bags, hoping the dogs would do their thing somewhere other than her backyard.
“Thanks,” Dwayne said, snapping on the leashes. “We’ll be back in an hour and a half. Do you want me to run them?”
“That would be great.”
“Right? A tired dog is a happy dog. See ya.” He looked at the dogs. “Thor, Jazz, heel.”
The dogs stood and moved to his left side, Jazz taking the inside position. Dwayne walked them down the steps and out to his battered pickup. It was only after he’d driven away that Harper realized she probably should have checked with Lucas first. Just in case.
She quickly texted him, not sure when she would hear a response. Sometimes he was available, but a lot of the time, his phone was off. She supposed that came from being on the job catching bad guys or whatever it was he did in his day.
This time he answered her in a matter of seconds.
Are you concerned that someone cooked up an elaborate scheme to steal the dogs by pretending to be a dog walker?
Her lips twitched as she realized he kind of had a point.
I hadn’t thought of it that way. Thank you for including Jazz on the walk. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. I know I do.
Happy to help. You can deal with your guilt by baking me something.
You know I will.
That I do.
She was still smiling as she walked into her pantry and studied the shelf that held her baking supplies. Not cookies, she thought. They were too ordinary. Tarts. She would bake Lucas chocolate tarts. But first she would go get the supplies she needed for the gift bags, then drop off the T-shirts she was shipping to her comedian client, Misty, then swing by the post office to mail Lucas’s bills. Then she would bake tarts and tonight, while the world slept, she would make gift bags and curse her inability to stand up for herself when she knew she absolutely should.
* * *
Becca sat on the front porch step, her arm around Jazz. The dog was leaning heavily on her, her body providing comforting warmth.
“Are you still confused?” Becca asked the dog. “It’s been a few days now and we have a routine. I’m sorry I have to be gone for school, but you have Thor, right? I could talk to Aunt Stacey about Bay. Maybe you three could have a playdate.”
Jazz stretched out on the porch and rested her head on her paws, but even as she shifted positions, she still stayed close. Becca kept her arm around the dog, figuring they both needed the comfort.
Jazz wasn’t the only one confused—Becca was starting to think she would never know everything going on, even in her own life. She missed Kaylee so much—more so now that Jordan had gone totally drama queen about Nathan. Kaylee would have called her on her crap and told her to stop talking about herself. Kaylee would have made a joke and smiled at Becca and asked about Jazz because that was what Kaylee had always done. She’d been a buffer against darker forces.
But there wasn’t anything between Becca and Jordan, so Becca spent her day hearing about how amazing Nathan was and how he loved Jordan so much. Theirs was the greatest love ever and boyfriend-less Becca couldn’t possibly understand. Worse, Jordan chided her about being bitter and angry, which wasn’t true. Okay, not the bitter part. She didn’t care that Jordan had Nathan, but she was starting to get pissed about her friend’s attitude.
“Bay would never act like that to you,” Becca told the dog. “You have better taste in friends.”
For a second, she wished she could talk to her mom and tell her what was happening. Her mom could be dorky, but sometimes she had really good advice. Even if she didn’t, she used to always make Becca feel better. They would bake something or do a craft project.
Not anymore, she thought grimly. Even if she was willing to do something so childish, her mom wasn’t available. She was always too busy with her VA business.
Becca leaned over and kissed the top of Jazz’s head, then straightened. She was about to pull out her phone and check the time when it buzzed with a text. She looked at the screen, then caught her breath when she read the message.
I’m tied up at work, kiddo. Sorry. Let’s reschedule for some time next week.
Tears burned in her eyes. Becca blinked them away, telling herself to get over it. She knew she couldn’t depend on her dad and she was stupid if she thought he would ever change. He always had something else he had to be doing. As for getting tied up at work—that was a complete lie. He was a podiatrist, which meant scheduled appointments. He wasn’t a real doctor who had actual emergencies.
She shoved her phone back in her pocket and wiped her cheeks, just in case. Before she could scramble to her feet and escape to her room, Lucas pulled up and parked in front of her house.
He walked up the path and sat next to Jazz on the stairs, then patted the dog and smiled at her.
“Hey, kid.”
His words were way too close to what her dad called her. “I have a name,” she snapped.
“Yes, you do.” She waited for him to call her on her attitude, but instead he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m fine. You’re here early.”
“I was in court for most of the day. It’s boring, but it’s a shorter day. You didn’t answer my question.”
“I said nothing was wrong.”
“You also lied. What is it?”
She stared at the top of Jazz’s head. “It’s just...” She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “My dad blew me off again. I need fifty supervised hours to get my license. Mom’s too busy and my dad swore he would help, but he never shows up.” She rolled her eyes. “He said he was stuck at work. With what? An ingrown toenail? He doesn’t care about me anymore. I don’t think he ever did. He just walked out like I didn’t matter and now he won’t teach me to drive.”
It was so much more than she’d wanted to say, but there was no way to call back the words. She folded her arms across her chest and did her best to hold in the pain.
“Interesting,” Lucas said casually. “It’s a drag about your dad, but there’s time. It’s not like you need your license right away.”
She rocked forward and dropped her gaze to her Keds. “Yeah, well, Great-Aunt Cheryl didn’t just leave me the dogs. There’s a car.” She glanced at him and started talking quickly. “It’s a really good car. Ramon, her boyfriend, said it was in great condition and they’d always taken care of it. It’s safe and has air bags, and it’s not like my dad’s going to buy me a car and Mom sure can’t afford it.”
She sucked in a breath. “I don’t think Dad remembered to tell Mom because he was sick and she hasn’t said anything. The car is paid for. I know there’s going to be insurance and gas and stuff and I don’t know how I’m going to deal with that, but right now I need my license.”
Lucas nodded his head. “That’s a lot.”
“I know, right?”
He stood and called to Jazz, sent the dog in the house, then looked at Becca. “Okay, let’s go.”
“Where are we going?”
“To practice your driving.”
“My mom’s not here.”
“I’m not taking you on the freeway, kid, I’m taking you to an empty parking lot to see what you know how to do and how we get along. If it goes well, I’ll talk to your mom when we get back.”
She stared at him. “Then what am I going to...” She spun to face the sleek, white Mercedes convertible. She didn’t know much about cars, but she knew that one cost a lot. Maybe as much as their house.
“No way.”
He shrugged. “It’s insured. You’ll be fine. Do you have your temporary license?”
“Let me get it.”
She raced inside and dug her wristlet out of her backpack, then hurried back outside. Lucas stood by his car, the driver’s door open.
“The car’s not going to drive itself,” he called.
Excitement and hope fluttered in her stomach. If Lucas would really help her get her hours, then she wouldn’t have to depend on her dad or bug her mom. She vowed to do the best she could on their mini lesson so he would want to teach her more.
She joined him and got in the driver’s side. He sat next to her and explained how to set the seat and the mirrors.
“The car sits really low to the ground,” he told her. “It’s going to feel different than your mom’s SUV or your dad’s sedan. Also, it has a more powerful engine, so be careful when you hit the gas.”
She nodded, then wiped her suddenly damp palms on her jeans.
“Drive to the high school. Classes are out and there will be plenty of room to practice in the parking lot.” He winked. “Okay, start her up.”
She absolutely could not believe he was going to let her drive his car. Her mother had practically had a seizure the only time they’d practiced together.
She pushed the start button, then tried not to jump as the engine roared to life. She kept her foot on the brake as she shifted to Drive, then checked the mirrors four times before slowly pulling out onto the quiet street.
Mischief Bay High School was less than a mile away, but it took Becca nearly ten minutes to drive there. She stayed well under the twenty-five mile per hour speed limit and came to a full, lingering stop at every sign. By the time she pulled into the parking lot, she felt a little sick to her stomach.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she admitted.
“Are you scared about driving or the car?” Lucas asked.
“Both.”
“Driving gets easier with practice. Right now you have to think about everything you’re doing. Once a few things become automatic, you’ll be more comfortable. As for my car, like I said, it’s insured. Okay, let’s start with the basics. Drive to the end of the parking lot, do a three-point turn, drive back and pull into that parking space.”
Becca tasted bile. “That’s your idea of the basics?”
He flashed her a grin. “I’ve seen Clueless, kid. At least we’re not going on the freeway.”
“I’m never going on the freeway.”
Thirty minutes later, Becca confidently circled the parking lot, making neat figure eights. She made a sharp turn ten feet in front of the flagpole and carefully backed into a parking space before turning to Lucas and laughing.
“I did it.”
“You did good. I’m impressed.”
“Thanks. This car is great. It drives so easily and I’m in love with the backup camera. Thank you for helping me. I really had fun.”
“Me, too. Want to continue with the lessons?”
“Of course.”
Lucas had been calm the whole time. When she’d messed up, he’d had her stop so they could talk about what had gone wrong. She was still nervous about driving, but less so than she had been.
“I’ll talk to your mom,” he said. “If she agrees, then we’ll keep going. Oh, how are your grades?”
Becca felt herself flush. “They’re, um, okay.”
He looked at her without speaking.
She ducked her head. “I’m getting a couple of Cs and a few Bs.”
“I thought you were a good student.”
“I am.” Or she had been. Lately she hadn’t been that interested in school. What was the point? No one paid attention or cared how she was doing.
“I know you’re smart,” Lucas told her. “Something’s going on. If you want me to help you get your driving hours, you’re going to have to get your grades where they should be. A car is a lot of responsibility. If you can’t be bothered to take care of business at school, then you can’t be trusted with a car.”
No one had talked to her like that in forever. Becca was both thrilled and annoyed, which felt really good.
“You’re not the boss of me,” she said automatically.
“In this case, I am. It’s my time so it’s my rules. If you want my help, then you will get Bs or better in all your classes.”
“No problem.”
“I want proof.”
“What? You don’t trust me?”
“There’s an old saying. Trust but verify. From now until you get your license, you will show me all your test scores. Understood?”
“Yes. I promise.”
“Good. Now let’s go home.”
Becca made the return trip in half the time. She stayed at the speed limit, stopped at the stop signs for a quick count of one-two, then pulled up in front of her house just as her mom drove into the driveway.
They all got out at the same time. Harper turned toward them, then nearly dropped her purse. “What are you doing? Did you drive that car? You didn’t. Oh my God! Becca, no. Do you know what a car like that costs? Lucas, I swear, what were you thinking? No one asked me. Where’s your father? Weren’t you supposed to be practicing with him? I feel sick.”
Lucas shook his head. “She gets real wound up.”
“She does. I worry about her.”
“You should.” Lucas walked toward the SUV. “It’s fine, Harper. Terence couldn’t make it so I took Becca out for a practice session. Everything was fine and if it’s all right with you, I’m going to help her get in her practice hours.”
“Not in that car. There is absolutely no way.”
“I have insurance.”
“And a deductible!”
She started to say something else, but her phone rang. She touched her Bluetooth earpiece and said brightly, “This is Harper.”
Becca sighed. There was no talking to her mother now. Not when she was on with a client—and she was always on with a client.
Chapter Six (#u85d27302-be68-5d93-8bf7-c5d87ea4b5ac)
HARPER POURED ANOTHER cup of coffee. It was only seven in the morning and she was already exhausted. Of course a lot of that could be because she hadn’t slept much the previous night. She’d been up finishing the gift bags. Honest to God, she needed to grow a pair and stand up to that woman.
“Mom, we have to talk about my driving lessons.”
Harper drank more coffee as she turned to look at her daughter. Becca sat at the table, a faithful Jazz at her side. The dog had sure figured out who loved her the most. If Becca was home, Jazz was right there with her.
Driving! How was that possible? Becca was supposed to still be seven. Only she wasn’t. She was turning seventeen in the summer and talking about college. Harper swore silently. Her daughter was going to be heading off to college in less than eighteen months and she was making what, two dollars an hour on stupid gift bags?
The weight of failure threatened to make her topple over. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to have it all together. Had going into business for herself been a mistake? She didn’t think so, but if it wasn’t the job, then she was the problem and she sure didn’t want to hear that.
“Mom?”
Harper did her best to keep her tone even. “I know we do, honey. And we will. This weekend, okay? We’ll sit down and come up with a plan.”
Her daughter sighed. “Sure.”
“What does that mean?”
“You always say we’ll talk about something, but then we never do. You’re too busy with work.”
Harper didn’t like the sound of that. “I don’t. We will talk this weekend. You’ll see.”
Before she could think of a more convincing argument, the back door opened and Bunny walked in. Her hair was perfectly styled, her makeup in place and her clothes looked freshly laundered.
Harper was instantly aware of the fact that she hadn’t showered in maybe two days and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d put on makeup. She’d always worn her wavy hair in layers, but who had the time or money for that kind of maintenance? Lately she’d taken to simply pulling her hair back in a ponytail, which looked great on her beautiful sister but made her look like what she was—a woman of a certain age who had obviously given up.
“Morning,” she said as cheerfully as she could.
“Morning.” Her mother smiled at Becca, then frowned. “What are you eating?”
“Cereal.”
Harper reached for more coffee.
“Cereal?” Bunny shrieked. “Where’s your hot breakfast?” She turned to her daughter. “Harper Wray Szymanski, what is wrong with you? Your only child deserves a hot breakfast. As her mother, it’s the least you can do.”
“Grandma, cereal is fine. It’s a nice change.”
Bunny ignored that. “What’s next? Store-bought cookies? Fast food for dinner? Taking care of your family is your most important job.”
“You’re right, Mom,” Harper snapped. “Right now that means keeping food on the table. To pay for that, I have to work, so forgive me if I don’t have time to make waffles from scratch every single morning.”
“I always found the time.”
“You didn’t have a job.”
Becca quickly finished her cereal, then put the bowl on the floor for Jazz to lap up the milk. When the dog was done, she set the bowl in the sink and escaped. Harper wished she could run off with her.
“I didn’t have a job because I managed to keep my husband happy,” Bunny said in a huff. “Perhaps if you’d treated Terence a little better, he wouldn’t have left.”
The low blow connected right in her stomach.
“Mom, you don’t know anything about what went wrong in my marriage. It’s my business and you don’t have the right to judge me.”
“I’m not. I’m simply pointing out that if you—”
Harper’s cell phone rang. She grabbed it gratefully. “Mom, this is a client.”
“But it’s barely seven.”
“Yes, I know.” She pushed the button to accept the call. “This is Harper.”
“It’s Cathy. How are the bags coming?”
“They’ll be ready on time.” No way Harper was going to tell her they were already finished. Cathy would assume Harper had been exaggerating the time needed. Explaining she’d literally stayed up all night to finish them wouldn’t help, either.
“I’m glad to hear that. I have another job for you.”
“I was talking to you,” Bunny said between clenched teeth. “Tell her you’ll call her back.”
Harper turned her back on her mother, something she knew she was going to pay for. And speaking of paying. “Cathy, I’m happy to talk to you about more work, but I want to be clear. My rate is twenty-five dollars an hour, plus the cost of supplies. That is the price.”
“That’s ridiculous. My clients aren’t going to pay that.”
“Then I’m sorry but I can’t help you.”
“But you’ve always been willing to drop your price for me.” Her voice became softer. “Harper, I know you need the work. I’m doing you a favor.”
“What I need are jobs that pay me a reasonable amount. It’s your call, Cathy. I won’t be negotiating any more discounts.”
“That is totally unacceptable. Goodbye, Harper.” The phone went dead.
Harper turned back to her mother. Bunny raised her eyebrows. “With an attitude like that, it’s surprising you have any clients. Twenty-five dollars an hour for what you do? That’s ridiculous.”
“Thanks for the support, Mom.”
“What? I’m being honest.”
“Right now I would rather you weren’t. That’s me being honest.”
Before she could say any more, she heard a quick knock on the front door, then Thor raced into the house followed by Lucas calling out, “It’s me.”
The hundred-and-ten-pound dog bounced up to Harper and woofed. Jazz joined him and they greeted each other with a quick sniff before tearing off into the living room. Lucas appeared with Persimmon at his side.
“Good morning,” the young woman said, sounding way too cheerful. “Thor and Jazz are so sweet together. Hi, Harper. Hi, Bunny.”
The gorgeous redhead wore a cute little dress and heels, which only made Harper feel even more frumpy and tired. Lucas walked over to the coffeepot and poured himself a mug.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“You don’t want to know.”
“There’s no hot breakfast,” Bunny announced. “Harper has more important things to do with her time.” She looked at Lucas. “Would you like me to make you an omelet? I’m sure there’s something in the refrigerator, unless my daughter has stopped going to the grocery store.”
Lucas shot Harper a look. She wasn’t sure if it was questioning, filled with pity or both. Regardless, she waved him toward the table, figuring Persimmon would join him. While Bunny was distracted, Harper escaped to her small office. She would hide out there until everyone was gone. Maybe then she could get a couple of hours of sleep.
Her phone rang again. She put in her earpiece, then hit the button.
“This is Harper.”
“It’s Misty. Is it too early? I’m sorry to be calling, but I had to tell you.”
Her comedian client sounded breathless, but in a happy way.
“It’s not too early. What’s up?”
“You aren’t going to believe it. I don’t believe it. Oh, Harper, I’m going to be on an HBO special! It’s called Rising Stars or something like that. I can’t remember because I’m still in shock. It’s taping in a few weeks and then I’m going on tour.”
“Misty, that’s so fabulous. Congratulations. You’ve worked hard for this big break. How can I help?”
“I want new T-shirts. Something fun. Oh, and let’s be wild and get the ones that are the nicer material.”
Harper was already taking notes. “I’ll call the vendor as soon as we hang up and have her rush us samples. How many do you think you want?” Because there were price breaks at different levels.
“Let me think about that and get back to you. Once the special airs, I should be able to sell more. Oh, and I need to get you the tour info so you can ship me the T-shirts as I go.”
“And care packages?” Harper asked.
“Please. They save me.”
When Misty went on the road, she was gone for several weeks at a time. Harper shipped her snacks and toiletries so Misty didn’t have to worry about any of that. She also shipped T-shirts to each hotel, saving Misty from having to haul them from town to town.
Harper continued to make notes. “I’m so happy for you. This is the best news I’ve had all week.”
“I’m so excited. Thanks, Harper. I can relax knowing you’re going to handle things for me.”
“Absolutely. My job is to make your life easier.”
Which was true. Now if only someone would do that for her.
* * *
Stacey came to a stop at the corner. Bay did the same, then sat down, her shoulders and right ear lined up with Stacey’s leg.
“Good girl,” Stacey told the dog, then lightly petted her head.
The instruction manual that had accompanied the dog had been impressive, as was the list of commands Bay had mastered. There were the usual come, sit, along with some interesting specialized commands. Bay could distinguish between different types of weapons and toxic gases. She was also comfortable working aboard a ship. Stacey didn’t know if that meant cargo or military. The notes had ended midsentence, as if the remaining information had simply been ripped away.
No doubt it was classified, Stacey thought as they crossed the street.
Bay had settled easily into their home. She ate well and was perfectly friendly. Whatever training she’d been given was more about purpose than affecting her personality. Not that Stacey was surprised. She’d only met Great-Aunt Cheryl once but the woman had been a sensible sort. Not someone to leave dangerous animals to a sixteen-year-old.
Kit had taken Bay to the vet the previous Monday to confirm her pregnancy and get an approximate due date. The dog had been pronounced healthy. Per the records, Bay had given birth before, so the vet had been confident the dog would know what to do. Her records indicated she was up-to-date on all her vaccinations.
Stacey had already started researching the canine birthing process so she could be ready when the time came. Although it was very likely that Bay would have her puppies while Stacey was at work. Still, being prepared was always preferable.
She and Bay reached the corner drugstore that doubled as an Amazon drop box. She loosely tied the dog’s leash to the bike rack, then had her sit.
“Bay,” she said in a firm voice. The dog immediately met her gaze. “Bay, stay.” She paused. “No strangers.”
The dog’s nostrils flared slightly, but otherwise she didn’t move. According to the book, Bay would stay where she was told for at least two days. None of the dogs had been tested beyond that. In addition, the “no strangers” command meant she wouldn’t leave with anyone else. Should someone try, Bay would immediately start barking to alert Stacey.
“I won’t be very long,” she added, not sure Bay could understand her. Still, it was polite to let her know.
She walked into the drugstore and went to the back, where several dozen lockers of various sizes stood along one wall. After scanning the barcode on the email she’d received, she punched in the code and a locker opened. She retrieved the box.
It was the last of the items she’d ordered for Ashton’s visit. His room was ready with a new bed, linens and a desk. Kit had moved in a TV they rarely used. Stacey had added a few framed prints for color, then had gone online for a back-to-school bundle box. Ashton only had a couple of classes to finish, but she didn’t know if he would think to bring things like pens, paper and Post-it notes. Besides, who didn’t love school supplies?
She carefully tucked the box into her backpack so as not to strain her body. Carrying the baby had thrown her body out of alignment. Her prenatal yoga helped her strength and balance, but she wanted to make sure she didn’t pull a muscle.
Once the backpack was in place, she walked out and untied Bay.
“Good girl,” she told the dog as she crouched down and hugged her. Bay licked her cheek.
Stacey rose and started back to the house. She liked having Bay around. The dog was easy to take care of and good company. What she didn’t want to admit but couldn’t avoid was the fact that the dog was also a distraction from her own pregnancy.
The same with Ashton. Kit was a perfect husband and had never once mentioned the irony of her interest in getting Ashton’s room ready while refusing to do anything about their baby’s space. Every morning he tore another sheet off the calendar, gently reminding her that there was an inevitable end to what she was going through.
Sometimes Stacey wished the baby was already here so she wouldn’t be worrying about what was going to happen. She would already know if she could fake being a decent mother or not.
If only she was more like Harper, she thought. Talented and loving, with great mothering skills. But Stacey wasn’t. She and her sister had always been close but oh so different. One of her earliest Christmas memories was of opening an Easy-Bake Oven from Santa. She’d immediately started mixing together ingredients—not to bake a cake, but to get a chemical reaction.
Bunny had never understood and Stacey’s dad hadn’t much cared. He’d regretted not having sons instead of daughters. But Grandpa Wray had been there for her. He’d wanted to talk about things like jet propulsion and living on Mars, and she’d wanted to listen.
He’d been the one to show her how to use a telescope and a microscope. When girls her age had been playing with dolls, she’d been trying to find a science club and building computers. With Grandpa Wray’s help, she’d gotten to go to Space Camp when she was nine. The following summer, while the rest of the family had been at Disney World, she and Grandpa Wray had visited Cape Canaveral and been taken on a private tour.
“Grandpa Wray wanted me to be an astronaut,” she told Bay as they turned onto their street. “I would have been interested if there had been a Mars mission on the horizon, but that’s still so many years away. I went into medical research instead.” She smiled at the dog. “He was a great man. You would have liked him.”
Bay’s stubby tail wagged as she listened attentively.
“I always fit with Grandpa Wray,” she continued. “He didn’t care that I was smart or awkward or that I couldn’t make piecrust by the time I was eight.” Unlike her mother, who had cared about all those things. Bunny had always resented her youngest being more interested in how the world worked than how to knit, sew or decoupage. How many times had Harper stood up for her, defending her when Bunny went on the attack?
Stacey undid Bay’s leash as they entered the house, then lowered her backpack onto a chair. She checked on the Crock-Pot chili Kit had started that morning before walking into the bedroom to change out of her work clothes.
French doors led to their fenced backyard. Although they were only a mile or two from the ocean, they didn’t have a view. Stacey had never understood paying for something as silly as the ability to see something in nature. The brain responded to inputs that were essential for survival. Everything else faded into the background. She knew that she would cease to see a view within a matter of weeks, so why pay for it?
She’d already bought the house when she met Kit. The first time he’d come over, she’d told him her theory about views. He’d responded by telling her she was about the sexiest woman he’d ever met.
The news had surprised her. Stacey knew she was relatively attractive and she kept herself fit. There had always been men in her life—no one all that special, but she’d had boyfriends. Still, she’d frequently had the sense that they were more interested in her body than in her brain. Kit was the first romantic partner who made her feel safe and loved for who she was.
She changed into yoga pants and a T-shirt, then walked barefoot to the living room. Bay trailed along with her. Once the DVD was in the machine, Bay curled up in her bed by the sofa. She glanced at the door before putting her head down.
“Kit will be back in an hour,” Stacey told her. “He goes to a support group for stay-at-home dads.” Something he’d started when they’d learned she was pregnant.
“Kit’s like that. He asks for help. He solicits advice. He’s extremely well-adjusted.” All things she admired about him, probably because none of those characteristics described her. He’d suggested she look for a support group for working moms but so far she hadn’t been interested.
There’s something wrong with you! You’re not a normal girl.
The memory echoed unexpectedly in her mind, as vivid and uncomfortable as it had been when the words had first been screamed at her.
She’d been thirteen and eager to talk to her mother. Stacey had secretly scheduled a meeting with one of the high school counselors to talk about an accelerated program so she could go to college early. She’d already decided to focus on medical research—especially diseases of the central nervous system—so why wait to get started?
With the information in hand, Stacey was determined to convince her mother to let her start the process in the fall. Bunny had wanted to talk about the fact that a boy had called for Stacey.
Looking back, Stacey realized they’d talked at cross purposes for nearly ten minutes before figuring out what the other was saying. Stacey had dismissed the call while Bunny had refused to discuss Stacey starting high school in the fall and finishing in two years.
“No man wants a woman who’s that smart,” her mother had told her. “Accept who you are.”
“This is who I am,” she’d yelled back. “I want to go to college. I don’t want to talk to some stupid boy on the phone, okay?”
“There’s something wrong with you. You’re not a normal girl.”
She’d brushed off the assessment, raced to her room and had immediately called her grandpa Wray. He and Bunny had fought for days, while Stacey’s father had ignored whatever was going on at home and Harper had offered Stacey sisterly support. In the end, the outcome was inevitable. Bunny might not like it, but she could never say no to her father. He was, after all, a man.
As Stacey stood with her feet shoulder-width apart and began to concentrate on her breathing, she acknowledged yet more irony in her life. Bunny wanted her daughters to be exactly like her and she resented that Stacey refused to cooperate. That Stacey had been able to go to college when she was barely sixteen had happened because a man had intervened. She’d achieved her escape and her success in part because of her mother’s anachronistic worldview.
She should find humor in that, only she couldn’t. Instead she pressed her right hand against her growing belly and wondered if it was possible her mother was right. And if there was something wrong with her, how would that play out for Baby Joule?
Chapter Seven (#u85d27302-be68-5d93-8bf7-c5d87ea4b5ac)
HARPER HAD ALL the gift bags stacked together in boxes. Cathy had texted to say she wouldn’t be picking them up until tomorrow, after all, which left Harper nearly frothing. She could have had an extra two days to maybe get some sleep instead of staying up for two nights to get them done. She didn’t know if she was angrier at Cathy for playing her or herself for being played.
She heard a knock at the front door, then Lucas walked in. Thor immediately raced toward him. Lucas bent over and greeted the dog before calling out, “It’s me.”
Harper set the last box in place by the sofa and looked at her client/friend. Despite having worked all day, Lucas looked as fresh and handsome as he had that morning. His shirt was barely wrinkled, he was rested and tanned, while she was a hot mess. No, she thought, thinking of her mom jeans and stained T-shirt. Even her messiness wasn’t the least bit hot. She was a cold mess.
“Hi. Catch any bad guys?”
“A couple.”
“Want to stay to dinner?”
The invitation was automatic. She wasn’t sure when or how it had started, but Lucas ate dinner with them at least three nights a week. Thanks to Bunny’s skillful tutelage and years of training, Harper chronically overbought and overcooked, so there was always plenty for unexpected company. Lucas was funny, charming and a lovely distraction when things with her mother got too intense or moments with her daughter got too quiet.
Harper already had a salad made. She’d prepared vegetables for steaming and had Chicken Piccata ready to brown and simmer. The drama of this evening’s meal would be the—wait for it—store-bought pasta.
“I’d love to,” he said. “Thank you.”
“I bought the noodles. Bunny’s going to have a fit. Just so you’re warned.”
“Unarmed drama doesn’t faze me.”
They walked into the study together. Lucas crossed to the wall safe that had come with the house. It was a silly thing, really, but kind of sweet—whenever he came to dinner from work, he locked up his gun. She’d tried to explain it was unlikely that either Becca or her mother were going to lunge for it, and if they did, she was sure he could take them, but he insisted.
“What if I had a breakdown during the meal?” she asked. “I know the combination. I could take out everyone.”
He put the gun in the otherwise-empty safe and turned the lock to secure it. “It’s a plain black gun, Harper. You couldn’t possibly use it without gussying it up in some way first. I’d have time to subdue you while the glue set.”
Even as she chuckled, she wondered if there was an uncomfortable truth in his words.
They returned to the living room to find Jazz waiting for them. She ran over to get her greeting from Lucas. When he’d finished rubbing her face, he grabbed one of the rope toys the dogs loved and got on the floor with the two of them. There was much growling, yipping and wrestling as man and dogs vied for the precious toy. Harper retreated to the kitchen to continue prepping the meal. Per the rules of the universe, or maybe just per her mother, the salad plates should be set on the table at precisely six-thirty.
To that end, she got out a small mixing bowl, along with the ingredients for her Smokey Paprika dressing. She poured it into a dressing-size crystal pitcher, then whipped up the sauce for the chicken.
Lucas wandered into the kitchen and went to the sink to wash his hands. “Those dogs are smart. I have to up my game.”
Harper nodded at them feverishly drinking from their bowls. “If it makes you feel any better, they’re saying the same thing about you.”
He dried his hands, then leaned against the counter. “I saw the gift bags. They’re impressive.”
“Thanks. It’s a fiftieth wedding anniversary party. I’m sure it’s going to be lovely.”
Lucas’s gaze settled on her face. For a second, she was terrified that he was going to ask her how long they’d taken or had she been paid enough. He was always ready with the unexpected question. Thankfully he only said, “You’re busy these days.”
“I am.”
She walked into the dining room and studied the table. They were still celebrating spring, so the tablecloth was a pale mint color. She’d already stacked plates, patterned napkins and place mats on one end of the table. Now she just had to deal with the rest of it.
“Misty is going to be on an HBO special,” she said, as she headed for the craft room.
Lucas followed her. “That’s great.”
“I know. She’s so sweet. I love working with her.”
“If you say she’s your favorite, I’ll be crushed.”
Harper grinned. “She is, but I won’t say it.”
“Thank you. Let me know when the special’s on. I’ll want to watch.”
“Some of the humor is fairly subtle. I’m not sure Persimmon will get it.”
“Persimmon and I are reaching the end of our time together.”
“Because she’s turning twenty-three?”
“Something like that.”
Harper flipped on the lights to her craft room. She kept her dining room supplies at one end. She pointed to several clear, plastic drawers.
“Napkin rings. Pink, rose or silver. You pick,” she said as she studied her collection of vases and bowls, wondering what would be the easiest to put on the table.
Lucas held up four ribbed silver napkin rings. “These okay?”
“They’re great.”
She grabbed small, silver tone boxes in various heights and thrust them at Lucas, then chose flameless candles that would fit inside. Before turning away from the wall of crap she kept just because she was expected to decorate her table every single night for dinner, she flashed on her small, cramped office space and realized that, as always, Lucas was right.
“Oh no,” she said. “I’ve been doing this all wrong.”
“Your table?” her mother asked, appearing at the craft room door. “I’ve been telling you that for years. You need to layer your linens. Really, Harper, a tablecloth, place mats and napkins? A monkey could be more creative. At least make shorter, contrasting runners to drape widthwise. It will add visual interest.”
Harper found herself automatically considering her mother’s idea. In that nanosecond, she thought about the fabric she kept on hand and how easy it would be to pull out her sewing machine and—
“No!” She literally took a step back and shook her head. “No, Mom. Stop, please. I’m not looking for more ways to waste time decorating the table for dinner.”
“Waste time? It’s dinner with your family. What could be more important?”
Lucas took the supplies she’d given him and left. Harper put the flameless candles down and put her hands on her hips. “Mom, I’m serious. I can’t keep doing this. I have work I need to be doing. I have another order for gift bags, Misty needs new T-shirt designs. I heard back from the city and they want me to get going on the summer mailer. Once I design it and get it printed, I have to put on all the labels myself.”
Lucas returned and collected the candles. “Hire someone to do the grunt work.”
“What?” Harper and Bunny said together.
Bunny glared at him. “Lucas, I know you’re trying to help, but be serious. It’s bad enough Harper is taking time from raising Becca to do this, but to hire an assistant? If she’s going to work, she should be doing it all herself.”
Which was exactly what Harper had been thinking, only hearing her mother say it put the sentiment in a totally different light.
“Why?” she asked.
Bunny stared at her. “Why what?”
“Why can’t I hire someone? Why is that so awful? Mom, I’m drowning here. My job is how I feed my family. I’m struggling every single month. Your rent money helps and I appreciate it, but it doesn’t come close to covering the mortgage, let alone the expenses. I have no idea if Terence is going to keep his promise about paying for half Becca’s college, so I have to deal with that, as well.”
Bunny sniffed. “Becca’s a beautiful young woman. Why does she need to go to college? She’ll marry a nice boy who will take care of her.”
Harper did her best not to shriek. “Mom, no. Just no. Becca is going to get an education so she has choices and can take care of herself. I thought I’d have a man to take care of me and look where that got me. I will not put my daughter in this position. It worked out for you but it doesn’t work out that way for everyone. I want Becca to be strong and independent, like Stacey. She’s smart and capable. We need to encourage her to be her best self.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m being honest. I’m nearly forty-two, Mom, and I’m struggling. It’s my fault—I get that. I should have finished college. I should have gone to work when Becca started school, but I didn’t. I’m doing the best I can with the choices I made.” She squared her shoulders. “I didn’t have time to make pasta. I bought some from the store. You’re going to have to deal with that.”
Bunny glared at her, then turned on her heel and marched out of the room. It was only then Harper saw her daughter and Jazz standing in the doorway.
“Your grandmother thinks I should layer more linens when I set the table.”
Becca rubbed Jazz’s head. “Going crossways? I can see how that would be pretty. You’re not going to do it, are you?”
“No.”
Becca smiled. “Mom, store-bought pasta is okay with me. The same with bread and cookies and anything else you don’t want to make. I’ve had it all before at my friends’ houses and it’s not horrible.”
“Thank you. I knew I couldn’t trust those other mothers. They always said they were feeding you homemade but they were lying.”
Becca giggled. Harper allowed herself to smile.
“Grandma loves the drama,” Becca told her. “It makes her feel special.”
An unexpected insight. “Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome.” Her daughter sighed. “Thor ate the raw chicken.”
“What?”
Becca grinned. “I’m kidding, Mom.”
Harper pressed her hand to her chest. “Don’t do that. I’m getting old and I could very possibly have a heart condition.”
* * *
Becca tried to summon some enthusiasm as she lay sprawled on the comfortable sofa. She had a feeling that Lucas hadn’t been kidding about her keeping up her grades in exchange for him helping her get in her driving hours. She was doing okay in English, Spanish and geometry. It was European History where she was getting Cs. History was so boring. The whole second half of the class focused on World War II, which was, like, a million years ago. Why did anyone care about that kind of stuff?
“You’re not listening,” Jordan complained.
“I was thinking about the homework I have to do. I need to write a paper for European History and we have that chem test next week. I can’t believe how much math there is in that class.”
“I know. I thought we’d be doing more fun stuff in the lab, but nooo. There’s equations.” Jordan flipped her long hair over her shoulder. “I wonder when Nathan will get here. He had a meeting after swim practice. You know he got a scholarship to UCLA to play water polo, right?”
“Uh-huh.” No point in mentioning that Jordan had already told her eight times. Yes, Nathan was a water polo god and the world stood in awe of his talent.
Which was something she could have joked about, but not anymore. Jordan was convinced that Becca couldn’t get past her jealousy when it came to her friend’s new sex life, and Becca couldn’t figure out how to convince her otherwise. Possibly because she really didn’t know how she felt.
Yes, she would like a boyfriend, someone who thought she was special, but sex? There was so much going on already, and to be honest, the thought of it was both exciting and scary. Most of the time, though, scary won.
There was a knock at the front door. Jordan flew across the family room to the foyer and disappeared from view. Becca sat up, uneasy at the thought of reclining with Nathan around. Not that she could say why, but sometimes he made her uncomfortable.
She told herself he wasn’t the problem, she was. Maybe Jordan was right and she was jealous of the whole sex thing, although she really didn’t think it was that.
She heard the happy couple murmur something. They stepped into view as Nathan pulled Jordan close and kissed her like they were halfway to doing it right there.
Becca looked away, but not before she saw Nathan’s hand settle on her friend’s ass. He squeezed really hard. Becca tried not to shudder. Whatever they were doing, it should be, you know, special, or at least in private.
She unzipped her backpack and pretended to be looking for something as the kiss went on and on. When they finally drew apart, she looked up. Nathan, six feet two inches of blond, blue-eyed handsomeness, winked at her.
“Hey, Becca.”
“Hey.”
Jordan wrapped her arms around Nathan’s narrow waist for a second, then jumped back. “Okay, I’m going to go upstairs and put on more lip gloss. Becca, get out some snacks from the freezer and put them in the oven. I’ll be right back.”
Becca got up and walked into the kitchen. The giant Sub-Zero refrigerator nearly filled one wall. The freezer was filled with all kinds of prepared foods—mostly from Whole Foods or Trader Joe’s, but still. Becca’s grandmother would have a fit if she ever saw them.
She reviewed the selection, picking mini quiches that were always good. She set the temperature on the oven, then put the quiches on a cookie sheet. In the refrigerator she found prepared ranch dip and a plate of cut-up vegetables. There were chips in the pantry.
Nathan leaned against the bar-height counter and watched her work. “You know your way around Jordan’s kitchen,” he said.
“We’ve been friends a long time and I’m here a lot. Her mom always makes sure there’s plenty of food for us.”
She had the need to keep moving, although she couldn’t say why. She’d been in the same room with Nathan dozens of times. He was perfectly fine. In fact, he mostly ignored her, which sometimes she preferred. But today he seemed to be watching her.
“Jordan tell you about Mexico?” he asked.
“That you went with her family?”
He moved toward her. “No, Becca. The other part.”
Somehow she found herself backed against a corner of the counter. Nathan stood in front of her and there was nowhere to move. He put his hands on her waist and leaned close. For one horrifying second, she thought he was going to kiss her, but instead he whispered, “I can do that for you, too, if you want.”
He smelled faintly of chlorine and too much cologne and she didn’t like the way his fingers squeezed ever so slightly.
“I d-don’t know what that means,” she whispered, wishing he would move back and give her more room.
He kissed the side of her neck. “The virgin thing. I’m good with virgins. I take things slow and easy. You’ll like it.”
She shoved him hard and glared at him. “What are you talking about? You didn’t just say that. Jordan’s your girlfriend. You’re supposed to be in love with her.”
“I told her I loved her,” he said with a shrug. “There’s a difference.”
What? That didn’t make any—She felt her eyes widen. “You lied? You lied to get her to sleep with you? That’s disgusting.”
“Whatever gets the job done. So what about you?”
He started toward her again. She had no idea what he was going to do, but she was sure she didn’t want any part of it. She shoved him again, as hard as she could, then pushed past him. She grabbed her backpack, then raced out the front door. She was still running when she reached the end of the block.
Halfway home, she slowed enough to catch her breath. Her whole body hurt, her head felt funny and her stomach was a mess. She tried to slow her breathing only to have to turn toward some bushes and throw up. She vomited until there was nothing left, then started to cry.
What had just happened? Why had Nathan acted like that? Becca couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. She started running again, not stopping until she made it to her house.
Her mom was on the phone with a client. Becca hurried past her mom’s office, toward her own room. When she got there, she collapsed on the bed and gave in to more tears. She was scared and confused and sick.
A few minutes later, she felt a weight on the bed. She raised her head. “Oh, Mom...” But it wasn’t her mother. Jazz had come into the room and jumped up on her bed. Thor stood close by, as if standing guard. Becca threw her arms around her dog and hung on. Jazz snuggled close.
“It was so horrible,” Becca whispered. “He scared me. I didn’t think he was going to do anything bad, but what he said... I thought he and Jordan were in love.”
Jazz watched her attentively. Thor lay down on the floor, but kept his attention on her. Becca swallowed. “He’s her boyfriend. What is he thinking?”
She had a bad feeling he was thinking that he could use Jordan’s friends the way he used Jordan.
Her phone chirped. She reached for it and saw a text from Jordan.
Nathan says ur mom told u to get home but I know the truth. U have 2 get over it, B. Don’t be jealous of me. Ur my friend.
Becca stared at her phone, then tossed it on the floor and rolled onto her back. She had no idea what to do or think or say. All she knew for sure was that Nathan was a jerk, Jordan was blind and none of this was going to end well.
Chapter Eight (#u85d27302-be68-5d93-8bf7-c5d87ea4b5ac)
THE LANDSCAPING COMPANY pushed Harper over the edge. She’d been prepared to do all the work herself, to stay up nights and give up sleep, but an unexpected call from a landscaper who needed her to do the billing for him was one job too far.
The money was good and the work relatively easy. There was an existing database. All Harper had to do was enter the amount for the month, print out the invoices, stuff them in envelopes and pop them in the mail. Easy-peasy—except for the fact that there were nearly five hundred clients and the invoicing had to be done in less than two days.
Between that new job, her regular clients, the additional brochure work she had for the city and a flower shop client who wanted a “spruce” on content for her website, Harper was slammed. She’d been forced to hire help.
Rather than go through the trouble of placing an ad online or interviewing people, she heard about Morgan Wolfenbarger, a friend of a friend, who was looking for part-time work.
In the “oh goody” column, Morgan showed up right on time. She was tall and curvy, with long, curly dark hair. Under items that would be considered less fortunate, Morgan was a talker.
“Your house is really nice,” she said as Harper showed her to the small office where she would input the information on Harper’s only computer. Note to self—if she was going to continue to use extra help, she would need a second computer.
“We need to remodel our kitchen,” Morgan continued, as she settled in the chair. “It’s a disaster, but with the kids and everything, when would we find the time? And what would we do while it was torn up? I guess I could freeze a bunch of meals, but who wants to do that? Trust me, after running Supper’s in the Bag all those years, the last thing I want to do is prep meals.”
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Susan Mallery
#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR‘Warm, witty and romantic. The perfect feel-good read’ – Sarah Morgan on You Say It FirstTwo sisters who couldn’t be more different if they tried…Harper put being a wife and mother above thoughts of a career, and has watched her sister become a celebrated scientist from the sidelines. But when her life is turned upside down by divorce, can she learn to put herself first?Stacey is left reeling by her unexpected pregnancy. More at home with neurological diseases than nappies, she can’t help feeling she lacks her sister’s maternal genes. What if she just doesn’t have what it takes to be a mother?Separately they may be a mess, but Harper and Stacey are about to discover that, together, they can face anything.Praise for Susan Mallery:‘Susan Mallery never disappoints…. She is at her storytelling best.’ -Debbie Macomber, #1 New York Times bestselling author‘Heartfelt, funny, and utterly charming all the way through!’ Susan Elizabeth Phillips‘Mallery returns to Mischief Bay with another set of friends dealing with dramatic yet relatable turmoil, which she treats with compassion, discernment, and subtlety’ Kirkus Reviews on The Friends We Keep‘An engaging read to be savoured all the way through.’ Publishers Weekly on The Friends We Keep‘ highly original and fascinating page-turner you may lose sleep over. Mallery brings our inner lives to the surface and evokes deep emotions from her readers. You will fall in love with the girls of Mischief Bay.’ -RT Book Reviews on The Friends We Keep‘Mallery, a best-selling romance writer, can write a believable love story. But what makes this story remarkable is how strong and relatable the friendship between the characters is. This is a welcome return to Mischief Bay.’ -Booklist on The Friends We Keep‘Once again, Susan Mallery has created an inviting world that envelops her readers' senses and sensibilities… Fans of Jodi Picoult, Debbie Macomber, and Elin Hilderbrand will assuredly fall for The Girls of Mischief Bay.’ -Bookreporter‘Fresh and engaging…the writing is strong, the dialogue genuine and believable. There's a generational subtext that mirrors reality and the complexities of adult relationships…filled with promise of a new serial that's worth following.’ -Fort Worth Star-Telegram on The Girls of Mischief BayPerfect for fans of Debbie Macomber, Melissa Hill, and Trisha Ashley, Sisters Like Us is a story of laughter, tears, and the unbreakable bond between sisters.
The grass is always greener on your sister’s side of the fence...
Divorce left Harper Szymanski with a name no one can spell, a house she can't afford and a teenage daughter who's pulling away. With her fledgling virtual-assistant business, she's scrambling to maintain her overbearing mother’s ridiculous Susie Homemaker standards and still pay the bills, thanks to clients like Lucas, the annoying playboy cop who claims he hangs around for Harper's fresh-baked cookies.
Spending half her life in school hasn't prepared Dr. Stacey Bloom for her most daunting challenge—motherhood. She didn't inherit the nurturing gene like Harper and is in deep denial that a baby is coming. Worse, her mother will be horrified to learn that Stacey's husband plans to be a stay-at-home dad…assuming Stacey can first find the courage to tell Mom she's already six months pregnant.
Separately they may be a mess, but together Harper and Stacey can survive anything—their indomitable mother, overwhelming maternity stores and ex’s weddings. Sisters Like Us is a delightful look at sisters, mothers and daughters in today’s fast-paced world, told with Susan Mallery’s trademark warmth and humor.
#1 NYT bestselling author SUSAN MALLERY writes heartwarming, humorous novels about the relationships that define our lives – family, friendship, romance. She’s known for putting nuanced characters in emotional situations that surprise readers to laughter. Beloved by millions, her books have been translated into 28 languages. Susan lives in Washington with her husband, two cats, and a small poodle with delusions of grandeur.
Also by Susan Mallery (#u85d27302-be68-5d93-8bf7-c5d87ea4b5ac)
Secrets of the Tulip Sisters
Daughters of the Bride
Happily Inc
Second Chance Girl
You Say It First
Mischief Bay
A Million Little Things
The Friends We Keep
The Girls of Mischief Bay
Fool’s Gold
Best of My Love
Marry Me at Christmas
Thrill Me
Kiss Me
Hold Me
Until We Touch
Before We Kiss
When We Met
Christmas on 4th Street
Three Little Words
Two of a Kind
Just One Kiss
A Fool’s Gold Christmas
All Summer Long
Summer Nights
Summer Days
Only His
Only Yours
Only Mine
Finding Perfect
Almost Perfect
Chasing Perfect
For a complete list of titles available from Susan Mallery, please visit www.SusanMallery.com (http://www.SusanMallery.com).
Copyright (#ulink_75a2c67a-57f6-56ba-88e0-ff2823a3e99d)
An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018
Copyright © Susan Mallery Inc. 2018
Susan Mallery Inc. asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © February 2018 ISBN: 9781474074728
I acknowledge it is very, very wrong for an author to have a favorite book. Books are like children and we should love them all equally. Yet I will confess (but only to you) that I had great fun writing this one. So much fun. And I love all the characters, even Bunny, and I admit that Lucas turned out to be much more amazing that I’d ever anticipated.
This book is for those of you who will unexpectedly fall wildly in love with Lucas…even though you think you shouldn’t!
Contents
Cover (#u952a37b4-0cec-5775-863d-137b39896f7e)
Back Cover Text (#ue1d8cf39-e28f-54ae-9533-d533fc36467d)
About the Author (#u0b13ebf4-1766-5ebf-a07d-88189acaf4ce)
Booklist (#u33ea2f6b-a2bb-5776-b707-8ee326620553)
Title Page (#ubfdc562f-af39-58da-9425-1cacc571b5e3)
Copyright (#ulink_07543897-89b7-5b5d-95b4-470e8f559d2c)
Dedication (#u9c5b7bf4-7ccf-5c4d-866b-1ff97cc2f4aa)
Chapter One (#u3b25c165-f2d5-57c8-a934-b9f33204e8ec)
Chapter Two (#u21ce440d-945d-505a-a914-87c921ea137a)
Chapter Three (#u4aab83b2-8bdb-57f4-b20e-4706888ea7eb)
Chapter Four (#ub0d65973-f817-53a6-9396-779a0673ed87)
Chapter Five (#uf40590c6-e9e4-5a17-af1f-28860ec0e6b3)
Chapter Six (#u4b8ab0e8-8a4a-5634-8e7a-2c4bd8b0bcc7)
Chapter Seven (#ucdd6b42c-d387-5a15-82b5-fc35e01c001f)
Chapter Eight (#uf2335727-5018-597a-bb85-2d95b12b9bb9)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Reader’s Guide (#litres_trial_promo)
Suggested Menu (#litres_trial_promo)
Discussion Questions (#litres_trial_promo)
Potatoes Grand-Mère (#litres_trial_promo)
Strawberry Avocado Salad (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u85d27302-be68-5d93-8bf7-c5d87ea4b5ac)
THERE WASN’T A holiday on the calendar that Harper Szymanski couldn’t celebrate, cook for, decorate, decoupage, create a greeting card about or wrap in raffia. There were the biggies: birthdays, New Years, Fourth of July. But also the lesser celebrated: American Diabetes Association Alert Day, Auntie’s Day, National Massage Therapy Awareness Week. Why weren’t there greeting cards to honor that? Didn’t everyone need a good massage?
Despite a skill set that made Martha Stewart look like a slacker, Harper had never figured out a way to monetize her gift for setting a table to commemorate anything. She’d tried catering about ten years ago, but had quickly discovered that her need to overbuy and overdeliver had meant losing money on every single job. Which left her in the awkward position of trying to make a living the hard way—with two semesters of community college and sixteen years of being a stay-at-home mom.
Retail jobs and the pay that went with them hadn’t been close to enough to support herself and her daughter post-divorce. Three online aptitude tests had left her even more confused—while getting her degree in biochemistry and going on to medical school sounded great, it wasn’t actually a practical solution for an over-forty single mom with no money in the bank. Then an article in the local paper had provided an interesting and almost-viable idea. Harper had become a virtual assistant.
If there was one thing she knew it was how to take care of the details. You didn’t get good at a basket weave Fourth of July cake without paying attention. One year after filing her business permit, Harper had five main clients, nearly a dozen more who used her services intermittently and almost enough income to pay her bills. She also had her mother living in the apartment over the garage, an ex-husband dating a gorgeous blonde who was—wait for it—exactly fourteen years younger than Harper because they shared a birthday—a sixteen-year-old daughter who had stopped speaking to her and a client who was desperately unclear on the concept of virtual in the world of virtual assistants.
“You don’t have to drop off your bills every month,” Harper said as she set out coffee, a plate of chocolate chip scones that she’d gotten up at five-thirty that morning to bake fresh, a bowl of sugar-glazed almonds and sliced pears.
“And miss this?” Lucas Wheeler asked, pouring himself a mug of coffee. “If you’re trying to convince me coming by isn’t a good idea, then stop feeding me.”
He was right, of course. There was an easy, logical solution. Stop taking care of people and they would go away. Or at least be around less often. There was just one problem—when someone stopped by your home, you were supposed to take care of them.
“I can’t help it,” she admitted, wishing it weren’t the truth. “It’s a disease. I’m a people pleaser. I blame my mother.”
“I’d blame her, too, if I were you.”
She supposed she could take offense at Lucas’s words, but he was only stating the obvious.
In some ways Harper felt as if she was part of the wrong generation. According to celebrity magazines, fifty was the new twenty-five, which meant almost forty-two should be the new what? Eleven? Everyone else her age seemed so young and carefree, with modern attitudes and a far better grasp of what was in style and popular.
Harper was just now getting around to listening to the soundtrack from Hamilton and her idea of fashionable had a lot more to do with how she dressed her dining room table than herself. She was like a 1950s throwback, which might sound charming but in real life kind of sucked. On the bright side, it really was her mother’s fault.
“Speaking of your mother, where is she?” Lucas asked.
“At the senior center, preparing Easter baskets for the homeless.” Because that was what women were supposed to do. Take care of people—not have actual careers that could support them and their families.
“I, on the other hand, will be paying your bills, designing T-shirts for Misty, working on the layout of a sales brochure and making bunny butt cookies for my daughter.”
Lucas raised an eyebrow. “You do realize that bunny butt is just a polite way of saying rabbit ass.”
Harper laughed. “Yes, but they’re an Easter tradition. Becca loves them. Her father is dropping her off tomorrow afternoon and I want the cookies waiting.”
Because maybe if there were bunny butt cookies, her daughter would smile and talk to her the way she used to. In actual sentences that shared bits of her life.
“You sorry you didn’t go?” Lucas asked.
“To the memorial? Yes.” She thought for a second, then added, “No. I mean I would have liked to pay my respects and all, but Great-Aunt Cheryl is gone, so it’s not like she would miss me showing up.”
The drive from Mischief Bay to Grass Valley would take practically the whole day. Harper couldn’t imagine anything more horrible than being trapped in a car with her ex, his girlfriend and her daughter. Okay, the Becca part would be great, but the other two?
The worst of it was that while Great-Aunt Cheryl was actually Terence’s relative, Harper had been the one who had stayed in touch, right up until her death two months ago.
“Terence is forty-four. What is he thinking, dating a twenty-eight-year-old?” She glared at Lucas. “Never mind. You’re the wrong person to be having this particular conversation with.”
Because while her client was a handsome, single, fifty-year-old man, he also dated women in their twenties. In his case, their early twenties.
“What is wrong with you?” she demanded. “Is it all men or just you and my ex? Oh, dear God, the one thing you have in common with Terence is me. Did I do something to make you all date twentysomethings?”
“Calm down,” Lucas said mildly. “I was dating younger women long before we met. It’s not you, it’s me.”
“Where have I heard that before?” She glanced pointedly at the clock on her microwave. “Don’t you have crimes to solve?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.”
He rose and carried his dishes to the sink. Lucas was about five-ten, nicely muscled with a belly way flatter than hers. He wore jeans, cowboy boots and a long-sleeved shirt. He was a detective with the LAPD, and from what she’d learned about him in the nine months she’d been working for him, he’d always been a cop.
He returned to the table and slipped on his shoulder holster, then grabbed his blazer. “How do you make bunny butt cookies?”
She laughed. “It’s easy. You take a round sugar cookie frosted in pink icing, add two small oval sugar cookies decorated with pink candy for feet, use a miniature marshmallow for the tail and viola—bunny butt cookies.”
“Save me a couple.”
“I promise.” She would put them in a little box that she would decorate for the holiday. Because she simply couldn’t hand someone cookies on a plain paper plate. If she tried, the heavens would open and release a plague of locusts at the very least.
Oh, to be able to buy packaged cookies from the grocery store. Or prepared spaghetti sauce. Or a frozen entrée. But that would never happen because it wasn’t what Harper was supposed to do.
She carried the rest of the dishes over to the sink, packed up the uneaten food, then retreated to her large craft room with its built-in shelves and giant tables and cupboards. After finding a nice bunny-butt-cookie-sized box, she studied her ribbon collection before selecting one that would coordinate. While her glue gun heated, she sorted through her fabric remnants to find one that was Easter appropriate and wondered what other women did with the time they saved by not making every stupid thing by hand.
But Harper was her mother’s daughter and had never been very good at bucking tradition. Her sister, Stacey, was the rebel while Harper did what she was told. It wasn’t that she didn’t like making bunny butt cookies or decoupaging gift boxes, it was that she wanted just a little more in her life. More challenges, more money, more communication with her daughter. And while it was fun to blame all her problems on her mother, Harper couldn’t help thinking that in reality, everything she wanted but didn’t have was very likely her own damn fault.
* * *
The smell of waffles and turkey sausage filled the kitchen and drifted down the hall toward the master bedroom. Stacey Bloom slipped on her sleeveless dress, then glanced at herself in the mirror. With the loose style and knit fabric, not to mention her body shape, she looked as she always had. No one would guess, which was the point. She didn’t want the questions that would inevitably be asked—mostly because she didn’t want to be judged for her answers.
She knew that was her problem, no one else’s. The judging thing. If it were any other topic, she would be able to provide a brief but accurate response, one that would explain her position while making it clear that while the questioner might think his opinion was important, she did not. Except for this time.
She stepped into her lace-up hiking boots and tied them, then pulled a blazer from the row of them in her closet. She had learned years ago that having a kind of work uniform kept her mornings simple. She bought her black sleeveless dresses online, three or four of them at a time. Her blazers were of excellent quality and lasted for years. She changed them out seasonally—lighter fabric in summer, heavier in winter—although the temperate climate in Mischief Bay, California, meant her decision to switch one for another was based purely on convention and not necessity.
As for the hiking boots, they were comfortable and offered a lot of support. She spent much of her day standing in a lab or walking between labs, so they made practical sense. Her mother kept trying to get her to wear pumps and stockings, neither of which was ever going to happen. The shoes would cause foot pain and pressure on her lower back—these days more so than ever. Besides, something about her hiking boots seemed to intimidate the men she had to work with, and although that had never been her purpose, she wasn’t going to deny she liked the unexpected benefit.
She walked into her kitchen and hung her blazer on the back of her chair. Her husband, Kit, stood at the stove, humming to himself as he turned the sausage. The table was set and there was a bowl of sliced fruit by her place mat. A thermal to-go cup stood next to her backpack. She wanted it to be filled with delicious hot coffee, but knew instead it contained a vegetable-infused protein shake. Without looking she knew that her lunch was already packed in her backpack.
Kit turned and smiled when he saw her.
“Morning, sweetie. How are you feeling?”
“Good. And you?”
“Excellent.” He winked, then went back to his cooking.
As it was the last Friday of Spring Break, he wasn’t teaching today, so instead of his usual khakis and a button-down shirt, he had on sweats and a T-shirt with a drawing of a cat on a poster. Underneath the poster, it said Wanted Dead or Alive: Schrodinger’s Cat.
She wasn’t sure which she loved more—that he fussed over her by fixing her meals and making sure she was taking her vitamins, that he called her sweetie, or that he had a collection of funny science T-shirts. She supposed there was no reason she had to pick any one thing. Until meeting Kit, she’d never been sure that she believed romantic love existed. She could have explained the chemical processes that took place in the brain but that wasn’t the same as believing in the feelings themselves. Now she knew differently.
He set two plates on the table, then sat across from her. A pot of herbal tea sat in the center of the table. She poured them each a cup. Kit wouldn’t drink coffee in front of her although she guessed he had it when she wasn’t around.
“Harper called,” he said. “She invited us over for dinner tomorrow night. Becca will be home from the memorial.” He frowned. “Who is Great-Aunt Cheryl? She didn’t come to the wedding.”
“She’s not related to Harper and me. She was Terence’s great-aunt, but she and Harper were always close, which our mother found threatening. Great-Aunt Cheryl was an army nurse during World War II and some kind of spy in the 1950s. She raised dogs.”
“Like poodles?”
Stacey smiled at her husband. “No, these were specially trained dogs used in spy missions. Apparently their training was far more advanced than regular military canines. I tried to get her to talk about her work, but she said it was all top secret and I didn’t have clearance. Still, what she did tell me was fascinating to hear about. I was most intrigued by the lack of morality involved. When someone is trained to kill, there are psychological ramifications, but with animals, there is simply the task. Pushing a button that will ultimately arm a bomb requires little more than the command and subsequent reward for good behavior.”
Kit chuckled. “That’s my girl, always with the cheerful breakfast conversation.”
“So much of life is interesting to me.”
“I know, and you are interesting to me. Now, about the elephant in the room...”
She automatically glanced at the calendar on the wall. It was about one square foot and rather than show the date, it counted up to 280. Kit tore off a sheet each morning. Today was day 184.
Stacey involuntarily put her right hand on her round belly. Right hand rather than left because she was right hand dominant and therefore would be in a better position to protect with said right hand. Not that there were any threats in the room—they came from outside the haven that was their home.
Her gaze returned to her husband. Kit’s kind expression never changed. His brown eyes danced with amusement from behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his mouth smiled at her. He needed a haircut because he always needed a haircut.
They’d met nearly three years ago, when Stacey had spoken at the Mischief Bay High School career day. As a science teacher, Kit had reached out to Stacey’s biotech company and asked for someone to address his students. He’d specifically requested a woman to inspire the young women in his classes.
Stacey had volunteered. She spoke regularly at conferences and symposiums, so had no fear of talking in front of a crowd. Lexi, her assistant, had helped her put together a presentation that assumed little or no knowledge of disease pathology, or science, for that matter. The students had appeared interested but the bigger surprise of the day had been meeting Kit.
She’d found herself flustered in his presence and when he’d invited her out for coffee, she’d accepted. Coffee had turned into a long weekend and by the end of their third week together, he’d moved in with her.
She had never been swept away before, had never fallen so completely for anyone. More importantly, she’d never felt so accepted by a man who wasn’t family.
In the vernacular of the day, he got her. He understood how her brain worked and wasn’t the least bit intimidated by her intelligence or success. When regular life confused her, he was her buffer. He was normal. Just as important, he took care of her in a thousand little ways that made her feel loved. While she tried to do the same with him, she was confident she failed spectacularly, but Kit never seemed to mind.
“I’ll tell her,” she murmured, getting back to the topic at hand.
“Technically you don’t have to. In about ninety-six days you’ll pop out the baby. I’m pretty sure Bunny will be able to figure it out from the broad strokes. You know, when she holds her granddaughter for the first time.” He paused to sip his tea. “Unless you weren’t going to say anything then. I mean, we can wait until Joule learns to talk and we can let her tell Bunny herself. Most kids start forming sentences around eighteen months or so but with your genes floating around in our daughter, she will probably be on her second language by then. I say we let her tell her grandmother who she is.”
She knew Kit was teasing. She also knew the problem was of her own making. She’d been the one to put off telling her mother she was pregnant. She’d told Harper right away because Harper was her sister and they’d always been there for each other. Harper was easy and accepting and would understand. Bunny wouldn’t. Bunny had very clear ideas on what women should or shouldn’t do in their lives and Stacey was confident she’d violated every one she could so far. Having a child would only make things worse.
One week had slipped into two. Time had passed. Stacey had told Kit she was going to wait until after the amniocentesis, but they’d had the results weeks ago and still Stacey hadn’t said anything to her mother.
She got up and circled the table. Kit pushed back enough for her to collapse on his lap. He wrapped his arms around her as she hung on, burying her face in his shoulder.
“I’m a horrible daughter,” she whispered.
“You’re not. You’re wonderful and I love you. As for Bunny, if she can’t take a joke, then screw it.” He touched her cheek until she looked at him. “Stacey, I’m serious. You do what you want. I’m with you. If you don’t want to tell Bunny ever, then that’s okay. I’m just trying to point out, she will find out at some point, and the longer you wait, the harder it’s going to be.”
“It’s already hard.”
“I told you so,” he said gently, before kissing her. “Go finish your breakfast.”
“I will. I love you, too.”
He smiled at her. She returned to her seat and began to eat. Because she had to stay healthy for the baby. She was comfortable being a vessel—she could do the vessel thing. It was the idea of parenting that tormented her. Who was she to think she could be a mother? She wasn’t like other women—she didn’t want what they wanted. She had different priorities, which she probably could have lived with, if not for her mother.
Because Bunny knew Stacey wasn’t like everyone else and she had no trouble pointing out that fact. Once she found out about the baby... Well, Stacey could only imagine.
“I’ll tell her tomorrow at dinner,” she said.
“Good for you.”
Which was his way of saying There is not a snowball’s chance in hell I believe you, but sure, say it because it makes you feel better.
“She’s going to be mad I waited so long.”
“That she is.” He smiled at her. “But don’t worry. I won’t let her hurt you. I promise.”
She knew he meant what he said—that he would do his best to protect her. The problem wasn’t that her mother would physically abuse her—the problem was what Bunny would say. In the Bloom family, words were the true weapon, and expectation was the ammunition. The rest of the world considered Stacey a brilliant scientist with a string of credentials and awards. Bunny saw little more than a daughter who refused to be conventional in any way that mattered—in other words, a failure. What on earth was her mother going to say when she found out her daughter was six months pregnant and had never said a word?
Chapter Two (#u85d27302-be68-5d93-8bf7-c5d87ea4b5ac)
HARPER CHECKED HER daily calendar to confirm all she had to get through that day. As it was the end of the month, she would be billing her clients for her work. In addition, she needed to email Blake and remind him that his mother’s birthday was in two weeks. She already had several gift ideas noted in case he wanted her help with that.
She wrote the email to Blake, a Boeing sales executive who spent his work life traveling the world. Blake sold private jets to the über-rich, and then made sure the customization of said planes was to their liking. She never knew where he was at any given time, or who he was meeting with, but it all sounded very exciting. She thought of him as the sales world’s James Bond.
Her regular clients were Blake, Lucas, a nurse turned stand-up comedian named Misty, Cathy, a party planner, and the City of Mischief Bay. When she’d first started her business, she’d had no idea what she was doing. A half-dozen college extension courses later, she’d mastered several computer programs, learned the basics of a handful of others, knew how to file a DBA, keep basic records for her business and pay her taxes. Harper Helps had been born.
Lucas had been her first client—she’d met him through a friend of a friend. After being shot on the job, Lucas had spent several weeks recovering. During that time, his bills had gone unpaid and his lights and water had been turned off. When he’d recovered, he’d decided to let someone else handle the details of his life and had hired her. Blake had found her through a Facebook ad, of all things, and Misty was one of Lucas’s former nurses.
The work with the city had come through an online posting requesting a bid to design a mailer. She’d applied, offered samples of her work and had been hired.
The irony was Harper had started her home business because she didn’t have any skills—now she would certainly be qualified to work in an office, only to find she didn’t want to. She liked making her own hours and being around for her daughter—not that Becca was especially interested in her mother these days, but still. Harper was here should her daughter ever want or need her.
Harper went into the kitchen and poured herself another cup of coffee. The back door opened and Harper’s mother walked in. Bunny Bloom was petite, slim and in her early sixties. She dressed in high-end knits, wore her dark hair short and spikey and always, always put on makeup before stepping outside her apartment.
Bunny had lost her husband a couple of years ago and while Harper had been a mess in the months following her father’s death, Bunny had soldiered on, taking care of what needed doing. Once the dust had settled, she’d moved into the apartment above Harper’s garage both to be close to her only grandchild and to help Harper financially. There were months when Bunny’s thousand-dollar rent check meant the difference between hamburger for dinner and a box of mac and cheese. Figuratively, Harper thought as she smiled at her mother. She would never use boxed mac and cheese. She would make it herself, from scratch, including the noodles.
“Hey, Mom. How are you?” Harper asked, automatically pouring a second cup of coffee before pulling a freshly made coffee cake from the bread box and cutting off a slice.
“Old. Have you heard from Becca?”
“Just that they’re planning on heading home tomorrow.” She didn’t mention that since the text two days ago saying her daughter had arrived, she hadn’t heard a word. These days Becca just wasn’t talking to her and for the life of her, Harper couldn’t figure out why.
They settled at the round kitchen table and she gave the plate of coffee cake to her mother. Each of the four matching place mats had a rabbit motif, as did the salt-and-pepper shakers in the center of the table. The sugar bowl and creamer had rabbits and tulips, celebrating the holiday and the fact that it was spring.
“Good.” Bunny poured cream into her coffee. “I need to see my only grandchild for Easter. Have you started preparing dinner?”
“I have.”
Although no matter how much she prepped, she would spend most of Easter Sunday in a frenzy of cooking. The menu this year included strawberry avocado salad, a glazed ham, Potatoes Grand-Mère, both roasted asparagus and creamy spring peas, along with lemon meringue pie and an Easter Bunny cake. Oh, and appetizers.
All that for five people, or possibly seven if Lucas came and brought a date. She was never sure with him. Regardless, there would be food for twenty and lots of leftovers. And none of that counted the special “welcome home” dinner she would make tomorrow.
“Do you need help?” her mother asked.
Harper did her best not to scream. Of course she needed help! She was working sixty hours a week in a desperate attempt to stay afloat financially, taking care of her house, dealing with a sixteen-year-old, decorating for the holiday and getting ready to cook a fancy meal. Help would be nice. Help would be grand. But, in Bunny’s world, the woman of the house did not ask for help. No, she did it all herself, seemingly effortlessly. Family came first. The measure of a woman was how well she looked after her family and so on. Harper knew it all by heart. The problem was, from her perspective, the only person who cared about all that was Bunny herself. Bunny who no longer had to do anything for anyone because somehow all that responsibility was Harper’s now. Bunny was free to spend the day with her friends, dress perfectly for every occasion and judge her oldest daughter.
Harper smiled at her mother. “I’m good, Mom. I have it all under control. You just show up and look pretty.”
“All right. Stacey and Kit are coming to dinner?”
“Last I heard.”
Which could be interesting, Harper thought. At some point her sister was going to have to reveal her pregnancy and wouldn’t that be a conversation starter? She wasn’t sure if she wanted it to happen at Easter dinner, though. Not with all the work that went into the meal. Maybe after would be better, when everyone was still digesting, although that could be problematic, as well.
She supposed the actual issue was that there was simply no good time to confess to your mother that you were six months pregnant. At sixteen it made sense to hide the truth, but Stacey was forty.
Harper held in a sigh. She knew exactly why Stacey wasn’t eager to share the information. Their mother would have a million rules and shoulds, all of which Stacey would ignore. Then there would be fighting. Given that scenario, keeping quiet sort of made sense.
“Do you think she left you anything?”
Harper stared at her mother. “I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re asking.”
“Do you think she left you anything?”
“Saying the same thing again doesn’t make it any clearer, Mom.”
Her mother sighed. “In the will.”
Oh, right. Because Bunny would rather buy store-bought bread than actually say Great-Aunt Cheryl’s name. Which would be really funny except Harper had a similar problem with her ex’s girlfriend. She went out of her way to never say Alicia if at all possible. Although there was a huge difference, what with Alicia being twenty-eight and gorgeous and Great-Aunt Cheryl not being a relative at all and, well, dead.
“I have no idea,” Harper admitted. “A couple of years ago she asked me if I would take her dogs. I made it clear there was no way.”
Great-Aunt Cheryl had been many things, including a former army nurse who had somehow become a spy during World War II. After that, she’d traveled the world, taken lovers and generally lived a life that would have left anyone else exhausted. In the past decade or so, Great-Aunt Cheryl had taken to training dogs for the government. Harper was pretty sure they could arm a nuclear missile if instructed. They were also huge, slightly scary-looking Dobermans that she in no way wanted in her house.
“So no jewelry? No antique silver tea service?”
“Great-Aunt Cheryl wasn’t the antique silver tea service type.”
“Pity.”
They both knew that wasn’t true.
“I’m not expecting her to leave me anything, Mom. She was Terence’s aunt, not mine.”
“Yet you were always so close.”
There was a slight sniff at the end of the statement, but Harper ignored it.
“We were. She was lovely and I miss her a lot.” Great-Aunt Cheryl had always encouraged her to do more with her life than just take care of her family. When Becca had started kindergarten, Cheryl had offered to pay for Harper to go to college.
Harper, being an idiot, had refused. Why should she take time away from caring for her family to do something as ridiculous as going to college? It wasn’t as if she was ever going to be on her own and having to support herself and her daughter.
After the divorce Harper had wanted to tell Great-Aunt Cheryl how much she appreciated the offer, even if she hadn’t taken it. But at that point she’d been afraid it would sound too much like begging for money, so she’d never said the words. Now she couldn’t.
Regret was a mean and vindictive bitch.
* * *
Harper heard a knock at the front door, but before she could run to open it, she heard a familiar “It’s me.”
“In the kitchen,” she yelled as she deftly maneuvered hot lasagna noodles into the casserole dish. She wiped her hands on a towel, then reached for the bowl of marinara sauce—homemade, of course—and a spoon.
She glanced up as Lucas strolled into the room, then returned her attention to what she was doing. There was no point in looking at what she couldn’t have, she reminded herself. Not that she wanted Lucas—not exactly.
Yes, the man was ridiculously good-looking. Tall and fit, with an air of confidence that was just shy of being a swagger. He was fifty, so older than her, and unexpectedly kind. While he was always underfoot, he was rarely in the way and whenever he came to dinner—which was surprisingly often—he always brought thoughtful little gifts.
He stood on the other side of the kitchen island and studied the ingredients she’d set out earlier.
“Let’s see,” he began. “Lasagna goes without saying, so there will be garlic bread. Some kind of salad.” He paused. “The chopped one with the homemade basil dressing. Which means we’re having Becca’s favorite dinner.”
“In celebration of her return.”
“She was gone three nights. How are you going to show she’s special when she heads off to college for months at a time?”
“I don’t want to think about that,” Harper admitted. Not her only child being gone nor how she was supposed to pay for out-of-state tuition. “I made a chocolate cake.”
“Of course you did. What time is dinner?”
“Terence said they’d be back between four and five, so maybe five-thirty or six.”
“I’ll be here.” He looked around at all the mess. “This big dinner is in addition to the Easter feast tomorrow?”
“Of course. They’re totally unrelated.”
“And we couldn’t just let one of them go?”
“Seriously? You’re asking that?”
“Yeah. You’re right. What was I thinking?”
She finished sprinkling on a layer of grated cheese, then glanced at the clock. It was nearly three. She figured she could risk leaving the lasagna out on the counter until she popped it in the oven at four-fifteen. She’d made the bread days ago and had defrosted a loaf already. The garlic spread was done and the salad was in the refrigerator. She only had to pour on dressing and that was good to go. There was still the table to set. She returned her attention to Lucas.
“Are you bringing someone?”
One corner of his mouth turned up. “Persimmon.”
Harper wiped her hands on a towel. “You have got to be kidding. That’s her real name?”
“It’s on her driver’s license.”
“Which you saw because you check their ID before you date them?”
“I like to be sure.”
“That they’re not underage or that they’re not too old?”
“Sometimes both.”
“I get the biology,” she said, studying him across the kitchen island. “The young, healthy female should produce the best offspring. But we’re not living in caves anymore. You drive a Mercedes. If you’ve evolved enough to handle freeway driving, why can’t you date someone remotely close to your own age? I’m not suggesting an old lady, but maybe a woman in her thirties.” She walked to the pantry and got the small box of cookies she’d set aside for him.
“Never mind,” she told him as she handed him the decorated box. “You don’t have an answer and I have no right to question your personal life. I just work for you.”
“And give me cookies.” He studied the ribbon and appliques. “It’s beautiful, but I would have been happy with plastic wrap.”
“That’s not how we do things around here.”
“Which is part of your problem.”
“I know that. Unfortunately, knowing and doing something about it are two different things. Go wash your hands, then you can help me set the table.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He did as she requested, then met her in the formal dining room. Harper remembered when she and Terence had been looking for a house in the area. They’d passed on several because the dining room wasn’t big enough. When he’d pointed out their family wasn’t that large, she’d reminded him that she had a huge table, a giant hutch and massive buffet to find room for. He’d grumbled about her having too many dishes—every now and then she thought maybe he was right. After the divorce she’d sold two full sets and still had more stock than the average department store.
Her basic set of dishes were white, allowing her to use them as a base for any holiday or event. Now she studied her tablecloths and napkins, then thought about the bunny fest that would be tomorrow’s table.
“Becca likes pink,” Lucas offered. “Isn’t pink a spring color?”
“It is, and that would work. Thanks.”
She pulled out a pale rose tablecloth with matching napkins. She would use gold as the accent color, along with a little dark green. The dinner would be attended by Bunny, Becca, Lucas, fruit date, Kit and Stacey, and Harper, so seven.
She handed Lucas the tablecloth before digging out seven dark green place mats. The rest was easy: seven gold chargers, seven sets of gold flatware, her favorite crystal glasses, white plates. She had a collection of salad plates in different patterns, including eight that were edged in gold. She would make custom napkin rings by dressing up plain ones with clusters of silk flowers. She had three hurricane lamps with gold bases.
She left him to put the linens on the table, then hurried into her craft room to double-check supplies. Honestly, she should have planned her table a couple of days ago, in case she needed to go to the craft store. Now she was going to have to wing it.
She plugged in her glue gun, then dug through a large bag of silk flower pieces and found several tiny pink blossoms, along with some greens. She had glass beads, of course, and plenty of ribbon. Ten minutes later, she had secured the last of the flowers to the clear plastic napkin rings she bought in bulk. She picked up bags of colored glass beads and the ribbon, then turned and nearly ran into Lucas.
“What are you doing?” he asked, sounding more amused than concerned.
“Decorating the table. Can you get those hurricane lamps, please?”
“There’s something wrong with you,” he told her as he picked up the lamps and followed her back into the dining room. “Your crafts don’t make you a penny, yet you have that huge room for them. At the same time, you cram your office into that tiny bedroom in back.”
“Sometimes I have to use my craft room for work,” she said, trying not to sound defensive. “When I work for my party planner, I do.”
“Yeah, sell it somewhere else. Harper, no one’s going to take you seriously until you take yourself seriously.”
She thought of the stack of bills on her desk and how every month was a struggle. It was the house, she admitted to herself. She’d wanted to keep it after the divorce so that Becca wouldn’t have to move and she didn’t want to be forced to sell it when her daughter turned eighteen. Buying out Terence had decimated her half of their joint assets, meaning he got to keep all the cash, savings and most of their retirement accounts. In return she had the house and little else.
“I take my income very seriously. At some point I’ll switch out the craft room with my office, but not yet. The craft room makes me happy.”
“I doubt that. It’s a constant reminder of how you have to be perfect.”
The unexpected insight caught her off guard and made her feel embarrassed and exposed. Like he’d walked in on her going to the bathroom.
Lucas was like that. Not that he walked in on her doing anything, but every now and then he was uncomfortably intuitive.
They returned to the living room, where he put the hurricane lanterns on the sideboard. She wrapped rose and gold ribbon around the bases before setting them in place. After scattering the glass beads down the center of the table, she studied the effect.
“It’s beautiful,” Lucas told her. “Becca’s going to love it.”
“Bunny will complain I haven’t done enough.”
“Want me to take her on for you?”
“You’d never take the chance,” she told him. “What if you got old lady cooties?”
“There is that.” He followed her back into the kitchen where she pulled the garlic spread out of the refrigerator.
“So who is Great-Aunt Cheryl anyway?” he asked.
“Terence’s great-aunt. I first met her when he and I were still dating. She was wonderful. Funny and irreverent. She never married, but there were always very interesting men hanging around. She had a million stories and they were all so interesting. Just when I started to think she was making it all up, she’d pull out something like a letter from President Truman thanking her for her invaluable aid to our country.”
She sliced the French loaf lengthwise. Lucas leaned against the counter.
“You admired her.”
“I did. Very much. She was always very sweet to me.”
“Bunny hated her and was jealous of your relationship.”
Harper stared at him. “How did you know?”
“Come on. Really? Your mother is the most traditional person I know, and she’s convinced you that if you buy bread instead of making it, the sun won’t rise in the morning. Bunny is all home and hearth. Great-Aunt Cheryl would make Bunny’s teeth hurt. Worse, she would have violated every one of Bunny’s core beliefs.”
“They weren’t close,” Harper admitted. “Over the past couple of years, Great-Aunt Cheryl and I weren’t in touch as often. I thought she was busy. It was only after I found out she’d died that I learned she’d been sick.”
Harper still felt guilty for not pushing harder to find out what was going on. “She didn’t want to be any trouble, or something like that. I wish I’d been with her at the end.”
“Was she alone?”
“No, she had Ramon.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Ramon?”
“Great-Aunt Cheryl was a little like you when it came to her lovers.”
“Good for her. Why didn’t you go to the memorial?”
Harper had all her socially correct excuses at the ready, but with Lucas, she found herself blurting out the truth.
“It’s nearly a day to drive to Grass Valley and I didn’t want to be in the car that long with Terence and her.”
“Alicia?” Lucas asked sweetly. “Is there a reason you can’t say her name?”
“Yes. It’s like Beetlejuice. If you say her name too many times, she’ll rise up with horrific powers and do unspeakable things. I’m being cautious.”
“The world thanks you.”
“As it should.”
She finished coating the bread. After slicing it, she wrapped it in foil so it was ready to pop in the oven.
“Expecting anything from Great-Aunt Cheryl?” he asked.
“No. We were friends and that’s plenty.”
She went into the pantry and scooped flour into a sifter, then sorted through her folder of stencils before finding the one she needed. Technically it wasn’t Easter until Sunday, but she wanted something fun for her daughter’s return.
Lucas didn’t speak as he followed her outside. She stopped at the end of the walkway, then put the stencil on the concrete path before straightening and gently turning the handle on the sifter.
Flour drifted down, landing on the stencil. When she lifted it up, there was a perfect set of rabbit footprints.
Lucas stepped around her and headed for his car. “You’re a scary woman, Harper Szymanski. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
“With Pomegranate.”
“Persimmon.”
“Does it actually matter?”
He got into his white Mercedes convertible, turned to her and winked. “Honestly, it doesn’t.”
Chapter Three (#u85d27302-be68-5d93-8bf7-c5d87ea4b5ac)
STACEY TOLD HERSELF that everything was going to be fine. The scientific research on the power of positive thinking was extensive. When an outcome was utncertain, focusing on optimistic possibilities relaxed the body and cleared the mind. Otherwise, thinking could be crippled by fear, like hers, right now.
“She’s going to kill me when I tell her about the baby,” she murmured, glancing at Kit as he drove the handful of blocks to her sister’s house.
“Bunny would never do that. You’re her daughter and she loves you.”
“She’s going to be disappointed in me. She’s going to give me that look that makes me feel inadequate and small, as if I’m the most disappointing daughter ever. Then she’s going to tell me there’s something wrong with me.”
Kit reached across the console and took her hand. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Stacey. You’re brilliant, loyal, kind and funny.”
“But she is going to yell at me and be upset.”
It was the latter that would be the most difficult for her to handle. Stacey might not get along with her mother, but she didn’t want to hurt her feelings, either.
“She’s not going to understand why you didn’t tell her before,” Kit said quietly.
She squeezed his fingers as tightly as she could. “I couldn’t. She’s going to say things that I don’t want to hear.” Stacey was terrified enough about the baby as it was—she didn’t need her mother making the situation worse.
Most mothers worried about their child having a problem or about the pain of delivery or if they could handle the reality of juggling their already-busy life with an infant thrown in. She got that and shared some of those concerns, but her real worry—her real fear—was that she wasn’t going to be an adequate mother.
The baby wasn’t real to her. Hearing the heartbeat had brought Kit to tears while she’d simply monitored the rhythm and strength and found it to be within the normal range.
She had no sense of life growing within her. Yes, she understood the biology of what was happening, but that was simply science. Emotions were different. She could see herself as the vessel in which the baby grew, but not as the infant’s mother. She couldn’t imagine holding her daughter or rocking her. Kit talked about how excited he was for her to be born while Stacey had no sense of after.
“I just need to get through this,” Stacey whispered, thinking both of telling her mother and having the baby. “Once I know how she’s going to react, I’ll be fine.”
“Even if you’re not, I’ll be right there, next to you.” He drew back his hand and flashed her a grin. “Harper will provide cover while we’ll be ready to run if Bunny starts swinging.”
Stacey managed a slight smile. “She would never hit you or even say you were wrong. You’re the man and, by default, special.”
“It’s good to be me.” His grin faded. “I know I’ve asked before, but I want to double-check that you’re okay with Ashton moving in with us.”
The change of subject was welcome but the new topic matter confused her. “Why would there be a problem with Ashton?”
Kit pulled up in front of Harper’s house and turned off the engine. He faced Stacey. “You barely know him. He’s going to be living with us through the summer. The baby is due in late June. Any one of these could be considered a problem for most women.”
Kit was a rock-solid guy, but his sister was not. She’d spent most of her life in and out of drug rehab. Every now and then Stacey wondered if she should have specialized in addiction. The brain had an amazing capacity to fixate on pleasure—whatever its source.
Kit’s sister’s lifestyle had played havoc on her son’s life. Ashton had bounced around, living with friends and distant relatives while his mother dealt with her issues. Over the years Kit had tried to bring Ashton to California to live with him, but his sister wouldn’t allow it.
Now that Ashton was eighteen, he was free to do what he wanted. Kit and Stacey had agreed the young man could live with them until he started MIT in the fall. He only had two classes left to complete his high school diploma and he would take both of those online.
“He’s been very responsible and pleasant both times I’ve met him,” she said. “I’m sure we’ll get along.”
Plus, having another person in the house would allow her to be distracted from the impending birth. Not that she would admit that to Kit.
“You’re being very generous,” Kit said.
“I’m not. I like Ashton.”
“I meant about us supplementing his college.”
Ashton had a scholarship that covered his tuition but little else. Kit and Stacey would take care of his room and board, along with whatever else he might need.
“I’ve always been well compensated and the house is paid for. We have money set aside for Joule’s college fund. Helping Ashton is our way of paying it forward.” Perhaps if she put out enough good deeds, the Universe wouldn’t notice that she had no interest in her daughter.
Kit leaned close and kissed her. “You’re the best wife ever.”
“I wish that were true.”
They got out of the car and started for the front door. Stacey paused to study the bunny footprints on the walkway. Inadequacy gripped her with cold, bony fingers.
She would never be able to do anything like that, she thought, trying not to panic. She wouldn’t even think to do it, let alone be clear on how to execute the plan. Yes, Kit would be the one staying home with their daughter, but still—she was completely and totally clueless.
Harper opened the front door and smiled. “Hey, you two.” She ran down the steps and hugged her sister before embracing Kit. “I hope you’re hungry. I made lasagna.”
Because it was Becca’s favorite, Stacey thought automatically. Harper always did that sort of thing. She took care of the details of life. Details Stacey rarely noticed.
They went into the house. From the foyer Stacey could see the decorated table, the place settings and the crystal glasses. She thought of the plain dishes she and Kit had at home and wanted to whimper.
“Come on,” Harper said, leading them into the kitchen. “I’m trying a new herbal tea I read about online. It’s supposed to be perfect for pregnant women. It supports both the baby and the mother.” She grinned at Kit. “For you, I have a beer.”
“You’re my favorite sister-in-law,” he told her.
Harper laughed. “Of course I am.”
Stacey watched Harper pour hot tea into a mug. “I’m going to tell Mom today.”
Harper rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. Sure you are. I usually resent you being both the pretty and the smart sister, but right now you do have your issues. I say wait until Joule is born, then hand her over. Mom will get the message.”
Kit got a bottle of beer from the refrigerator. “That’s what I said.”
The back door opened and Bunny walked into the kitchen. “You’re here,” she said, smiling at Stacey and Kit. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
She hugged them both, then looked around at the kitchen. “Do you need help with dinner?” she asked Harper.
“Thanks, Mom, I’m good.”
Stacey sipped her tea. Harper always made everything domestic look so easy. Her house was perfectly decorated for whatever season and always tidy and clean.
Bunny took a mug of tea and sat at one of the counter stools. She looked at Stacey. “So what’s new?”
The room went totally silent. Stacey could feel her husband and her sister both watching her, waiting to see what she would do.
She had to come clean—she understood that. If only her mother would understand. But Bunny wouldn’t. She hadn’t approved of Stacey keeping her own last name when she married Kit, that she still worked full-time, that her job had always been the most important part of her life, at least until she’d met Kit.
Stacey sucked in a breath and opened her mouth. “Mom, I—”
“Knock, knock!”
The call came from the front of the house. Harper walked by and murmured, “Saved by the bell, so to speak. I can’t figure out if you have the best or worst luck.”
“Me, either.”
Harper’s client Lucas walked into the kitchen with a tall, thin redhead at his side. The young woman looked to be maybe twenty or twenty-one. She held a large, fabric-covered box, which she handed to Harper.
“Lucas said this is for you.”
“It’s beautiful,” Harper said as she set it on the counter. “Where did you find it?”
“Etsy,” Lucas said, handing Bunny a bouquet of flowers. “Hello, Bunny.”
Her mother batted her lashes and smiled at Lucas. “Hello, Lucas.” She turned to his date. “And you are?”
“Persimmon,” Harper said with a grin.
“Oh, dear.” Bunny’s mouth grew pinched. “That’s an unusual name.”
“I know, right? I have a sister named Kumquat.”
“I can’t imagine what your parents were thinking.” Bunny gave her an insincere smile. “Let me get these in water.”
With Lucas and Persimmon around, Stacey was able to relax. There was no way she could tell her mother the truth now. Maybe after dinner, when Lucas and his date had left.
Stacey settled on one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter and prepared to watch the dynamics of the interactions between Lucas, Harper and Bunny.
Harper got her guests drinks. Lucas took a beer and Persimmon wanted to try the herbal tea. Stacey wondered if she was old enough to legally drink alcohol. Bunny fussed with the flowers, all the while eyeing Lucas’s date.
In a way, Bunny’s dilemma was interesting to observe. She didn’t approve of his young girlfriends, yet he was a man and therefore right by default. Stacey wondered about his preference for dating women so much younger than himself. He was attractive, intelligent and had a very responsible job. By all accounts he should be more comfortable with women closer to his own demographic. Yet he clearly favored young, beautiful but vapid women.
Kit’s theory was that Lucas had had some trauma in his life. Stacey had asked Harper, but she didn’t have any insights.
Lucas settled next to Stacey, then leaned close. “Still not coming clean?” he asked quietly.
“How did you know?”
“There’s no screaming and Bunny isn’t hyperventilating. Want me to tell her? She doesn’t scare me.”
“She doesn’t scare me, either.”
Lucas raised his eyebrows.
“Okay, she doesn’t scare me much.”
He winked at her and she laughed.
Harper pulled her cell phone from her jeans pocket and glanced at the screen. “That’s Becca,” she said, sounding relieved. “They’re pulling up now.”
Everyone walked toward the front of the house. Kit grabbed Stacey’s hand and squeezed her fingers. She looked at him and sighed.
“I know,” she told him.
“You’ll get there.”
Stacey hoped he was right.
They all went out front, careful to avoid the rabbit footprints. A large black BMW pulled into the driveway. Stacey noted that Terence’s girlfriend was driving rather than him, which was unusual, but not as unexpected as the three incredibly large dogs in the back seat with Becca.
The car came to a stop and Terence nearly fell out of the passenger’s side. His face was red, his eyes practically swollen shut and he was coughing and choking. Alicia, his girlfriend, got out and shook her head.
“I guess he is really allergic to dogs, huh?”
Becca was the last to leave the vehicle, followed by three huge Dobermans. The dogs were sleek and muscled, black-and-tan, with alert but wary expressions. Stacey watched her sister stare at her daughter, then at the dogs.
“No,” Harper breathed. “She didn’t.”
“Mom, it’s not what you think!”
All the Bloom women had dark hair and blue eyes, with heart-shaped faces. Stacey was the tallest at five-seven. Bunny and Harper were both a few inches shorter, and Becca was in the middle. Seeing them together, no one could miss the family resemblance.
Alicia sighed. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Harper. Great-Grandmother Cheryl or whatever she was to you didn’t leave you the dogs.” The blonde woman’s expression turned smug. “She left them to Becca. All three of them. Good luck.”
Harper took a step toward her daughter. “She left you the dogs and you never thought to give me a heads-up?”
Her daughter’s chin rose. “I knew you’d overreact and tell me I couldn’t bring them home.”
Terence continued to choke and cough. Becca looked at him.
“Dad is allergic to dogs, like you said. He took all kinds of meds but he still had a hard time. I guess it was being in the car and everything.”
Harper barely glanced at her ex, instead keeping her attention on Becca. “We cannot have three dogs.”
“They’re huge and dangerous,” Bunny piped in. “And that one’s pregnant.”
“Her name is Bay,” Becca said, still sounding defiant. “And they’re mine. Great-Aunt Cheryl wanted me to have them and you can’t take them away from me.”
Kit put his arm around Stacey. “To think we almost named our daughter Bay,” he murmured. “Awkward.”
She appreciated his attempt at humor but was more concerned about Becca and Harper fighting. If her sister couldn’t get along with her daughter, what chance did Stacey have with her child? Harper was the perfect mother. She knew how to do everything.
“Becca, be reasonable,” Harper said. “They’re huge dogs. We don’t have enough room for them. Plus, they’re specially trained. Shouldn’t the government take them?”
Becca’s eyes filled with tears. “I knew you’d be like this. You never want me to have what I want.”
Alicia had opened the trunk. She started pulling out bags and boxes. “No one needs to help me,” she said sarcastically. “I’m fine.”
Both Kit and Lucas walked over and finished emptying the trunk. Terence stumbled into the car while Alicia got behind the wheel. They drove off without saying a word.
Lucas glanced at the dogs. “What’s the boy’s name?” he asked.
“Thor and the other one is Jazz.”
“Thor, come.”
Lucas’s voice was firm. The male Doberman trotted over and sat in front of him. Lucas held out his hand. Thor sniffed, then looked at him.
“Good boy.” Lucas patted him on the head. “I’ll take him.”
Harper spun to face him. “You’ll what?”
“I’ll take him. I have a yard and I’ve always wanted a dog. It’ll be great.”
Becca sniffed. “That would be okay, if you promise to be a good puppy dad.”
“I do promise.”
Stacey met the gaze of the pregnant dog. The animal looked calm and kind of sweet, in a very large, I could eat you in a hot minute kind of way.
“We’ll take, um, Bay,” she said without thinking. Maybe she could learn something when the dog had her puppies. If nothing else, it would be nice to have another pregnant female around.
“Stacey,” Bunny said disapprovingly. “You can’t just blurt out things like that. You have to talk to your husband first. What if Kit doesn’t want a dog?”
Kit met Stacey’s gaze. She saw the understanding in his eyes and knew he got what she’d been thinking. Still, she should have asked him—a dog was a big responsibility and she spent her days at the lab.
Kit smiled at her, then he called Bay. The Doberman hurried to sit in front of him.
“Want to come home with us?” he asked.
She tilted her head as if considering the offer.
Persimmon clapped her hands together. “This is so wonderful. Like a Hallmark movie. The whole family pulled together.” She smiled at Harper. “Now you have to let your daughter keep the dog because it’s just one. I could so cry right now.”
“Me, too,” Harper muttered. “Becca, the only way we’re keeping a dog is if you take responsibility for it. I mean that. You have to do everything. If you don’t, it goes. Am I clear?”
“I’ll do it, Mom. You’ll see. I’ll handle it all.”
“I want to believe you,” Harper began, then stopped herself. “All right. Let’s sort through all this stuff and figure out what goes where. Did Great-Aunt Cheryl leave an instruction sheet or something?”
“There’s a whole book,” Becca said eagerly as she wiped away tears. “They know some really cool stuff, Mom. You’ll see.”
“I’ll do research on pregnant dogs,” Kit said. “We’re going to have puppies.”
And a baby, Stacey thought, knowing there was no way she could tell her mother the truth today. As Harper said, Stacey either had the best or worst luck in the world. She just couldn’t decide which.
Chapter Four (#u85d27302-be68-5d93-8bf7-c5d87ea4b5ac)
BECCA SZYMANSKI CARRIED her suitcase and backpack into the living room and let both fall to the carpeted floor. She was happy, sad, mad, annoyed and relieved all at once, and her chest wasn’t big enough for that much emotion.
She’d known her mom was totally going to overreact to the dogs and she hadn’t been wrong. Just once, just one single time, she would really appreciate it if her mother would listen and respond like a thoughtful person instead of always jumping to the conclusion that not only would it go badly but it would all be Becca’s fault because she wasn’t responsible enough.
Becca was responsible. She’d gotten through her parents’ divorce without letting either of them know how devastated she was. She’d gotten through her best friend’s moving away without anyone seeing how shattered she was inside. She lived a thousand emotions her mother knew nothing about...and never would.
Becca collapsed to the floor and started to cover her face with her hands only to hear a faint whimper. She looked up and saw Jazz standing just inside the front door, her expression worried, her brown eyes questioning.
“Oh, Jazz, I’m sorry. I forgot you were there.” Becca bit her bottom lip. Did saying that make her mother right?
No, she told herself quickly. Of course not. She’d been home five seconds—it would take a while for them all to adjust to a pet.
She shifted onto her knees, then held out her arms and said softly, “Jazz, come here.”
The black-and-tan Doberman approached, then sat obediently. Becca threw her arms around the dog and hung on. “It’s okay,” she whispered against the dog’s warm body. “You’re going to be safe now, I promise. I’m going to be here for you.”
She drew back and looked into Jazz’s face. “Thor is going to stay with our friend Lucas, and Bay will be with Aunt Stacey. Lucas is a good guy. He’s a detective with the Los Angeles Police Department. He’s been my mom’s client for about a year now.” She smiled. “He’s a grown-up, so you know what that means, although he’s pretty cool with me.” She wrinkled her nose. “He always has really young girlfriends. It was creepy at first, but finally I asked him if I had to worry that he would want to date one of my friends in a couple of years.”
Jazz’s ears perked up, as if she were interested in the answer.
“He said the younger woman thing was because of trauma and that he promised he would never embarrass me that way. He said he wanted me to know that he totally respected me and my mom and that he would be there if we needed something.” She stroked the dog’s head. “To be honest, he has been really supportive and stuff with us. I’m telling you this so you won’t worry about Thor.”
She thought about her aunt Stacey. “I’m sure Bay will be good with Kit and Stacey. They have a nice house and a yard. Uncle Kit’s really fun and Aunt Stacey is super smart. She’s going to cure MS or maybe help people with MS have less symptoms. I’m never sure when she talks about her work.” She hugged Jazz. “I get it. Even though you know everyone is okay, you’re going to miss your friends, though, aren’t you? I so get that. I miss Kaylee, but she’s off having fun with her new friends. You should see what she posts on Instagram all the time.” Becca waved her hands in the air. “Look at me! Look at me!”
Jazz’s steady gaze never wavered. Becca dropped her arms to her side.
“You have no idea who I’m talking about, do you,” she said with a sigh. “Sorry.” She thought briefly of pulling out her phone and showing Jazz the videos, then told herself the dog still wouldn’t care. Because this was all new to Jazz and no matter how well trained she was, she had to be scared.
“I remember the first night my dad left,” Becca admitted in a low voice as she sat on the floor and continued to pet the dog. “I was crying, my mom was crying, my grandmother kept asking my mom what she’d done wrong. It was horrible. Uncle Kit and Aunt Stacey had just gotten married and were on their honeymoon, so she wasn’t here.”
Becca sighed. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you this, but Great-Aunt Cheryl is gone. She was really old and she died.” She shifted so she sat directly in front of Jazz. “I promise I will always take care of you, Jazz. I’ll be here. I have to go to school and stuff, but then I’ll come home. You belong here now. With me.”
She smiled. “I always wanted a dog, but Mom said we couldn’t because Dad was allergic. After the drive home, I guess he really is. Anyway, I want you to know I’m going to take care of you. I have the book of instructions Great-Aunt Cheryl left me. I’ll get copies to Stacey and Lucas. You have to believe in me, okay? I’m going to be here. I’m not going to die like Great-Aunt Cheryl, and I’m not going to leave you like my dad.”
Tears unexpectedly formed. Becca brushed them away. It was one thing to be upset about the dogs, but she refused to cry over the divorce. It had been two years and she should be over it. At least that was what everyone else seemed to think.
She knew, compared to some of her friends, she had it easy. She wasn’t shuffled from house to house and she didn’t have to deal with a bunch of new stepbrothers and sisters. In fact, she rarely saw her father. He was too busy with his new life and Alicia.
“How’s it going?”
She looked up as Lucas walked into the living room, then leaned her head against Jazz. “We’re still getting to know each other. It’s only been a couple of days, so Jazz is a little scared.”
“Sure.” He sat in a club chair across the room. “There’s been a lot of change. How are you holding up?”
She glanced at him and rolled her eyes. “Why are you asking? You know I’m mad at my mom.”
“Yes, I do. Want to tell me why?”
She didn’t know what it was about Lucas, but she could always talk to him. Maybe it was because he didn’t speak to her like she was a kid—he treated her as if she were a regular person with thoughts and opinions and feelings.
When she’d first met him, she’d wondered if he was one of those creepy old guys she and her friends were always being warned about. One of her friends had a stepdad who’d tried to touch her, which was horrible and disgusting.
But Lucas wasn’t like that. He was nice. He listened and when he was around, her mom was a lot calmer. Becca had even gotten used to the really young girlfriends. Some of them were complete airheads, but a few had given her some fashion advice. Still, what was with naming your kid Persimmon?
“She always says no,” Becca grumbled, remembering the question. “I’ve begged for a dog forever and she said it was because of my dad. Then he moved out and she still said no. Great-Aunt Cheryl left the dogs to me in her will. They’re mine. Mom should respect that.”
Lucas didn’t say anything, but then he didn’t have to. She squirmed slightly. Jazz gave her a quick lick on her cheek before flopping to the floor. Becca sprawled out next to her and held her paw in her hand.
“Fine,” Becca said with a sigh. “Three dogs would be a lot, and I’ve never taken care of a dog before.” She glared at him. “There are instructions in the book and I’ve been reading them. I know how much they eat and when they have to be walked. I’m going to take care of Jazz. I’ll feed her and play with her and pick up after her.”
She shuddered as she thought of the volume of poop the three dogs had generated over the past couple of days. Gross didn’t come close, but everything had a price.
“I’ll even clean up the yard. I’m going to be a good dog mom. You’ll see.”
“Sounds like you have a plan.”
“I do.” She sat up. “Are you really taking Thor?”
“I am. He’ll be spending his days here while I’m at work, so Jazz won’t be alone.”
“Does Mom know?”
“I’ll tell her after dinner.”
Becca chuckled. “Thanks. She can’t tell you no and there’s no way she can watch Thor and make me get rid of Jazz, so thank you.”
“That wasn’t my master plan but it does seem to solve a lot of problems.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a DVD case, then handed it to her. Becca look at the cover and laughed.
“You didn’t! Sixteen Candles. Thanks, Lucas. You know it’s my favorite.”
“I do know.”
Becca had a thing for the ’80s. The clothes, the overstyled hair. How on earth did anyone ever wear leg warmers? But Madonna’s music was great and the John Hughes movies were always fun to watch.
“Come on,” Lucas said as he rose. “Bay and Thor are playing outside. Jazz should be with them to get the kinks out from her long drive down.”
“Okay.” Becca turned to her dog. “Come on, Jazz. Let’s go in the backyard.”
The slim, muscled dog rose and stretched, then walked at Becca’s side. Becca stroked her head and ears. She was all Jazz had now.
“I’ll be here,” she told the dog. “You can depend on me.” Because she knew all about what it was like to be an afterthought, and she never wanted Jazz to feel that way.
* * *
Stacey arrived at her office shortly after seven Monday morning. On days Kit had to get to school, their mornings were less leisurely and they both liked to be at the office early.
Except for dinner at Harper’s, they’d spent Easter Sunday getting Bay acclimated to her new home. Stacey had lost her nerve again and didn’t tell her mom about her pregnancy, rationalizing that she didn’t want to monopolize everyone’s attention on the holiday.
She and Kit had taken Bay on two long walks so she could get familiar with the neighborhood. Stacey had read up on pregnant dogs and had researched veterinarians in the office, while Kit had installed a doggie door so Bay could come and go as she liked during the day.
Bay was exceptionally well behaved. She’d slept in her dog bed in their room and had eaten. According to all Stacey had read, the dog seemed to be adjusting.
Stacey reviewed the latest test results from their new research direction. Proteins were an obvious area to investigate, but narrowing down exactly which ones and how they reacted was the tedious challenge. Still, progress was being made.
“Morning.”
Stacey looked up as her assistant, Lexi, walked into her office. Lexi, a tall redhead in her midthirties, placed a mug on Stacey’s desk.
“Herbal tea,” she said with a grin. “In case you were hoping I was going to slip you a little caffeine.”
“You’d never do that,” Stacey said with a smile. “You always take excellent care of me. How was your weekend?”
“Good. Busy. The Easter Bunny did his thing on Sunday morning. Oh, Sam fell out of a tree, which had me sweating a broken arm, but he’s fine. Still, what is it with kids and trees? It’s not like the trees climb all over them. It’s a tree—leave it alone.”
Stacey wanted to say that Lexi could simply tell her son not to climb trees, only she knew that advice would not be welcome. She wasn’t sure if it was all children or simply Lexi’s, but hers didn’t listen very well.
Her assistant was bright and capable. As she frequently did, Stacey thought it was a shame that Lexi hadn’t gone to college. She could have been successful in many different areas. Not that she wasn’t an excellent assistant—she was. But with three kids to support, Lexi was frequently scrambling to make ends meet. A career with a more lucrative pay scale would have been appreciated.
But Lexi had gotten pregnant in high school and then again a couple of years later. She’d married in her late twenties and had her third child by her now ex-husband.
People made interesting choices, Stacey thought. Some made sense while others simply confused her. She was never sure how much of that was her inability to relate to them versus the decision not making sense in the first place.
“How was your Easter?” Lexi asked as she took a seat across from Stacey’s desk.
“Very nice. Harper prepared a wonderful meal. I brought plenty of leftovers for lunch if you’d care for some.”
Lexi closed her eyes and moaned. “You know I love your sister’s cooking. What that woman does with brownies should be illegal.”
Lexi’s interest in food greatly contributed to her weight problem. Stacey had tried to explain that she should think of food as fuel—like gas for a car. Perhaps that would allow her to lose weight. Lexi had told Stacey that while she was the best boss ever, she wasn’t allowed to comment on her personal appearance and if she did it again, Lexi would write her up.
It had been the only moment of tension in their otherwise-successful working relationship.
Stacey honestly hadn’t understood what she’d done wrong. Kit had tried to explain that Lexi probably knew she had a weight problem and wasn’t looking for Stacey to try to solve it. Which made absolutely no sense. Not only were there health risks, but Lexi was always complaining about being tired and that she couldn’t buy cute clothes. Simply eating less would make it all go away.
But Stacey appreciated Lexi and wanted to keep her happy, so she had vowed not to say anything ever again. She’d brought in brownies Harper had made as a peace offering and all had been well.
Lexi opened her eyes. “Did you tell her?”
No need to ask, tell who what? Lexi had known about the pregnancy since Stacey had had her first ultrasound. She wanted to pretend confusion as to why it had been so easy to tell Harper and Lexi about the baby, yet so hard to tell her mother, only she couldn’t. She knew exactly why she didn’t want to confess all to Bunny.
Maybe it was a bit like Lexi and her addiction to food. Knowing the right thing to do didn’t make it any easier to accomplish.
“We have a new dog.”
Lexi blinked at her. “There’s a non sequitur. You have a dog?”
Stacey explained about Becca and the inherited dogs. “We took Bay. She’s beautiful and so well trained. With all the confusion, it didn’t seem like a good time to tell my mother about the baby.”
“Uh-huh. I’m sure someone believes that, but it wouldn’t be me. You are lucky you’re tall enough that your pregnancy doesn’t show or she would have guessed by now anyway. You’re going to be one of those annoying women who doesn’t look pregnant until the last three days.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Stacey, you know it’s only going to get harder to tell her the longer you wait, right?”
Stacey nodded, although she couldn’t imagine it being any more difficult than it was right now.
“You also have to let Karl know,” Lexi added.
“I’ve told HR,” Stacey said defensively.
She’d already filled out all the required paperwork and requested her leave. The chain of command had been alerted. Which was not, she admitted to herself, the same as telling the head of her department.
Karl wasn’t exactly her boss—Stacey had autonomy in her department. As long as her team produced results, she was left to her own devices. Still, Karl was the closest thing to a manager she had, and at some point he needed to know. Just not right now.
“Did I mention Bay is pregnant?”
Lexi’s eyes widened. “Your new dog is pregnant?”
“Yes. Significantly so. I’m going to make an appointment to take her to the vet to get her checked out.” She frowned. “Thor’s been neutered, so he can’t be the father. I wonder who it was. Regardless, we’ll have puppies soon.”
“You’re pregnant. You haven’t told your mom or Karl, but you now have a dog who’s going to have puppies?”
Lexi’s voice was filled with incredulity and shock, which didn’t make any sense.
“Why are you saying it like that? What does one have to do with the other?”
“You’re going to have a baby,” Lexi said forcefully. “Your life is going to change in ways you can’t begin to understand. The last thing you need is puppies in the house.”
Stacey disagreed. Puppies were exactly what she needed. Being around Bay would allow her to observe motherhood in a safe and nonjudgmental environment. She planned to learn from the dog and use those lessons to help herself feel more connected to her own child.
“I think Bay and her puppies will be good for me,” she said.
“You’re the boss.” Lexi stood. “I’m going to finish proofing your article, then email it back to you. In the meantime, if you have any questions, remember I’ve had three. I know it all.”
“Thank you.”
Stacey planned to call on her assistant when the time came. It would be good to have an extra resource for those questions she couldn’t ask her mother or sister.
Too much of the literature she’d read mentioned hormones and instinct kicking in when the baby was born. While Stacey appreciated the power of innate intelligence, she was concerned she was somehow lacking vital pieces—especially when it came to being a mother. She’d never been normal before—why would that change now?
* * *
Becca walked slowly up the front steps to Mischief Bay High School when what she wanted to do was run or skip or even dance. Spring Break was over. Finally! She glanced around, wondering if anyone else was thinking the same thing, then sighed. Of course they weren’t. Everyone else had gone away for Spring Break or had fun with their friends. Everyone else had plans. She’d been the only one counting the days until she could get back to something close to a life.
She sat on the stone bench to the side of the huge open double doors and faked looking for something in her backpack. She needed a second to remember how to pretend all the things she was supposed to pretend. That she didn’t miss Kaylee every second of every day. Her best friend had moved to Boston at the end of last summer. After swearing she would never have another friend as amazing as Becca, after crying for weeks about how she would never fit in, Kaylee had settled into life in Boston easily and happily.
Between Instagram and Snapchat, Becca had a clear idea of exactly how perfect Kaylee’s new life was. She even had a boyfriend. Just like Jordan, Becca’s second-best friend. Becca, on the other hand, hadn’t even been kissed, not unless you counted a couple of stupid birthday parties with kissing games, which she didn’t.
She knew it was wrong to be jealous of Kaylee learning to sail and dating the younger brother of a naval cadet, and in a way, she wasn’t. She wanted Kaylee to be happy—it was just she also wanted to be missed as much as she was missing her friend. But the texts were getting less frequent and less personal. These days it seemed as if Kaylee was texting her grandmother rather than her friend.
As for Jordan... Becca shook her head. She had no idea what to do there. Jordan and her family had gone to Mexico for Spring Break. Back in November, Jordan had begged Becca to go with her. If she didn’t have her best friend along, she would die. Then, over Christmas, Jordan and Nathan had started dating and in the end, Jordan had taken Nathan instead.
There were other friends—she was part of a group, just like pretty much every other girl in high school. But those were just regular friends. Becca had never been good at being close with a crowd. She preferred one or two people in her life, which made her weird and left her sitting alone on this stupid bench, freakishly excited about school starting in twenty minutes.
She looked around at everyone talking about their vacations, listened to the laughing and teasing and felt...sad. No, she thought. Not sad, exactly. Small. She was so small and everyone else was big and sometimes she felt as if she were getting smaller and smaller and one day she would just disappear.
Her phone chirped.
Where r u? omg I need to c u now
Becca smiled as Jordan’s drama played out in text, even as she heard her friend’s voice in her head.
Muinoup, she texted back, abbreviating “meet you in our usual place.”
She started toward the science building where she and Jordan would meet up in the girls’ bathroom. No one hung out here before school started, which meant the bathrooms were usually empty, allowing plenty of privacy for whatever revelation Jordan might want to share.
Becca wanted to hear all about her friend’s vacation. Jordan had been oddly quiet during her trip, only posting a handful of Snapchat videos and three Instagram pics. Once Jordan was finished—because Jordan always had to go first—Becca wanted to talk about her new dog and her dad and his upcoming wedding that her mom still knew nothing about.
And the car. At some point Becca was going to have to come clean about the car.
She wondered how her mom would react when she found out her ex-husband was getting married. Would she be mad or would she cry? Becca didn’t know what she was supposed to say. She wasn’t happy about it, either. Her dad already pretty much ignored her. He’d promised to take her driving over Spring Break and that had never happened—not even on the long drive to Grass Valley. She needed her fifty supervised hours. Her mom always said she was too busy, and now her dad kept flaking out on her.
She ran up the steps to the science building, pushed open the door and turned into the girls’ bathroom. Jordan was already there, texting. She smiled when she saw Becca.
“Finally! My God, I’ve been waiting and waiting. Where were you?”
Becca automatically started checking stalls to make sure they were alone. Jordan shook her head.
“I did that already. You’ll never guess. Try. You won’t, but try.”
Becca looked at her friend. Jordan was one of those people who had been born beautiful. She had dark skin and hair, and big brown eyes. She was tall, thin and always knew what she was supposed to wear.
Becca and Kaylee had been friends since kindergarten. It had always been the two of them until junior high when they’d met Jordan. Then it had been the three of them. Kaylee had always been the pretty friend, but when Jordan came along, Kaylee had to give up her crown. As for Becca, well, she was funny and smart. As if that mattered.
“How was your vacation?” Becca asked.
“Perfect. Amazing. Life changing.” Jordan spun in a circle, then grinned. “Do I look different? I feel different. More mature, you know?”
Becca studied her. Jordan wore skinny jeans and a cute, cropped sweater. Her hair was long, hanging down to the middle of her back. She had about a dozen bangles on her wrists, one ear cuff and a tiny diamond nose stud.
“You look great,” Becca offered.
Jordan grabbed her arm and pulled her close. “You can’t tell anyone. You have to swear.”
“I never tell. You know that. What? Tell me.” But as she asked, she got a sinking feeling she already knew.
Jordan released her, then sucked in a breath. “Nathan and I had sex. Not just fooling around. We did it. All the way.” She paused. “He actually put it in!”
Becca didn’t know what to say. Sure, she’d known this could happen eventually. Jordan and Nathan had been together for a while now and they had other friends who were hooking up, but still. Sex? Yet one more way Becca was being left behind.
She felt stupid and ugly and unwanted. Like aliens had come to school and abducted everyone but her because why would she be interesting to experiment on?
Jordan looked expectant. Becca tried to think of the right question. She and Jordan had talked about what it would be like to do that of course. More since Jordan and Nathan got serious, but to have done it...
“What was it like? Where did you do it? Do your parents know?”
Jordan exhaled slowly, then smiled. “It was nice. I liked it better when we were just, you know, fooling around, but it was good, too. I feel so different.” She looked at herself in the mirror. “I keep waiting for my mom to figure it out but that would mean she noticed I was alive.” Jordan rolled her eyes. “You know how she is.”
Jordan’s mother was a successful lawyer and her dad was a judge. They both adored and ignored their only daughter.
“Anyway, on Tuesday night Nathan sneaked into my room. We were fooling around, and then he got really serious.” Jordan’s eyes filled with tears. “He said he loved me and I said I loved him, and then it just happened.”
How did something like that just happen? “Did it hurt?”
“Yes, but not for long. He was so sweet. He stayed the night.” Jordan turned back to her. “I hope you find somebody, Becca. A good guy who wants to have sex with you.”
Because the only ones lining up were bad guys?
Jordan smiled at her. “I want you to know that I’m still going to be friends with you. That you matter to me. Even though we’re in different places in our lives now.” The smile gentled and became annoying like a mom’s. “You’ll catch up eventually.”
Jordan glanced at her phone. “Okay, we have a few minutes and I know you want all the details. Some are kind of personal, but still...”
Irritation flared. “I had a Spring Break, too, Jordan. It wouldn’t kill you to ask about it.”
“All you did was stay home.” Jordan sighed. “Don’t be jealous, Becca. I’m not going to be sorry that I have Nathan and you don’t have anybody. You’re my best friend and he’s my boyfriend. You’re going to have to find a way to get along.”
“Why do I have to get along with him? Why doesn’t he have to get along with me?” Becca shook her head. “And that’s not the point. Nathan and I are fine together. This isn’t even about that.”
“You’re not making any sense. Are you mad at me because everything is so great for me?”
“No. Of course not. I’m sorry.”
The words were automatic, then annoying. Becca couldn’t figure out what she was thinking or why she was apologizing. Why did Jordan get to be so selfish and Becca was the bad guy? What was going on with everyone?
She picked up her backpack. “We should go. It’s time for class.”
Jordan walked to the door, then glanced back at her. “I wish you could trust me not to leave you behind, Becca.”
Becca thought longingly of the instruction book Great-Aunt Cheryl had left her. Maybe there was a command that would make Jazz bite Jordan. Not hard. Just enough to have her friend realize she was being the biggest bitch on the planet.
Chapter Five (#u85d27302-be68-5d93-8bf7-c5d87ea4b5ac)
HARPER COULDN’T SHAKE the feeling of being watched—probably because she was. Even though Thor and Jazz were lying down on huge beds that nearly filled her tiny office, their eyes were open and firmly fixed on her. As if waiting for something. She supposed some of her unease came from the fact that they were huge, muscular dogs trained to do God knew what. For all she knew, they were assessing her and if she showed weakness, they would simply kill her and hide the body, then pretend nothing had happened.
“I can’t believe I’m dog sitting,” she muttered, as she moved the picture around on her computer screen. She had a one-off job to provide online content for a new boutique by the boardwalk. The owner had called in a panic after realizing that just because her twelve-year-old could design a slick website, he wasn’t necessarily prepared to develop content. Harper was hoping the owner would be happy enough to keep her on to-do monthly updates.
She forced herself to concentrate, despite the sense of foreboding the two dogs engendered. She’d been expecting to have to deal with Jazz, but then Lucas had told her he was adding dog sitting to her duties. She would have refused only she not only needed the money—Jazz ate more than the average grizzly, and the food Great-Aunt Cheryl recommended cost as much as dinner for five at a decent restaurant—but she thought the two dogs might keep each other company, thereby freeing her from having to entertain Jazz.
She settled on a location for the pictures, cut and pasted the text, then studied the effect of the page. She’d added a section for featured clothes and had made the “style of the week” section bigger. Fifteen minutes of brainstorming over coffee had given her a list of suggestions she planned to share with the owner. One of them—a shop-your-closet feature—could give clients a reason to either come to the website or read the newsletter without feeling they were being sold to at every turn.
She got up to pour herself more coffee. Both Jazz and Thor raised their heads to watch her. She couldn’t tell if they were curious, still confused about their new location or assessing her viability. She paused to lightly pet each of them before going into the kitchen. Clicking nails told her she was not alone. So far the dogs had followed her from room to room, including trying to get into the bathroom with her. She’d insisted they wait in the hall, telling them that she wouldn’t watch them go and in return they couldn’t watch her.
Now she poured her coffee, then turned and saw they were both standing there, staring.
“I know you want something, I just have no idea what,” she admitted. “Do you want to go out?”
They both glanced at the back door, then at her. She sighed. She’d been very clear with Great-Aunt Cheryl. The last thing Harper wanted was one more life-form to take care of. She had enough on her plate—but had the woman listened? Okay, sure, technically, but not really. At the end of the day, Harper was still going to be a pet parent, whether she liked it or not. Becca had taken care of Jazz over the weekend, but the dog was still new to her. How long until her daughter was too busy or wasn’t home to handle things?
Harper’s cell rang. She pushed the button on her Bluetooth headset. “This is Harper.”
“Harper, it’s Cathy. Do you have a sec?”
“Sure.”
She carried her coffee back to her office, then quickly found Cathy’s file. The event planner used Harper to fill in when she needed an extra pair of creative hands. Harper could address two hundred envelopes in decorative calligraphy or paint a pin-the-tail-on-the-elephant poster or make custom napkin rings for a high-end dinner party.
“Okay, I talked to my clients, the ones hosting a fiftieth anniversary party for the parents. They’ve chosen the gift bag they want.”
“Great.” Harper sorted through the pictures she’d taken and slipped into the file. Next to each were the supplies needed, along with what they would cost and how long it took to assemble each bag.
She’d created three custom gift bags—not what went in them, just the bags themselves. Cathy had wanted them to be special, so they were all unique and not easy to put together.
“I have my information right here,” Harper said.
“They’ve picked number three. Now you said it was going to be twenty dollars a bag, but we both know that’s ridiculous. I told them I could get it for five dollars. I hope you’re okay with that.”
Harper stared at the picture, then scanned her notes. The bag was rose gold with a raffia handle. She’d applied delicate printed paper from France to the front of the bag, then edged it in tiny beads. After making by hand a flower done in shades of gold, she’d stenciled on the couple’s name and the date of their wedding, fifty years ago.
The price she’d quoted wasn’t just all the paper and trim, it was the time. Her heart sank. Cathy frequently tried to undercut Harper’s prices and most of the time Harper went along with it, but there was no way she could do the bag for that.
“The supplies cost more than five dollars,” Harper said, trying to sound firm. “It will take me thirty minutes to complete each one.”
“Can’t you work faster? My God, it’s a gift bag. Seriously, Harper, no one is going to pay twenty dollars for that.”
“Then they should pick one of the other ones.”
“They want the one they want.”
Harper’s stomach tightened. Irritation mingled with fear. She needed the work, but refused to take a loss. “The paper is imported...there are multiple layers. If you want something unique and handmade, that is the cost. I’m sorry, but my price is firm.”
“I’m sorry, too. I hate to lose you as a resource, but if you’re not going to work with me, then I don’t know if we can keep doing business together.”
The threat was like a kick to the stomach. Harper didn’t think she made any noise, but suddenly Jazz and Thor were both standing next to her, looking intent. Thor glanced toward the doorway and growled low in his throat.
She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had stood up for her like that. The unexpected support brought tears to her eyes, which was completely insane. She swallowed and petted both of them before clearing her throat.
For a second, she wondered if she could somehow buy the supplies cheaper. Maybe on eBay. No, she told herself. There was no time to search them out.
“I’m sorry, Cathy. That’s my price.”
“Then goodbye.”
The other woman hung up. Harper did her best to ignore the knot in her stomach. She drew in a breath. “I might have just lost a client. No problem for you, Thor. Your owner has plenty of money.”
She wasn’t exactly sure how Lucas had so much cash to throw around. He drove a very expensive two-seater Mercedes convertible and she didn’t think detectives made that much. Still, she wasn’t going to ask too many questions. He paid his monthly bill the same day he received it—she knew because she paid his bills for him and why, yes, she did pay herself first. It was one of the very few perks of her work.
She returned her attention to the boutique website and continued to add pictures and text until she was happy with the layout. She saved everything, then sent a note and the link to the owner, asking for feedback.
“That’s done,” she told the dogs, who were still watching her. She swiveled in her chair to face them. “This would be a lot easier if you’d just tell me what you need.”
Before they could answer, her phone rang again.
“This is Harper.”
“It’s Cathy. You’re being ridiculous, so you know, but you do good work and I want to see if we can find a point of compromise. How about ten dollars a bag and I’ll need them in three days?”
Harper held in a groan. There were forty bags, at about thirty minutes each, plus she had to go to three different stores to buy the supplies. That was twenty hours of work plus all the running around, for a grand total of four hundred dollars.
She didn’t dare do the math to figure out the pitiful sum she would be making by the hour, but if she stayed up most of tonight and tomorrow night, she could meet the deadline.
“Harper?”
“Fine. Ten dollars a bag.”
“Great. I’ll let them know and I’ll be by Thursday morning to pick them up. You’re the best, Harper. Thanks.”
Cathy hung up before Harper could say anything. Harper returned her attention to the dogs.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she muttered. “I’m letting her take advantage of me. That I’m probably making two dollars an hour on this job. Well, it’s not this job, is it? It’s all the other work she brings me.”
Jazz’s steady gaze never wavered. Harper sighed.
“You’re right. I let her take advantage of me and that doesn’t make any sense. I should be firm. I should tell her my price and stick to it. I’m training her to always undercut me. I get that.”
She was sure the dog had more to say, but before they could continue the conversation, the doorbell rang. Thor and Jazz immediately rose. Jazz looked at Thor, who gave a low warning bark.
“Yes,” Harper said, pushing past them. “I heard it, too, but thanks for mentioning it.”
The dogs kept pace with her, but didn’t walk ahead of her or run. When they reached the front door, they both sat and waited.
“I really need to read that instruction book Becca got,” Harper told them as she opened the door. “Yes? Can I help you?”
A tall, gangly twentysomething guy stood on her porch. He was blond and wore board shorts, a T-shirt and athletic shoes. The T-shirt had a drawing of a cartoon version of him on it, along with the phrase Leader of the Pack.
“Harper Szymanski?” the guy asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m Dwayne. I’m here to walk your dogs.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and glanced at it. “Thor and Jazz. It’s a daily service, which means Monday through Friday. I drive them to the beach and we walk along the boardwalk. It’ll take about ninety minutes.” Dwayne flashed her a smile. “Your husband paid for the top dog package. He must really like your dogs.”
Harper didn’t know what to say beyond, “He’s not my husband.” Because there was only one person who would have thought to arrange a dog-walking service. She would guess Lucas had done it for Thor, then added on Jazz. Damn the man for being thoughtful, good-looking and only interested in gorgeous bubbleheads in their twenties.
She held open the door for Dwayne to come inside. He saw Thor and Jazz and grinned.
“Oh, wow. Dobies. You guys are beautiful.” He held out his hand so they could sniff his fingers, then he squatted in front of them and said, “Shake.”
They both obliged.
“Lucas said you two were the bomb. He’s right. Super great manners.” He stood and looked at her. “I need their leashes.”
Harper got them from the bottom drawer in the table by the front door. She handed over a new roll of poop bags, hoping the dogs would do their thing somewhere other than her backyard.
“Thanks,” Dwayne said, snapping on the leashes. “We’ll be back in an hour and a half. Do you want me to run them?”
“That would be great.”
“Right? A tired dog is a happy dog. See ya.” He looked at the dogs. “Thor, Jazz, heel.”
The dogs stood and moved to his left side, Jazz taking the inside position. Dwayne walked them down the steps and out to his battered pickup. It was only after he’d driven away that Harper realized she probably should have checked with Lucas first. Just in case.
She quickly texted him, not sure when she would hear a response. Sometimes he was available, but a lot of the time, his phone was off. She supposed that came from being on the job catching bad guys or whatever it was he did in his day.
This time he answered her in a matter of seconds.
Are you concerned that someone cooked up an elaborate scheme to steal the dogs by pretending to be a dog walker?
Her lips twitched as she realized he kind of had a point.
I hadn’t thought of it that way. Thank you for including Jazz on the walk. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. I know I do.
Happy to help. You can deal with your guilt by baking me something.
You know I will.
That I do.
She was still smiling as she walked into her pantry and studied the shelf that held her baking supplies. Not cookies, she thought. They were too ordinary. Tarts. She would bake Lucas chocolate tarts. But first she would go get the supplies she needed for the gift bags, then drop off the T-shirts she was shipping to her comedian client, Misty, then swing by the post office to mail Lucas’s bills. Then she would bake tarts and tonight, while the world slept, she would make gift bags and curse her inability to stand up for herself when she knew she absolutely should.
* * *
Becca sat on the front porch step, her arm around Jazz. The dog was leaning heavily on her, her body providing comforting warmth.
“Are you still confused?” Becca asked the dog. “It’s been a few days now and we have a routine. I’m sorry I have to be gone for school, but you have Thor, right? I could talk to Aunt Stacey about Bay. Maybe you three could have a playdate.”
Jazz stretched out on the porch and rested her head on her paws, but even as she shifted positions, she still stayed close. Becca kept her arm around the dog, figuring they both needed the comfort.
Jazz wasn’t the only one confused—Becca was starting to think she would never know everything going on, even in her own life. She missed Kaylee so much—more so now that Jordan had gone totally drama queen about Nathan. Kaylee would have called her on her crap and told her to stop talking about herself. Kaylee would have made a joke and smiled at Becca and asked about Jazz because that was what Kaylee had always done. She’d been a buffer against darker forces.
But there wasn’t anything between Becca and Jordan, so Becca spent her day hearing about how amazing Nathan was and how he loved Jordan so much. Theirs was the greatest love ever and boyfriend-less Becca couldn’t possibly understand. Worse, Jordan chided her about being bitter and angry, which wasn’t true. Okay, not the bitter part. She didn’t care that Jordan had Nathan, but she was starting to get pissed about her friend’s attitude.
“Bay would never act like that to you,” Becca told the dog. “You have better taste in friends.”
For a second, she wished she could talk to her mom and tell her what was happening. Her mom could be dorky, but sometimes she had really good advice. Even if she didn’t, she used to always make Becca feel better. They would bake something or do a craft project.
Not anymore, she thought grimly. Even if she was willing to do something so childish, her mom wasn’t available. She was always too busy with her VA business.
Becca leaned over and kissed the top of Jazz’s head, then straightened. She was about to pull out her phone and check the time when it buzzed with a text. She looked at the screen, then caught her breath when she read the message.
I’m tied up at work, kiddo. Sorry. Let’s reschedule for some time next week.
Tears burned in her eyes. Becca blinked them away, telling herself to get over it. She knew she couldn’t depend on her dad and she was stupid if she thought he would ever change. He always had something else he had to be doing. As for getting tied up at work—that was a complete lie. He was a podiatrist, which meant scheduled appointments. He wasn’t a real doctor who had actual emergencies.
She shoved her phone back in her pocket and wiped her cheeks, just in case. Before she could scramble to her feet and escape to her room, Lucas pulled up and parked in front of her house.
He walked up the path and sat next to Jazz on the stairs, then patted the dog and smiled at her.
“Hey, kid.”
His words were way too close to what her dad called her. “I have a name,” she snapped.
“Yes, you do.” She waited for him to call her on her attitude, but instead he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m fine. You’re here early.”
“I was in court for most of the day. It’s boring, but it’s a shorter day. You didn’t answer my question.”
“I said nothing was wrong.”
“You also lied. What is it?”
She stared at the top of Jazz’s head. “It’s just...” She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “My dad blew me off again. I need fifty supervised hours to get my license. Mom’s too busy and my dad swore he would help, but he never shows up.” She rolled her eyes. “He said he was stuck at work. With what? An ingrown toenail? He doesn’t care about me anymore. I don’t think he ever did. He just walked out like I didn’t matter and now he won’t teach me to drive.”
It was so much more than she’d wanted to say, but there was no way to call back the words. She folded her arms across her chest and did her best to hold in the pain.
“Interesting,” Lucas said casually. “It’s a drag about your dad, but there’s time. It’s not like you need your license right away.”
She rocked forward and dropped her gaze to her Keds. “Yeah, well, Great-Aunt Cheryl didn’t just leave me the dogs. There’s a car.” She glanced at him and started talking quickly. “It’s a really good car. Ramon, her boyfriend, said it was in great condition and they’d always taken care of it. It’s safe and has air bags, and it’s not like my dad’s going to buy me a car and Mom sure can’t afford it.”
She sucked in a breath. “I don’t think Dad remembered to tell Mom because he was sick and she hasn’t said anything. The car is paid for. I know there’s going to be insurance and gas and stuff and I don’t know how I’m going to deal with that, but right now I need my license.”
Lucas nodded his head. “That’s a lot.”
“I know, right?”
He stood and called to Jazz, sent the dog in the house, then looked at Becca. “Okay, let’s go.”
“Where are we going?”
“To practice your driving.”
“My mom’s not here.”
“I’m not taking you on the freeway, kid, I’m taking you to an empty parking lot to see what you know how to do and how we get along. If it goes well, I’ll talk to your mom when we get back.”
She stared at him. “Then what am I going to...” She spun to face the sleek, white Mercedes convertible. She didn’t know much about cars, but she knew that one cost a lot. Maybe as much as their house.
“No way.”
He shrugged. “It’s insured. You’ll be fine. Do you have your temporary license?”
“Let me get it.”
She raced inside and dug her wristlet out of her backpack, then hurried back outside. Lucas stood by his car, the driver’s door open.
“The car’s not going to drive itself,” he called.
Excitement and hope fluttered in her stomach. If Lucas would really help her get her hours, then she wouldn’t have to depend on her dad or bug her mom. She vowed to do the best she could on their mini lesson so he would want to teach her more.
She joined him and got in the driver’s side. He sat next to her and explained how to set the seat and the mirrors.
“The car sits really low to the ground,” he told her. “It’s going to feel different than your mom’s SUV or your dad’s sedan. Also, it has a more powerful engine, so be careful when you hit the gas.”
She nodded, then wiped her suddenly damp palms on her jeans.
“Drive to the high school. Classes are out and there will be plenty of room to practice in the parking lot.” He winked. “Okay, start her up.”
She absolutely could not believe he was going to let her drive his car. Her mother had practically had a seizure the only time they’d practiced together.
She pushed the start button, then tried not to jump as the engine roared to life. She kept her foot on the brake as she shifted to Drive, then checked the mirrors four times before slowly pulling out onto the quiet street.
Mischief Bay High School was less than a mile away, but it took Becca nearly ten minutes to drive there. She stayed well under the twenty-five mile per hour speed limit and came to a full, lingering stop at every sign. By the time she pulled into the parking lot, she felt a little sick to her stomach.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she admitted.
“Are you scared about driving or the car?” Lucas asked.
“Both.”
“Driving gets easier with practice. Right now you have to think about everything you’re doing. Once a few things become automatic, you’ll be more comfortable. As for my car, like I said, it’s insured. Okay, let’s start with the basics. Drive to the end of the parking lot, do a three-point turn, drive back and pull into that parking space.”
Becca tasted bile. “That’s your idea of the basics?”
He flashed her a grin. “I’ve seen Clueless, kid. At least we’re not going on the freeway.”
“I’m never going on the freeway.”
Thirty minutes later, Becca confidently circled the parking lot, making neat figure eights. She made a sharp turn ten feet in front of the flagpole and carefully backed into a parking space before turning to Lucas and laughing.
“I did it.”
“You did good. I’m impressed.”
“Thanks. This car is great. It drives so easily and I’m in love with the backup camera. Thank you for helping me. I really had fun.”
“Me, too. Want to continue with the lessons?”
“Of course.”
Lucas had been calm the whole time. When she’d messed up, he’d had her stop so they could talk about what had gone wrong. She was still nervous about driving, but less so than she had been.
“I’ll talk to your mom,” he said. “If she agrees, then we’ll keep going. Oh, how are your grades?”
Becca felt herself flush. “They’re, um, okay.”
He looked at her without speaking.
She ducked her head. “I’m getting a couple of Cs and a few Bs.”
“I thought you were a good student.”
“I am.” Or she had been. Lately she hadn’t been that interested in school. What was the point? No one paid attention or cared how she was doing.
“I know you’re smart,” Lucas told her. “Something’s going on. If you want me to help you get your driving hours, you’re going to have to get your grades where they should be. A car is a lot of responsibility. If you can’t be bothered to take care of business at school, then you can’t be trusted with a car.”
No one had talked to her like that in forever. Becca was both thrilled and annoyed, which felt really good.
“You’re not the boss of me,” she said automatically.
“In this case, I am. It’s my time so it’s my rules. If you want my help, then you will get Bs or better in all your classes.”
“No problem.”
“I want proof.”
“What? You don’t trust me?”
“There’s an old saying. Trust but verify. From now until you get your license, you will show me all your test scores. Understood?”
“Yes. I promise.”
“Good. Now let’s go home.”
Becca made the return trip in half the time. She stayed at the speed limit, stopped at the stop signs for a quick count of one-two, then pulled up in front of her house just as her mom drove into the driveway.
They all got out at the same time. Harper turned toward them, then nearly dropped her purse. “What are you doing? Did you drive that car? You didn’t. Oh my God! Becca, no. Do you know what a car like that costs? Lucas, I swear, what were you thinking? No one asked me. Where’s your father? Weren’t you supposed to be practicing with him? I feel sick.”
Lucas shook his head. “She gets real wound up.”
“She does. I worry about her.”
“You should.” Lucas walked toward the SUV. “It’s fine, Harper. Terence couldn’t make it so I took Becca out for a practice session. Everything was fine and if it’s all right with you, I’m going to help her get in her practice hours.”
“Not in that car. There is absolutely no way.”
“I have insurance.”
“And a deductible!”
She started to say something else, but her phone rang. She touched her Bluetooth earpiece and said brightly, “This is Harper.”
Becca sighed. There was no talking to her mother now. Not when she was on with a client—and she was always on with a client.
Chapter Six (#u85d27302-be68-5d93-8bf7-c5d87ea4b5ac)
HARPER POURED ANOTHER cup of coffee. It was only seven in the morning and she was already exhausted. Of course a lot of that could be because she hadn’t slept much the previous night. She’d been up finishing the gift bags. Honest to God, she needed to grow a pair and stand up to that woman.
“Mom, we have to talk about my driving lessons.”
Harper drank more coffee as she turned to look at her daughter. Becca sat at the table, a faithful Jazz at her side. The dog had sure figured out who loved her the most. If Becca was home, Jazz was right there with her.
Driving! How was that possible? Becca was supposed to still be seven. Only she wasn’t. She was turning seventeen in the summer and talking about college. Harper swore silently. Her daughter was going to be heading off to college in less than eighteen months and she was making what, two dollars an hour on stupid gift bags?
The weight of failure threatened to make her topple over. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to have it all together. Had going into business for herself been a mistake? She didn’t think so, but if it wasn’t the job, then she was the problem and she sure didn’t want to hear that.
“Mom?”
Harper did her best to keep her tone even. “I know we do, honey. And we will. This weekend, okay? We’ll sit down and come up with a plan.”
Her daughter sighed. “Sure.”
“What does that mean?”
“You always say we’ll talk about something, but then we never do. You’re too busy with work.”
Harper didn’t like the sound of that. “I don’t. We will talk this weekend. You’ll see.”
Before she could think of a more convincing argument, the back door opened and Bunny walked in. Her hair was perfectly styled, her makeup in place and her clothes looked freshly laundered.
Harper was instantly aware of the fact that she hadn’t showered in maybe two days and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d put on makeup. She’d always worn her wavy hair in layers, but who had the time or money for that kind of maintenance? Lately she’d taken to simply pulling her hair back in a ponytail, which looked great on her beautiful sister but made her look like what she was—a woman of a certain age who had obviously given up.
“Morning,” she said as cheerfully as she could.
“Morning.” Her mother smiled at Becca, then frowned. “What are you eating?”
“Cereal.”
Harper reached for more coffee.
“Cereal?” Bunny shrieked. “Where’s your hot breakfast?” She turned to her daughter. “Harper Wray Szymanski, what is wrong with you? Your only child deserves a hot breakfast. As her mother, it’s the least you can do.”
“Grandma, cereal is fine. It’s a nice change.”
Bunny ignored that. “What’s next? Store-bought cookies? Fast food for dinner? Taking care of your family is your most important job.”
“You’re right, Mom,” Harper snapped. “Right now that means keeping food on the table. To pay for that, I have to work, so forgive me if I don’t have time to make waffles from scratch every single morning.”
“I always found the time.”
“You didn’t have a job.”
Becca quickly finished her cereal, then put the bowl on the floor for Jazz to lap up the milk. When the dog was done, she set the bowl in the sink and escaped. Harper wished she could run off with her.
“I didn’t have a job because I managed to keep my husband happy,” Bunny said in a huff. “Perhaps if you’d treated Terence a little better, he wouldn’t have left.”
The low blow connected right in her stomach.
“Mom, you don’t know anything about what went wrong in my marriage. It’s my business and you don’t have the right to judge me.”
“I’m not. I’m simply pointing out that if you—”
Harper’s cell phone rang. She grabbed it gratefully. “Mom, this is a client.”
“But it’s barely seven.”
“Yes, I know.” She pushed the button to accept the call. “This is Harper.”
“It’s Cathy. How are the bags coming?”
“They’ll be ready on time.” No way Harper was going to tell her they were already finished. Cathy would assume Harper had been exaggerating the time needed. Explaining she’d literally stayed up all night to finish them wouldn’t help, either.
“I’m glad to hear that. I have another job for you.”
“I was talking to you,” Bunny said between clenched teeth. “Tell her you’ll call her back.”
Harper turned her back on her mother, something she knew she was going to pay for. And speaking of paying. “Cathy, I’m happy to talk to you about more work, but I want to be clear. My rate is twenty-five dollars an hour, plus the cost of supplies. That is the price.”
“That’s ridiculous. My clients aren’t going to pay that.”
“Then I’m sorry but I can’t help you.”
“But you’ve always been willing to drop your price for me.” Her voice became softer. “Harper, I know you need the work. I’m doing you a favor.”
“What I need are jobs that pay me a reasonable amount. It’s your call, Cathy. I won’t be negotiating any more discounts.”
“That is totally unacceptable. Goodbye, Harper.” The phone went dead.
Harper turned back to her mother. Bunny raised her eyebrows. “With an attitude like that, it’s surprising you have any clients. Twenty-five dollars an hour for what you do? That’s ridiculous.”
“Thanks for the support, Mom.”
“What? I’m being honest.”
“Right now I would rather you weren’t. That’s me being honest.”
Before she could say any more, she heard a quick knock on the front door, then Thor raced into the house followed by Lucas calling out, “It’s me.”
The hundred-and-ten-pound dog bounced up to Harper and woofed. Jazz joined him and they greeted each other with a quick sniff before tearing off into the living room. Lucas appeared with Persimmon at his side.
“Good morning,” the young woman said, sounding way too cheerful. “Thor and Jazz are so sweet together. Hi, Harper. Hi, Bunny.”
The gorgeous redhead wore a cute little dress and heels, which only made Harper feel even more frumpy and tired. Lucas walked over to the coffeepot and poured himself a mug.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“You don’t want to know.”
“There’s no hot breakfast,” Bunny announced. “Harper has more important things to do with her time.” She looked at Lucas. “Would you like me to make you an omelet? I’m sure there’s something in the refrigerator, unless my daughter has stopped going to the grocery store.”
Lucas shot Harper a look. She wasn’t sure if it was questioning, filled with pity or both. Regardless, she waved him toward the table, figuring Persimmon would join him. While Bunny was distracted, Harper escaped to her small office. She would hide out there until everyone was gone. Maybe then she could get a couple of hours of sleep.
Her phone rang again. She put in her earpiece, then hit the button.
“This is Harper.”
“It’s Misty. Is it too early? I’m sorry to be calling, but I had to tell you.”
Her comedian client sounded breathless, but in a happy way.
“It’s not too early. What’s up?”
“You aren’t going to believe it. I don’t believe it. Oh, Harper, I’m going to be on an HBO special! It’s called Rising Stars or something like that. I can’t remember because I’m still in shock. It’s taping in a few weeks and then I’m going on tour.”
“Misty, that’s so fabulous. Congratulations. You’ve worked hard for this big break. How can I help?”
“I want new T-shirts. Something fun. Oh, and let’s be wild and get the ones that are the nicer material.”
Harper was already taking notes. “I’ll call the vendor as soon as we hang up and have her rush us samples. How many do you think you want?” Because there were price breaks at different levels.
“Let me think about that and get back to you. Once the special airs, I should be able to sell more. Oh, and I need to get you the tour info so you can ship me the T-shirts as I go.”
“And care packages?” Harper asked.
“Please. They save me.”
When Misty went on the road, she was gone for several weeks at a time. Harper shipped her snacks and toiletries so Misty didn’t have to worry about any of that. She also shipped T-shirts to each hotel, saving Misty from having to haul them from town to town.
Harper continued to make notes. “I’m so happy for you. This is the best news I’ve had all week.”
“I’m so excited. Thanks, Harper. I can relax knowing you’re going to handle things for me.”
“Absolutely. My job is to make your life easier.”
Which was true. Now if only someone would do that for her.
* * *
Stacey came to a stop at the corner. Bay did the same, then sat down, her shoulders and right ear lined up with Stacey’s leg.
“Good girl,” Stacey told the dog, then lightly petted her head.
The instruction manual that had accompanied the dog had been impressive, as was the list of commands Bay had mastered. There were the usual come, sit, along with some interesting specialized commands. Bay could distinguish between different types of weapons and toxic gases. She was also comfortable working aboard a ship. Stacey didn’t know if that meant cargo or military. The notes had ended midsentence, as if the remaining information had simply been ripped away.
No doubt it was classified, Stacey thought as they crossed the street.
Bay had settled easily into their home. She ate well and was perfectly friendly. Whatever training she’d been given was more about purpose than affecting her personality. Not that Stacey was surprised. She’d only met Great-Aunt Cheryl once but the woman had been a sensible sort. Not someone to leave dangerous animals to a sixteen-year-old.
Kit had taken Bay to the vet the previous Monday to confirm her pregnancy and get an approximate due date. The dog had been pronounced healthy. Per the records, Bay had given birth before, so the vet had been confident the dog would know what to do. Her records indicated she was up-to-date on all her vaccinations.
Stacey had already started researching the canine birthing process so she could be ready when the time came. Although it was very likely that Bay would have her puppies while Stacey was at work. Still, being prepared was always preferable.
She and Bay reached the corner drugstore that doubled as an Amazon drop box. She loosely tied the dog’s leash to the bike rack, then had her sit.
“Bay,” she said in a firm voice. The dog immediately met her gaze. “Bay, stay.” She paused. “No strangers.”
The dog’s nostrils flared slightly, but otherwise she didn’t move. According to the book, Bay would stay where she was told for at least two days. None of the dogs had been tested beyond that. In addition, the “no strangers” command meant she wouldn’t leave with anyone else. Should someone try, Bay would immediately start barking to alert Stacey.
“I won’t be very long,” she added, not sure Bay could understand her. Still, it was polite to let her know.
She walked into the drugstore and went to the back, where several dozen lockers of various sizes stood along one wall. After scanning the barcode on the email she’d received, she punched in the code and a locker opened. She retrieved the box.
It was the last of the items she’d ordered for Ashton’s visit. His room was ready with a new bed, linens and a desk. Kit had moved in a TV they rarely used. Stacey had added a few framed prints for color, then had gone online for a back-to-school bundle box. Ashton only had a couple of classes to finish, but she didn’t know if he would think to bring things like pens, paper and Post-it notes. Besides, who didn’t love school supplies?
She carefully tucked the box into her backpack so as not to strain her body. Carrying the baby had thrown her body out of alignment. Her prenatal yoga helped her strength and balance, but she wanted to make sure she didn’t pull a muscle.
Once the backpack was in place, she walked out and untied Bay.
“Good girl,” she told the dog as she crouched down and hugged her. Bay licked her cheek.
Stacey rose and started back to the house. She liked having Bay around. The dog was easy to take care of and good company. What she didn’t want to admit but couldn’t avoid was the fact that the dog was also a distraction from her own pregnancy.
The same with Ashton. Kit was a perfect husband and had never once mentioned the irony of her interest in getting Ashton’s room ready while refusing to do anything about their baby’s space. Every morning he tore another sheet off the calendar, gently reminding her that there was an inevitable end to what she was going through.
Sometimes Stacey wished the baby was already here so she wouldn’t be worrying about what was going to happen. She would already know if she could fake being a decent mother or not.
If only she was more like Harper, she thought. Talented and loving, with great mothering skills. But Stacey wasn’t. She and her sister had always been close but oh so different. One of her earliest Christmas memories was of opening an Easy-Bake Oven from Santa. She’d immediately started mixing together ingredients—not to bake a cake, but to get a chemical reaction.
Bunny had never understood and Stacey’s dad hadn’t much cared. He’d regretted not having sons instead of daughters. But Grandpa Wray had been there for her. He’d wanted to talk about things like jet propulsion and living on Mars, and she’d wanted to listen.
He’d been the one to show her how to use a telescope and a microscope. When girls her age had been playing with dolls, she’d been trying to find a science club and building computers. With Grandpa Wray’s help, she’d gotten to go to Space Camp when she was nine. The following summer, while the rest of the family had been at Disney World, she and Grandpa Wray had visited Cape Canaveral and been taken on a private tour.
“Grandpa Wray wanted me to be an astronaut,” she told Bay as they turned onto their street. “I would have been interested if there had been a Mars mission on the horizon, but that’s still so many years away. I went into medical research instead.” She smiled at the dog. “He was a great man. You would have liked him.”
Bay’s stubby tail wagged as she listened attentively.
“I always fit with Grandpa Wray,” she continued. “He didn’t care that I was smart or awkward or that I couldn’t make piecrust by the time I was eight.” Unlike her mother, who had cared about all those things. Bunny had always resented her youngest being more interested in how the world worked than how to knit, sew or decoupage. How many times had Harper stood up for her, defending her when Bunny went on the attack?
Stacey undid Bay’s leash as they entered the house, then lowered her backpack onto a chair. She checked on the Crock-Pot chili Kit had started that morning before walking into the bedroom to change out of her work clothes.
French doors led to their fenced backyard. Although they were only a mile or two from the ocean, they didn’t have a view. Stacey had never understood paying for something as silly as the ability to see something in nature. The brain responded to inputs that were essential for survival. Everything else faded into the background. She knew that she would cease to see a view within a matter of weeks, so why pay for it?
She’d already bought the house when she met Kit. The first time he’d come over, she’d told him her theory about views. He’d responded by telling her she was about the sexiest woman he’d ever met.
The news had surprised her. Stacey knew she was relatively attractive and she kept herself fit. There had always been men in her life—no one all that special, but she’d had boyfriends. Still, she’d frequently had the sense that they were more interested in her body than in her brain. Kit was the first romantic partner who made her feel safe and loved for who she was.
She changed into yoga pants and a T-shirt, then walked barefoot to the living room. Bay trailed along with her. Once the DVD was in the machine, Bay curled up in her bed by the sofa. She glanced at the door before putting her head down.
“Kit will be back in an hour,” Stacey told her. “He goes to a support group for stay-at-home dads.” Something he’d started when they’d learned she was pregnant.
“Kit’s like that. He asks for help. He solicits advice. He’s extremely well-adjusted.” All things she admired about him, probably because none of those characteristics described her. He’d suggested she look for a support group for working moms but so far she hadn’t been interested.
There’s something wrong with you! You’re not a normal girl.
The memory echoed unexpectedly in her mind, as vivid and uncomfortable as it had been when the words had first been screamed at her.
She’d been thirteen and eager to talk to her mother. Stacey had secretly scheduled a meeting with one of the high school counselors to talk about an accelerated program so she could go to college early. She’d already decided to focus on medical research—especially diseases of the central nervous system—so why wait to get started?
With the information in hand, Stacey was determined to convince her mother to let her start the process in the fall. Bunny had wanted to talk about the fact that a boy had called for Stacey.
Looking back, Stacey realized they’d talked at cross purposes for nearly ten minutes before figuring out what the other was saying. Stacey had dismissed the call while Bunny had refused to discuss Stacey starting high school in the fall and finishing in two years.
“No man wants a woman who’s that smart,” her mother had told her. “Accept who you are.”
“This is who I am,” she’d yelled back. “I want to go to college. I don’t want to talk to some stupid boy on the phone, okay?”
“There’s something wrong with you. You’re not a normal girl.”
She’d brushed off the assessment, raced to her room and had immediately called her grandpa Wray. He and Bunny had fought for days, while Stacey’s father had ignored whatever was going on at home and Harper had offered Stacey sisterly support. In the end, the outcome was inevitable. Bunny might not like it, but she could never say no to her father. He was, after all, a man.
As Stacey stood with her feet shoulder-width apart and began to concentrate on her breathing, she acknowledged yet more irony in her life. Bunny wanted her daughters to be exactly like her and she resented that Stacey refused to cooperate. That Stacey had been able to go to college when she was barely sixteen had happened because a man had intervened. She’d achieved her escape and her success in part because of her mother’s anachronistic worldview.
She should find humor in that, only she couldn’t. Instead she pressed her right hand against her growing belly and wondered if it was possible her mother was right. And if there was something wrong with her, how would that play out for Baby Joule?
Chapter Seven (#u85d27302-be68-5d93-8bf7-c5d87ea4b5ac)
HARPER HAD ALL the gift bags stacked together in boxes. Cathy had texted to say she wouldn’t be picking them up until tomorrow, after all, which left Harper nearly frothing. She could have had an extra two days to maybe get some sleep instead of staying up for two nights to get them done. She didn’t know if she was angrier at Cathy for playing her or herself for being played.
She heard a knock at the front door, then Lucas walked in. Thor immediately raced toward him. Lucas bent over and greeted the dog before calling out, “It’s me.”
Harper set the last box in place by the sofa and looked at her client/friend. Despite having worked all day, Lucas looked as fresh and handsome as he had that morning. His shirt was barely wrinkled, he was rested and tanned, while she was a hot mess. No, she thought, thinking of her mom jeans and stained T-shirt. Even her messiness wasn’t the least bit hot. She was a cold mess.
“Hi. Catch any bad guys?”
“A couple.”
“Want to stay to dinner?”
The invitation was automatic. She wasn’t sure when or how it had started, but Lucas ate dinner with them at least three nights a week. Thanks to Bunny’s skillful tutelage and years of training, Harper chronically overbought and overcooked, so there was always plenty for unexpected company. Lucas was funny, charming and a lovely distraction when things with her mother got too intense or moments with her daughter got too quiet.
Harper already had a salad made. She’d prepared vegetables for steaming and had Chicken Piccata ready to brown and simmer. The drama of this evening’s meal would be the—wait for it—store-bought pasta.
“I’d love to,” he said. “Thank you.”
“I bought the noodles. Bunny’s going to have a fit. Just so you’re warned.”
“Unarmed drama doesn’t faze me.”
They walked into the study together. Lucas crossed to the wall safe that had come with the house. It was a silly thing, really, but kind of sweet—whenever he came to dinner from work, he locked up his gun. She’d tried to explain it was unlikely that either Becca or her mother were going to lunge for it, and if they did, she was sure he could take them, but he insisted.
“What if I had a breakdown during the meal?” she asked. “I know the combination. I could take out everyone.”
He put the gun in the otherwise-empty safe and turned the lock to secure it. “It’s a plain black gun, Harper. You couldn’t possibly use it without gussying it up in some way first. I’d have time to subdue you while the glue set.”
Even as she chuckled, she wondered if there was an uncomfortable truth in his words.
They returned to the living room to find Jazz waiting for them. She ran over to get her greeting from Lucas. When he’d finished rubbing her face, he grabbed one of the rope toys the dogs loved and got on the floor with the two of them. There was much growling, yipping and wrestling as man and dogs vied for the precious toy. Harper retreated to the kitchen to continue prepping the meal. Per the rules of the universe, or maybe just per her mother, the salad plates should be set on the table at precisely six-thirty.
To that end, she got out a small mixing bowl, along with the ingredients for her Smokey Paprika dressing. She poured it into a dressing-size crystal pitcher, then whipped up the sauce for the chicken.
Lucas wandered into the kitchen and went to the sink to wash his hands. “Those dogs are smart. I have to up my game.”
Harper nodded at them feverishly drinking from their bowls. “If it makes you feel any better, they’re saying the same thing about you.”
He dried his hands, then leaned against the counter. “I saw the gift bags. They’re impressive.”
“Thanks. It’s a fiftieth wedding anniversary party. I’m sure it’s going to be lovely.”
Lucas’s gaze settled on her face. For a second, she was terrified that he was going to ask her how long they’d taken or had she been paid enough. He was always ready with the unexpected question. Thankfully he only said, “You’re busy these days.”
“I am.”
She walked into the dining room and studied the table. They were still celebrating spring, so the tablecloth was a pale mint color. She’d already stacked plates, patterned napkins and place mats on one end of the table. Now she just had to deal with the rest of it.
“Misty is going to be on an HBO special,” she said, as she headed for the craft room.
Lucas followed her. “That’s great.”
“I know. She’s so sweet. I love working with her.”
“If you say she’s your favorite, I’ll be crushed.”
Harper grinned. “She is, but I won’t say it.”
“Thank you. Let me know when the special’s on. I’ll want to watch.”
“Some of the humor is fairly subtle. I’m not sure Persimmon will get it.”
“Persimmon and I are reaching the end of our time together.”
“Because she’s turning twenty-three?”
“Something like that.”
Harper flipped on the lights to her craft room. She kept her dining room supplies at one end. She pointed to several clear, plastic drawers.
“Napkin rings. Pink, rose or silver. You pick,” she said as she studied her collection of vases and bowls, wondering what would be the easiest to put on the table.
Lucas held up four ribbed silver napkin rings. “These okay?”
“They’re great.”
She grabbed small, silver tone boxes in various heights and thrust them at Lucas, then chose flameless candles that would fit inside. Before turning away from the wall of crap she kept just because she was expected to decorate her table every single night for dinner, she flashed on her small, cramped office space and realized that, as always, Lucas was right.
“Oh no,” she said. “I’ve been doing this all wrong.”
“Your table?” her mother asked, appearing at the craft room door. “I’ve been telling you that for years. You need to layer your linens. Really, Harper, a tablecloth, place mats and napkins? A monkey could be more creative. At least make shorter, contrasting runners to drape widthwise. It will add visual interest.”
Harper found herself automatically considering her mother’s idea. In that nanosecond, she thought about the fabric she kept on hand and how easy it would be to pull out her sewing machine and—
“No!” She literally took a step back and shook her head. “No, Mom. Stop, please. I’m not looking for more ways to waste time decorating the table for dinner.”
“Waste time? It’s dinner with your family. What could be more important?”
Lucas took the supplies she’d given him and left. Harper put the flameless candles down and put her hands on her hips. “Mom, I’m serious. I can’t keep doing this. I have work I need to be doing. I have another order for gift bags, Misty needs new T-shirt designs. I heard back from the city and they want me to get going on the summer mailer. Once I design it and get it printed, I have to put on all the labels myself.”
Lucas returned and collected the candles. “Hire someone to do the grunt work.”
“What?” Harper and Bunny said together.
Bunny glared at him. “Lucas, I know you’re trying to help, but be serious. It’s bad enough Harper is taking time from raising Becca to do this, but to hire an assistant? If she’s going to work, she should be doing it all herself.”
Which was exactly what Harper had been thinking, only hearing her mother say it put the sentiment in a totally different light.
“Why?” she asked.
Bunny stared at her. “Why what?”
“Why can’t I hire someone? Why is that so awful? Mom, I’m drowning here. My job is how I feed my family. I’m struggling every single month. Your rent money helps and I appreciate it, but it doesn’t come close to covering the mortgage, let alone the expenses. I have no idea if Terence is going to keep his promise about paying for half Becca’s college, so I have to deal with that, as well.”
Bunny sniffed. “Becca’s a beautiful young woman. Why does she need to go to college? She’ll marry a nice boy who will take care of her.”
Harper did her best not to shriek. “Mom, no. Just no. Becca is going to get an education so she has choices and can take care of herself. I thought I’d have a man to take care of me and look where that got me. I will not put my daughter in this position. It worked out for you but it doesn’t work out that way for everyone. I want Becca to be strong and independent, like Stacey. She’s smart and capable. We need to encourage her to be her best self.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m being honest. I’m nearly forty-two, Mom, and I’m struggling. It’s my fault—I get that. I should have finished college. I should have gone to work when Becca started school, but I didn’t. I’m doing the best I can with the choices I made.” She squared her shoulders. “I didn’t have time to make pasta. I bought some from the store. You’re going to have to deal with that.”
Bunny glared at her, then turned on her heel and marched out of the room. It was only then Harper saw her daughter and Jazz standing in the doorway.
“Your grandmother thinks I should layer more linens when I set the table.”
Becca rubbed Jazz’s head. “Going crossways? I can see how that would be pretty. You’re not going to do it, are you?”
“No.”
Becca smiled. “Mom, store-bought pasta is okay with me. The same with bread and cookies and anything else you don’t want to make. I’ve had it all before at my friends’ houses and it’s not horrible.”
“Thank you. I knew I couldn’t trust those other mothers. They always said they were feeding you homemade but they were lying.”
Becca giggled. Harper allowed herself to smile.
“Grandma loves the drama,” Becca told her. “It makes her feel special.”
An unexpected insight. “Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome.” Her daughter sighed. “Thor ate the raw chicken.”
“What?”
Becca grinned. “I’m kidding, Mom.”
Harper pressed her hand to her chest. “Don’t do that. I’m getting old and I could very possibly have a heart condition.”
* * *
Becca tried to summon some enthusiasm as she lay sprawled on the comfortable sofa. She had a feeling that Lucas hadn’t been kidding about her keeping up her grades in exchange for him helping her get in her driving hours. She was doing okay in English, Spanish and geometry. It was European History where she was getting Cs. History was so boring. The whole second half of the class focused on World War II, which was, like, a million years ago. Why did anyone care about that kind of stuff?
“You’re not listening,” Jordan complained.
“I was thinking about the homework I have to do. I need to write a paper for European History and we have that chem test next week. I can’t believe how much math there is in that class.”
“I know. I thought we’d be doing more fun stuff in the lab, but nooo. There’s equations.” Jordan flipped her long hair over her shoulder. “I wonder when Nathan will get here. He had a meeting after swim practice. You know he got a scholarship to UCLA to play water polo, right?”
“Uh-huh.” No point in mentioning that Jordan had already told her eight times. Yes, Nathan was a water polo god and the world stood in awe of his talent.
Which was something she could have joked about, but not anymore. Jordan was convinced that Becca couldn’t get past her jealousy when it came to her friend’s new sex life, and Becca couldn’t figure out how to convince her otherwise. Possibly because she really didn’t know how she felt.
Yes, she would like a boyfriend, someone who thought she was special, but sex? There was so much going on already, and to be honest, the thought of it was both exciting and scary. Most of the time, though, scary won.
There was a knock at the front door. Jordan flew across the family room to the foyer and disappeared from view. Becca sat up, uneasy at the thought of reclining with Nathan around. Not that she could say why, but sometimes he made her uncomfortable.
She told herself he wasn’t the problem, she was. Maybe Jordan was right and she was jealous of the whole sex thing, although she really didn’t think it was that.
She heard the happy couple murmur something. They stepped into view as Nathan pulled Jordan close and kissed her like they were halfway to doing it right there.
Becca looked away, but not before she saw Nathan’s hand settle on her friend’s ass. He squeezed really hard. Becca tried not to shudder. Whatever they were doing, it should be, you know, special, or at least in private.
She unzipped her backpack and pretended to be looking for something as the kiss went on and on. When they finally drew apart, she looked up. Nathan, six feet two inches of blond, blue-eyed handsomeness, winked at her.
“Hey, Becca.”
“Hey.”
Jordan wrapped her arms around Nathan’s narrow waist for a second, then jumped back. “Okay, I’m going to go upstairs and put on more lip gloss. Becca, get out some snacks from the freezer and put them in the oven. I’ll be right back.”
Becca got up and walked into the kitchen. The giant Sub-Zero refrigerator nearly filled one wall. The freezer was filled with all kinds of prepared foods—mostly from Whole Foods or Trader Joe’s, but still. Becca’s grandmother would have a fit if she ever saw them.
She reviewed the selection, picking mini quiches that were always good. She set the temperature on the oven, then put the quiches on a cookie sheet. In the refrigerator she found prepared ranch dip and a plate of cut-up vegetables. There were chips in the pantry.
Nathan leaned against the bar-height counter and watched her work. “You know your way around Jordan’s kitchen,” he said.
“We’ve been friends a long time and I’m here a lot. Her mom always makes sure there’s plenty of food for us.”
She had the need to keep moving, although she couldn’t say why. She’d been in the same room with Nathan dozens of times. He was perfectly fine. In fact, he mostly ignored her, which sometimes she preferred. But today he seemed to be watching her.
“Jordan tell you about Mexico?” he asked.
“That you went with her family?”
He moved toward her. “No, Becca. The other part.”
Somehow she found herself backed against a corner of the counter. Nathan stood in front of her and there was nowhere to move. He put his hands on her waist and leaned close. For one horrifying second, she thought he was going to kiss her, but instead he whispered, “I can do that for you, too, if you want.”
He smelled faintly of chlorine and too much cologne and she didn’t like the way his fingers squeezed ever so slightly.
“I d-don’t know what that means,” she whispered, wishing he would move back and give her more room.
He kissed the side of her neck. “The virgin thing. I’m good with virgins. I take things slow and easy. You’ll like it.”
She shoved him hard and glared at him. “What are you talking about? You didn’t just say that. Jordan’s your girlfriend. You’re supposed to be in love with her.”
“I told her I loved her,” he said with a shrug. “There’s a difference.”
What? That didn’t make any—She felt her eyes widen. “You lied? You lied to get her to sleep with you? That’s disgusting.”
“Whatever gets the job done. So what about you?”
He started toward her again. She had no idea what he was going to do, but she was sure she didn’t want any part of it. She shoved him again, as hard as she could, then pushed past him. She grabbed her backpack, then raced out the front door. She was still running when she reached the end of the block.
Halfway home, she slowed enough to catch her breath. Her whole body hurt, her head felt funny and her stomach was a mess. She tried to slow her breathing only to have to turn toward some bushes and throw up. She vomited until there was nothing left, then started to cry.
What had just happened? Why had Nathan acted like that? Becca couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. She started running again, not stopping until she made it to her house.
Her mom was on the phone with a client. Becca hurried past her mom’s office, toward her own room. When she got there, she collapsed on the bed and gave in to more tears. She was scared and confused and sick.
A few minutes later, she felt a weight on the bed. She raised her head. “Oh, Mom...” But it wasn’t her mother. Jazz had come into the room and jumped up on her bed. Thor stood close by, as if standing guard. Becca threw her arms around her dog and hung on. Jazz snuggled close.
“It was so horrible,” Becca whispered. “He scared me. I didn’t think he was going to do anything bad, but what he said... I thought he and Jordan were in love.”
Jazz watched her attentively. Thor lay down on the floor, but kept his attention on her. Becca swallowed. “He’s her boyfriend. What is he thinking?”
She had a bad feeling he was thinking that he could use Jordan’s friends the way he used Jordan.
Her phone chirped. She reached for it and saw a text from Jordan.
Nathan says ur mom told u to get home but I know the truth. U have 2 get over it, B. Don’t be jealous of me. Ur my friend.
Becca stared at her phone, then tossed it on the floor and rolled onto her back. She had no idea what to do or think or say. All she knew for sure was that Nathan was a jerk, Jordan was blind and none of this was going to end well.
Chapter Eight (#u85d27302-be68-5d93-8bf7-c5d87ea4b5ac)
THE LANDSCAPING COMPANY pushed Harper over the edge. She’d been prepared to do all the work herself, to stay up nights and give up sleep, but an unexpected call from a landscaper who needed her to do the billing for him was one job too far.
The money was good and the work relatively easy. There was an existing database. All Harper had to do was enter the amount for the month, print out the invoices, stuff them in envelopes and pop them in the mail. Easy-peasy—except for the fact that there were nearly five hundred clients and the invoicing had to be done in less than two days.
Between that new job, her regular clients, the additional brochure work she had for the city and a flower shop client who wanted a “spruce” on content for her website, Harper was slammed. She’d been forced to hire help.
Rather than go through the trouble of placing an ad online or interviewing people, she heard about Morgan Wolfenbarger, a friend of a friend, who was looking for part-time work.
In the “oh goody” column, Morgan showed up right on time. She was tall and curvy, with long, curly dark hair. Under items that would be considered less fortunate, Morgan was a talker.
“Your house is really nice,” she said as Harper showed her to the small office where she would input the information on Harper’s only computer. Note to self—if she was going to continue to use extra help, she would need a second computer.
“We need to remodel our kitchen,” Morgan continued, as she settled in the chair. “It’s a disaster, but with the kids and everything, when would we find the time? And what would we do while it was torn up? I guess I could freeze a bunch of meals, but who wants to do that? Trust me, after running Supper’s in the Bag all those years, the last thing I want to do is prep meals.”
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Сьюзен Мэллери
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: #1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR‘Warm, witty and romantic. The perfect feel-good read’ – Sarah Morgan on You Say It FirstTwo sisters who couldn’t be more different if they tried…Harper put being a wife and mother above thoughts of a career, and has watched her sister become a celebrated scientist from the sidelines. But when her life is turned upside down by divorce, can she learn to put herself first?Stacey is left reeling by her unexpected pregnancy. More at home with neurological diseases than nappies, she can’t help feeling she lacks her sister’s maternal genes. What if she just doesn’t have what it takes to be a mother?Separately they may be a mess, but Harper and Stacey are about to discover that, together, they can face anything.Praise for Susan Mallery:‘Susan Mallery never disappoints…. She is at her storytelling best.’ -Debbie Macomber, #1 New York Times bestselling author‘Heartfelt, funny, and utterly charming all the way through!’ Susan Elizabeth Phillips‘Mallery returns to Mischief Bay with another set of friends dealing with dramatic yet relatable turmoil, which she treats with compassion, discernment, and subtlety’ Kirkus Reviews on The Friends We Keep‘An engaging read to be savoured all the way through.’ Publishers Weekly on The Friends We Keep‘[A] highly original and fascinating page-turner you may lose sleep over. Mallery brings our inner lives to the surface and evokes deep emotions from her readers. You will fall in love with the girls of Mischief Bay.’ -RT Book Reviews on The Friends We Keep‘Mallery, a best-selling romance writer, can write a believable love story. But what makes this story remarkable is how strong and relatable the friendship between the characters is. This is a welcome return to Mischief Bay.’ -Booklist on The Friends We Keep‘Once again, Susan Mallery has created an inviting world that envelops her readers′ senses and sensibilities… Fans of Jodi Picoult, Debbie Macomber, and Elin Hilderbrand will assuredly fall for The Girls of Mischief Bay.’ -Bookreporter‘Fresh and engaging…the writing is strong, the dialogue genuine and believable. There′s a generational subtext that mirrors reality and the complexities of adult relationships…filled with promise of a new serial that′s worth following.’ -Fort Worth Star-Telegram on The Girls of Mischief BayPerfect for fans of Debbie Macomber, Melissa Hill, and Trisha Ashley, Sisters Like Us is a story of laughter, tears, and the unbreakable bond between sisters.