On Second Thought
Page 91

There was Nathan’s closet. I hadn’t been in there since he died.
I guess it was now or never.
It would be awfully nice—and very convenient—to buy into what Ainsley had said. That Nathan had magically pulled some strings and brought about this conception. But until my husband died, I’d had only a vague sense of the afterlife. It didn’t seem fair to suddenly chalk this all up to divine intervention, to a husband who was beaming down at me, giving me a wholehearted blessing.
I went into the closet and closed the door.
The closet held a little bit of Nathan’s smell, not as powerful as the milk shake night, but there just the same. Still, it was enough to make me sink to the floor. All Nathan’s shirts. All his clothes. His shoes. His beautiful cashmere sweaters.
Tears burned behind my eyes. I couldn’t cry here. Not now. It wouldn’t be right. But I missed him. I missed hearing his voice. I missed his whistling as he shaved. I missed what we never got a glimpse of—familiarity. The truth was, I was more comfortable around Daniel than I’d ever been around Nathan.
If I had to pick a baby daddy, Daniel was probably a good choice. I wondered if it was true; that he’d left behind the False Alarms.
And if he had, what that meant.
I was pregnant. Right now, that little cluster of cells was growing like crazy. According to the best information I could find on the internet, that little cell clump had a 66:1 chance of being a healthy, normal baby.
I’d take those odds.
And suddenly, the guilt and shock were swept away as I sat in the dark, and a wave of love rolled over me like nothing I’d ever felt.
I was going to be someone’s mother. And no matter what, no matter if I miscarried or the baby had problems, I was going to love her with all my heart, without reservation, and I was not going to pollute my love for this little speck with anything negative. I could judge myself and deal with my actions.
But my baby—my baby!—would feel only love.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Ainsley
So I was going to be an auntie again. I thought it was pretty great.
Sure, the timing sucked. But Kate had been so solitary for so long. For years and years. Then Nathan had come into the picture and made her into something else—a wife, half of a couple, something she’d never been before. His death was all the more cruel because of it; she’d been happy before she knew him, then reduced to a ghost.
But now she had a new purpose in life.
The three of us—Kate, Daniel and I—were going to keep this a secret until she passed the first trimester and felt safer about the baby’s odds. But she’d already set some things in motion.
Last week, a few days after she found out, she’d talked to Brooke and told her she wanted Miles and Atticus to own Nathan’s house someday, and would set up a trust to cover taxes and upkeep until they were old enough. “It’s his most beautiful work,” she said, “and the boys should have it.” Brooke had cried and cried, the poor thing, hugging Kate and thanking her.
Kate was thinking she’d move back to Brooklyn. Let’s face it; she’d never really loved Cambry-on-Hudson, and she still did have that great old apartment. There was a reason she’d never sold it.
And she’d be close to Daniel. “He’s the father, after all,” she said. “He deserves as much time with the baby as he wants.”
“He really likes you,” I said. “Do you like him?”
“Sure,” she said.
“Do you love him?”
She gave me an amused glance. “Not yet.”
“Give him a chance, okay? He’s gonna be a great dad.”
She shook her head, smiling, no doubt thinking her dopey little sister was a hopeless romantic. She was right.
My own love life was boffo, thank you very much. Not working for Jonathan had made him much more attractive. The feeling was probably mutual. We talked almost every night, and I saw him a few times a week.
Also, I was crazy in love with him.
But I’d done that total immersion relationship. And so had Jonathan, for that matter. I wanted to layer my life a little better than I had eleven years ago. I wanted to get my nursing degree. In a few weeks, I’d finish a class and become a certified nursing assistant. The Village of the Damned was hiring, and I could work there while I kept plugging away at a registered nursing degree.
In the meantime, I worked at Blessed Bean, serving up coffee to Cambry-on-Hudson’s stay-at-home mommies and teenagers. My boss, Rig (short for nothing), was twenty, tattooed and pierced with those hideous spacer earrings. He was also quite a sweetheart and viewed me as the authority on all things romantic. And hey, I was Dr. Lovely’s daughter, after all.
Speaking of, Candy had expressed the expected dismay at my change of career when I visited her at her beautiful new condo. “Nursing? Oh, honey. All you’ll do is change old people’s diapers.”
“Well, just think. I can change yours when you decide to let loose.”
“You’ll have to change your father’s sooner than mine. That man can barely dress himself as it is. We had dinner the other night, and he forgot his wallet, for the love of God.”
“Are you guys staying friends?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said in the voice that meant that’s a good one. I felt for her, though. Somehow, I’d never known how much it had hurt her, being on the wrong side of unrequited love.
“I have something for you,” she said. “I found it when I was packing.”
She got up from the table and came back with a shoe box.
Inside were a couple dozen photos.
My mother, so young, younger than I was now, and so beautiful. Kate, holding me, smiling a gap-toothed grin. Sean, looking up from a book, his glasses smeared, a plate of cookies next to him.
My mother and father and me at about two. I’d never seen a picture of the three of us together.
“These were in the attic,” Candy said sharply.
“Thank you,” I breathed, leafing through them slowly. My parents on a date night, dressed up and smiling. Me, asleep in a lawn chair, Pooh beside me.
“Do you remember anything?” Candy asked.
I wanted to. Maybe I would someday, maybe the pictures would trigger something. But for now, there was nothing. “No,” I said, looking up at her. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
But I remembered Candy, holding my hair back when I had the pukes. Showing me how to do long division. Sitting with me during a thunderstorm, not exactly happy that I was terrified, but there nonetheless.
I got up and hugged her and kissed her brittle blond hair. “Thank you,” I said again, and my voice was husky.
She patted my hand, then pulled back. “Your father’s dating someone about Sean’s age,” she said, changing the subject.
“Yick,” I said. “Wish I could say I was surprised. How about you, Mom? You know I found Gram-Gram a nice widower to date. I could do the same for you.”
She snorted. Didn’t mention my little slip with the M-word. It wasn’t really a slip, after all.
One afternoon in September when I was grinding a freshly roasted batch of Arabica at Blessed Bean, the bell over the door jangled, and I looked up.
Matthew Kent saw me and did a double take.
He had his nieces with him. Jonathan’s daughters.
“Hello,” he said, approaching the counter.
Lydia was jumping up and down next to him. “I want a cookie! No, cake! No, I want a latte, Uncle Matt!”