Читать книгу Dream Baby - Ann Evans - Страница 7

CHAPTER ONE

New Year’s Eve, 1998

NORA HOLLOWAY WENT to bed early.

Without waiting for the ball to drop in Times Square, without a thimbleful of alcohol in her system, without making a single resolution.

She went to bed before the first skyrocket had a chance to arc over Blue Devil Springs’s postage stamp of a town square. Praying for deep, dreamless sleep—and knowing that it was probably a futile wish.

An hour before 1998 escaped into the record books, she awoke sweaty and breathless in her bed, her head full of familiar images—long dark corridors, the sound of a baby crying, and herself, confused and frightened and unable to change any of it.

She sat upright, disoriented, but only for a moment or two. She knew why the baby dream had visited her tonight.

That afternoon she’d sorted through a box of junk she intended to donate to the Memorial Day garage sale. She had expected to find nothing of value, certainly nothing that would cause her heart to miss a beat. But instead it had yielded a treasure trove of mementos. The dried, crumpled remains of the orchid she’d worn to the prom. A clutch of blue ribbons her brother, Trip, had won in crew. Letters she had written to Mom and Dad from college.

Nothing startling. Nothing dramatic, although it was a little bit of a surprise to find pictures of Peter in the box as well. Peter, looking strong and handsome, with that absurdly charming smile that she’d fallen victim to right from the first. He seemed so achingly young in the photographs.

The sight of those objects brought no pain. Only regret for what might have been. She’d been smiling when she reached into the box to retrieve those faded images.

But as she picked them up, her fingers brushed something soft, and when she saw what it was, the smile froze on her lips.

How stupid to have forgotten what she’d done with the half-finished, cross-stitched birth announcement. The one she’d taken with her to the doctor’s office that rainy day five years ago—five years ago to the day. It was such a small thing—too small to be framed on the nursery wall, Peter had said. But Nora had kept stitching anyway, because the cheery colors and its pattern of childishly simple icons for a little boy made her feel good, made her feel like the mother she couldn’t wait to become in just four short months.

Seeing the announcement again this afternoon had brought it all back. Soiled, fading, the fabric sat in her lap as though it were a snake that might strike her. The name she and Peter had chosen for their son still stood out plainly. JEREMY WILLIAM. Jeremy for Peter’s father. William for hers.

Only the boy hadn’t lived to carry the weighty, paternal pride of such an important name. He’d died the day of the accident. Along with Peter. Along with so many half-formed dreams she’d had for the future.

Now in the darkness of her bedroom, Nora’s hand fumbled for the bedside lamp. She squinted against the bright glare, shoving handfuls of tangled dark hair out of her eyes so that she could read the clock radio: 10:58 p.m. Almost 1999.

A few homemade bottle rockets zinged in the distance. It was probably her neighbor down the road, Walt Clevenger, eager to start the celebration. She’d dated him two years ago and knew how impatient he could get. Rifle shots cracked from the direction of the national forest. The rangers would be on the revelers in the blink of an eye. Alan Harcourt, the first man she’d gone out with after Peter’s death, didn’t let campers get too rowdy.

Her heart was no longer pounding, but it would be impossible to get any sleep for a little while, not with all the noise.

She flipped on the television as she made her way into the kitchen. The sound woke Larry, snoring noisily at his favorite spot on the rug by the big stone fireplace. The mongrel, the last of three motheaten pups she and Trip had saved a few years ago, snuffled a complaint and then followed in her footsteps. Sensing his motive, Nora plucked a sliver of ham off the leftovers plate in the fridge and tossed it to him. Larry’s front paws barely left the floor as he caught the morsel in midair.

Hunched over the open refrigerator door, Nora was about to pull a soda off the shelf when her hand brushed against the small bottle of champagne she’d set out earlier in Cabin Five. The honeymooners she’d expected to check in today had called to cancel their weekend stay at Holloway’s Hideaway, the resort cabins Nora and her brother had inherited from their parents. The trip to Paris the lucky couple had received as a wedding gift from their families far outweighed anything the Hideaway and tiny Blue Devil Springs could offer.

“C’est la vie,” she said and snagged the champagne bottle. She kicked the door closed with one bare foot, pulled a clean glass off the kitchen counter and headed for the living room.

Her attention strayed to the television, where two giddy cohosts were superimposed over the crowd of revelers in New York’s Times Square.

“...and you can really feel the excitement in the crowd, even from up here; can’t you, Mary Beth?” the male announcer nearly shouted. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a new year greeted this enthusiastically, and we’ve still got almost an hour to go before 1999 gets here.”

Mary Beth smiled her plastic talk-show host’s smile and nodded. “I think you’re right, Bill. Each year, as we’ve gotten closer to the start of the millennium, people seem more and more excited. I can’t wait to see what next year brings, when we actually hit 2000. Can you?”

“Yes,” Nora muttered as she twisted the wire champagne seal. “I can.”

Larry jumped when she popped the cork. Hunkering down into the huge, plush cushions on the couch, Nora poured herself a glass of champagne, then tweaked open the small card she’d attached to the bottle just yesterday. She frowned at the silly sentiment she’d painstakingly written inside:

Karen and David—Congratulations on the start of a wonderful new life together.

Nora and Trip Holloway, your friends at the Hideaway

With her glass full of champagne, Nora tipped an imaginary toast outward. “You missed your chance, Karen and Dave. All the best, anyway.”

It had been a long time since she’d had any reason to drink champagne. The liquid tickled her throat as it went down, but didn’t seem to have much flavor. She poured another glass, inspecting the label and wondering if she ought to offer wine to newlywed guests instead. She’d heard the new bed-and-breakfast on the other side of Blue Devil Springs greeted every arrival with fresh-baked cookies and a chilled bottle of Chablis. If Holloway’s Hideaway was going to make it into the millennium, they might want to shake things up a bit.

Curling her bare toes along the edge of the coffee table, Nora sank back with a sigh. The millennium. God, she was so tired of hearing that word. As though just because a year started with a two instead of a one it was more important, or. carried some kind of magic...

She had a headache by the time the festivities in Times Square peaked. Larry was curled against her hip, and Nora ran a hand through the dog’s soft fur. “You know what my New Year’s resolution is, Larry? To stop watching Bill and Mary Beth.”

Outside, celebratory gunshots went off again. From the direction of town there came the zing! of ascending fireworks. The one-minute countdown was on the television screen now. Bill and Mary Beth disappeared, giving way to wide views of the boisterous crowd, but their voices continued to offer nonsense and excitement. Thirty seconds. Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven—1999 was only moments away.

. She supposed it was an overactive imagination that made her stomach feel queasy when the countdown was over, and the crowd in Times Square went wild. There were lots of shots of people kissing and yelling and waving frantically toward the television cameras. Bill and Mary Beth hugged each other as if they actually meant it. Nora closed her eyes against the sight of it all and laid her head back against the couch cushion.

She hated the fact that 1999 was here at last. Only twelve months until the year 2000.

She had thought she’d be enjoying motherhood by that time, caught up in Tupperware parties and PTA meetings. She and Peter and her brother, Trip, would have made Holloway’s Hideaway at Blue Devil Springs a premier resort destination, and she would have managed all that around Little League and school plays. It wasn’t a particularly grand or exciting life plan, but it had always seemed perfect to Nora. The most wonderful future any woman could imagine.

But that dream had shattered five years ago, and whatever internal deadline she’d planned for herself by the millennium was far out of reach.

Financially, the Hideaway was barely hanging on. Trip, frustrated by trying to make ends meet, had fought with her frequently over selling the place. Even the arrangement they’d come to, that she would buy out his share of the Hideaway over a period of years, had not satisfied him, and two months ago he had taken off to pursue his own dreams. Peter and little Jeremy William were lost to her. And given the limited male companionship she’d enjoyed in the last couple of years, not to mention that old, ticking biological clock...

In the middle of the night, when she was really honest with herself, that was the thing that hurt the most—the thought of never having a baby of her own to love. She had loved Peter, but theirs had been a whirlwind courtship, and the marriage vows had barely been spoken before the accident occurred. She had mourned him, but the truth was, she had hardly known him at all.

But the baby—Jeremy William would have been the most desired, most treasured child in the world, and the knowledge that Nora would never hold him in her arms, and perhaps no other as well...

How could she face the start of a new century without the hope of a baby in her life? The thought was unendurable.

Another bottle rocket went off in the distance, and Larry growled low in his throat. Nora drew a deep breath, refusing to dwell on such dour thoughts.

She glanced toward the television one last time, where the cohosts were laughing over the antics of people on the street. “Happy New Year, Bill and Mary Beth,” Nora whispered. A moment later she sent them to oblivion and tossed the remote on the huge cypress knee coffee table.

Larry growled again. On her way back to the kitchen, Nora stopped to listen. Although it was nearly too faint to hear over the crackling pop of distant fireworks, Nora was sure someone was knocking on the front door.

Because of the hour and her present state of mind, she was tempted to ignore the summons. It seemed unlikely that one of her neighbors had come by to wish her Happy New Year, and she wasn’t expecting any late arrivals. The newlyweds had been her last hope for the weekend. Still, she pulled her housecoat over the long T-shirt she used for a nightgown. If someone wanted a bed for the night—had taken a wrong turn or broken down on the road—she couldn’t afford to refuse them.

Larry led the way to the bolted double doors, his toenails clicking on the plank flooring as he woofed threateningly. Nora tightened the grip on the collar of her robe.

“Sorry. We’re not open,” she called out as she flipped on the outside lights.

“Not even for me?” a feminine voice full of tentative humor asked.

Surprised, Nora slipped back the bolts and pulled one of the doors wide. Isabel Petrivych had spent her college breaks for the past three years working at the Hideaway, and although she wasn’t expected back on the payroll until spring break, she would always be a welcome visitor.

“Happy New Year, Nora,” the girl greeted brightly.

“Happy New Year to you, too. What are you doing here?” Nora asked.

The girl’s long black hair was unbound, falling in an ebony waterfall over one shoulder. She tossed it back in a reckless gesture and grinned hopefully. “I guess I didn’t know where else to go.”

They both jumped as the sudden pop-pop-pop of fireworks exploded in the night sky.

“Why aren’t you out partying?” Nora asked as they watched the last streamers of red and blue twinkle out of existence over the pines.

Isabel turned back to face her, and suddenly Nora caught the glimmer of tears welling in the young woman’s eyes. “Partying is the last thing I should be doing right now. That’s what got me into this mess. I’ve been so stupid...”

Isabel’s voice broke with emotion as she swiped the tear away with the back of one hand. She laughed, but the sound was choked, desolate.

Nora’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach as she gazed at that sweet, troubled face, and when she spoke, she rushed into speech herself, “Izzie, what is it? What’s happened?”

The girl shook her head, more wildly this time. “Oh, Nora, you’re not going to believe this...” She grimaced shakily. “I’m pregnant.”