Читать книгу His Best Friend's Baby - Molly O'Keefe - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

JULIA ADAMS managed to eat three bites of the cinnamon roll she had grabbed from the motel vending machine then tossed it in a garbage can outside the Vons grocery store. She took another sip of the stale coffee from the motel lobby and dumped that out as well.

She couldn’t get food past the slick bitter taste of nerves at the back of her throat. The anxiety had gathered steam as she and Ben walked into town from the motel and now she was a kettle about ready to blow.

“I think Momma has made a mistake, Ben,” she said to her two-year-old son, even though he was sound asleep in his stroller.

One mistake? How do you figure just one? The voice belonged to Mitch, her dead husband, always there to count her failings.

She hit a crack in the sidewalk and the stroller under her hands swayed, thanks to the loose screws she’d tried repair a million times—the whole thing was just about shot.

The streetlights blinked on and the world past the street receded to shadows. Dusk arrived to the desert town with a beauty Julia had never seen. The enormous sky turned purple and blue and the temperature finally cooled to a tolerable level.

She and Ben had missed the worst of the heat, having spent most of the day inside their motel room. Ben had napped and fussed, confused by the time change, and she’d stewed—replaying Agnes’s phone call in her head, wondering if she’d gotten the invitation all wrong.

The smell of eucalyptus filled the air and Julia, trying to calm the twisting of her stomach, pulled off one of the flat round leaves and rubbed it between her fingers. The oil soaked into her skin, but it wasn’t enough to calm the raging nerves.

She turned left and the reality of what she was doing came down on her like a hammer.

She was about to knock on Mitch’s parents’ door. Her in-laws, who had never liked her, and say…

“What?” she asked herself aloud. “Surprise! Can I stay a while? Here’s your grandson. Do you mind if I take a nap?” She took a deep breath. “Remember when you asked me to come for a visit? When you said you would be here for me?”

I’ve finally lost it. I’m talking to myself!

“Your mother’s a lunatic,” she told her sleeping son, just to prove the point.

With Mitch gone, Julia only had her own mother, Sergeant Beth Milhow. Julia and Ben could have gone to live with her mom and continue the life she had known forever.

A military daughter. A military wife. A military widow.

But she couldn’t do it anymore. She wanted a family. Friends who had more in common with her than what their husbands did for a living. She wanted more than duty and loneliness so sharp it sliced at her. She had to try and find a better way, which was why she’d come to New Springs.

What she really wished, if she were completely honest with herself, was that Jesse Filmore would be here. Last she had heard he was in the hospital in San Diego, which was close enough that he might head home if he still had family in the area. She’d settle for any kind of anchor that would pull him back to New Springs.

This was her new life—a fresh start, and she wanted desperately to have Jesse in it.

She was being foolish. She had enough on her plate dealing with her in-laws. The very last thing she needed to do was cloud up her head with romantic illusions…or delusions. Particularly about her dead husband’s best friend.

But if she closed her eyes, she could still see Jesse’s dark eyes burning bright through the shadowy dawn.

She pulled the envelope from Agnes and Ron’s last Christmas card out of her jeans pocket and checked it against the numbers on the houses. She turned at the corner at Wilson and Hemlock, walked down half a block until she found 12 Hemlock Street, a two-story brick house that was triple the size of the small army house she and Ben had called home in Germany for the past two years.

She swiped at the sweat that beaded up on her forehead. Oh, God, why didn’t I call? What if Agnes changed her mind?

She turned up the beautiful slate path toward the house. Her heart clogged her throat and with every heartbeat she saw spots in the corners of her eyes.

The last thing she needed was to faint on the Adams’ doorstep. She tried to focus on the concrete reality: the flowering vines clinging to the red brick, the overgrown garden filled with jade plants and gorgeous lupine that were nearly choked out with weeds.

Losing a son must put you off lawn work for a while.

She clapped a hand over her mouth to stop the hysterical giggle that was nearly a sob. She was coming unglued. She stopped at the door—a wooden one, simple and solid with a small window at the top.

She tried to smooth her short, dishwater-blond hair to get the worst of the haywire strands to settle down. Julia never bothered with makeup, and now she wished she had at least put on a little blush.

Yeah, she laughed at herself, because your hair and makeup are really going to make her love you.

She leaned down and looked at sleeping Ben. He’d woken up a few hours ago but his internal clock was screwy from jet lag.

Julia tried to see her son with unbiased eyes, to find imperfections, but she couldn’t detect any. Even dead to the world he was still the cutest kid she’d ever seen. He had Mitch’s thick, white-gold hair with just a little curl. His eyes, when they were open, mirrored her own big blue ones. And, thanks to a genetic hiccup, he had a dimple in his chin.

“Grandma Agnes is going to love you, Ben,” Julia whispered. “Even if she can’t stand me.”

She didn’t give herself time to think, or change her mind or even imagine the worst possible outcome. She charged ahead and rang the doorbell.

The seconds between pressing the small illuminated button and hearing someone on the other side of the door stretched unbearably. Slowly, the door swung open and an older, sadder version of Mitch wearing a faded plaid shirt stood there. He peered over the top of a pair of thin gold glasses. “Hello?”

“Hi, um, Ron.”

He flipped on the light over the door and Julia blinked, jerking back from the brightness. Ben woke up with a cry and clapped his hands over his eyes.

“Oh, my,” Ron whispered.

“Ron? Who is it?” a woman’s voice called from inside.

Ron smiled and Julia felt every bit of tension and worry slide right out of her.

“It’s Julia and Ben,” Ron replied, his smile growing until he started to laugh.

“That’s not funny, Ron.”

“I’m not kidding, Agnes.”

Silence. And then the clatter of a pan hitting the sink and Agnes—a short, round woman with a curly nimbus of gray hair and a tea towel trailing like a silk scarf behind her—was running down the hallway toward them.

“Oh, oh!” she cried, barreling past her husband to wrap her arms around Julia. Julia was awash in the scent of garlic and roses. Agnes’s strong wet hands gripped Julia’s back and she felt all the air rush from her body. Agnes dropped her arms and knelt in front of Ben.

“Hello, hello, little boy,” she cried, tears running down her round cheeks.

Julia shut her gaping mouth. This welcome was simply more than she could have hoped for. More than she’d ever dreamed.

Careful, Mitch’s snide voice whispered. You always believe the things that are too good to be true.

Julia, exhausted and emotional, ignored her dead husband’s voice. If this was too good to be true she would figure it out later, as she always did. Right now, she was swept up in the tide of the moment, helpless to stop this strange homecoming.

“He looks just like Mitch, doesn’t he, Ron?”

“Yes, he does,” Ron agreed, lifting his glasses to wipe his eyes. “Let’s get them in the door, Agnes.”

“Of course.” Agnes started to get up and Julia held out a hand to assist and found herself back in her mother-in-law’s arms.

“We’re so glad you’re here,” Agnes murmured. “Thank you for coming to us.”

The icy silences between Julia and Agnes had seemingly melted away after Mitch had died in the helicopter crash. Julia had gotten a call from an inconsolable Agnes, who’d begged Julia to come to California, to bring Ben so they could get to know him—the only thing left of their precious son.

Come, she’d said, we will be here for you.

It had been a spell, an enchantment, we will be here for you. Words so foreign to Julia they might have been a different language.

A million things rushed to Julia’s throat but all she could manage to say was a tight, “Thanks for having us.”

“Are you hungry? Did you just get in? Do you have a place to stay? You have to stay here. We insist, don’t we, Ron?” They stepped through the foyer into a small dining room that opened into a large living room with a fireplace and bookshelves crammed with books.

The dining-room table was freshly wiped down, the streaks still damp on the oak finish, and the smell of garlic and potatoes filled the air.

Julia’s stomach roared to life.

“I guess she’s hungry,” Ron said.

Julia pressed a fist to her stomach. “You know, airline food,” she said with dumb chuckle. The truth was the rubbery airline sandwich was probably the best meal she’d had in weeks.

Ron crouched, his knees cracking, to get a better look at Ben, who blinked owlishly at the old man. “Hello,” Ron said in a soft voice and everyone seemed to hold their breath, as if this were a test that they could all fail.

After a moment, Ben reached out a curled fist and dropped a handful of raisins in Ron’s hand and smiled his heartbreaker smile.

Ron and Agnes sighed in adoration.

Nice one, Ben. Julia ruffled her son’s blond hair. They’re goners for sure.

“We got in this morning.” Julia unhooked her son from the stroller and he pitched himself from the seat with his usual enthusiasm. “We’re over at the Motel Six on the highway.”

“Oh, no,” Agnes gasped as if Julia had said, “We are living in trees.”

“You have to stay here, we can’t have Mitch’s bab—”

“You are welcome to stay here,” Ron interrupted. “We could go pick up your stuff and bring it back.”

Julia and her overextended bank account heaved a sigh of relief. She had hoped they would offer, but the motel had been a necessary plan B. “That would be nice, thank you.”

“We have so many questions.” Agnes took a deep breath and seemed about to launch into all of them and Julia braced herself with the limited reserves of energy she had left.

“Agnes, the girl is asleep on her feet. Let’s get her some food and let her rest for a minute,” Ron cut in reasonably and Julia’s affection for the man leaped off the charts.

Ben put his hand in Ron’s and pulled him toward the other room as though he wanted a guided tour.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just so excited.”

Julia smiled. She didn’t have the energy to do more.

“I’ve got roasted chicken and some potatoes,” Agnes offered. “It’s not very fancy but—”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Julia whispered. Tears of relief and gratitude filled her eyes. Agnes ran off into the kitchen. Ben toddled toward the shelves and all of the books and magazines he, no doubt, could not wait to rip to pieces. Ron followed, his eyes glued to Mitch’s son.

Suddenly alone in the room, Julia collapsed into a chair. All of the fear and hunger and worry that had been keeping her upright since getting the call that Mitch was dead disappeared.

Thank you, she said silently.

Her life, irrevocably diverted when she’d bumped into Mitch on that beach, might somehow end up back on track.

AFTER DINNER, Agnes led Julia, with a sleeping Ben in her arms, up the staircase to the bedrooms.

“You can use Mitch’s old room,” she said with a sad smile. Agnes pushed open the door to a room that had been frozen in time. Posters of Michael Jordan—back when the basketball shorts were shorter—covered one wall. A prom picture of a young Mitch looking uncomfortable wearing a pink bow tie sat on the dresser.

“This will be great,” Julia said. Her bags, which Ron had kindly picked up from the Motel 6, sat at the foot of the bed.

Agnes backed out of the room, but stopped before shutting the door. “Thank you,” she said fervently for the hundredth time in the few hours Julia had been there. “Thank you for bringing Ben to us.”

Julia smiled and reached out to squeeze Agnes’s hand. It was hard to believe that this was the same woman who almost three years ago had called Julia a gold-digging whore.

Goes to show how some people can change.

Agnes left and Julia put her son down on the bed and took off the Spider-Man shoes that were getting too small for him. Once he was settled, she dug through her purse for her cell phone. She checked her watch—9:00 p.m. in California meant that it was midnight in Washington, D.C.

Julia said a quick prayer—please Mom, be home—and dialed, needing desperately to hear her friendly, if firm, voice.

“Sergeant Beth Milhow,” Julia’s mother said by way of greeting.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Julia? You made it okay? I was getting worried.”

“We had some delays, but we got to New Springs this morning.”

“You must be tired.”

“I am so past tired, I can’t even see straight.” Every time her eyes fluttered shut she could feel herself falling asleep.

“How was Ben on the flight?”

“He was great.” Julia couldn’t quite make that half truth totally believable. “Well, he was as great as could be expected. A minor meltdown somewhere over Denver and a larger one on the bus, but mostly he slept and stared at every new face.”

“How are you?” Her mom’s voice dropped and Julia rubbed her forehead. Her mind was slippery and clouded from too much worry and too little sleep. “I’m—” nervous, tired, freaked out “—all right.”

“Oh, honey, you don’t have to do this. You can come back here and—”

Live in a big empty house all alone, Julia finished her mother’s sentence. You can continue doing everything by yourself.

“I know, Mom,” Julia interrupted. “But I really need to do this.”

Her mom made a skeptical noise and Julia brushed her fingers through Ben’s fine hair that was so much like Mitch’s. She leaned down and kissed the top of his head, smelled the distinctive powdery-fruity scent of her son and hoped she was doing the right thing.

“Mom, they want to get to know Ben. They’ve never even seen him. We just spent two weeks with you, plus you came to visit us in Germany, but they—”

“They never bothered.”

Ben woke up with a whiny cry and rolled toward her. He had fallen asleep during supper and she knew the poor guy was probably hungry. Julia winced and tried to stop Ben from smashing her kneecaps as he crawled over her legs. He was two, but he weighed thirty pounds. She grabbed a Thomas the Tank Engine toy from his diaper bag and wiggled it in front of him. He took the bait, wrapping his little fingers around the toy. Sleepy, but determined to stay awake, Ben ran Thomas up and down her legs like railroad tracks. “Choo choo,” he said and Julia found a smile from somewhere in her weary body. She jiggled her legs under him so he bounced around. He laughed and buried his face against her.

Oh, God, she prayed again, please don’t let this selfish decision hurt Ben.

“They only want to get to know you now because Mitch is dead,” Beth said and Julia flinched, swallowing the taste of copper and bile. It had been five months since the accident and she still felt raw.

“What’s wrong with that?” Julia asked, pushing aside her own doubt. “So they’re two years late? Should I punish them forever?”

“Well, I don’t think you should go running into their open arms. They were nothing but terrible to you.”

“They weren’t terrible,” Julia muttered. “They just weren’t nice.”

But they are here and they are solid and they aren’t going anywhere. They aren’t going to fight in any wars or move every two or three years. Their roots go so deep that maybe Ben and I can stand close and pretend those roots are ours.

“Oh, sweetheart, you are too nice for your own good,” Beth said, her voice soft like a hug. She was prickly and stubborn to the point of blindness, but Julia never doubted that her mother loved her.

“Probably,” Julia laughed.

“So, how are they? Is that woman civil?” Julia smiled at her mother’s loyalty. Ever since Agnes had so singularly rejected Julia, Beth referred to her as “that woman.”

The petty parts of Julia that were still wounded by the things Agnes had said sort of liked it.

“They’ve been really nice to me and nothing but sweet to Ben.”

“But don’t you go forgiving that woman too soon. You are a strong mother, you don’t need their help.”

Julia clapped a hand over her mouth to stop the incredulous laughter. Beth, as usual, had no clue what Julia needed.

Julia was a twenty-four-year-old widow. She had a two-year-old son who only knew his father from photographs. Her own father was dead and her mother, though loving and involved in Julia’s life, was still an active engineer in the army. And when the United States wasn’t at war, Mom was home in Washington, D.C., for only about half the year. For the past three years, Beth had spent eleven months out of twelve in Iraq.

No one had ever truly been there for Julia and Ben. And she needed that to change. Ben needed family, people in his life on a daily basis. Not twice a year for a few weeks.

“Do you have enough money?”

An excellent question, Mother. “I’m fine,” she hedged.

“Okay, I’ll let you get some rest.” Beth’s deep breath echoed down the line. “Remember, sweetheart, you can always come here. I leave to go back on Saturday to help the Brits with their water problems so my house will be empty.”

Another empty army house. Exactly what I am trying to avoid.

“I know, Mom, thanks. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They hung up and Julia’s spirits bobbed upward. She smiled at her son, who was nearly asleep where he lay against her legs.

“Everything is going to be okay,” she told him and hoped with every last thing in her body that it was true.

THE DREAM CAME as it had for the past five months. She stood at the front door of the small apartment in Germany she and Mitch shared briefly before he went to Iraq. She was dressed in her favorite white skirt and a sweater that Mitch said made her eyes look like the sky. She knew she was opening the door to something special. Excitement danced over her skin and she was happy, the way she’d been for the first few months of her marriage. But when she opened the door there was only fire and smoke and the sound of someone screaming.

She ran into the smoke, sure that someone needed her. Just her, no one else could help. The smoke shifted and on the floor of the hallway sprawled Mitch, bloody and hurt.

“Hey, baby,” he said with a smile she recognized from the days when he was trying to get her in bed.

She dropped to her knees beside him, looking for the source of all that blood, but she couldn’t find it.

“Is this a trick?” she asked, angry.

“No trick,” a voice said behind her and she turned and Jesse, Mitch’s best friend, stood there with a hole in his chest that she could see through. His dark eyes seemed to burn and smolder, the way they had the day she met him. “I can’t stay here,” Jesse said and turned away into the fog. Julia wanted to tell him to wait, to take care of that wound, to stay. But she didn’t.

She remained silent in the middle of a war with her husband.