Sea Glass Winter (26 page)

52

Th
e first twinge came as Kara was getting ready to go to lunch. Assuring herself that she couldn’t possibly be in labor, she decided to ignore it. This was her last day at work until after Trey’s brother or sister was born, and since Maude Dutton, her day dispatcher/receptionist/secretary, had already thrown her a baby-leave party yesterday, she was determined to take time today for a girls’ lunch with friends.

It wasn’t as if there was that much crime this time of year. Once the tourists left, Shelter Bay pretty much went into hibernation until spring.

“It’s raining,” Maude pointed out.

“It’s winter on the Oregon coast,” Kara said. “It’s always raining.”

“Yeah, but they say this storm’s gonna be a duck strangler.” When Maude shook her head, Kara waited for the seventysomething’s Marge Simpson beehive, which had been dyed a flaming Lucille Ball red, to tip over. It never had. But that hadn’t stopped Kara from watching. And waiting.

“The cruiser does great in the rain,” Kara pointed out. Weighing in at two tons, her black-and-white Crown Vic was like a tank. “And I don’t melt.”

“You’re pregnant.”

“Why don’t you tell me something I don’t know?”

Kara struggled into her yellow county sheriff’s rain slicker. The way her stomach had ballooned the past month, if she ate dessert, she might have trouble zipping it up again after lunch. It was Sax’s fault, she decided as Maude helped her into the jacket. If he wasn’t such a great cook and if she hadn’t become addicted to hot sauce and spices this pregnancy, she wouldn’t soon be rivaling the town’s whales.

“Your father wasn’t such a smart-mouth,” said the dispatcher Kara had inherited from her sheriff father.

“That’s because he was perfect.” Ask anyone in Shelter Bay and they’d tell you that Ben Blanchard had been the best lawman since Wyatt Earp. Despite having worked as a patrol officer in Oceanside, it had taken Kara a while to win over the citizens she’d sworn to protect and serve.

Maude snorted at that. “That’s what everyone liked to think,” she said. “But your dad, he had his faults. Which didn’t stop him from being a good sheriff. Just the way yours don’t stop you from being good at your job.”

The elderly woman didn’t toss out compliments all that often.

“Thank you.”

Maude, who was as round as a marionberry, shrugged padded shoulders clad in a stoplight red sweater with an ice-skating penguin on the front. When Kara had first returned to town, the dispatcher had seemed to own only elastic-waist jeans and bowling shirts. Apparently Dottie and Doris had convinced her to expand her wardrobe, because ever since St. Patrick’s Day, you could tell what holiday was approaching by Maude’s sweaters.

“Just telling it like I see it,” the dispatcher said. “You may have been a little green when you started, but you’ve definitely grown into your daddy’s boots.”

For some stupid reason, that caused Kara to well up.
Hormones.

Another twinge. Which escalated into a sharp, genuine pain.

“What’s the matter?” The woman might wear trifocals, but she never missed anything.

“Nothing,” Kara lied.

Those still-sharp eyes narrowed. “You sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine.” She pulled down her hat from the hook on the wall. “Really.”

“You went as white as bleached driftwood.”

“It’s nothing. The baby just kicked. I swear, if he’s a boy, he’s going to be a field-goal kicker.”

“Or maybe a Rockette if it’s a girl,” commented Ashley Melson, whom Kara had moved from night duty to assistant day dispatcher. “Kenny and I saw them when they were playing in Portland. They’re amazing kickers.”

“Who undoubtedly all battered their mothers while in the womb,” Kara said. Another twinge made her blink.

“You’re in labor,” Maude predicted. Having five children and a dozen grandchildren, over the last few months she’d been a self-proclaimed expert on pregnancy.

“I’ve been having these for the past few days,” Kara said. “Sax insisted on taking me to the ER last night and they sent me home. The doctor on duty told me it was only false labor.”

“Braxton Hicks contractions.” The tower stayed straight atop her head as she nodded knowingly. “And the operative word there is
home
, which is where you should be.”

“Sitting in front of the fire, knitting booties.”

“Smart-mouth,” Maude repeated. “You know, you don’t always have to be Superwoman.”

“I’m fine,” Kara insisted. “Really.”

Escaping any further argument, she walked out to the cruiser, which was parked in the small lot next to the office, just as her deputy, Marcus Jones, was returning from patrol.

“Storm’s coming,” he said.

“So I hear. You might want to get some barricades ready in case we have flooding.” It was difficult thinking of her small crew of three deputies handling things by themselves.

“Sure thing, Sheriff. I was thinking maybe you might want to think about having Sax come drive you home. Or I could. Given that you’re pregnant.”

Apparently being the father of a young son himself made Marcus yet another expert on birthing babies.

“I appreciate your concern, Marcus. But pregnancy didn’t take away my ability to drive.” When he looked inclined to argue, she said, “And better get out the flares. Even if there’s not flooding, if the rain gets too hard, or trees start coming down, we could have some fender benders.”

She climbed into the cruiser and headed out of the lot before he could offer yet more unneeded male advice.

53

Cla
ire had been pleased when Matt had asked to go on the ski club’s annual trip two days after Christmas, because it was one more sign he was beginning to fit in. But it also was the first Christmas vacation they’d spend apart since he was born.

“It’s only four days,” she told the two dogs as she packed a small bag to take to Dillon’s rental house on the bay. The past two nights he’d stayed at her cottage, but when he’d told her he had a surprise planned, she’d agreed to come into town.

She’d also decided to leave Jessie and Toby with Charity, just for this last night alone with Dillon.

“You like Peanut and Shadow,” she reminded the dogs, who’d had a play date with Charity and Gabe’s two dogs just last week when she’d taken Matt over to Johnny’s. “And Angel and Johnny will play with you, too. It’ll be like summer camp.” She looked out the window, where the wind, blowing in from the sea, was causing the gigantic trees towering over the cottage to sway.

“Okay,” she amended, “maybe winter camp.”

* * *

Dillon’s furnishings were somewhere between minimalist and college dorm. “I never bought much stuff,” he explained as he took her coat and hung it on a rack by the front door, “because I was always getting transferred. So it was easier just to get new stuff wherever I’d land when I wasn’t deployed. And since I’ve gotten here, I’ve been too busy to go shopping. Well, except for the TV.”

Which, like the tree he’d shown up with, was enormous.

“Apparently it’s true,” she murmured. “With some guys, size does matter.”

“Ha-ha. I prefer to think of it as an occupational necessity. When I’m stealing plays from the NBA teams, it helps to be able to see them.”

The flat-screen took up half the wall. “I imagine you could see them from outer space.”

He laughed, which he did easily and often, she’d learned during their time together. While the Oregon coast might be living up to its reputation for winter rain, Dillon had brought sunshine not just into her life, but into her son’s as well.

“I did go shopping this morning, though. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll show you what I picked up?”

He left the room, went into the kitchen, and returned with an oversized wicker basket.

“What’s that?”

“I thought we’d have a beach picnic.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, Dillon, there’s a storm blowing in. It’s getting close to freezing and it’s so foggy I could hardly see to drive here.”

“I should’ve picked you up.”

He’d offered. Even pressed, just a bit. But needing to hold on to her independence, she’d turned him down.

“Well, you’re here now,” he said. “And you’re right—it could get rough out there, which is why we’re having the picnic in front of the fireplace.”

Kneeling on the floor, he lifted the lid, allowing mouthwatering aromas to fill the room as he took out a red-and-white-checked quilt. “Chef Maddy told that me that setting the proper mood is important for the ultimate culinary experience,” he explained as he spread it out on the pine-plank floor in front of the stone fireplace, where a fire was already crackling merrily. Matching napkins and a pair of stemless wineglasses followed.

“She came up with the quilt and dishes, but I thought of these myself,” he said as he pulled out some clay pots filled with cheery yellow and purple flowers that brightened the darkening day.

“These are northern dune tansy,” he said, pointing at the yellow ones. “And the purple ones are beach peas. Sofia De Luca has them both growing in her greenhouse for people who want to plant native wildflower gardens. She says the peas are actually edible.”

“They’re lovely. And perfect for a beach picnic.”

“Gotta have atmosphere,” he said, flashing her that grin she suspected would still thrill her when she was an old woman.

Not that they’d necessarily still be together by then. People fell out of love all the time. It was, after all, far more normal than the type of relationship she’d witnessed among the Douchetts at Thanksgiving.

Even as she tried to remain pragmatic about their affair, as Dillon proceeded to set the flower pots around the quilt, immeasurably moved by the gesture, and the trouble he’d gone to, just for her, Claire slid yet deeper into love.

54

The
pains had vanished.

Kara didn’t have a single twinge all the way to Lavender Hill Farm’s restaurant. They were, as she’d tried to convince Sax last night, and told Maude, merely false labor. Hadn’t she had them nearly her entire third trimester when she’d been pregnant with Trey? She’d simply made a mistake eating that spicy hot Cajun omelet for breakfast.

“This isn’t your first rodeo,” she said as she pulled up in front of the white front porch. “You’ve done this before.” And there’d been a time, not too long ago, before she’d returned to Shelter Bay and fallen in love with Sax, that she’d truly believed Trey was destined to be an only child.

“So, are you getting excited?” Maddy asked twenty minutes later, as she, Charity, and Sedona sat with Kara at a table looking toward where the sea was draped in a steely gray fog. Rain streamed down the tall windows.

“Of course. But honestly, I’m more impatient,” Kara replied as she took a bite of her salad.

The roasted organic chicken and fingerling potatoes had been tossed with a creamy organic Dijon mustard and sage dressing and served on a bed of baby spinach and apples. Although Sofia De Luca’s gardens were winter dormant, Maddy’s grandmother continued to grow her herbs and vegetables in her greenhouse, and the chicken, Kara knew, had come from Blue Heron Farm.

“I’m not only looking like an elephant these days; I’m starting to feel like one. I’m afraid Trey will be in college before I have this baby.”

“You’re still two weeks away from your due date,” Sedona pointed out.

“I know.” Kara stabbed a piece of perfectly seasoned potato. “It’d be hard to forget, since I have this big red
X
on the magnetic calendar on the front of the refrigerator.”

“Phoebe’s been feeling the same way,” Maddy said. “She didn’t want Gram and me to send her home last week, but it was making us nervous watching her in the kitchen with all those boiling pots and pans and knives. Not that she hasn’t turned into a really good sous chef, but we managed to convince her that it couldn’t be good for her baby for her to be on her feet for so many hours a day.”

“I wouldn’t think so,” Charity said. “And how clever to put the mommy guilt on her so she’d listen to reason. I understand how independence would be important to her, after what she’s been through, but it can be overdone.”

She turned back to Kara. “And getting back on topic, you don’t look like at all like an elephant. In fact, you look lovely.”

“That’s exactly what best friends are supposed to say.”

As the only woman at the table who’d had a child, Kara wasn’t going to fault them for not understanding how it seemed as if it’d been a lifetime since she’d shown Sax that pink plus sign on the home pregnancy kit.

Damn. Another pain, stronger than any she’d experienced thus far, wrenched her back and sent her abdomen into spasms.

“Yikes,” Maddy said. “Did that feel anything like it looked?”

“I think maybe worse.” Kara breathed easier as the pain abated. “But it’s only false labor.”

Charity braced her elbows on the table, put her chin on her linked hands, and gave Kara a long, judicious look across the glossy wooden tabletop. “Just because the pains were diagnosed as Braxton Hicks yesterday doesn’t mean you’re not in labor today.”

“It’s still early,” Kara said, belying her earlier complaint about her baby seemingly taking forever to be born.

“It’s your second child. It wouldn’t be surprising for it to be early. Especially if he or she takes after its mother.”

“What does that mean?” Another pain hit. “And I don’t want to belittle your career, which you’re amazing at, and I know you’re a real doctor. But your patients just happen to have four legs.”

“I suspect she was talking about the fact that you can be a bit impatient at times,” Sedona suggested carefully.

“And stubborn,” Charity said.

“I prefer to think of it as tenacious.”

This time the pain started slowly, like a gathering wave, then increased in intensity as it moved across her abdomen until it reached a crest. Then blessedly subsided.

“Okay.
That’s
not false labor,” Charity said.

“I think you’re right.” Kara had no sooner admitted that when she felt a trickling of moisture between her legs, then a gush. Mortified, she looked down at the spreading puddle of amniotic fluid flowing across the polished wood floor.

Sedona stood up. “Let’s go.”

“I’m so sorry,” Kara told Maddy, who waved away her apology.

“Don’t be silly. Let’s get you into the ladies’ room and get you a pad, because it looks as if we’ll be having our dessert at the hospital.”