Sweet Expectations (5 page)

“Do you have any idea of how far along you might be?”

“Sixteen weeks, one day.”

She glanced back at me, her gaze direct. “You're sure?”

I folded my arms over my chest grateful to give voice to the thoughts dogging me. “March 21 at about 1
A.M
.”

The nurse frowned. “Did you take a home pregnancy test?”

I wished she'd stop saying the P-word. “I did. The pink plus didn't show up right away. Took a couple of hours. I have it in my purse in a ziplock if you'd like to see it.” I'd considered throwing it away but had visions of Rachel finding it. My plan was to save it, then deposit it in a trash can far, far away from the bakery.

“That's not necessary.”

I leaned forward. “These home tests, they are kind of bogus, right? They aren't really good.”

“They're pretty accurate.”

“But what do you mean by accurate? I mean, I would think a real positive would show up right away and not take its sweet time.”

She faced me with a needle and syringe. “Let's get some blood.”

I rolled up my sleeve and looked away. After a small pinch, seconds passed and she stuck a Band-Aid on my arm. “Test results will be in this time tomorrow.”

“You can't tell me now? The home test promises fast results, so it seems like you could match or best that time. You are a medical facility.”

She laid a hand on my shoulder. “You want accurate or fast?”

“Both.”

Her gaze softened. “Sorry, hon, but either way you'll have your answer this time tomorrow.”

“You do understand right now time has stopped for me and in my world twenty-four hours is equal to an entire decade?”

She patted me on the shoulder. “Keep busy. Don't think about it.”

“Really?”

She typed into a computer screen and printed out a receipt for me. “You feeling sick in the mornings?”

“More like morning, noon, and night. Though I seem to get about an hour's break a half hour before bedtime.”

“Ginger ale and crackers. Have 'em both on your nightstand and have both before your feet hit the ground in the morning.”

“Right. Thanks.”

As she turned to leave, my phone buzzed. I fished it out of my purse and glanced at it. The text was from Gordon.
HEY, BABE. EVERYTHING ALL RIGHT? DIDN'T SEE A TEXT BACK FROM YOU LAST NIGHT. SEE YOU TOMORROW. G.

I stared at the text for long, tense seconds. I should tell him it was all good. But it wasn't all good. I slid the phone back into my purse and left the doctor's office wishing like hell the next twenty-four hours would pass fast.

* * *

Rachel, Jean Paul, and I spent the day clearing out the remainder of the wall. The next step was for Jean Paul to install the electrical work, and once done we could call the city inspector, get the all-clear, and then put it all back together.

By five I stopped working to take a hot shower. A grateful sigh escaped my lips as I stood under the hot spray while it washed away the sweat and grime clinging to my body. If only problems could wash away as easily as dirt, I'd be set.

As I toweled off, I glanced toward the desk in my room and caught sight of the recipe box. I'd all but forgotten about it. Crossing the room, I carefully thumbed through the cards. I glanced at the neatly written cards and for a moment was tempted to sit and look at each one. But I had barely ten minutes to dress before Rachel and I met Margaret.

Rachel and I arrived at O'Malley's after six.

I wanted a stiff drink but knew I'd be settling for soda. My phone buzzed again and I glanced at it. Gordon. Another text.
DAISY. CALL
. Shorter and more terse. He was officially annoyed. I could have brushed off yesterday with the excuse of the demo, but today I had officially crossed over into rude.

“Why don't you call him?” Rachel and I walked along Union Street. The gentle breeze wafting off the Potomac warmed my skin. Smiling tourists filled the paths.

“I'll catch up with him later.”

“Is he having fun on his big bike ride?”

“Gordon loves his bikes. He should have taken up this career after college.”

“Why didn't he?”

“Too smart. His parents did not want to see an Ivy League education go to waste. And he is very good with numbers.” I'd not known him back in college. In fact, I'd not known his story until weeks ago when he'd told me. We'd both dropped the walls. And now I was putting one back up.

“You don't talk much about the time you two were engaged.”

“Both of us weren't ready to be a couple. The sex was great. So great. And for a time, it was enough. But I feared we were building a life on shaky ground.”

She nibbled her bottom lip, a question burning in her gaze. She dropped her voice to a near whisper. “So is the sex as good as it used to be?”

My mature assessment of my relationship buzzed right over her head. She'd been blinded by the mention of sex. “Rachel. I'm shocked. Since when did you ask questions like that?”

She shrugged, still chewing on her lip. “I might as well live vicariously through you. One of the McCrae sisters has to be getting it.”

Laughter rumbled in my chest. “You never talk about sex.”

“Yeah, well, I've changed. Death, kids, and a bakery will do that.” She shoved her hands in her pockets. “Motherhood changes you. We moms still like sex but other things get in the way. My heart is now controlled by two little girls in bathing suits at the beach with parents who haven't had young kids underfoot in thirty years.”

I reached for the brass door of O'Malley's. “You worried about Mom and Dad taking care of the girls?”

Music and laughter washed out from the bar. “I worry about everything. It's my specialty.”

“Have you called Mom?”

“Twice. She forgot to turn her phone on again.”

“You know Mom loves her landlines. She'll call once they're settled.”

“I know.”

Deeper inside the bar, music mingled with the buzz of conversation and the smell of beer on tap. For a Sunday night the place hummed with activity. The bar served a light dinner, and weeks ago I'd called on the owner to see if they'd like to order rolls for their dinner service. I'd gotten a big maybe. Would be real nice to have more restaurant orders to supplement the grocery store order.

I scanned the crowd for Margaret and spotted her in a corner booth. She saw me, raised her hands, and we wove our way toward her.

Rachel slid into the booth next to Margaret, and I sat on the other side. As we settled, a waitress appeared with three beers and set them on our table.

“I went ahead and ordered,” Margaret said. “Figured you could use a cold one after your day.”

A grateful Rachel picked up her cold glass and took a long, liberal sip. She closed her eyes as she drank.

Margaret looked at me, amusement dancing in her gaze. “Little sis, you looking to tie one on.”

Rachel nodded. “Yes. It's been years since I had a full beer without worrying about the girls. I figure I've a day or two maximum before the girls break Mom and Dad, and they all come rushing home. I need to make hay while the sun shines.”

Margaret chuckled as she raised her glass. “Well, drinks are on me, babe, so as long as you can slam 'em down I'll buy 'em.”

I raised my glass. “A toast to Margaret. Super history sleuth who loves to dig in the dirt and play with old bones.”

Margaret nodded. “Amen.”

Rachel swiped the back of her hand over her mouth as if she were a sailor fresh in port. “I hope you have lots of fun digging in the dirt.”

As I pretended to sip, Margaret took a long drink. “I am going to make a huge discovery. I can feel it in my bones. I am going to be an archeological rock star.”

Grinning, I couldn't help but enjoy her enthusiasm. “And we will say we knew you when.”

Rachel finished her beer.

As I swapped out my beer for her empty glass, the bandage from this morning's blood sample rubbed against my skin under my shirt. “Still a bit of that bug. Take mine, and I'll get a soda.”

“Must be serious,” Margaret said. “You never get sick.”

I caught the waitress's attention and ordered a soda. “Bound to happen with all the customers we deal with. I'll be fine in a day or two.” Eighteen years at the outside.

“So you demoed the wall today?”

“We did. Monday is wiring and new studs.”

Rachel smiled. “To studs.”

Margaret burst out laughing.

“Our little girl is growing up,” I said. “She's been asking about S-E-X.”

“Really?”

Rachel shrugged as she finished another half beer. “It's been a long, long dry spell. I mean you try being married to a guy who's stressing about a business while you are chasing twin girls. Not much been going on in Rachel's love life for a very, very long time.”

“There's time for love,” I said.

“Yeah, like when? I will be thirty-five in two months. I've slept with exactly one guy in my life.” She held up her index finger as if we needed visual aids. “I want to know what it feels like to have a man touch me again before I die.”

Margaret sat back in her booth. “Okay, I take back what I said about buying you all the beer you want. I figured I was in for one, maybe two beers, but I can see you could drink me out of my life savings tonight.”

The waitress delivered my soda and I took a long sip. My stomach lurched but didn't buck. I'd arrived at the sweet spot in the evening when I wasn't exhausted or sick. Most nights I turned in by nine but tonight, with no store to open tomorrow, I could actually enjoy an adult bedtime.

“Did you two go over the recipe box?” Margaret asked.

“Honestly, demolishing the wall didn't give us any time.”

“I wish I had a little time to go through it,” Margaret said. “Like a mini–time capsule.”

I glanced around the bar, hoping to spot the waitress who could bring me bread to soothe my stomach. As I did, I spotted Simon Davenport by the bar. Dressed in jeans, a V-neck sweater, and expensive loafers, he appeared to be alone.

“Rachel,” I said. “Don't look now but Simon is at the bar.”

“Who?”

“Simon Davenport. Remember, he's the dude who hates sweets but who has placed five big orders in the last couple of months. The dude who must have a little crush on you.”

Rachel moistened her lips. Beer had left her cheeks flushed. “Do you really think he likes me?”

Margaret glanced in his direction, studying him as if he were an artifact found at a dig. “Totally.”

Alone we were articulate woman in our thirties. Together we reverted to middle school and might as well have been standing by the hall lockers with our arms full of textbooks as we ogled the football quarterback.

“You should go over and talk to him,” Margaret said.

“Yeah,” I prodded. “I mean you do want another beer, and it would be so much easier to get it from the bar.”

Rachel nodded. “I could get a beer from the bar.”

Margaret handed her a ten-dollar bill. “Go get a beer and say hi to the nice man.”

Rachel ran her fingers through her blond hair. “Do you really think he likes me?”

“Yes.”

A frown furrowed her brow. “How can you tell?”

“Rachel, go,” I said. “Worst-case scenario you get a beer, say hi, and come back here.”

She nibbled her lip. “That's not such a bad scenario.”

“No, it is not.”

Rachel rose, swayed a little, and walked stiffly toward the bar.

“She's not had a date since high school,” Margaret said.

“I know. But she might as well practice, or she'll spend the rest of her life in the bakery.”

Rachel stood at the bar, her ten-dollar bill clutched in her hand. Simon leaned a fraction closer as he spoke to her. To Rachel's credit she looked up at him with what looked like genuine surprise.

“Our little girl is a player,” I said.

“I'm so proud.” Margaret leaned forward, staring with open interest as Simon, head slightly tilted, spoke to Rachel. She tucked her hair behind her ear, rested her hand on her hip, and then slid it in her pocket as if she didn't know what to do with it. She was a fluttering butterfly whereas he stood tall and strong like a hundred-year-old oak. Rachel needed a guy who could be fun and make her laugh. Simon's fun-meter didn't look like it registered high. But he was nice, and this wasn't a marriage or a date. It was a little practice flirtation.

Rachel took her beer from the bartender and gave him the ten. He put five back on the bar as change but she didn't seem to notice.

“She's not brothering to pick up the change.” Margaret slid to the edge of the seat as if to rise. “I should get five bucks back.”

“Don't you dare.”

“Five bucks is a lot of money.” But Margaret halted, clutching the edge of the booth as if ready to sprint to get her five.

Rachel tucked her hair behind her ear and laughed. He leaned a little closer to her. It looked good. Real good.

And then a tall brunette approached Simon and slid her arm in his. He didn't pull away. Didn't blink. The woman was tall, slim, and wore a short silk dress skimming tanned, very well-toned thighs. Tall metallic high heels matched gold bracelets and hoop earrings.

Rachel's smile froze on her face. She raised her beer to her lips but didn't take a sip.

“Shit. A She Devil has staked her claim,” I said.

Simon at least had the decency to stand a little straighter. He looked like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Margaret's eyes narrowed. “We can't leave her hanging. Cover me. I'm going in.”

“What do you mean?”

She pushed to her feet and crossed toward Rachel, Simon, and the She Devil.

“Well, hey,” Margaret said as she moved to the bar beside Rachel and picked up her five. “Never seen you here before.”