The Friends We Keep (Mischief Bay) (20 page)

“Have you heard from Lisa or Thomas?” he asked.

She almost asked “who?” before remembering they were Boyd’s hostile parents. “No. I’ll call Lisa tomorrow. I suspect silence isn’t good, but I have no proof at all. For all I know, they’re decorating a room for their grandchild-to-be.”

“Makayla hasn’t said anything about Boyd?” he asked.

“Not to me.”

Gabby leaned back against the cushion of the lawn chair. The weekend had been tense, at least from her point of view. She and Andrew were polite, but not especially friendly. They hadn’t made love in days—unusual for them.

“I don’t trust Boyd,” he said. “Why isn’t he hanging out here? If he cares about Makayla as much as he claims, why don’t we see him?”

“I know. I want to assume all is well. That they’re planning their lives together in the bliss that is young love, but I have my doubts.”

“You sound bitter.”

“No, I sound tired.” She sighed. “I don’t want to fight with you, Andrew, but you’re making this hard.”

“We’re a team,” he reminded her.

“I’m less sure of that than I used to be. Lately it feels like it’s mostly me doing everything around here while you work.” She held up her hand when he started to speak. “I’m not saying you’re not supportive. You are always thinking of ways to be a good dad and a good husband. You work long hours to take care of us. I really appreciate that. But when it comes to the day-to-day life, it’s all me. You’re asking too much.”

His dark gaze was steady. “What if there isn’t another choice? Someone has to raise Makayla’s child.”

“It should be her, or she should give it up for adoption.”

His expression hardened. “That’s not an option. We’ve been over this. She isn’t ready to be a mother.”

“Then she shouldn’t be having a baby.”

“But she is. We have to accept what is happening. There will be another member of our family to deal with, Gabby. The baby is as much our responsibility as it is Makayla’s.”

She shook her head. “I don’t accept that. We had no part in her decision to have sex. This is her doing. I’m not saying we don’t help her. Of course we do. But Andrew, think about what you’re saying. Everyone gets to continue with his or her life, except me. You want me to give up everything.”

She felt tightness in her throat and burning in her eyes. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t do it. And I won’t. I’m not giving up my life to stay home for the next five years and take care of your daughter’s baby.”

In the silence that followed, she felt her heartbeat pounding in her chest. Boomer must have sensed the tension because he raised his head to look at Gabby. Andrew’s mouth twisted.

“I see.”

Then she knew. What she’d said—what she’d done. She’d drawn a line in the sand. She’d defined Makayla as
his
. Not theirs, not almost hers, but his. With that handful of words, she’d given up the moral high ground.

Andrew had never treated the twins any differently than he treated Makayla. He’d never seemed anything but delighted about adding to his family. While she’d had to deal with a stepdaughter and, on occasion, his ex-wife, she’d never felt second-best.

“I see,” he said again, his tone curt.

She wanted to say that he had to know what she meant, but there was no point. She was instantly furious with herself, but also at him for what was going to happen. Because Andrew would be a jerk about this. She just knew it.

He cleared his throat, then glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry to have to excuse myself, but I need to call Candace and find out if I’m picking up my daughter or if she’s bringing her here.”

Gabby nodded. She told herself that the slight emphasis on the word
my
was her imagination, even though she knew it wasn’t.

He went inside. Jasmine abandoned her bird-watching to jump onto the cushion beside Gabby. She stroked the cat, letting the cool, smooth fur soothe her. It was like that scene from the old
Terminator
movie. A storm was coming.

Kenzie and Kennedy jumped off the swings and ran over. They flopped on the grass and spread out their arms. Boomer moved close to his favorite girls and licked them both.

“Mommy, when is Makayla coming home?” Kennedy asked.

“Soon,” Andrew said from the doorway. “I’m going to get her now.”

“Can I come?” Kennedy asked.

“Me, too. I want to go with you.”

Andrew looked at Gabby. “If it’s not too much trouble,” he said. “I’ll take the SUV.”

She nodded without speaking. It might be sunny and eighty in the rest of Mischief Bay, but at the Schaefer household, the temperature had just dropped very close to freezing.

Chapter Nineteen

Gabby stayed downstairs long after Andrew said he was going to bed. Things hadn’t warmed up during dinner, although he’d been careful to be friendly in front of the kids. Now Gabby finished her grocery list for the following morning. Not spending the evening with her husband had given her some extra time to get things done. Just as soon as she was sure he was asleep, she would head upstairs.

She put the grocery list by her purse, along with several fabric shopping bags. She only had three more weeks before school started—and her new job. She needed to get things organized. There was clothes shopping to do and—

She heard a sound and turned. Makayla stood at the foot of the stairs. She was in her pj’s, with her hair pulled back in a braid. She looked painfully young and small.

“Hey,” Gabby said. “You okay?”

The teen shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Gabby pointed to the stools by the island. “Want some hot chocolate?”

“Thanks.”

While Gabby collected milk and cocoa, Makayla took a seat.

“How was your weekend with your mom?” Gabby asked. Makayla had been home for dinner, but hadn’t spoken much.

One thin shoulder rose. “She’s mad at me.”

“About the baby?”

Nod.

“She’ll get used to the idea. It will take time.” Not that Candace was the most affectionate mother ever, but Gabby had to believe she loved her child.

“She’s mad at you, too,” Makayla admitted in a small voice.

Gabby laughed. “Of course she is. I’m sure she said it was all my fault. That if I’d done a better job with you, none of this would have happened.”

Blue eyes widened. “How’d you know?”

“A lucky guess.”

Candace had never been a fan. Anything that went wrong in Makayla’s life was Gabby’s fault. A circumstance she found interesting. If Candace was so damned concerned about her kid, why was she seeing her less and less?

“She wants me to give up the baby for adoption.”

Gabby continued to stir the milk in the pot. “Uh-huh,” she murmured, doing her best not to dance with joy. Was it possible that after eight years, she and the bitch queen were finally going to agree on something?

“I told her I wouldn’t. Boyd and I want to raise our baby together. We’re in love.”

Gabby held in a sigh. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say that didn’t go well.”

“No. It didn’t. She yelled and said I was stupid and irresponsible. She said—”

The silence stretched on. Gabby turned and saw Makayla wiping away tears.

Gabby turned off the stove and sat down next to the teen. While the two of them were civil to each other, they weren’t exactly best friends. So she wasn’t sure what to say or do. She put her hand on Makayla’s shoulder.

Makayla raised her head as tears filled her eyes. “She said Boyd was going to dump me. That I was fooling myself if I thought he’d last even a month after the baby was born. That we weren’t in love at all. He’d just been out for what he could get.”

True or not, there was no need to be harsh, Gabby thought, as she pulled Makayla close. The teen relaxed against her and cried.

“Boyd’s still with you,” Gabby pointed out. “He’s not going anywhere, is he?”

“No. But his mom hates me.”

“I suspect Lisa hates most people. You don’t get to use her opinion of you to feel special, I’m sorry to say.”

Makayla gave a choked laugh-sob, then sniffed and raised her head. “Do you think Boyd used me?”

“No.” Gabby could speak the truth there. “Look how he’s stayed by you. He stood up to his mom. That can’t have been easy.”

“You’re right. He’s a good guy.”

Gabby didn’t think he was going to stay “good” for long, but there was no point in going there. If they were wrong, then they would have to deal with Boyd and the baby. If they were right...well, time enough for that later.

The real takeaway was that Makayla wasn’t interested in adoption. Which left Gabby firmly in the screwed column. She didn’t want to have to deal with the baby and Andrew couldn’t imagine anything else.

“Thanks,” the teen told her. “That makes me feel better. I’ve been worried.”

“I wouldn’t be unless something happens. Sometimes, in a relationship, it’s better to let the other person mess up, before you get mad at them. Getting mad in advance isn’t really helpful.”

Makayla smiled. “You always give the best advice, Gabby. Thank you.” The smile faded. “I’m sorry about the baby. I didn’t want this.”

“I know.”

The mature response, when what she really wanted to say was
You? You’re not the one getting stuck, kid. Once you pop it out, your life will return to normal.

Instead she patted Makayla’s hand. “Want to try sleeping now? You have a big day of camp in the morning.”

“Yeah. I feel a lot better.” The teen gave her a quick hug, then headed upstairs.

Gabby poured the milk down the drain and washed the pot before slowly going to the master bedroom. Andrew was already asleep, as was Boomer. The combination of light snoring and steady breathing made her wish she and Andrew weren’t fighting. That they could be the team he always talked about. Only what he asked for wasn’t possible.

Not a restful topic, she told herself as she got into bed. She had to let it go or she wouldn’t sleep at all. And the morning was going to come really early.

Which it did, she thought six hours later when the alarm went off. She was pretty sure she’d gotten maybe three hours of sleep. The day was going to be tough.

She got out of bed without saying anything to Andrew and headed for the bathroom. After pulling on her robe, she walked to the door so she could go to the kitchen and feed the animals. Andrew stopped her.

For a second, she hoped he was going to say something kind. Something that offered an olive branch, or at least a hint they were on the same side. Instead, he asked, “Do you mind picking up Makayla from camp today? I have a meeting and can’t get there in time.”

The unfairness of the question cut through her. He got to demand she give up her life and that was fine, but she referred to Makayla as his daughter once and he now he was going to act like this?

“Don’t be a jerk,” she snapped. “It’s not necessary.”

His brows rose, as if he were confused.

“Oh, please. I don’t have time for this,” she told him. “It’s been eight years, Andrew. When have I not picked up Makayla? When have I not fed her, clothed her, taken her to the doctor, to sporting events, to school and to friends, bought her birthday and Christmas presents? When have I not taken care of her? I’ve always been there for her and you know it.”

She tightened the belt of her robe. “All I’ve asked in return is that she have chores. That she be required to contribute to the household, but you said no, she does nothing around here. I’m the one who said no boys in her bedroom and you explained to me that I was wrong. You knew your little girl
so
much better. So while you get to claim the biological connection, while you get to make all the rules because she’s
your
daughter, I’m supposed to just go along with things. And because I
once
, and you know it was once, said your daughter, as in not mine, I’m the bad guy?”

She sucked in a breath. “No. I don’t accept that. You’re wrong on this. Wrong in so many ways, I can’t count them. I want a life. That’s not wrong or mean or evil. It’s real. I want a job. I want to be able to make choices about my life. I don’t want to stay home and raise her baby. I don’t. I notice you’re not expecting your ex-wife to participate in this at all. Just me. I have no idea how this is going to play out, but you know what? I’m sick of it. You’re not going to dictate this one. If we are, as you claim, a team, then we get an equal vote and I vote no. I won’t do it and I won’t let you make me the bad guy.”

With that, she walked out, Boomer and Jasmine close on her heels.

She made it to the kitchen before the shaking started. Until that very second, she’d never walked out in the middle of an argument. She’d never once not let him have the last word. She was sure she’d violated thirty-eight ways to fight fairly and she was confident a professional marriage counselor would tell her she was going about it all wrong, but she didn’t care. Not one bit.

* * *

Hayley wandered through the house. The windows were all open, as was the back door. It was close to six in the evening and the breeze would pick up any second. Cool air would blow in from across the ocean, bringing the temperature inside down to a pleasant seventy-five degrees.

The days were getting longer—not in terms of daylight. That was actually getting less. No, what she noticed was how slowly time passed.

Physically she was feeling better. There was no escaping the body’s ability to heal. As much as she wanted her outsides to reflect what was in the heart—things didn’t work that way. She was trapped with cells that regenerated and a system that kept her moving forward. Which meant she had more energy, was more restless and just sitting and staring was no longer enough. She had to be doing something.

She glanced at her phone to see if Nicole or Gabby had texted recently. Her friends were in touch with her several times a day. But there was no new message. Because they had lives, she told herself. Something she was going to have to find for herself, and soon.

So far that wasn’t happening. Last weekend Rob had primed their bedroom. Over the past few days she’d painted the trim. Only about twenty or thirty minutes at a time. She rested when she got tired. But as much as she hated to admit it, her energy was coming back and doing something productive felt good.

She would be returning to work next week. She’d wanted to go back sooner, but Steven had insisted she take extra time. Despite the emptiness inside her every second of every day, she could appreciate that he’d been traumatized by what had happened to her. She’d nearly bled out in front of him. Worse, the bleeding had been from her vagina, so it wasn’t as if he’d been comfortable applying pressure.

The thought of her tall, strong boss wringing his hands as he waited for paramedics was almost funny, she thought with a smile. Then the smile faded because the results had left her half a woman.

Better to be dead.

She waited for that truth to settle in her. It had, at first. When she’d opened her eyes in the hospital, she’d felt that down to her bones. Now she was less sure. Because as much as she wanted to stay where she was—lost in her grief—her mind was moving on, too. Betrayal came in so many forms.

She heard Rob’s keys in the front door and walked out to meet him. He smiled as he stepped into the house.

“Hi,” he said as he loosened his tie. “How are you feeling?”

He always asked the same question, every night. The worry had faded over the past week or so, but he still asked. She wondered how long he would feel compelled to voice the question and if he would ever be able to completely relax about her body. Because while he hadn’t seen her lying on the floor bleeding, he’d been the one who’d been told she might not make it. That the first night was going to let them know how it was all going to end.

“I’m good,” she said. “I finished the trim.”

His smile faded. “Hayley, I said I’d do that this weekend.”

“I know, but I have to do something. I can’t watch daytime TV and I’m already reading nearly a book a day. Besides, Dr. Pearce said for me to start moving around.”

“I don’t think she meant you should be painting.”

“I’m careful.”

He followed her into the kitchen. She’d been marinating chicken all day. Now she pulled it out of the refrigerator, along with the salad she’d made and a bottle of white wine. Rob opened the wine while she got glasses.

In the past few nights, they’d started having a glass of wine before dinner. She wasn’t on any meds—she’d gone off all her hormones a long time ago. As for her postsurgery pain meds—she was done with those, as well. Over-the-counter ibuprofen handled any pain she still had.

They carried their glasses outside and to their small patio. The sun was still above the horizon, but trees and the neighbor’s two-story house provided shade.

She sat on the old, stained plastic chair she’d bought at the Goodwill. The yard wasn’t huge, but it could be pretty. Now that they weren’t having a baby, they had savings. They could do everything Rob had suggested to fix up the house.

As she thought the words, she waited for the pain to slash through her, to cut her into tiny pieces and leave the chunks to blow away in the wind. Only that didn’t happen. There was pain—plenty of it. Loss. Anger, even. She was moving too quickly through the stages of mourning. Sadly, she’d never had the chance to linger in denial. Having her uterus ripped out of her body had a way of doing that to a person. As for having a child, she was beginning to think she’d been on a fool’s errand. Maybe that had never been her destiny.

She turned to her husband. Rob was such a handsome guy, she thought, smiling when he pushed up his glasses with that automatic gesture she’d always liked. He’d taken a week off work to stay home with her and had only been back at the company a few days. He called every couple of hours, made sure she had plenty of food in the refrigerator. He took care of her.

Now he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. She studied his profile, the strength in his jaw.

They still weren’t sleeping in the same room, let alone the same bed. Most nights she tossed and turned—her restless sleep broken by dreams of children she would never know. But sometimes she longed for the comfort of his warmth next to her. His arm around her, as he pulled her close.

She missed him, she thought sadly. Missed what they had been to each other. The road back seemed rocky and hard to navigate. She was angry that he’d left her. He was angry that she’d been willing to sacrifice her life and their marriage for a baby. An impasse—one she wasn’t sure they could breach.

“How was your day?” she asked.

“Good. Busy.” He picked up his wine, then glanced at her. “The usual.”

There was just enough hesitation for her to know something was wrong, but that he didn’t want to mention it, didn’t want to stress her. He was careful these days. Careful to ask about her health, to lightly touch her forehead to see if she had a fever. Cautious about holding her, in case he might hurt her still healing body.