Sweet Expectations (13 page)

For all the years of bitching about this place, I deserved the jab. “Funny.”

She sobered. “Finish your thought.”

“No.” Emotions, spoken almost without thinking, grew shy and silent.

“You are such a girl. Man up and say what you like about this place.”

I lifted my chin, feeling a little vulnerable. “At the bakery I can see tangible results at the end of the day. So many cookies baked, loaves sold, cakes iced. Concrete returns. I like that.”

“You didn't get satisfaction in Washington, D.C.?” Rachel rarely mentioned my job in Washington. I suspected she was afraid to invoke the past for fear it would steal me away.

“My old company offered great financial rewards. And sometimes I felt a glint of satisfaction. Quarterly earnings, a sales presentation won, a corner office. But those victories were few and far between the last years. For the most part the work didn't feel real. One electronic pile of numbers shuffled into another electronic pile.”

“Do you still want to go back?” I knew it had been the question haunting her, and we'd done our best to avoid it.

“Sometimes. Like when Jean Paul doesn't tell me about electrical inspections. Or when the water heater blows. Or when I skip paying myself so we can buy supplies. At least at the last place I had the illusion of stability.”

Rachel shrugged. “Dad told me once the bakery promised him hard work, and if he was lucky the sales and expenses broke even at the end of the year.”

“Yeah. This place doesn't whisper sweet somethings in my ear. But I'm okay with that. There is comfort in knowing this place won't lie to me. I might not like what I hear, but I know it is the truth.” I glanced toward the wall, expecting the cupcake clock, and realized we'd removed it. “What time is it? I must light a fire under Jean Paul and get those plans to the city offices.”

She glanced at her wristwatch. “A quarter to five.”

“Let me see what Jean Paul is doing. If he's started on the electrical work, I'm going to put in our request.”

“But he's not done.”

“I'm going out on a limb here and hoping by the time he's done, Mr. Fraser's schedule will have an opening.” I pushed through the saloon doors and saw no sign of Jean Paul. I found him in the alley, leaning against a brick, reaching for his pack of cigarettes. “Are you working on the electrical box?”

“What do you think?”

“I think time is precious, Jean Paul. And I hope if I submit the request for an inspection now you'll be finished with the work before the city inspector arrives.”

“It is a risk, but what is life without a little risk.”

“Are you telling me you will or won't be ready?”

He shrugged.

Tension crawled up my spine as I glanced around the alley.

“What are you looking for?” he said.

“I'm wondering who is around. I don't want anyone to hear you scream when I strangle you.”

An amused grin quirked the edge of his lips as he lit the cigarette.

Flexing and uncurling my fingers, I tried to look menacing. “We've reached our quota of risk.”

He inhaled deeply and blew the smoke downwind from me. “You live to worry.”

“What?”

“Always finding problems. Do you ever have fun?”

Fun. “Jean Paul, I own this joint. My days of fun have ended.”

He shook his head. “There will always be problems and there will also always be reasons to smile. Each day we choose the focus.”

“Easy for you to say. You only have yourself to worry about. I don't have such luxury.”

“We have the same luxuries. But you choose not to enjoy yours.” He shook his head. “When the baby comes what will you teach him? Will you teach him to walk around sad and worried all the time?”

Baby. I opened my mouth to argue but the words didn't come. “I haven't thought that far ahead.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps you should.”

I didn't want to think of another way I could scar my kid with my personality quirks and hang-ups. For now I could only think about the application. “I'm submitting the application.”

“A good idea.”

Mumbling about insane Frenchmen, I hurried upstairs and grabbed my purse. Outside, the sun warmed my skin and the fresh air smelled sweet. A quick check of my watch told me if I hustled, I'd get to the inspector's office before closing.

I'd taken six steps away from the front door when I heard a young voice say, “Hey, do you work there?”

Summoning a smile before I turned, I found a girl who looked to be about sixteen. She had long brown hair, big blue eyes, and a pale complexion. Not stunning, but cute. Next to her stood a boy who seemed to be three or four years older. Same coloring. And he appeared to have Down's syndrome.

Impatience goaded me toward the city offices, but I kept my voice fairly steady. “What can I do for you?”

“Do you work there?” Her blue eyes turned keen.

Direct, careful. I liked that. “I do. I'm Daisy McCrae. I'm the owner/manager.”

She took the boy's hand in hers and stepped forward. “My name is Meg Adams. I go to TJ High School. This is my brother, Tim. I heard you were looking to hire help.”

I made a sign but hadn't put it up yet. “Who said?”

“My aunt owns the shop across the street.”

“The gift shop?” I glanced toward the merriment shop and an image of a redhead with curly hair popped into my head. She sold souvenirs, cards, and novelty items.

“Yeah. She heard your sister moved away and thought you might need help. I thought we'd ask and see if that was true.”

Initiative. Two points. “Where do you live?”

“In Alexandria near Seminary Road. We live in an apartment with our mom. She's a nurse at the hospital.”

“Do you have any baking experience?”

Tim grinned. “I like to eat cookies.”

Meg squeezed his hand in warning. “I bake at the apartment. I made Tim's birthday cake last week.”

“Box or scratch?”

“Box.”

Honest. Three points. “We are under renovation now but in about seven days we are going to put the place back together and prep for the Saturday grand reopening.” There were so many hurdles standing between the reopening and me, but I decided to be more Jean Paul about the matter and not worry. “I'm not sure exactly what I need and will have to figure it out as we go.”

Her eyes burned with eagerness. “I'm flexible.”

“You have reliable transportation?”

She swept a lock of hair out of eyes. “The bus. We live on the bus line. It takes me about twenty minutes to get here.”

Tim glanced at his sister for guidance. Clearly, she looked out for him. “Meg, tell her I want a job, too.”

Meg met Tim's gaze. “She's hiring one person, Tim.”

Tim's smile faded and he pouted as if he were a toddler. “But what will I do?”

Her voice was gentle and held no signs of irritation. “You are going to stay at home and watch cartoons, remember?”

Tim's face scrunched into a frown. “But I don't want to stay at home. I want to come with you.”

Meg patted the boy on the arm. “I look out for him.”

I folded my arms. “I can see that.”

Meg's gaze was all business when she met mine. “If you hire me I will work this out with Tim.”

Tim looked as if he'd argue but she took her brother's hand and squeezed it gently. He stayed silent but did not look any happier.

They were good, loyal kids. “Meg, what kind of grades do you make?”

“Bs, an A or two, and one C last semester.”

“What did you get the C in?”

“Government.”

“And the A?”

“English. I like to write.”

I'd overthought so much lately, but this decision felt easy and right. “I think I'm going to need someone about twenty hours a week.”

Her eyes brightened. “I can do that.”

Tim stuck his lip out, his frown deepening. Meg squeezed his hand again but the gesture appeared more comforting.

“Tim, are you strong?” I said.

He glanced up at me and grinned. “I am very strong.”

I thought about the time it took to scoop chilled dough and how much my hands ached. I thought about bags of flour I really shouldn't be lifting for the duration of my pregnancy. “Meg, I pay seven dollars an hour. I can pay Tim three dollars an hour.”

Meg cocked her head. “You'd let him come here and work?”

“Is he a good worker?”

A frown furrowed her brow. “If you give him a specific job he will do it. He's good when directions are clear.”

Tim grinned and nodded. “I work hard.”

More weight and more responsibility settled on my shoulders, but I was getting used to the load. “Fair enough. I will need you to bring a copy of your last report card. And I want to meet or at least talk to your mom on the phone.” I fished a card out of my purse and handed it to her. “Have her call me.”

Meg accepted it, holding the card close to her heart. “I can so do that.”

“You are going into your senior year?”

“Yes.”

“You will need to keep your grades up while you work here.” In high school my English grade had dropped from an A plus to a C, and Mom had to cut my hours. Though I'd initially been glad to be out of the bakery, I hated not getting a paycheck. My English grade was up in a matter of weeks.

Meg's hair swished around her shoulders as she nodded. “I will.”

I eyed the boy. “Tim, are you going to listen to your sister and me?”

He jabbed an excited fist in the air. “Yes, and double yes!”

The enthusiasm coaxed a smile. “We'll put the place back together this coming week. I'll call with more details as long as this works for your mom. We'll give it a two-week trial.”

Meg beamed. “You won't be sorry, Mrs. McCrae.”

Mrs. McCrae
made me cringe on multiple levels. “Call me Daisy.”

Her eyes widened and again her head bobbed like a bobblehead doll. “Will do, Daisy.”

“Come on inside. Let me introduce you to my sister Rachel.” I backtracked to the front door and found Rachel gathering up the painting supplies. “Rachel, I'd like you to meet Meg and her brother Tim. They applied for the job. I'm giving them a two-week trial.”

Meg stepped forward and offered her hand.

Rachel pushed back a lock of blond hair with the back of her hand and accepted Meg's as she surveyed the two and grinned. We'd not discussed the hire but I knew Rachel would welcome help.

When Mike had run the bakery he'd had trouble delegating. He'd done most of the baking, and she'd done the selling. It wasn't until the girls arrived that he'd hired help, but they'd had to let those employees go when Mike died. “It's gonna be a crazy couple of weeks getting this place ready and back on line.”

Meg's grip was firm. “We will do a good job for you. You'll see.”

Tim elbowed his sister aside and offered his hand to Rachel. “We like this place. It's yellow like a lemon.”

Meg stepped aside as if accustomed to Tim's ham-fisted methods. “My aunt comes here sometimes for the carrot cake.”

“Who is your aunt?” Rachel said.

“Caroline Henley. She owns Caroline's Gifts.”

“Red hair?”

Meg nodded. “Yes.”

“I know her. Nice lady.”

“Rachel, would you mind giving these two the ten-cent tour. I'm on my way to city hall before it closes.”

“Don't you also have a doctor's appointment?”

I'd already forgotten. Jeez. “Yes. Thanks.”

A quick check of my watch told me if I hustled I still had a prayer of making it.

Chapter Eleven

Wednesday, 4:49
P.M.

9 days, 19 hours until grand reopening

Income Lost: $1,500

I
left as Rachel, Tim, and Meg pushed through the saloon doors. Outside, I hurried up King Street and found my way to the city offices. In the municipal building, sign after sign led me finally to the permit office where I ended up standing in front of a glass window staring at a woman with graying hair and half glasses. She glanced up at me. She clearly was not happy I'd skated in at closing. “May I help you?”

“I'm here to file a request for an electrical inspection. Grant Fraser was at my shop today doing a rough-in inspection.”

She glanced at the clock and frowned. “You can file online.”

I leaned a little closer to the glass. “I kinda like that personal touch.”

“Right.” She pushed papers toward me. “Fill these out and return them with the appropriate fee.”

I scrambled for a pen in my purse. “I can fill them out now.”

“We are closing in thirty seconds.” The last two words carried extra weight.

I stopped digging. “Right. But I can drop them off in the morning.”

She offered a curt nod as she reached for her purse. “We open at eight. Or you can file them online.”

“Right. Thank you.” I did everything else online. Why not this?

A whisper of a smile tugged at the edges of her mouth as she glanced at my Union Street Bakery T-shirt. “I like that bakery. Really good chocolate chip cookies.”

“You should come by next Saturday. We're having our grand reopening and a two-for-one sale. And we're having a drawing. Winner gets a free birthday cake.”

“I love cake.” She winked. “As soon as that application comes in I'll send it through.”

Ah, the allure of fat and sugar. It worked wonders. “You are wonderful.” On a high note, I knew the time had come to make my retreat while she remembered me in a good way.

I hustled up King and toward the doctor's office. I arrived after five and signed in. The room was filled with a half-dozen women who appeared to be in varying degrees of pregnancy. The ones with the roundest bellies shifted in their seats as if no angle was comfortable. Several had swollen ankles and one had brown blotches on her face. Pregnancy mask. Rachel had had the mask with the twins.

The receptionist took my insurance card and gave me a clipboard full of forms to fill out. I retreated to a corner seat away from the pregnant women and filled out the medical forms. I'd grown accustomed to not being able to fill out the entire form. My own medical history I could fill in but
family
history had always been a big question mark.

I did have some information from Terry, allowing me to fill in a little more than I ever had before. History of cancer:
yes
. Heart disease:
no
. Hypertension:
no
. However, father's side remained a blank.

Annoyance poked me in the back. Why couldn't Terry give me the basics of the man who'd help make me? I wasn't looking for Father Knows Best. Another key piece to my puzzle.

After turning in the forms, I sat and searched the magazines on the coffee table. They all had to do with babies and parenting. Not even a
Newsweek.
I longed for any distraction. Flexing my fingers, I drummed them on the chair's arm before settling them in my lap. If Gordon and I were in this together, he would have seen I was nervous and made some quip to make me feel better. But we weren't in this together.

“Daisy McCrae,” called a nurse from a side door.

I put down the unread magazine and grabbed my purse. Smiling, I tried to move as if I were cool with all this, but in reality I was scared stiff. How the hell did I land in this alternative world?

In an exam room the nurse, a tall thick woman with blond hair, took my blood pressure and pricked my finger for a blood test. “My records tell me you are sixteen weeks pregnant.”

“Correct.”

She arched a dark brow as she collected the blood. “And you've not seen a doctor yet?”

Feeling a little judged, I sat straighter. “I put the pieces together days ago.”

The nurse glanced up at me. She didn't have to say a word to put me on the defensive.

“Yeah, I know. I'm old enough to know better, but I've had so many life changes recently this detail slipped past me.”

“Periods?”

“A light one a couple of months ago.”

“Light erratic periods usual for you?”

“Yes. And you toss in stress of a job change and a move and it gets worse.”

“Okay. Go ahead and change into the paper gown and Dr. Westlake will be right in.”

“Thanks.”

Dumping my purse in a chair, I stripped and put on the gown. Seconds later there was a knock on the door, and I said, “Come in.”

A woman in a white lab coat appeared, smiling. Her name tag read
Dr. Westlake
. In her fifties, she wore her graying hair pulled back in a ponytail. The salt and pepper might have aged her some, but it contrasted well with olive skin and set off her dark brown eyes. Silver star earrings dangled from her ears.

“Daisy McCrae?” she said, extending her hand.

Clutching the front of my gown, I leaned forward and extended. “Thanks for making time for me, Dr. Westlake.”

“I like your sister Rachel. She and those girls of hers gave us a run for our money. How are they?”

“Five years old and at the beach with my parents. I'm betting the girls wear my folks out by tomorrow.”

Chuckling, the doctor shook her head. “I don't think I could chase a couple of five-year-olds. God bless them for attempting the vacation.” She glanced at my chart. “So you had a positive pregnancy test at the clinic?”

“I did.”

“How many weeks?”

“Sixteen. I know the day and about the hour.”

A smile tugged at the edge of her mouth. “Well, that will make picking a due date easy. Let me get my nurse, and I'll examine you.”

The doctor vanished. I glanced at a picture on the wall taken of Dr. Westlake somewhere in a far-off mountainous country. A decade younger, she stood with two men who looked like guides. I'd never been much for exotic travel. I'd always been about work, which now was a good thing because work was what faced me for the next two decades.

The doctor reappeared with the blond nurse, who stood, chart in hand, by the door.

Dr. Westlake tugged on rubber gloves. “Why don't you lie back and let me examine you?”

I lay back, slipped my feet into the stirrups, and stared at the tiled ceiling. A small part of me hoped the doctor would tell me it was all a huge mistake and another growing part trusted she would tell me the kid was fine and doing well.

Dr. Westlake's exam was brief. She pulled her gloves off before helping me sit up. She thanked the nurse, who quietly left. “Yes, you are very pregnant. Sixteen weeks is right on the money.”

“So it is really, really official.”

“Yes.”

For a second my thoughts went out of focus. I had the sense of falling while someone from below screamed the net had broken. “I'm guessing a Christmas bundle.”

A smile didn't dilute a direct and searching gaze as she helped me sit up. “That's right. How are you feeling?”

“Sick to my stomach. Isn't the sickness part supposed to come earlier in the pregnancy?”

“It can come at any time.”

“That's not how it happens in the movies. And aren't I supposed to be glowing? And what's with my butt getting bigger? The baby's in my stomach.”

Laughing, she pulled a prescription pad from her coat pocket. “Pregnancy is different for everyone. I had not one problem during my first pregnancy and I had gestational diabetes with my second. It changes our bodies in many unique ways. And each pregnancy is different.”

“I'm not a fan of unique. I like to plan. I like my old body, which was nine pounds lighter and could fit into pencil skirts.”

She raised a brow. “Is this baby planned?”

Hysterical laughter bubbled. “Not even close.”

“Do we need to talk?”

“About options?” A cold chill slithered along my spine. “There's that nice word again. The doctor at the clinic mentioned it. No. The kid stays.” The strength behind my words had me sighing. “What's next?”

She scribbled on the pad. “You are to get these prenatal vitamins filled, and I want you back here in four weeks for your next checkup.”

I took the paper, not bothering to glance at it as I folded it. Shit. My head spun. My body numbed. What was I going to do? “Super.”

Her expression softened. “It's going to be okay, Daisy. Rachel's a great mom, and she'll show you the ropes.”

“I know. Rachel is great. I know. This is such a game changer.”

“My game changer was my second child, the one that gave me the diabetes. She came when I was forty-three. Threw me for one hell of a loop. She's seven now. And I can't imagine life without her.”

“I don't have a clue about mothering.” I felt as if I were sharing a deep dark secret. “Not. A. Clue. I never dreamed about this when I was younger. I didn't carry around baby dolls or make up names for my one-day kids.”

“I never did either and somehow I'm managing to raise a seventeen-year-old and a seven-year-old.” She grinned. “And so far they are doing pretty well.” As she studied me, her head cocked. “What's bothering you?”

“I know the kid will be fine. Healthy, I mean. My birth mother raised me until I was three. And from all accounts I was healthy as a horse.”

“But.”

This part still stung to say out loud. “She bailed on me.”

Frowning, she nodded. “I remember the stories in the newspapers.”

“Abandoned Bakeshop Baby.” Might as well cut to the chase so she could stop fumbling through her memory.

Nodding, she touched her finger to the side of her nose. “There was a big search for your birth mother.”

The details churned up my worries. “I don't want to bail on my kid.”

Her brows drew together. “You won't.”

I held my breath tight in my chest. “How do you know for certain?”

“Maybe because you are so worried about it and because Rachel told me when you returned home it was akin to the cavalry arriving.”

“I don't feel like the cavalry.”

“You are going to be fine. I'm not saying this is going to be easy, but you'll figure it out. And Rachel will help you.” She lowered her voice, but there was no censure in her tone when she asked, “Does the baby's father know?”

“Not yet. He's overseas.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“Like it or not, yes. The kid deserves to at least know the biological father's identity.”

“Sounds like experience talking. Do you know your birth parents?”

“No, Terry, my birth mother, hasn't told me about my bio dad. I'm not sure why it's such a secret. I've asked her a couple of times but so far no answer.”

She clicked her pen closed and tucked it in her pocket. “Keep pressing. It's good information for you, and the baby.”

“I hear ya, Doc. I do.” I extended my hand. “Thanks. And I'll see you in a month.”

Her handshake was firm and comforting. “I look forward to it.”

She left and for a moment I sat in the quiet room listening to the ticktock of a clock on the wall. My phone buzzed in my pants. I dug it out of my pocket and read the text.
MARGARET SAID YOU WERE LOOKING FOR INFO ON JENNA, CIRCA 1943-1944. FOUND THREE ARTICLES. WILL E-MAIL TO YOUR COMPUTER. GIGI.

I'd never met Gigi but at this point in my life it was the least of my problems. I texted back.
THANKS
.

Happy to have another project to think about, I dressed and headed back to the shop. The sound of a hammer pounding greeted me, and I glanced in the kitchen to find Jean Paul closing in the exposed wiring. An unlit cigarette dangled from his mouth.

“I haven't submitted the application for the second inspection yet. I'm doing it tonight. What if Mr. Fraser wants to see those exposed wires again?”

“My work was good. He only needs to see the fuse boxes.”

“Don't you think that's a little risky? I mean what if they don't say yes?”

He shrugged. “I suppose I'd have to rip out the wall.”

A fist of tension pounded behind my right eye. “And you don't worry you've made a mistake?”

He grinned. “Mistakes or no, the wall must be built, and we must install the freezer soon. You are the one in such a rush.”

“Yeah but . . .”

He held up his hand, silencing me. “No buts. You are arguing about a problem that is not a problem.”

Potential problems danced around my brain singing doom and gloom. I was pregnant and ready to quibble over a wall. Time to prioritize the disasters. “Fine. Whatever.”