Sweet Expectations (18 page)

“I look back and wonder how I did do it all. Your dad and I had only been married months, I was still adjusting to working in the bakery, and your grandmother wasn't crazy about me. And then I found out I was pregnant.”

It didn't occur to me my pregnancy experience could mirror Mom's. “So what did you do?”

“A lot of ginger ale and crackers behind the counter and I just kept putting one foot in front of the other.”

“What did Dad say?”

“I think he was terrified and excited. We were barely making it, and soon we'd have another mouth to feed.”

I groaned. “I'm feeling the same way. Scared, sick, and worried.”

“You are Dad and me rolled into one.” She patted me on the shoulder. “But you are the strongest of us all, Daisy. And you are not alone. You've the McCrae clan, as imperfect as we are, behind you.”

Love and gratitude tightened my chest. “The kid and I are going to need you.”

“The kid.” Her eyes softened. “I didn't think you wanted children.”

“I didn't. But I'm growing fond of this kid.”

Mom placed her hand on my belly. Round and hard, there was no missing the fact it was a baby bump. “When are you due?”

“Christmas.”

She laughed. “Oh, dear. That'll make for a hectic season.”

Unable to read her tone, I was suddenly unsure. “I'm sorry about all this. I thought I had a handle on my life.”

She shook her head, an amused look in her eyes. “Sometimes good luck comes disguised as disaster, Daisy.” And then a smile brightened her eyes. “I've missed having a baby in the house. It'll be nice.”

Tears filled my eyes. I'd not realized how much I needed to hear her say she was happy about the kid. “You're not mad?”

“Honey, I've been in your shoes. Granted I was married, but I didn't plan on getting pregnant with Margaret so soon. But after Dad and I got over the shock we felt more and more protective of her. After a week of knowing I was pregnant, I'd have been devastated if I lost her.”

“That's how I feel.”

Mom grinned. “Oh, you wait. She's going to take over your heart. You won't know what hit you when this child arrives.”

I swiped away a tear. “Thanks.”

Mom frowned as she stared at my belly. “Gordon is not the father.” When my gaze turned from weepy to surprised, she arched a brow. “I wasn't born yesterday, Daisy. I get you were having sex when you were in Washington. And from what you've told me you and Gordon weren't seeing each other at all then.”

“No, we were not.”

“Have you told him?”

“Gordon or the birth father?”

“Both.”

“Yes to Gordon.”

She smoothed a stray lock of hair out of my eyes. “How did it go?”

I shook my head, feeling the weight of Gordon's disappointment. “About as badly as you can imagine. He told me to get out.”

Mom frowned. “That doesn't sound like Gordon.”

“If the shoe were on the other foot I'd have thrown sharp metal objects at him.”

She patted my hand. “That I would expect from you.”

A faltering smile faded quickly. “He came by last night. He said he'd be the baby's father if I didn't contact the birth father.”

She didn't speak. Mom had navigated the emotional minefield of my adoption for over thirty years. Her gut reaction would have been to agree with Gordon. But, like Rachel, she knew me. Knew my old, lingering frustrations about heritage. “Judging by your red eyes I'd say you said no.”

“I understand his offer was made out of a generous love. I do. But I couldn't make that kind of promise. I couldn't lie to my kid for the rest of her life.”

Mom's eyes widened. “Her?”

“I keep saying
her
but I don't know for sure.”

She smiled. “I like the idea of another girl.”

“Another me?”

A laugh burst from Mom. “I'd never wish you away. I'm glad you are in my life.”

“But I gave you a few gray hairs.”

“One or two. And I think I now stutter sometimes,” she teased.

“And now you're about to meet Daisy Part Two.” The lightness in my voice did not match the tension in my gut.

She squeezed my hands. “We survived Daisy Part One and seeing as I'm the grandmother of Daisy Two I get to do the fun stuff. You get to do all the heavy lifting.”

The weight of that comment settled squarely on my shoulders. “Mom, I don't want to fuck this up.”

“Language, Daisy.” Her gaze softened. “And you aren't going to mess up. You are going to be a good mother.”

All my insecurities rushed up and tightened my throat. “Are you sure, Mom? I don't have a strong genetic history where motherhood is concerned. Terry abandoned me.”

Mom's lips flattened. I knew she didn't like Terry but had kept her thoughts to herself for my benefit. “Terry was seventeen when you were born. She had a drug problem and no family. You can't compare yourself to her.” Mom cleared her throat. “And from what you've said she's parenting her two younger children well enough.”

The comment had been meant to soothe but it fueled my anxiety. “Why wasn't I good enough to keep?”

Mom wrapped her arms around me. “You were good enough. She just had too many problems. I've tried to hold my tongue where Terry is concerned, but you need to understand the flaw was in her, not you.”

Dark fears lurking in the back of my mind elbowed their way to the front. “What if it's in me? What if I inherited it?”

Mom shook her head, frustrated I'd ask such a question. To her the answer seemed obvious but not to me. “When Daddy got sick ten years ago, which of you three girls did the vigil at the hospital?”

“We were all there.”

Mom shook her head. “One of my girls barely left his side. Which one was that?”

“Me.”

“And when the bakery ran into trouble four years ago, who gave Daddy the money to give to Mike?”

I'd written one hell of a large check, which had about wiped out my savings. “But it had been easy because I was making a lot of money and had thought the good times would go forever.”

Mom shook her head. “A lot of kids would have shrugged and said not my problem. You didn't, Daisy.”

“And when I asked you to come back to the bakery, what happened?”

“Was this when you got me drunk?”

Mom shrugged, no hint of apology. “What happened?”

“I came back with a terrible hangover.”

“And when you sobered up, you could have backed out.” She squeezed my hands. “My point is, Daisy, you are not a runner or a quitter. You stay and fight. You have for this family and you will for this baby.”

“How can you be sure?”

She shoved out an exasperated breath. “Daisy, your biggest weakness is your lack of confidence. I've done all I can to instill it in you, but there is a deep fear in you that I can't reach. You need to get to the root of it so you can find some peace.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Damn it, kid. You are going to drive me to drink. Have you called Terry? What has she said about you being pregnant?”

“She hasn't said. I've sent her e-mails but no response. I was mad the last time I sent mine and got a little bitchy.”

“Good. She owes you answers, Daisy.”

“I want to know who my birth father is, Mom.”

“That's fair. Whoever he is, he is part of the equation.” She sat back. “And speaking of fathers, we need to tell your father.”

Butterflies gnawed at my gut. I worried about Mom's reaction, but Dad's really troubled me. He and I were wired alike. We thought alike. Got along well when we weren't clashing heads. And the thought of seeing the disappointment on his face upset me. I didn't want Dad to be disappointed in me.

“Why don't you tell him? You are really good at smoothing over the rough spots with Dad.”

Mom shook her head. “Oh, no. This little gem is yours to share. But if you want me to be with you I can sit by your side while you tell him.”

Crap. When was this pregnancy going to get easy? “No, I can tell Dad by myself.”

Footsteps sounded and we heard Dad say, “Tell Dad what?”

Chapter Fifteen

Friday, 9:00
A.M.

8 days until grand reopening

Income Lost: $1,750

D
ad's gaze held no hint of worry as it moved between Mom and me.

Mom rose. “Frank, give Daisy a minute.”

Dad frowned as he studied me. “What's wrong?”

I smiled but didn't rise, feeling the need to camouflage my belly before I told him the news. “Dad, meet me in the basement in fifteen minutes.”

He studied my face. “This about the teenagers you hired? Rachel told me they start in a couple of days.”

“I've got an item or two I want to run past you.”

He shook his head. “Is this about the wine? Jean Paul told me. Is there a problem with the renovation?”

I balanced my tone between perky and serious, knowing too much in either direction would arouse more suspicion. “Actually, it's going pretty well.”

He arched a brow. “What's wrong? City inspector problems?”

“No. We got our electrical inspections, and I've applied for a liquor license. We are good. I can show you the numbers.”

He studied me a beat longer and then looked at my mother. She nodded her head toward the door. “See you in fifteen minutes.”

I tossed him a thumbs-up. “Great.”

Mom and Dad left me alone and I rose, tugging the T-shirt over my belly. I washed my face, brushed my hair, and headed down the stairs.

As I passed Rachel's apartment, I heard the girls giggling and Rachel talking to them with her calm, patient voice. I envied how soft and kind she sounded with them. All her words were wrapped in fur and cotton. No hard edges. Ellie was like her mother. She was the gentle one. Anna was more like me. Always questioning, pushing.

Anna's clear voice rose above her mother's and sister's. “But I don't like blue icing. I like pink icing. Nobody eats blue icing.”

“I eat blue icing,” Ellie said.

“You are dumb,” Anna shot back.

Rachel's rebuff was quick but so gently spoken I couldn't make it out. My sister had said more than once she wasn't perfect, but when it came to mothering she was pretty darn flawless. I hoped I did as well.

Heading to the first floor I passed Jean Paul, who had begun to paint the new wall a stark white. After my quick wave went unacknowledged by him, I moved down the stairs. In the basement I took a moment to admire the shelves that had nearly driven me insane. Assembled and in place it was hard to believe they'd been such a job.

I smoothed my hand over a sleek black shelf, and in that moment the kid kicked me in the ribs. Smiling, I lowered my hand to my belly.

An odd energy whooshed around me. My head swirled and my heart beat a little faster. Uneasy excitement hummed over my skin, and the world upstairs faded away.

“Can you go home?”

“No. Not like this. They wouldn't understand.”

“And the baby's father. Can he help?”

“I've written him.”
Soft weeping echoed.
“He wants to help but he can't right now.”

And as quick as the energy came, it vanished, and I stood in the basement alone with the sounds of the ceiling above creaking as Jean Paul moved around the kitchen.

I glanced around the stone walls, half expecting to hear or feel a message. But as the seconds ticked by, I heard nothing.

This bakery was old and had a vibe all its own. I'd grown up with its creaks and whispers and for the most part had ignored them. But since my return months ago, the place all but pulsated with energy. I wondered if the bakery had changed or if pregnancy had changed my frequency and made me more susceptible.

Find him.

Was this some kind of haunting? I'd always thought a haunting came with a bit more fanfare. I figured chains rattled or curtains rustled, but all I was getting were whispers just as easily imagined as heard.

Find him.

“Find who?”

And then without skipping a beat, Jenna's name came to mind. Again, was it my imagination or a real answer? I couldn't say.

And yet I knew.

Find him.

Jenna wanted my attention.

She wanted me to find
him.
But who was
him?

I heard a creak on the stairs and straightened, thinking it was Dad. But as the seconds passed and Dad didn't show, I shoved out a tense breath. Dad wasn't stupid. He'd lived with Mom during two pregnancies. He'd figured it out, but didn't know how to talk to me.

I could sit here and wait for him to gather his nerve or I could go to him. “If Mohammed won't come to the mountain then the mountain would go to him.”

I found Dad in his workshop in the basement of his house. The dark room was crammed full of every kind of broken appliance you could imagine. Since his retirement Dad had fancied himself a handyman who could fix any appliance. Why buy it new when the old one worked well enough after a few tweaks? So far the jury was still out on his newly acquired skills.

He leaned over a toaster looking as if it had been gutted of its wires and circuits. He picked up a screw but it slipped out of his hand and fell between the ruts of his workbench. “Damn it to hell.”

“So this is not a good time,” I said.

He glanced sharply up at me. “Daisy Sheila McCrae.”

He rarely used my entire name. This wasn't going to go well. “Hey, Daddy.”

“Don't you Daddy me. You say ‘Daddy' when you're in trouble.”

A tentative grin curled the edges of my lips. “Well, that's about where I am right now.”

He looked at me, his expression a mixture of anger and frustration. “How the heck did you manage it?”

“We don't need a lesson in mechanics now.”

“Not what I mean.” He tossed his screwdriver on the bench. “You are my smart one. You are the one who thinks through every move.”

“I missed a couple of key details.”

“You sure did, young lady.” He glanced at my rounding belly, flushed, and looked back at his gutted toaster. “What am I gonna do with you?”

His tone triggered faint memories of when I'd been sixteen and dented the fender of the delivery van. Now, like then, I needed him not to be angry but to tell me he loved me. “Baby's due at Christmas.”

Dad shook his head. “Your mother told me.” He sniffed and planted his hand on his hip. “She says you think it's a girl.”

“I do.”

“Your mother was like that when she was pregnant with your sisters. Knew she had girls both times.”

Moving a step closer I sighed. “She told you about Gordon.”

“Yeah.”

I shoved my hands through my hair. “You must admit when I make a mistake I don't do it halfway.”

He shook his head. “Not funny, Daisy.”

“If I'm not laughing, Dad, I'd be crying. This is so huge I don't know how to wrap my brain around it. Shit. A baby.”

His scowl softened and for a moment he stared at his toaster. Finally, he laid down his screwdriver, faced me, and held out his arms. I went quickly into his embrace and cried. All the emotions and fears swirling inside of me rose to the surface and wouldn't be ignored. “I'm sorry, Dad.”

“Don't be sorry, monkey. We'll figure this out. One way or another.”

I lingered another beat before I pushed away. “I'll make this work.”

“We all will.” He handed me a tissue box he kept on the shelf. “So what about the father?”

“In China. Not father material. Don't hold out hope. Even if lightning struck him and he had a sudden personality shift and offered to marry me, I wouldn't. Not much of a man.”

“Man enough to get you into this mess.”

I coughed. “Right. Well, beyond that he's not worth much.”

He shook his head. “You sure it's a girl?”

“I don't have evidence. Just a feeling.”

“So it could be a boy?” Hope clung to each word. The lone man in a house of women held out hope for another male.

“Yeah. I suppose.”

“I'm holding out for a boy. Could use a little more testosterone around this house.”

“Well, we'll see what Mother Nature comes up with.” I studied his well-lined face. “So we are good?”

“Yeah. We're good.” He shook his head. “I guess I'd best get up in the attic soon and find that old cradle that belonged to your grandmother.”

“I don't remember a cradle.”

“Margaret and Rachel slept in it. You were too big by the time you came along, and I didn't pull it out when the twins were born. Now I'll dust it off and fix it up for my grandson.”

“Dad, I really think it's a girl.”

He waved me away. “Let an old man dream.”

Leaving his house, my step was lighter. My clan was behind me, meaning the baby and I would be fine.

When I arrived back at the bakery, Rachel met me at the front door.

“The deliveryman is here with the wine.”

“Gus's wine?”

She wiped her hands on her apron. “One and the same. By the looks there is a lot of it.”

“Yeah, I bought them out. Is he parked in the alley?”

“In the process of parking and wants to know where you want the boxes.”

I glanced at the shelves, slid in the last piece still in my hands. “Have him bring them. We'll put them on the shelves. Then we can clear out the boxes.”

Her eyes brightened and I knew having the girls back had calmed her. “Daisy, it's more progress.”

I smiled. “I think you are right. By the way, I thought you were spending time with the girls.”

She held up a baby monitor. “They fell asleep on the couch watching their Barbie Princess video.”

“Barbie is watching the girls.”

Rachel shrugged. “She's done it before.” She winked. “Actually, I highly recommend her if you're ever in a pinch. She's reasonable and the girls love her.”

Knowing Rachel needed Barbie every so often lifted my spirits. Even perfect moms had their tricks of the trade. “Yeah, but she's so pretty. And her hip-to-waist ratio. Doesn't seem right.”

“I'm hearing laughter and good humor in your voice.” She cocked a brow. “The parents gave you a stay of execution?”

I blew out a breath. “They did.”

Her gaze bored into me. “They take it okay?”

Nodding, I ran my fingers through my hair. “Yeah. Very cool.”

She grinned, wide and bright. “See, it's all going to be fine.”

I held up my hands. “Don't jinx me.”

The deliveryman arrived minutes later and studied the low ceiling, the bakery equipment pushed close to the brick oven. It would be a tight fit until we moved the equipment upstairs. Shaking his head, the deliveryman turned and headed back up the stairs to get the boxes.

Rachel and I broke into the first box. We quickly fell into a system where she pulled wine bottles out of the crate, handed them to me, and I loaded them on the shelves. Slow and deliberate progress, but we were making our way fast enough that when the deliveryman returned we gave him the empties to take upstairs on his return.

“Hey, I'm not here to take out the trash,” he complained.

I could have argued, but I didn't have the time or energy. Instead I played the girl card and smoothed my hand over my rounding belly. “Look, dude, I'm pregnant. Can you help me out?”

His frown softened. “Yeah, sure.”

As he headed back up the stairs I glanced at Rachel and whispered, “Do pregnant bellies have a magic power?”

She giggled. “Wait until you are really showing. People will be nice to you even when you act like, well, you.”

I laughed, not able to deny I could be one hell of a hard case when I was on a roll. Upstairs, Anna's giggles drifted through the floorboards. Rachel paused, held up a finger, and then a second later Ellie screamed, “Stop it!”

“Barbie is falling down on the job,” I said.

Rachel headed toward the stairs. “She promised me forty-seven minutes of quiet.”

“Better get your money back.”

“No!” Jean Paul voice was quick and sharp. “In my kitchen we act like grown-ups or you will go to the basement with the women.”

Rachel glanced over her shoulder at me. “I'm not sure I like the way he linked
basement
and
women
.”

“Yeah, like our fate is not one to be envied.”

A second later there was silence.

Rachel went upstairs to check on the three and came back within seconds. “Jean Paul has the girls polishing dishes with rags.”

“And they are doing it?”

“With smiles on their faces.”

“Looks like Barbie has competition.”

We continued with the wine bottles. I nestled several bottles in an alcove. “I thought I'd dig up info about Jenna.”

Rachel ripped open a new box, paused, and handed more boxes to the deliveryman. She smiled at him. He smiled back, his gaze openly appreciative.