Sweet Expectations (19 page)

When he was gone, I said, “Really? Don't you have enough going on with Jean Paul and Simon?”

Rachel laughed as she pulled out two wine bottles and handed them to me. “I hope this tastes good.”

“Jean Paul says it does.”

“And you trust him?”

“I trust him not to drink bad wine.”

Nodding, she handed me the bottles. “So any luck with Jenna?”

“Not so many answers as questions. I've been thinking about the newspaper article I read. ‘Survived by her infant son.'”

“What do you want to know about Jenna?”

“For starters, where is she buried? And what happened to her infant son, and who was the baby's father.”

“Text Margaret.”

“You'd think I could do this on my own without running to her each time.”

Rachel shrugged. “Yeah, you could do it on your own or you could beat your head against a wall. Might be more fun.”

I stuck my tongue out at her. “Hilarious.”

“Besides, if Margaret's on the job we can bake those cookies for Simon's party, which is Monday.”

“Do you think we'll have the oven to the first floor by tomorrow?”

“The electrical is done.” She nodded toward the stove, now shoved in the basement corner. “Jean Paul says he's called his friends, but no answer if they'll be here or when.”

“They can't give a time?”

“Daisy, it's free help. Beggars can't be choosers.” She glanced toward the ceiling. “Besides, he's done right by us so far.”

“I'm sorry, did I hear you correctly?”

“I know I didn't like him when I first met him but he's growing on me. He's good with the girls, and he's kinda made this place his own.”

“He kinda kissed you like he was a man starved for a woman's touch.”

She offered a goofy grin. “Yeah. He did.”

“Let me remind you, you've shared one kiss with him.”

“I know.”

“Remember how Mike slipped into the family without anyone really noticing?”

A frown furrowed her brow. “He's not Mike.”

“No, he is not.”

“I'm not looking for a replacement for Mike,” Rachel said.

“You sure? I mean old Jean Paul up there is kinda cute, can bake like a god, and he likes the girls. And you did kiss him like you were just as starved. It would be easy to fall for him.”

A wistful smile touched her face. “I'm not falling for anyone.”

“Not even Simon?”

“Simon's from a different world, Daisy. He and I barely speak the same language. I doubt he remembers my name after the date from hell.”

“I don't know. He could be worth a second chance.”

“I'd be willing but I'm not so sure about him.”

“You'll never know if you don't ask.”

Instead of a quick no, Rachel nodded as if she'd considered the idea herself.

As we continued to work and Rachel chattered about the girls, my mind wandered to finding Jenna. Before I'd been vaguely curious, but now I had the sense time was running out.
Tick tock
. Find Jenna. Find him. Whoever he was.

Irritated, I pulled my cell from my back pocket and texted Margaret the request.

“Asking Margaret?” Rachel asked.

“Yes.”

“Have you told her you're pregnant?” Rachel said.

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“I don't want her to come back here. She needs to do her iron coffin adventure and find dead bodies.”

“You mean she escaped the bakery, and you don't want to pull her back.”

“This place has a way of pulling us all back.”

“I never minded.”

“It's different with Margaret.”

“What about you?”

“It sure was different with me at one time. Still could be again, I guess. But for now this is where I belong.”

She smiled. “Tell Margaret. You'll find a way to keep her away, and she hates being out of the loop, Daisy.”

I reached for my phone, and I texted.

“What did you say?”

“I finished with, ‘BTW, I'm four months pregnant and you are still fired.'”

Amusement danced in her gaze. “That's it?”

“I don't want her getting any warm fuzzy feelings for me. She needs to stay where she is.”

Rachel giggled. “Ah, Daisy, you do love Margaret.”

“If you ever tell her I was looking out for her own good, I will bake you into a pie.”

“I'd love to see her face when she reads the text.”

* * *

The rain started minutes after six. The wine bottles had been loaded and stocked and the first level prepped and ready for the ovens and mixer, which would be moved upstairs tomorrow. Though it seemed we were at a stopping place, I knew I should be doing more. There was always more to be done at the bakery, but a weary fatigue had settled in my bones. My lower back hurt, my legs ached, and an exhaustion I'd never experienced had taken over. Six months ago I could have done the work I'd accomplished today and been ready to go out partying. But the thought of going out and being around people made me shudder. The kid had drained me of all my reserves.

As I moved toward the steps leading to my room, the front door of the bakery opened. My first thought was Rachel or someone had forgotten to lock the door and a customer had tried the door. Ready to give the “We will be open soon” speech, I turned to find Margaret standing there, rain glistening from her hair and tan jacket.

She studied me from head to toe and shook her head. “I thought no f-ing way are you having a kid, but now that I look at you . . . Damn, how come I didn't see it last week?”

I couldn't help but grin. It was good to see her. To know she'd come back from her dig to see me because of the baby. “I thought I was getting fat or had the flu or both. I never figured baby.”

She closed the door behind her and locked it. “Holy crap, Daisy.”

“Yeah. That and more.”

“I'm guessing unless Gordon has super sperm the kid isn't his.”

“Nope.”

“You told him?”

“Yup.”

She grimaced as if sensing I didn't want to talk about it. “Can I shack with you for a couple of days?”

“What's with your place?”

“Friend of a friend renting it for five weeks. Thought I wouldn't be back and could make some cash.”

“Yeah. Come on upstairs. But I'll warn you, I'm beat.”

She glanced around the bakery as if seeing it for the first time. “Like the yellow. How goes the other renovation?”

“Going well. Jean Paul's making it happen.”

Margaret chuckled. “Good to know. He's a lot more laid-back than Henri, and I was afraid it might not go as well. But you saw something in him, and you are a good judge of people.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Maybe.”

As I climbed the steps I gave her the short version.

“So you are gonna pull this off?”

“You mean the reno?”

“The baby.”

I pushed open the door to my apartment. “Good question.” I pushed open my bedroom door and eased into a chair and kicked off my shoes. My feet had swollen at least 50 percent and I feared by the end of the pregnancy I would not be recognizable.

“Want a cup of tea?” Margaret offered.

“Oh God, yes.”

She shrugged off her jacket, hung it up, and dumped her purse on the floor as she kicked off her shoes. Moving to the microwave, she snagged a couple of mugs and tea bags, and filled both mugs with water. She placed them in the microwave and hit four minutes.

I wiggled my toes. “So you came all this way to see me?”

“Partly. We knew we were gonna get some big rain the next few days and couldn't work the site. I thought about going to New York but then your explosive text arrived. Figured it best to touch base.”

“I'm touched.”

She shrugged. “The iron coffin isn't budging, and we're trying to figure out how to get him out. Might as well come home.”

As the tea brewed, Margaret dug milk out from the small fridge and sugar from a ceramic apple holder. When the timer dinged she prepared the cups, handed me one, and then sat cross-legged on my bed with hers cradled in her hands.

The last person to make me tea had been Gordon. It had been a month ago, and I wasn't feeling great. Again I'd thought it was a bug, but it had been the kid all the time. Gordon really would have been a great dad. He loved kids, and he had a knack for taking care of people. Thinking about the kid and how its life would have been so different if it had shared Gordon's DNA triggered a pool of tears in my eyes.

“It's a cup of tea, Daisy,” Margaret said. “It's not like I gave you a kidney.”

I sipped the hot brew. Normally, I took my tea black, but since the baby, I gravitated toward the sweeter tastes. “I was thinking about Gordon.”

She raised a brow, clearly surprised by my lack of sarcasm and honesty. “He must be upset.”

“Think how'd you feel if your boyfriend found out an ex was having his kid.”

She arched a brow, cradling her cup in her hands. “Actually, that did happen. With Mark.”

I flipped through my memories of Margaret's ex-boyfriends. “Mark?”

“I met him in grad school. He was working on his thesis in ancient societies, and I was still working on my master's. Majorly hot and heavy and I thought we had a shot at marriage. Then he gets a call from the ex. She's pregnant. At first I was cool about it. It's not like he cheated on me. But then they spent more and more time together. Doctor's appointments, ultrasounds, baby furniture. I felt left out and realized I wasn't as cool as I thought.”

Dropping my gaze to the cup, I thought about Gordon's offer to make this work. “Gordon said we could make a go of it if I didn't tell the baby's father.”

“And?”

I glanced into the milky depths of the tea. “Can't lie to the kid, Margaret. I'm so grateful Mom and Dad were always honest with me, but it still was an issue not knowing everything. Shit, I still don't know who my birth father is.”

“And Terry?”

“Traveling and will get back to me.”

She sipped her tea. “I could offer my opinion, but I'd hate to scar the baby. I hear they absorb a lot. So tell me about Jenna. Did Gigi send you the articles?”

“Yeah. They were helpful.” I relayed what I knew. “I've been thinking about her a lot the last couple of days. And I really want to find out what happened to the baby and his father.”

“Any clues on the dad?”

“The dog tags and the picture I found in the recipe box, but I don't know if they belong to him.”

“They are a good place to start.”

“You think you could find out more?”

She arched a brow, her gaze now amused. “Child's play.”

“How?”

“There's a dude in California I know. He's retired army, and he'll find service records for a low price.” She dug her phone out of her back pocket, typed quickly for a few seconds, and then set it on the bed beside her.

“He texts?”

“No, he thinks e-mail is pretty space-age. I sent him an e-mail.” She glanced at her watch. “It's still early out west so we might hear from him tonight at least to let us know he's got the ball rolling.”

“Margaret, I am humbled by your mastery of history.”

She took the compliment as a matter of course. “In some circles they call me the Seeker.”

That brought a smile. “Really?”

“Absolutely. I can find people. I mean dead people from the past. The living I'm not so good with but I'm A-1 with the dead.”

We chatted about her project, the cute dude who was working the dig, and the time frame of the project. They'd secured more funding and it looked like the project would be extended another six months.

“Of course, I'll bail at the end of the summer,” she said.

“Why?”

“The kid, of course.”

I sat up straight. “No. You are not allowed to come back. I said in my text you are still fired.”

A smile quirked the edge of her lips. “Really? You are still canning me?”

“Yep. No coming back.”

“In case you can't add, Daisy Junior arrives at the holidays.”

“I know. We'll be fine.”

“Really?”

Shoving aside a jolt of panic, I struggled to look relaxed. “I have hired a couple of teens. They seem capable and should help fill in the afternoon gaps.”

Margaret studied me, searching. “My shoes are too big to fill.”

“Literally or figuratively?”

“Hilarious.” Her gaze narrowed. “You look dead on your feet.”

“I am.”

“Then get into bed. I'll take the spare and make myself at home.”

Too tired to argue, I set my tea carefully on the small end table and rose. Groaning, I pushed my hand into my lower back. “It's like this kid came out of nowhere.”

She helped me to the bed. “Yeah, Daisy, I still can't figure how you missed the pregnancy.”

“She's a sneaky kid.”

She grinned. “She. So, it's a girl?”

“Don't know. Just a guess.”

Margaret nodded. “I like the idea of another girl toddling around the joint. The girls were a hoot when they were babies. If it's a girl you should name her Margaret. Of course, we can't call her Margaret. That would get confusing. Big Margaret and Little Margaret is awkward. But we could call her Maggie.”

All the muscles in my back groaned as I lay back against the pillow. Margaret covered me up with a blue and white quilt Mom had bought at a yard sale years ago. “I've always wanted to call you Big Margaret.”

“I'm not going to let you offend me. Baby Maggie needs her mom calm and cool.”

I laughed. “Baby Maggie. Does have a ring.”

“Of course it does. Now close your little eyes and go to sleep.”