Sweet Expectations (4 page)

Reaching for a towel behind the counter, I wiped my hands. “Simon, what brings you to our neck of the woods today?”

He adjusted horn-rimmed glasses. “I hoped to place an order. But I see you are closing for a couple of weeks. The party is week after next.”

My dad's heart for business beat strong in my chest, and I couldn't let potential income pass without at least asking. “We're making minor renovations. What kind of party?”

“Launch of the Waterside Project. We're inviting key investors to walk the site. Always nice to have good food on hand when you're trying to make a sale.”

“Fat and sugar do make the world go round.” The last job we'd done for him had netted us a grand. One thousand dollars would sure take the sting out of being closed for the next thirteen days. “We might be able to help you. I'm always willing to work with a good customer. How many people at the party”

“Forty.”

A good number. Not so huge but big enough for a decent payout. “And you'd need this when?”

“Nine days.” I ticked through a mental calendar. It was a Monday.

“What would you like?”

“I hoped Rachel would have suggestions. She has a knack for knowing what people like.”

“Let me get her. Wait right here.”

“Great.”

I found Rachel upstairs in her apartment, standing in front of a pile of clean but unfolded children's laundry. She stared at the pile. “Packing for the girls?”

“Attempting.” She reached for a pair of little red shorts. “They're going to need so much, and I don't know where to start.”

Recognizing she obsessed over details when she worried, I kept my tone light. “They're going to the beach. They need a bathing suit, one change of clothes and flip-flops.”

She plucked the matching set of red pants from the pile and studied the two together. “I always rotate their outfits.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

Stress deepened normally nonexistent lines on her forehead. I was stressed about closing the bakery and so was Rachel. Love it or hate it, the bakery was the glue in her life. “Don't worry about the clothes. Keep it simple. You know Mom. The girls will likely wear the same clothes the whole time. Like when we were kids, she'd wash our clothes at night and have them ready for us in the morning.”

A grim smile tugged the edge of her mouth. “We looked like urchins half the time.”

“We're well fed, and the clothes, though they might not have matched, were clean. And we survived, like the girls will survive a less-than-perfect fashionable week.” I jabbed my thumb toward the door. “Simon is downstairs, and he wants to place an order.”

“We are closed.”

“Not for a good client. He wants to talk to you.”

She clutched the red pants close to her chest. “Where will I bake?”

“Find out what he wants and we'll take it from there. We can always bake in your apartment or mom's kitchen.”

“That's not right.”

“Rachel. He's waiting. Let's go now.” She looked up at me, her expression so glum it took me aback. “Hey, I thought you were Ms. Positive.”

“I'm out of positive vibes right now.”

I raised my hand in a mock cheer pose hoping to coax a smile. “You can do it. Let's go see Simon.”

Without smiling she nodded. “I can do it.”

“I didn't hear you?”

“I can do it.”

Pitiful. I lowered my arms, wondering how the hell I ended up with the cheerleader job. “He's out front. He wants your ideas.”

That bit of news had her lifting her gaze. “Out front now.”

“In the front of the store as we speak.”

She tucked a stray curl behind her ear. A warm blush colored her cheeks.

For a very split second I considered teasing her about her reaction. She acted as if she liked the guy. But if I hinted about a sexual attraction, she'd retreat. Rachel had been a near saint since Mike's death, and the idea she might harbor an attraction for another male, in her mind, would be akin to a betrayal.

“You need to talk cookies with the man. Now. Before he thinks we ran off or died.”

“Okay. Sure.” She tossed the pants aside and followed me down the stairs.

When she pushed through the saloon doors, he nodded when he saw her and then adjusted his glasses. “Rachel. Good to see you.”

She offered a shy smile. “Simon. It's good to see you. I hope those éclairs worked out for your last gathering.”

“They were perfect. I told your sister you seem to know what people like.”

I puttered behind the counter, pretending to straighten as they talked cookies, pies, and cream puffs. After fifteen minutes, they came up with a menu of assorted cookies.

Simon, his gaze still on Rachel, said, “Daisy, you'll work up a price.”

“I'll have it on your desk in the morning.”

“And the construction won't be a problem?”

“Piece of cake.”

As I headed in the back my phone chirped, and I glanced at the text.

MISS YOU!
It was from Gordon.

My fingers teetered over the keys. I missed him. My hand slid to my stomach. I prayed I'd not screwed it all up.

Chapter Four

Sunday, 7:35
A.M.

13 days until grand reopening

Income Lost: $0

F
ive-year-old twins Ellie and Anna, dressed in matching pink polka-dotted bikini bathing suits, squealed as they ran around Rachel's apartment. Anna was the fair-skinned child with a full blond ponytail and peaches and cream complexion, whereas Ellie had olive skin, and her ponytail was a deep rich brown. Both wore blue sunglasses and flip-flops. Rachel's artist's eye allowed her to coordinate the colors of a cake as easily as her girls' swim apparel.

As I leaned against the doorjamb of their apartment, cradling another ginger ale, I watched the girls chanting, “Going to the beach
,
” as they ran around the overstuffed sofa.

Rachel's second-floor place was bigger than mine, though by most apartment standards it was small. However, she made the best of the space. The sofa was also a pullout bed. Storage chests doubled as coffee and end tables. Shelves lined the entire north wall and exhibited a neatly organized collection of books, pictures, and knickknacks. The dining table was round and sat four but there were leaves somewhere, which extended the eating space.

Off to the side was a small L-shaped kitchen outfitted with a full pot rack, butcher-block island, and narrow granite countertops. Her stove was electric and small, nothing special, but she'd baked delicacies in the oven. Dishes filled the sinks and a glance into hers and the girls' bedrooms revealed unmade beds.

Any available wall space showcased pictures of the twins. It seemed every moment from birth until now had been documented. And of course there were pictures of Mike. In one shot he hugged Rachel and her very pregnant belly. In another he looked bleary-eyed and tired as he cuddled his infant daughters. In another, he stood behind the counter of the bakery, grinning broadly.

Rachel and Mike had met in high school. His home life had not been the best. I knew his parents were divorced, and his dad had moved away by the time he'd met Rachel. He'd fallen in love with her and also with the entire McCrae clan, who offered a sense of security he'd never enjoyed.

He and I had never gotten along. We could be polite, but he enjoyed making me the butt of jokes that weren't really funny. The jokes all had to do with my not being a real McCrae. I can look back now and recognize he was jealous of my spot in the family. He wanted to nudge me out and take the lone spot for the non-McCrae McCrae. But I've always said never cross swords with an adoptee, especially if they have abandonment issues. We are tenacious fighters, and my grip on this family would have to be pried out of my cold dead hands. Needless to say, we bickered a lot.

“I get to go in the ocean first,” Ellie announced.

“No, I get to go in the ocean first,” Anna countered.

The girls volleyed words and declarations back and forth. Soon a headache pounded behind my eyes as Rachel calmly packed the final items for the girls.

“How do you do it?” I asked.

She didn't look up from the suitcase as she counted, for the second time, sets of socks. “Do what?”

“The kids. I think I'd run screaming into the street.”

A faint smile lifted the edges of her mouth. “There are days when I am tempted.”

As if realizing they were the center of conversation, the girls stopped and stared at their mother and then me. Anna, the more aggressive of the twins, looked at me with a clear direct gaze. “How come you and Mom aren't coming to the beach?”

“Got a kitchen to renovate, kid,” I said. “Can't knock out walls from the beach.”

“But Jean Paul is building the kitchen,” Ellie said.

“Someone has to be there to answer questions.”

“Like what kind of questions?” Anna asked.

I pressed the cool can of ginger ale to the side of my head. “I don't know.”

“How come you don't know?” Ellie said.

“I just don't.”

Anna studied me. “But how come?”

“I don't know Jean Paul's question until he asks it. And only when he asks it can I figure out an answer.”

“What if he doesn't have any questions?” Anna said.

“He will.”

“How do you know?” Ellie said.

I glanced at Rachel, who grinned. “You do this all the time?”

“All the time.”

I sipped my ginger ale. There was a doc-in-the-box medical center opening at eight, and I planned to be first in line for a blood test. I'd never prayed so hard for the flu.

Anna ran up to me and showed me her hair bow. “Do you like pink?”

“Pink.” I scrunched up my face as if thinking. “On you, it's very pretty. But it's not my first choice.”

“What color do you like?”

“Right now?” I sipped my soda. “Plain white.”

Heavy footsteps sounded outside Rachel's apartment, and we all turned to see Mom and Dad dressed in shorts and matching Hawaiian shirts. The shirts had to have been Mom's idea. Back in the day, Dad would never have been caught dead in such a getup. But then he'd never been going on vacation. He'd worked seven days a week for fifty-plus years and not once had he closed the bakery outside of the few weeks after the holidays. Since he'd retired two years ago, they'd driven to a dozen different cities. I'd never figured my folks for the wandering traveler kind, but then fifty years was a long time to work on a bucket list.

The girls squealed louder as they ran up to Mom and Dad. Both my parents laughed and hugged the girls close. No denying Ellie and Anna were getting the fun vacation energy my parents had never been able to lavish on their own children.

Rachel zipped up the suitcase and hauled it off the couch.

“So,” Dad said, giving me a hug. “How goes the renovation?”

“I'm surprised you haven't had a look.”

“Nope, you girls are running the show.” His cheery tone had me wondering if he believed the words or practiced them so many times so he could sound convincing. “I'm a bystander.”

Mom laughed. “I threatened to break his feet if he looked.”

Dad shrugged. “I wasn't going to look.”

“Yes, you were,” Mom said.

I'd been careful since taking over the bakery to minimize how much I told Dad about business problems. He'd carried the load of working and raising a family for a long time, and those old work habits, so deeply ingrained, could make tugging him back into the fray easy. After all he'd done for us, it would break my heart to see him working again. He and Mom really did deserve to savor their golden years.

“It's good. We packed up all the equipment yesterday and demoed the office wall. A little slow going because we want to reuse the brick.”

His gaze grew wistful. “Spent many an hour in that office. Like an old friend as far as I am concerned.”

“Yeah, I'll miss her, too, but she had to take one for the team. We need the space for the freezer. But no worries, we've talked about building a new office in the basement.”

Old Spice aftershave wafted around as he gave me a hug and kissed me on the cheek. “That's my girl. And you have Rachel and Margaret to help.”

“I'll have Rachel,” I said. “Margaret has a great job up in St. Mary's County. A big dig.”

He frowned. “She didn't tell me.”

Thanks, Margaret, you coward.
“She's excited and rushed. And with the shop closed there really isn't much for her to do.”

He nodded. “When she's not busy, she grumbles and complains.”

“You've noticed?”

He chuckled. “I have.”

“Frank,” Mom said, “if we don't get on the road now we are going to hit traffic. It'll take us every bit of six hours to get to Nags Head, and I don't want to waste a minute of beach time.”

The girls squealed. Dad clapped his hands together and laughed. “Then let's get this show on the road.”

The six of us proceeded down the stairs and out the back alley where Dad had parked his white Buick. The girls scrambled into car seats Rachel had installed this morning, and as Dad crammed the girls' bag in the trunk, Mom gave me a hug.

“You look tired.” She spoke softly so Dad couldn't hear. “You feeling all right, honey?”

“Never better, Mom. Please go and take your vacation.”

“Are you sure?” Her blue eyes darkened with mother's guilt and worry. “I can always stay and take care of you.”

A part of me wanted to pull her aside and ask,
What does pregnant feel like?
But that question would have sent both my parents into a hysterical tailspin. They'd cancel their vacation and spend the week hovering over me.

No, this very explosive question—if I were lucky—would never, ever have to be asked.

Rachel kissed her girls, Dad slid behind the wheel, and Mom hugged us both again. Finally, after a great deal of fanfare, my parents and nieces set off on the grand beach vacation.

As the car turned the corner and vanished out of sight, Rachel and I stood there savoring the silence.

“Amazing how much noise two well-behaved little girls can make,” I said.

Rachel shook her head. “They weren't trying to be loud.”

“I can't imagine.”

“Any bets on how soon it'll take for the girls to break Mom and Dad?”

I sipped my soda. “Three or four days.”

Rachel shook her head. “This time tomorrow they'll be wondering what truck hit them.”

“Mom swears this is going to be so much fun.”

“
Too
much fun.”

I laughed. “Two days. They'll cut it short in two days.”

“Three days,” Rachel said extending her hand.

“And the winner gets what?”

“A free round of drinks at O'Malley's. You can name your poison.”

Drinks. If this pink-plus problem didn't clear up, my poison was going to be milk.

* * *

Making a lame excuse to Rachel about a drugstore run for peanut candy bars and a Diet Coke, I left the bakery for the doctor's office. Weekend office hours began at eight and by the time I drove the five miles and parked, it was eight twenty. Already, the waiting room was full.

I signed in and spoke to the receptionist through the little glass partition. “What's the wait look like?”

A young girl not more than twenty with bleached blond hair and darkly lined eyes didn't spare a glance away from her computer screen. “Thirty or forty minutes.”

Somewhere behind me a kid hacked and coughed. “So where did all these people come from?”

“It's Sunday. The line was five deep when I opened the doors.”

“Next time I'll be sure to come early.” I'd hoped to make a personal connection with the girl, believing it might get me bumped up in line. But she hadn't spared me a single look.

Reception girl pressed a computer key over and over. “I'll call you when I need to take your insurance card.”

I sat in a corner as far away from everyone resembling sick and hugged my purse close to my chest. The magazines on the small table ranged from
Good Housekeeping
to
Parenting
to
Time
. I picked up
Time
. The issue was six weeks old and the pages fairly beaten up. I flipped through the pages, glancing at headlines and the occasional picture but found concentration in short supply.

“Ms. McCrae.”

Grateful to have my name called, I tossed the magazine aside and hurried to the little cubicle room where another young girl asked for my insurance card and a picture ID. Thanks to the buyout at my old company, my insurance would remain intact for another six months, which, if I really was pregnant, was right around the due date. I had visions of watching the insurance clock tick away as the baby stubbornly refused birthing. How much did it cost to have a baby? Ellie and Anna had been six weeks early and had cost a fortune, but I'd never gotten hard numbers. I wasn't sure if two babies earned a discount on each unit.

I slid my card and ID across the desk.

“Have you ever been here before?”

“No.”

“And why are we here today?” This gal was dressed in light blue scrubs as if she were in the medical field, but I suspected the scrubs were for show.

I leaned forward, trying to make light of what could be a disaster. “We are here for a pregnancy test.”

My use of
we
earned me a raised eyebrow before the woman typed my info into the computer. After more moments of silent typing, she slid my cards back to me and rang a bell. Another nurse appeared and escorted me to a curtained room.

The nurse snapped the curtain closed behind her and moved to a station equipped with a computer. I climbed up on the table lined with white paper.

“You are here for a pregnancy test, correct?”

Her deep voice carried and I envisioned a customer or God forbid a family member standing outside the curtain. Wishing for a door, I shifted my weight, causing the paper under my rear to crinkle. “That is correct.”