This Time for Keeps, page 2
“I just…” Julia let out a rough breath. “I don’t understand. Did his parents call again?”
Briskly, Meg stepped into her favorite cargo pants. “Yesterday.”
“Did you call them back—”
“No.”
“Meg, you can’t—”
“No,” she said again, this time firmer. She’d only spoken to Russell’s family once in almost two years. She had neither the time nor the interest to cater to them now. They’d had more than enough chances. “There’s no reason to.”
“There’s every reason to. You can’t ignore them and hope they’ll go away. She’s their granddaughter. They have a right—”
The thud of wood against wood, followed by shrieking, stole the rest of Julia’s words. Meg swung toward the kitchen—no longer saw the baby.
“I have to go!” She dropped the phone and ran toward the wails, found Charlotte on the floor of the dining room—underneath one of the big antique chairs.
“Char!” Meg was by the baby’s side in a heartbeat, on her knees and yanking the heavy chair away, scooping Charlotte into her arms. “Are you okay—” The nasty red welt on the side of her forehead told Meg what she needed to know.
She’d forgotten. In her rush to get breakfast and get dressed for the meeting she’d spaced, she’d forgotten about Charlotte. She’d set her down on the floor to play, completely overlooking the fact that Charlotte could now pull up and cruise.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmured, gently inspecting the emerging goose egg. “So sorry,” she said again, and this time the dam broke, and the tears came. Wearing only her bra and panties, her hair still damp, she cradled the baby in her arms and buried her face against Charlotte, pressing soft kiss after soft kiss against bright red hair. “I’m trying,” she promised. “I’m trying.”
But she’d never planned to do this alone.
Like a sweet little angel, Charlotte nuzzled closer, once again lifting her mouth to root at Meg’s breast. “Mama-mama…”
The tears came harder. “I know.” She gulped. “I know.” And she did. She could love this child of her heart and care for her, feed her and rock her and cradle her, give her every second of every day, every drop of time and energy she had, every creature comfort imaginable.
But she could never give her niece the one thing she wanted—needed—the most.
Her mother.
THE BIG GREEN BANNER stretched high over Main Street, secured to light posts on either side of the road.
Join Us For The Flowers…Stay For The Fun!
Meg tensed as she zipped beneath, barely cruising into the intersection before the light turned red. The festival had become an annual rite of spring in Pecan Creek, attracting visitors from all across Texas and Louisiana. This year she’d proposed extending their marketing to include Oklahoma and Arkansas. East Texas wasn’t that far a drive from either, and if they could attract a hundred or so new attendees, the extra dollars would go a long way toward helping local merchants.
In the historic district, restaurants and hotels saw a significant jump in business. The gift shops ran special promotions. The high school band used money from the bake sale to fund their annual day trip to Six Flags in Arlington. The moms’ club counted on the sales from their cookbook to fund the local women’s shelter.
Meg wasn’t sure what had possessed her to take on the extra responsibility. Of course, when she’d stepped forward, she’d had little else to fill her days. Or her nights. The Gazette had not yet started to hemorrhage money—and her sister-in-law, Ainsley, had been beautifully, gloriously alive. Vibrant. Pregnant. They’d been over-the-moon excited.
The memory hurt.
Zooming past the row of shops and restaurants eagerly awaiting the onslaught of tourists, Meg headed for the small parking lot on the corner. Across the street sat the renovated former general store that now served as the main office for the Piney Woods Gazette. The paper had been in Meg’s family since her great-grandfather had founded it over a hundred years before.
She was not going to let it fold on her watch.
Throwing the car in Park, Meg grabbed her briefcase and all but ran to the office.
Henry and Veronica were long since gone.
“They left some financials for you to review,” Julia explained as soon as Meg walked inside. She took the thick folder and glanced down, cringed at the title greeting her: Mid-America Media Acquisition Offer.
“Henry was going to talk to some of the other papers—”
“He did,” Julia said, walking with Meg step for step. While Meg had forgone her linen suit in favor of the camo cargos and black T-shirt she preferred, her cousin looked dressed for a job interview in New York. Pecan Creek was a small, sleepy town. Casual. Everyone didn’t quite know everyone, but someone always knew someone, who knew someone. Three degrees of separation, they joked.
There was no need for a severely tailored navy suit.
But Julia was…well…Julia.
Meg had never understood why her cousin stayed.
“It’s all in there,” Julia said. “He talked to the editorial staff at three different regionals. His notes are in the back.”
Meg flipped through the folder, saw the pages in question. “Great.” But her stomach knotted. It was a good offer, the kind of money that could keep the Gazette—and all of its employees—afloat. But it also meant the end of a legacy forged a century before.
Meg tossed the folder on a desk badly in need of straightening, then dropped her briefcase in the chair and headed toward the break room. “Just give me a few minutes to get some coffee and we can get started with the staff meeting.”
“Got it,” Julia said. “I can’t wait to tell you what I found out about the Brookhaven Institute. I’ll bet my last dollar there’s more than sleep research going on there.”
Meg tossed her cousin a look, but before she could say anything about Julia’s wild conspiracy theories, their office manager joined them. After all this time, it still felt weird thinking of Lori Bradshaw as an employee. Meg could still see her on the first day of school freshman year, a shy, slightly pudgy girl with braces, glasses and the most ridiculous pigtails imaginable.
“How’s that sweet baby?” Lori asked as soon as she entered the room. Who would have guessed that beneath the awkward ugly duckling of high school lay the makings of an all-American knockout? “She didn’t hurt herself, did she?”
“No worse than any other day,” Meg said, pouring her coffee. She’d never gotten around to touching the pot she’d made at home. “A bump on her noggin, but she was laughing with Rosemary when I left.”
“Such a sweetheart,” Lori said, and Meg had to wonder if her friend even realized the way she drew her hands to her stomach. But Meg noticed…and Meg knew. Lori and Trey had been trying for a baby for over five years. Recently they’d begun tests to figure out why they’d been unsuccessful.
“How’s Trey?” she asked.
“Fine,” Lori said with an odd briskness. Once, she would have smiled and launched straight into her latest Trey story. Now she again changed the subject. “I’m so glad you found someone to watch Char at your place.”
Meg saw no point in pushing. The pace was Lori’s to set. “Rosemary’s a godsend,” she agreed. A friend of her mother’s, the former schoolteacher was itching for grandkids—and happy to practice with Charlotte.
“Oh.” Lori put a dainty little mug with a Pisces sign on it into the sink. “That guy called for you again.”
Meg looked up from the sugar packet she’d just opened. “The same one from yesterday? Did he say what he wanted?”
“Nope.” Lori frowned. “Wouldn’t leave a message or a name—but he had a great voice.”
“Did you get his number?” Julia asked.
“Came in as Out-of-Area.”
Julia’s eyes took on a rare twinkle. “You hiding something, cuz?”
Meg dumped the sugar into her coffee. “I wish.” It had been a long time since there had been anything worth keeping to herself, certainly nothing in the man department.
With sobering speed, Julia became all business again, reaching into her blazer pocket. “Then here,” she said, handing Meg a square, pink sheet of message paper.
“What’s this?”
Julia’s eyes, all steely and serious, met hers. “His number.”
Meg stilled. Her throat burned. Something in her gut jumped. She didn’t need to see the number to know that the subject of their conversation had shifted. Whereas Meg preferred to let sleeping dogs lie, Julia was all about meeting them head-on.
“I called the bureau,” she said. “He’s in Venezuela.”
Against the thin paper, Meg’s thumb and forefinger tightened.
“They said he’s out on assignment, but they expect him back—”
“No.” But Meg glanced at the string of fifteen numbers anyway. A phone number, such a simple thing really. Dial the numbers, hear the voice.
His voice.
I’m here…with you, he’d promised.
“Meg, you can’t pretend he doesn’t exist.”
He’d said something almost identical right before he walked out the door: I can’t stay here anymore, can’t pretend.
Why didn’t anyone understand there was a difference between prevention and pretending?
“I told you to leave it alone,” Meg said, looking up.
But Julia wouldn’t back down. She’d been on Meg about this for almost two months, since shortly after the car accident that changed so many lives. “Russ was her brother.”
Meg told herself to walk away. To wad up the paper and toss it in the garbage, go back to her office and prepare the agenda for the staff meeting or read Henry’s report. Review plans for the silent auction, which she was in charge of.
But something inside her just broke.
“A lot of good that did her!” she snapped in a rare display of emotion. “He didn’t even come for her funeral!” Didn’t call to check on arrangements for her child, didn’t acknowledge in any way, shape or form that the little sister who’d picked up her life in Scotland and traveled all the way to Texas, to be with her big brother, had died, here in a country so far removed from her family. Alone. Except for Meg—and Charlotte.
“Maybe he didn’t find out in time.” Lori’s words were quiet, hopeful. A romantic down to the bone, she couldn’t give up her belief in happy endings. Russell’s rich brogue didn’t help matters. In her book, just because he talked like a poet, he walked on water. “Maybe he couldn’t.”
“Of course he couldn’t.” Meg saw Lori wince, but it didn’t change the truth. “Because that would have required him to come…” Back. Home. “Here.” It still stunned Meg that someone Ainsley’s age had actually made out a will. And that a nineteen-year-old from a small town in Scotland would choose to have her final resting place here in small-town America. Among strangers.
Of course, from what Meg knew of Ainsley’s relationship with her parents, they, too, had become little more than strangers.
“Meg.” Lori’s voice was soft, pleading. “He’s Charlotte’s uncle, your—”
“Past.” Meg swallowed hard, didn’t want to hear the word. “He’s my past, that’s all.”
Julia snatched the paper from Meg’s fingers. “If you don’t call him, I will.”
The glare was automatic. Meg hated confrontation, but this wasn’t a game or contest. It was real and it was absolutely none of Julia’s business. “Don’t.”
She hated the way her voice broke on the word.
“Meg…” The lines of Julia’s face softened. “It’s not fair that you have to do this alone. Maybe he can help.”
He. Him. Meg couldn’t remember the last time any of them had spoken his name aloud. They didn’t need to. They all knew. “He left, Jules.” Packed up, walked away. If she’d come home that night a little later, she still wondered if he would have said goodbye.
Just for a few weeks, a month at the most.
“You were going through a hard time,” Julia reminded her. “You yourself said it was probably for the best.”
She had. She’d said that in the immediate aftermath, when she’d found herself able to breathe for the first time in months.
But then the days piled onto one another, one after the other. And the nights…
“He didn’t come back,” she whispered. It was still almost unfathomable to her that the man she’d loved so dearly had turned his back on her so completely. He’d never called, sent only the occasional e-mail.
E-mail.
That’s what their marriage had been reduced to.
“It’s what he does.” She still didn’t understand how she’d been so blind. “What he always does.” The pattern was clear now, time after time after time. He’d left his family the day he turned eighteen. He’d left the country of his birth. He’d left the news bureau, the university. “When the going gets tough…” Russell Montgomery walked.
But Julia wouldn’t leave the subject alone. “Then why aren’t you divorced?” Her tone made it sound like the answer was obvious.
“Just a technicality.”
She lifted a perfectly sculpted brow. “That’s a pretty big technicality.”
Meg drew the mug to her mouth and took a sip of now-cool coffee. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Then why haven’t you been with anyone else? Two years is a long time.”
A strangled noise broke from Meg’s throat. “What is this? Let’s Ambush Meg Day?” Simply because Russell’s parents had been calling and she hadn’t called them back yet? She was going to. She had to. She knew that. So long as she was raising their granddaughter she couldn’t pretend they didn’t exist.
But not yet.
Done with it all, she snatched the paper from Julia and strode toward the door. “Editorial in ten,” she called over her shoulder. Then, at the door, she turned. “And anyway,” she tossed with a wicked little smile. “Who says I haven’t?”
THE LATE-AFTERNOON SUN poured down, creating a stark contrast between the field and the impossible blue of the horizon. As far as the eye could see, red and yellow and blue swayed with the warm breeze.
“We’re nearing peak,” Ray Blunt said. The longtime Pecan Creek photographer slung his camera strap over his shoulder and reached into his pickup for his tripod. “Barring rain, we should be about perfect.”
It was April in East Texas. Going without rain was about as likely as going without allergies.
“A little sprinkle won’t hurt anyone,” Meg said. It was the lightning she worried about, hail the size of tennis balls. One round of that and the carefully tended flower fields would be pulverized, destroying one of the big draws of the Wildflower Festival: photographs.
“Thanks for coming out with me,” Ray said, taking a swig from his water bottle. He and her mother had been friends for as long as Meg could remember. Twisting for the baby, Meg grinned. Lately, she was pretty sure her mother and Ray’s friendship involved some new…benefits.
“Just want to do one last dry run,” he said. “Your mama thought your little girl would make a perfect guinea pig, if’n you don’t mind me usin’ that expression.”
Your little girl…
Briskly Meg unfastened Charlotte from the car seat and shifted her onto her hip. She’d found the perfect frilly white dress.
“Here she is,” she cooed, and with one three-toothed smile, Charlotte innocently chased Meg’s worries away.
The three of them made their way from the gravel parking area as another car turned off the narrow highway. Meg pushed Charlotte in her new jogging stroller, navigating the winding trail as they went. Every year the town seeded the big field, making sure that with spring a colorful parade of bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush and poppies stood ready for the festival. Three years before they’d added irrigation to compensate for increasingly dry winters.
It was a photographer’s paradise. Russell had once said—
Russell had said a lot of things.
“Just over yonder,” Ray said, leading them down a small trail toward a monstrous patch of eager bluebonnets, dotted by the occasional red of a poppy. In the center, a small indentation marked the spot.
“Lighting is almost perfect,” Ray observed while Meg lifted Charlotte from the stroller. They had the field all to themselves, except for the tall man in the distance. Against the Western sky the sun cast him in silhouette, but did nothing to hide the slight limp. “I’ve gotten some of my best shots this time of day. Just put her right…there.”
Looking away from the stranger, Meg carried Charlotte through the flowers, trying not to crush any as she went. At the clearing, she smoothed Charlotte’s fancy dress and lowered her toward the ground.
Charlotte started to cry.
“Oh, baby,” Meg murmured, pulling back to look down at Charlotte’s sweet little face—now red and splotchy. “No, no, no,” she said, trying again.
But Charlotte wrapped her pudgy little arms around Meg’s neck and clung on for dear life. “Mama-mama…”
At a loss, Meg glanced back to the photographer who’d once taken similar pictures of her, when she was a child. To this day, they lined the hallway of the small ranch-style house in which she’d grown up. “This might take a while.”
With a hand to his graying beard, her mother’s friend shrugged. “Not a problem.”
“Here now,” she said to the baby. “Let Ma—” She broke off, tried again. “We can sit together,” she said, rubbing her hand along Charlotte’s back as she lowered her into the small clearing.
Honeybees buzzed up—and Charlotte’s wails turned into shrieks.
“Tell you what,” Ray said. “You take your time and I’m going to go get a picture of them poppies over there. When I come back, I’ll get the two of you.”
“No—I—” But he was already shuffling down the path. And anyway, Meg knew it was no use. She could tell the photographer she didn’t want to be in any pictures, but he would take them anyway.
“That’s my girl,” she said, holding Charlotte close to her heart and rocking with the breeze. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
