On Second Thought(132)

“Good. That’s...that’s what I hoped. Um, listen.” My heart started clacking against my ribs. “I have some news.”

“What is it, dear?” Mr. Coburn asked, leaning forward.

Shit. The words I’d practiced last night evaporated. The thing I wanted most to avoid was the idea that this baby was Nathan’s. I couldn’t let them think that, even for a second, then take it away.

“Well, I... There’s a friend of mine. Brooke, you met him. Daniel Breton?”

“Oh, yes. Your sister’s boyfriend.”

“No, he’s not. Um...no, he’s an old friend from Brooklyn. He actually made the swing for you.”

“And we love it,” Eloise said. “It’s simply stunning. Please give me his address so I can write him a note.”

They’d probably want to burn the swing in a few seconds. “Uh, well...” I licked my dry lips. “The thing is, Daniel and I, we...we’ve been friends for a while now. Ten years. And um...this past July, we, um...we slept together. Once.”

Eloise’s smile slowly sagged. Mr. Coburn’s bushy eyebrows drew together. I couldn’t look at Brooke.

“And now I seem to be pregnant,” I whispered.

Their silence was absolute. My hands were clenched so hard they were white.

“Wait,” Brooke said. “You slept with someone three months after my brother died? Are you kidding? Is this a joke? Because it is not funny.”

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. Didn’t say anything.

“So my brother was barely cold and you fu—”

“Brooke, that’s enough,” Eloise said. She was looking at the coffee table. “Kate, I’m sorry. We’d like you to leave.”

“Okay,” I whispered. “I just want you to know that it wasn’t planned and... I loved Nathan so much, and all I wanted was—”

“Get out,” Mr. Coburn said, his voice shaking with rage. “Get out right now.”

I did. My head screamed with all the months of unshed tears, and the spike made swallowing impossible. I walked to my car like I was walking to the gas chamber, got in and drove the half mile back to my husband’s house.

It was time to go.





Chapter Thirty-Five

Ainsley

I was supposed to go to the Coburns’ anniversary party, but I had to go to the hospital instead.

My father got injured when a rookie first baseman slid into him at home plate. Dad still made the call (out by a mile and a half) but had to go to the ER with a broken tibia and a dislocated kneecap. Luckily, it was at Yankee Stadium, so I met him in the Bronx and drove him home. Texted Kate that I’d be staying with him tonight and maybe for a few days. I also called Candy.

“Well, he’s on his own,” she said merrily. “We’re separated. Besides, he’s your father.”

“And Kate’s and Sean’s. And Sean is a doctor,” I reminded her.

“Right,” she snorted. “Try getting that lunkhead to actually do something for his parents. No, it’ll be you, sweetheart. You can practice your nursing skills. Good luck!”

“Mom doesn’t care,” I told my father, who grunted. It was fine.

And once I’d gotten him into his recliner, gave him a painkiller and made him some soup, I went out to my car and brought in the pictures of my mother that I’d been carrying around. Captive audience and all that.

“What?” he asked. “I want to watch SportsCenter.”

I turned off the TV and tossed the remote control on the couch, out of reach. “Sorry, gimpy. No time like the present.”

“Fine,” he grumbled. “What do you want?”

I handed him the first photo, and he melted a little.

“You sure were a cute little bugger,” he said. He looked at the pictures slowly. “And your mother...she was terrific.”

“Can you tell me anything else about her?” I asked.

“You’re a lot like her.”

“In what ways?”

“I don’t know, Ainsburger,” he said, shifting in the chair. “In the good ways. She was... She was fantastic.”

Men.

But his eyes lingered on every photo, and once in a while, he’d touch one. “Happy times,” he said gruffly. “We were happy.”

I wedged myself into the chair next to him and hugged him tight. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

When he spoke, his voice was thick with tears. “I never thought I’d last this long without her. I’m an old man being taken care of by his spinster daughter, but Michelle will always be young.”

“I’m not a spinster,” I said. “And she did give you me.”

“Yes,” he said, hugging me. “Yes, she did.” There was a pause. “What do you mean, you’re not a spinster? You and Eric back together?”

“No, Dad. But I’m dating my boss. My former boss, I mean. Jonathan Kent, from the magazine.”

“What magazine?”

“You should pay more attention.”

He nodded, his chin scraping against my hair. “It’s always been easier not to.”

“I love you anyway.”

Another squeeze. “Right back at you, sweetie.”