Beach House Reunion (Beach House #5)(8)

“Why not?”

“Flo!” Emmi said with a guffaw. “What you know about babies wouldn’t fill a thimble.” To Cara she added, “I think we should let her babysit one morning and see for herself.”

Flo shot Emmi a withering look.

“You’ll both have ample opportunities to babysit,” Cara said, putting Hope back into the high chair. After a few squawks, Hope relinquished her grip on Cara’s robe, and soon her chubby fingers were grabbing Cheerios. Cara brought her hand to her throbbing head. “I can’t make a decision until I make coffee.”

Emmi rushed to the sink. “I’ll make the coffee. You sit.”

“Thank you. I am tired. Everyone always tells you how glorious it is to have a baby. How cute they are. How fulfilling. And that’s all true. . . . But no one tells you how hard it is physically. It’s been a grueling few months. Honestly, when I look back, I can’t believe how completely my life changed in such a short span of time. Utterly and completely changed.”

Emmi filled the kettle, then put it on the stove to boil. “We really don’t know very much about it.”

“And we’ve got a lot of questions,” added Flo. She indicated the child with a thrust of her chin.

“I’m sure you do. Let me get Hope settled before I launch into my story.” Cara ran her hand through her tousled hair and sighed. “It’s a long one and complicated.” She rose.

“I’ll do it,” Emmi said. “Just tell me what you want done.”

“It’s easier if I just do it myself.” Cara went to the counter and mixed dry baby cereal with formula as Emmi gathered mugs, pulled cream from the fridge, and scooped tablespoons of ground coffee into the paper filter. Cara couldn’t help but notice how Flo stayed seated and was gently tapping her fingers on the high chair to amuse Hope. Years back, Flo would’ve been a tornado in the kitchen, pushing them aside to get the tasks done.

Soon the heady scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. Cara carried a steaming mug in one hand and the baby’s bowl in the other. Emmi carried two more cups and handed the one with lots of milk and one teaspoon of sugar to Flo, her familiarity a product of the two women sharing the house next door for more than ten years.

Cara spooned cereal into Hope’s mouth, and for several minutes the women watched in silent amusement as the little girl opened her mouth eagerly, fists clenched, for every bite.

Flo said, “She looks like a baby bird.”

“She has a good appetite,” Cara said a bit smugly.

“Count your blessings,” Emmi said. “For as tall as my boys grew, they were finicky eaters. Mealtimes were battles.”

Flo chuckled. “Well, you won the war. You raised some strapping fellows.”

Emmi smiled with satisfaction. “I did.” She sipped her coffee.

Emmi’s older son, James, was a surgeon living in Chapel Hill. He was married and had made her a grandmother. “How old is Jamie now?”

“I have to think,” Emmi said with a short laugh, and counted on her fingers. “Thirty-one.”

“You have a thirty-one-year-old son,” Cara said, bringing another spoonful to Hope’s open mouth. “And here I am raising a one-year-old. It’s rather daunting. And that makes John . . .” She paused, doing the math. “Thirty?”

“Last month.”

“What I want to know is how you found this sweet baby to adopt,” Flo said. “You don’t tell us anything until that phone call announcing you’d adopted a baby girl. You could’ve knocked me over with a feather.”

“What do you mean?” Emmi asked. “Cara always wanted to adopt. Don’t you remember? It was Brett who didn’t want to.” She darted a look at Cara, gauging how she reacted to the mention of Brett’s name.

“I did,” Cara said in a calm tone. Hearing Brett’s name was still a pinprick in her heart, but after three years she could handle it. “But that was while I was married. After Brett died, I didn’t pursue adoption. As a single older woman, I didn’t think I had much of a chance.”

“That’s not true,” Flo said. As a former social worker, this was her area of expertise. “I’m long retired, but I keep up in my field. More people are adopting later in life than ever before. Age is no barrier, except you still have to be twenty-one.”

“So I learned. . . .” Cara let her fingertips gently smooth back the soft curls from Hope’s face. “Hope found me.” Cara spooned the last bit of cereal into Hope’s mouth, dabbed away the mess with the bib, then wrestled her out of the high chair and into her lap.

“Let me hold her,” Emmi said, setting down her mug. She came over and smiled at the baby, hands out.

No one could resist Emmi’s smile. Cara was convinced that was what had snagged the boy both of them were angling for in seventh grade. Hope fell for the charm too and went willingly into Emmi’s arms.

“You didn’t pursue the adoption?” Flo continued. “Then how . . . ?”

Cara paused, gathering the pertinent details of the long and emotional story. “I met this young woman while working at the aquarium. She was an intern. Pretty, vivacious, a bright girl. She was interested in nonprofits, particularly in PR, so she latched on to me.” She smiled in memory of the girl she’d grown fond of over the year. “We got along well—you know how I love mentoring young women: Toy, Heather. And then Elena. That was her name. In a way, each of them was like a daughter to me. I guess that makes me the proverbial wise old crone.” She laughed and looked down at the channel-set diamond wedding band she wore on her right hand now. Her smile faded, remembering how this story ended.