Bloodline(21)

“My first article, Deck! It was wonderful.” I take a sip of my watery coffee. “Mostly wonderful. I met Miss Colivan.”

Deck’s mouth quirks. “And?”

“And do you remember her? Because she sure remembers you.” I open my mouth for another bite. A lapel pin on the table catches my eye as the rubbery french toast passes my lips. I point at it and talk around the mouthful. “What’s that?”

Deck’s still rubbing my back. With his free hand, he picks up the pin. It’s the size of a quarter, flower-shaped—the exact shape of Dorothy Lily’s locket—a white background with a red embossed capital M on its face. I lean closer. That’s not exactly right. The two top points of the M extend longer than they should.



“It’s a capital V,” Deck is saying, “on top of a small capital M. That’s what I was told, anyhow.”

“What’s it stand for?”

“Something in Latin, I think. The group is called the Fathers and Mothers. What’s Latin for that?”

Something slide-bumps inside my rib cage. “Pater and Mater, I think? Like paternity and maternity?”

“That’s not it, then.” Deck rubs his thumb over the insignia. Exactly like I rubbed the pineapple brooch when I first pocketed it. “Doesn’t really matter. What’s important is that the Fathers and Mothers is the in-group in town. I bet I landed a dozen new clients at last night’s meeting.”

“Deck, that’s great!” My happiness is real. “I wouldn’t have thought there’d be that much new business in a place this size. Everyone would already have insurance, you know? I should probably join the Fathers and Mothers myself, now that I’m working for the newspaper. When’s the next meeting?”

He sets the pin down. “You’re not going to like this.”

Slide-bump.

“The Fathers is for men. No women allowed. But men aren’t admitted in the Mothers, either, so it all evens out.”

“What?”

He pulls his hand from my back, turns so he’s facing rather than touching me. “It’s a small town. What’re you gonna do? The good news is that they host monthly mingles where all the men and women get together.”

“The women cook, I suppose?”

He laughs. “Probably. Don’t worry, darling. I’ll do the cooking. Just like I did for you this morning. We’ll shake them up from the inside.”

His laugh is warm and inviting. I’m not ready to give in yet, though. “What if you lose business by ‘shaking things up’? If they run this town, they’re not going to like change.”

“Nobody likes change, not at first. May I?”

He hovers his hand near my belly. I nod. He cups the curve just visible through my nightgown. “I see where they get the saying ‘a bun in the oven.’”

“Deck!” I swat him, but playfully. “You’re supposed to tell me I’ve never been more beautiful.”

“You haven’t,” he says, suddenly serious. He traces my cheek with the back of his finger. “Joanie, don’t think I don’t see what you’ve given up to move here with me, to keep me out of the war. To start a new life where you don’t know anyone. To have my baby. Gawd . . .”

He chokes on his next words. I’m shocked. I’ve never seen him emotional.

I toss my arms around him. “I love you, honey,” I say.

“I love you, too.” He kisses me on the mouth. I’m ashamed of my morning-breakfast breath. He doesn’t seem to mind. The kiss goes deeper, searching, and I feel a pleasant warmth flowing through my blood, pulsing between my legs. We haven’t made love nearly as much since I’ve been pregnant. I miss it.

He’s pulling back to kiss my neck, a move that electrifies me. I tilt my head to give him access. Instead, he tugs my face back and rests his nose on mine, our eyelashes nearly touching. “I need to ask a favor.”

“Yeah?” I’ve forgotten about my morning queasiness, the french toast, living in a small town. I just want him.

He clears his throat, his expression going soft. “I want to make lots of money, enough that we can buy a bigger house. A house that’s all ours. I’m going to shake up the Fathers and the Mothers, I promise you that, but there’s one area they won’t budge on, and that’s pregnant women drinking in public.”

His words are ice water. I pull back, slowly, my fingers arching into claws.

“Word reached the meeting last night that you were out at Little John’s.”

My surge of rage is perfectly counterbalanced by a sense of impotence, leaving me nothing but numb. “But Deck—” I start. He cuts me off before I can tell him that I didn’t even want to drink, barely choked down a sip before the heartburn kicked in.

“I know what you’re going to say. It’s your body, your choice. I agree with you, and I’ll tell the world that.”

The conversation is spinning so far away from me I can’t even see where to get in. I didn’t want to drink. I only wanted to socialize.

But Deck doesn’t notice my struggle. He’s gone back to fingering the lapel pin. “There’s a doctor in town that everyone loves. Dr. Krause. The Mothers say he’s the best. A real ace.”