Starting Now (Blossom Street #9)(28)

At home it didn’t take Brad long to discern that something or someone had deeply distressed Lydia. No more than ten minutes after she walked in the door, Brad asked, “What’s up?” He followed her into the kitchen and leaned against the doorjamb with his arms folded.

“We need to talk,” she whispered for fear he would hear the tremble in her voice. She removed the roast cooking in the Crock-Pot and placed it on a serving dish, and then grabbed hold of the counter, afraid she was about to burst into tears.

“Okay, when?”

“Not now. After we eat.”

“You sure you want to wait that long?” he asked.

Fearing she might break into tears if she answered, Lydia nodded.

Mealtime was a miserable affair. All through dinner, Lydia could barely look at Casey. Her mood seemed to be contagious. She caught Cody and Casey exchanging looks. Cody shrugged as if to say he didn’t know what was wrong. Casey didn’t say a word after the first few minutes. When the teenager finished her meal, she helped with the dishes and then quickly retired to her bedroom.

“What’s up with everyone?” Cody asked after Casey left the room.

“Nothing,” Brad told him.

“Why do parents always say that?” the youth muttered under his breath. He shook his head and then went outside to play baseball with his friends.

As soon as Cody was out the door, Brad turned to Lydia. “All right, what gives?”

Lydia sat across from her husband and covered her face with both hands, unsure if she could get through this.

“That bad?”

“Worse.”

“Then let’s deal with it together.” Brad reached for her hand and gave her fingers a squeeze. “Is it … did you get a report from the doctor you’re not telling me about?”

It was only natural her husband would assume this distress was related to her problems with cancer. Twice she’d been treated for cancerous brain tumors. Treated. The word discounted the torment she’d endured. Her first go-round took place when she was only sixteen. The tumors returned again later when she was in her early twenties. Lydia had nearly died both times.

Although she’d been cancer-free for almost fifteen years, there was always the fear that the tumors would return. Lydia had learned far earlier than most people do that life holds few guarantees. Every day was a precious gift. She’d opened the yarn store as an affirmation of life, determined not to allow fear to dominate whatever time she had left.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with cancer,” she assured him.

The relief in his eyes spoke of his deep love and concern.

“I … I had a customer come in this morning first thing. I might have mentioned her. She’s the attorney who has been unemployed for a few months now.”

“The one who knit like thirty preemie caps over one weekend?”

Smiling briefly, Lydia nodded. “That’s the one. Her name is Libby. She went with Casey and Ava to drop off the donation from the knitters to Seattle General.”

Brad’s brow furrowed. “I think I remember you telling me about that.”

“The girls were perfectly capable of going on their own but I was grateful to have an adult with them.” Lydia paused and bit into her lower lip. “While they were at the hospital Libby met a doctor she knows from the gym where she works out. He asked to speak to Libby privately afterward.”

“And what did he say?”

She looked down at her hands, which were clenched together so tightly that her nail beds were white. “He assumed one of the girls was her daughter and … and he felt it was important to tell Libby that he suspects one of them is … pregnant.” Lydia could barely get the last word out of her mouth.

Brad bolted up off his chair, knocking it over. “You’ve got to be joking.” His shocked, disbelieving reaction mirrored her own.

“I wish I was.”

Brad’s gaze narrowed. “How would he know?”

“I don’t know … but he is a physician. He wasn’t sure, but he was concerned enough that he felt he should mention it. His fear was that the teen didn’t even realize she was … pregnant.” Again she nearly stumbled over the word.

Brad picked up his chair and sat down again, wiping his hand across his face as if he needed time to assimilate what she’d told him. It had taken a few minutes for Lydia to understand the ramifications of this news, too. His eyes flickered about the room as though searching out something to focus on that would help him digest this situation.

“Could it be … Casey?” he asked after several tense moments. Clearly he didn’t want to believe it any more than she did.

“We don’t know everything she does,” she reminded him. They had yet to learn where Casey had been going when they found her sneaking out of the house at midnight.

“You had the … talk with her, right?”

Lydia nodded. It had been uncomfortable because Casey probably knew more about the subject of sex than Lydia did. The kid had seen more in her thirteen years than Lydia had in a lifetime. Casey had been patient and had even asked a couple of questions after Lydia had explained the basic facts of life to her.

To her chagrin, Lydia hadn’t brought up the subject of disease or teenage pregnancy. She’d figured that a little information was better than none and she could fill in the gaps later … as it turned out, she might have been too late.