“The baby’s father?” I prodded.
She opened her red-rimmed eyes wide, her whole body trembling.
“You,” she gasped. “You’re the father.”
An explosion went off in my chest, the sound louder than the sirens. Louder than the festival. My ears rang, my vision going hazy.
One of the Birch Hollow guys pushed me back and slammed the doors shut, and a minute later, the ambulance roared off into the night. I was on duty. I’d been ordered to report to another incident. People needed me.
Yet I stood in place on the sidewalk, my chest heaving and my mind spinning.
Caught between two disasters. One unfolding at the sugar shack and one racing off toward the hospital.
My gut lurched as reality began to sink in. After tonight, nothing in Maplewood would ever be the same.
Chapter 1
Evie
My son. I was holding my son.
He was so tiny. And perfect.
Ten fingers and ten toes. Long eyelashes and tufts of curly black hair.
The nurse commented about it, asking if I’d been suffering from heartburn lately. It was a joke, but little did she know that I had, and I couldn’t explain why.
I felt like I’d been hit by a bus and then dropped off a cliff onto a field of cacti, Wile E. Coyote style. But as I looked at him, snuggled peacefully in my arms, a deep warmth bloomed inside me.
“Yesterday, I had no idea you existed,” I whispered, my lips brushing the top of his head, “and today, I can’t live without you.”
I’d never felt stranger than I did now. I was more exhausted and bloodied than I ever imagined possible, yet I was equal parts ecstatic and content.
When I looked at him, all the noise faded away. When I stroked his tiny fingers, my anxiety eased. And the guilt of not knowing faded. So did the fear and panic consuming me. I was completely unprepared for the biggest responsibility of my life,and no, I didn’t have even the slightest clue that I’d become a mother today.
But he was here. And he was perfect. In the end, that’s what mattered.
I’d never dared to dream that this was possible. A baby. Motherhood.
Not only because I’d never been in a relationship even remotely serious enough to warrant discussing kids, but because I had been told my body couldn’t do it.
Having struggled with PCOS since puberty, I’d come to terms with my infertility. With the knowledge that my body, that had already betrayed me in so many small ways, couldn’t handle a challenge this big.
I had no idea what day it was or even the time. The shades in the sterile room were closed, though slivers of sunlight peeked in around them.
To say my life had been turned upside down today—yesterday?—was an understatement. More like it had been thrown into a cement mixer and smashed to bits, then rearranged.
But I had this little guy. And every time I looked at him, the panic briefly subsided.
I hummed the tune of “Ninna Nanna” softly, tears stinging my eyes. How was this even possible?
In the chair in the corner, Ruby was sleeping soundly. She was six months pregnant herself, and she and Frankie had been with me every step of the way, taking shifts and fussing over me constantly. When the baby cried, they’d jump into action, changing diapers and soothing him. They refilled my water before it was empty and had brought me a variety of snacks. Paul, Ruby’s husband, had come over several times and tried to persuade her to go home and rest, but she’d fought him off in her usual style.
I’d never had close friends. My sisters were preoccupied with their own lives, my parents couldn’t care less, and the various folks who’d floated in and out of my life had been friendly acquaintances at best. But here, in this weird yet charming small town in rural Vermont, I’d found my people. In less than two years, I’d found a place where I could belong. A place where I could make a home for myself, a life for myself.
I looked down at the sweet little face. And now a home for my son.
My son.
