“Then what happened?”
“Nothing. We had a drink and a chat and Peter had to leave. The end.Honestly, this is ridiculous.” She turned away, the towel clenched in her hand.
“Juliet.” Lucy’s voice was soft, almost tender. “Don’t bullshit me.”
“What gives you the right to get into my business?” she demanded, but it came out less stridently than she’d wanted it to.
“Nothing gives me theright,” Lucy said after a moment. “But you’re my sister and I am actually quite fond of you, even if we had a rocky start and you can be kind of awful sometimes—”
Juliet gave a snort of laughter. “Now don’t start getting all mushy on me.”
Lucy ignored her, continuing more seriously. “I care about you, Juliet, and I can see that you’re hurting—”
“Okay, really, now stop.” She shook her head, dragged a breath into lungs that felt like concrete blocks. “I can’t stand this kind of sentimental claptrap. It’s nauseating.”
Lucy sat back with a little smile and sipped her tea. “So tell me, then.”
Juliet hesitated, torn between the contrary desires of wanting to both unburden and protect herself. She decided to try for both. “I just made a practical suggestion and Peter took it entirely the wrong way.” She twitched her shoulders as if to dismiss the subject. “He can be such anoafsometimes.”
“A practical suggestion,” Lucy repeated after a moment. “What kind of practical suggestion?”
“Nothing that onerous, really,” Juliet hedged. She didn’t want to get into details, because she had a strong feeling that Lucy would side with Peter. “Just . . . helping me out with something.”
“This wouldn’t be helping you out with the baby thing, would it?” Lucy asked, and Juliet twitched her shoulders again. Her sister was too perceptive by half.
“Maybe.”
“Oh, Juliet.” Lucy sighed and shook her head. “So what exactly did you suggest?”
“I asked him to donate sperm,” Juliet answered, all brittle indignation now. “I wanted my baby to know his or her father. I didn’t think it was too much to ask, just an afternoon at the clinic in Carlisle—”
“Juliet.”Lucy looked appalled, just as Juliet had thought she would. “You know it would be more than that,” she protested. “He’d be your child’s father.”
“But I told him he wouldn’t have any obligation—”
“And I betthatwent over well.”
Juliet pressed her lips together. “Not too well,” she admitted. “He was angry,” she continued reluctantly, feeling she somehow owed Lucy the details now. And she realized she wanted to confess them. “Offended, really.”
“And why do you think that was?”
“Don’t play psychiatrist with me, Lucy,” Juliet snapped. “We both know why it was. Because he’s not the sort of man to father a child and then just go about his business.” She blinked rapidly, and then set her jaw. She hadn’t admitted that to herself, much less to anyone else, but she knew it was true. They were talking about Peter Lanford, after all. A man who carried on his family’s flagging farm, who cared for his ailing father. Who believed in responsibility and duty and even honor.
“If you knew that,” Lucy asked, “why did you make the suggestion to him?”
“Because I didn’t realize . . .” Juliet felt her throat go tight and she swallowed in an attempt to ease the soreness. “When I was thinking about it, it didn’t seem so . . . I don’t know. I was just focused on my child knowing his father. And Peter is a good man. . . .”
“He’s cute too.”
“Oh, honestly, Lucy. If you like holey jumpers and knobbly toes.”
Lucy’s eyebrows shot up. “How do you know he has knobbly toes?”
“He took his socks off once—oh,never mind.” Juliet rose from the table and dumped her half-finished mug of tea in the sink. “This conversation is pointless, because I did ask him, and he gotrather cross, and I’m not sure we’ll ever be on speaking terms again.”
“You could say ‘sorry,’” Lucy suggested. “Wait till he cools down a bit, and then talk to him?”
“It’s been over a week. I don’t think he’s going to cool down much more.”
