“Yes, I—Oh, you’re looking at my drink. Don’t worry, it’s water. I grabbed the closest glass I could find.”
“Wendy, are you sure you’re feeling okay?” I perch on the rocker across from her so I can see her better in the dimness. “Want me to find Blake?”
“I’m fine, really.” She scooches up even more so she’s almost in a seated position, but her legs are still stretched out in front of her. “Well, maybe not so fine. To be perfectly honest—and you can’t breathe a word of this to anyone—I was feeling crampy a little while ago, and it freaked me out. I thought I might be miscarrying.”
My breath quickens. “You have to let me get Blake. He’ll know what to do.”
“No, please. I don’t want to scare him if nothing’s wrong. And besides, if Iamhaving a miscarriage, there’s no way he can help.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, though I know practically nothing on the subject.
“Trust me, after years of trying, I’m practically an expert on everything related to pregnancy,” she says, a shadow passing over her face.
“It’s good you’re resting, at least.”
She snickers. “You know, doctors used to advise bed rest for a possible miscarriage, but it’s apparently useless. I’m justlying down for my own sanity. I can’t bear the idea of possibly losing this baby.”
“Oh, Wendy, I can only imagine. The cramps—they’re gone now?”
“Yes, they subsided a little while ago. And I’m not bleeding, so hopefully it’s a false alarm.”
“Thank god.... I’m sure the situation here isn’t helping matters.”
“You can say that again.” There’s more than a hint of exasperation in her voice. “Are we supposed to simply continue here, pretending we’re all on vacation?”
“I’m sure people would understand if you left in the next day or two.”
“Maybe. I’ll have to see what Blake thinks.”
She lowers herself back on the cushion and brings a hand to her brow again.
“Why don’t I let you rest,” I say, rising. “Do you have your phone? In case of an emergency?”
“Yes, it’s in my pocket.” She slowly closes her eyes. “Thanks, Summer. I appreciate it.”
“Take care.” I wish I had better words of comfort to offer.
I head from the porch into the house and toward the back stairs. Though I’ve always been comfortable in every part of the Keatons’ property, I can’t help but feel a little sheepish about going up to the guest suite now, particularly after Hannah found me outside her room. Once I’m at the top of the stairs, I hurry to the far end of the hall and rap lightly on the bedroom door.
I hear footsteps drawing close, and soon Marcus swings open the door, wearing only a pair of dark slacks. “Hey,” he says, frowning. “Everything okay?”
“Yup. I was just hoping to talk for a second.”
The sitting area behind him, I notice, looks like a tornado hit it. There are papers spread about, shirts tossed over chairs, and through the open door to the galley kitchen, I can see a plate piled with orange rinds on the counter along with a couple of stained wineglasses.
“Ignore the mess,” Marcus says. “I told Bonnie not to bother tidying up while we’re here. What did you want to talk about?”
I’ve only been able to come up with one bad excuse for instigating a conversation. “The thing this morning.”
“Now? We’ve got the meeting with the lawyer coming up.”
“I know, but this won’t take long.”
“Okay, let’s do it someplace else, though. Keira’s napping in the bedroom.”
He retreats back into the sitting area, grabs his shirt from a chair arm, and throws it on as we descend the stairs. When I mention that Wendy is resting on the screened porch, Marcus points to the door on the side of the house, and we exit there, ending up not far from the garage and the potting shed. There isn’t a soul in sight.
“Is there some new development since this morning? I heard Jillian took off a while ago.”
