We still haven't told anyone about the pregnancy—not Phantom, not Dakota, not the club. Just us, sitting with the secret, marveling at it every single day.
But today, we decided, we'll tell Jolene.
"Come on," I say, helping Grace back to bed. "Rest a bit before you have to get up."
"I need to start cooking?—"
"I'll handle it. You rest."
She doesn't argue, which tells me how bad she feels. Just curls up on her side, and I pull the blanket over her.
Charlie jumps up on the bed—she's not supposed to, but we gave up enforcing that rule weeks ago—and settles against Grace's stomach like she knows something's different.
Maybe she does. Dogs are smart like that.
An hour later, Grace is feeling better and insisting on helping with lunch prep.
"I'm pregnant, not dying," she says when I try to make her sit down. "Let me do this."
So we work together in the kitchen—me grilling chicken, her making a salad and sides.
"You think she'll be happy?" Grace asks, chopping tomatoes.
"Your mom? She's going to lose her mind. In a good way."
"I hope so." Grace pauses. "She's been doing really well, you know. Since our talk."
I glance at her. "Yeah? How so?"
"She got her own apartment. In town, not near the clubhouse. Started volunteering at the animal shelter three days a week. Joined a book club." Grace smiles. "She's finding herself. Finally."
"That's good. Really good." I flip the chicken on the grill. "And your dad?"
"Respects the distance, as far as I can tell. Doesn't push. But I think he misses her."
"Think they'll get back together?"
Grace is quiet for a moment. "Maybe, but I hope not. They haven’t been right for each other in years, and Mom can get so possessive when it comes to Dad. It’s chaos waiting to happen."
Smart woman, my wife.
"And the book club?" I ask. "That going well?"
Grace grins. "She's reading romance novels. Really spicy ones, apparently. Dakota told me Mom blushed talking about the last book."
I laugh. "Good for her."
We finish cooking just as I hear tires on the gravel driveway. Charlie barks, tail wagging, and runs to the door.
Jolene's here.
Grace's mom looks different when she walks in.
Not physically—she looks the same. But there's something lighter about her. Like she's not carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders anymore.
"Hey, baby girl," Jolene says, hugging Grace. Then she turns to me. "Shadow."
"Jolene. Good to see you."
