Emily stepped out, her legs stiff. Daniel hovered at her elbow, but she waved him off and let Patricia’s concern draw her up the steps.
“Thank God,” Patricia said, giving Charlotte to Daniel and hugging Emily, quick and hard. “You scared the hell out of us.”
Emily managed a smile. “I’m fine. The baby’s fine. They said to rest.”
Patricia let go, eyes traveling over Emily as if she could x-ray the outcome herself. Charlotte clung to Daniel.
“Da,” she said seriously.
Inside the family suite upstairs, the air was heavy with the smell of baking—a banana bread, if Emily had to guess. Cassie was a stress baker, and Emily almost smiled at that.
Chantelle popped up from the dining room, hair wild, eyes bright with panic. “Did you see the baby? Is it ok? Can you still see it even when it’s so small?” she asked, before Emily had a chance to sit.
Emily folded herself into the armchair by the window in the living room, the cushion cradling her body. She braced for Chantelle’s reaction, feeling guilty that this is how her daughter’d found out about the new baby.
“They did an ultrasound,” Emily said. “It’s still there. Very loud heartbeat.”
Chantelle plopped onto the ottoman, her face twisted with skepticism. “What does it look like? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Daniel came in behind them and flopped onto the sofa. “Like a lima bean,” he offered. “A very stubborn lima bean. And, honey, we were waiting until things were past the point of… possible trouble. We wanted it to be a good surprise, not a secret.”
“Hmmmph. I didn’t get told, either,” Cassie said, coming into the kitchen from the pantry. “Neither did Roy.”
“Were is Dad?” Emily asked, not taking the bait. She wasn’t upset that Patricia had told. It couldn’t have been avoided.
“We sent him back to the Carriage House to rest,” Cassie said, coming over to wrap her arms around Emily. Emily felt thetears on her cheeks wet her own skin. Emily hugged her back fiercely.
Patricia hovered, then brought a mug of tea, the steam curling in delicate whorls, and set it on the end table.
Emily wrapped both hands around it, grateful for the heat. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Doctor says bed rest?” Patricia asked.
“Not strictly, justlotsof rest. No lifting, no stress, no running a marathon anytime soon,” Emily said, aiming for casual.
Daniel shot her a look, but didn’t correct. Instead, he reached for Charlotte, who had taken a lap around the living room and was now gnawing on the couch arm.
Emily pressed a hand to her belly—not to check, not even for comfort, but just to remind herself that the new life was still there, still possible, after the day’s scare. With her other hand, she traced the condensation at the edge of the window, leaving a faint crescent in its wake. It was cold under her touch.
That cold, along with Patricia being here, so loving, so supportive now, made it hard not to think about the months leading up to last Christmas. Patricia had started to grow distant then, her texts getting shorter, calls nonexistent, her reasons for skipping family dinners stacking up like junk mail.
Emily remembered the distance of it, the way every excuse stung. She’d spent whole nights wondering what she’d done, or what invisible line she’d crossed, and had come up with nothing except the deep, churning ache of being again on the receiving end of her mother’s mercurial nature.
But tonight it felt different. Emily still wasn’t sure what had changed. She turned it over in her mind, but couldn’t put her finger on what might have made her mom do such a drastic about-face.
Looking over the living room, watching Cassie, Patricia, Daniel, Chantelle, and sweet little Charlotte interact, Emilydidn’t want to question it. Like the life inside of her, she just wanted to hold on.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Emily groaned when she woke before the alarm, her eyes flickering open to see that she had a full hour and a half left before she had to officially get up. For a minute, she lay still, listening to Daniel’s breath in the bed beside her, the predictable in-and-out that comforted her. She had heartburn.
Ugh.
No way could she just lie here. She counted to ten, then rolled out of bed, careful not to disturb him. She dressed quickly, businesslike: leggings, old high school tee, cardigan. By the time she reached the bathroom, Daniel was up too, despite her efforts to be quiet. They navigated around each other in the familiar choreography—he took the sink, she took the mirror, neither needing to speak until the toothpaste foamed and the last traces of sleep had retreated.
“You’re up early,” Daniel said. It wasn’t a question about why, just a marker.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Emily replied, dabbing moisturizer across her cheeks. “Too much to do.”
