“This child needs a father,” Sophia said, her fist thumping the table.
Lucy knew that her mother’s words were fueled by all the years of scraping by, but they weren’t what she needed to hear. She couldn’t undo what had happened. She was stuck. She was going to have to do the best she could with what she had. And she was going to have to do it alone.
Rosie’s hand found her knee under the table and gave it a squeeze.
“It’s not like I planned any of this,” Lucy said. “It was an accident. And I can’t make Marcus love me again. I have to get on with things. I’ve got the business, and Rosie and I have been talking—”
“The business! I hadn’t even thought about that! How on earth will you cope with it all on your own?” Her mother threw her hands in the air dramatically. “All those fruit deliveries, lifting all those boxes. And it’s just you, Lucia, no one else. This is a disaster.”
“Ma, you’re not helping. You think Lucy hasn’t gone over and over all of this stuff?” Rosie said.
“She hasn’t gone over it with me,” Sophia said, and Lucy could hear the hurt in her voice.
“I know this is the last thing you want for me,” Lucy said. “I know you’re disappointed. But it’s happening. I’m going to have a baby. You’re going to be a grandmother. Can’t we concentrate on the good bits and worry about the bad bits when they happen?”
Suddenly she really needed to hear her mother say something reassuring. Something about how everything would be all right, how if she had managed, so would Lucy.
Tears filled Sophia Basso’s eyes and she shook her head slowly.
“You have no idea,” she said. “Everything becomes a battle. Just getting to the grocery store, or keeping the house clean. Every time one of you was sick, I used to pace the floor at night, worrying how I was going to pay for the medicine and who was going to look after you when I had to go into work the next day. All the times the utilities were cut off, and the times I couldn’t find the money for school excursions. I would never wish that life on either of you.”
“It won’t be the same, because Lucy has us,” Rosie said staunchly. “What Lucy was about to tell you is that she’s moving into the granny flat at the back of our house. When the baby comes, Andrew and I can help out. Between all of us, we’ll get by.”
Lucy saw that her mother’s hands were trembling. She hated upsetting her. Disappointing her. Deep down inside, in the part of her that was still a child, Lucy had hoped that her mother would react differently. That she’d be more pleased than concerned, that she’d wrap Lucy in her arms and tell her that no matter what happened she would be there for her.
The nervous nausea that had dogged her before her mother’s arrival returned with a vengeance.
She was already scared of what the future might hold. Of having a baby growing inside her—a crazy enough concept all on its own—and then taking that tiny baby home and having to cope with whatever might happen next without Marcus standing beside her. She’d told herself over and over that hundreds of thousands of women across Australia—probably millions of women around the world—coped with having babies on their own. She would cope, too. She would. But she knew it would be the biggest challenge she’d ever faced in her life. And it would be a challenge that would never stop, ever. At seventy, she would still be worrying about her child and wanting the best for him or her. She only had to look at her mother’s grief-stricken face to know that was true.
She stood, clutching her handbag.
“I can’t do this,” she said. “I’m sorry, Ma. But I can’t do this right now.”
It was too much, taking on her mother’s trepidation and doubts as well as her own.
Her mother gaped and Rosie half rose from her chair as Lucy strode for the entrance, fighting her way through the line of people waiting for service at the front counter.
Outside, Lucy stuffed her hands into the pockets of her coat and sucked in big lungfuls of air. She stared up at the pale blue winter sky, willing herself to calm down.
It’s going to be okay. I’m twenty-eight years old. Last year, I started my own business. I can do this. I’m a strong person.
She found her car keys in her bag and started to walk, chin up, jaw set.
After all, it wasn’t as though she had a choice.
A month later
DOMINIC BIANCO RAN his hands through his hair and stifled a yawn. If anyone asked, he was going to blame the jetlag for his tiredness, but the truth was that he’d gotten out of the habit of early starts while he’d been visiting with family back in the old country. Six months of touring Italy, hopping from one relative’s house to the next had made him lazy and soft. Just what he’d needed at the time, but now he was back and there was work to do. As always.
Around him, the Victoria Market buzzed with activity. Situated in the central business district, the markets were the heart of the fresh produce trade in Melbourne, supplying suburban retailers, restaurants and cafés across the city. Bianco Brothers had occupied the same corner for nearly thirty years, ever since new immigrants Tony and Vinnie Bianco started selling fruits and vegetables as eager young men. Today, the family stall sprawled down half the aisle and turned over millions of dollars annually.
Dom checked his watch. Five o’clock. One hour until customers started arriving.
He wondered if he would see her today. Then he shook his head. What was he, sixteen again?
“Grow up, idiot,” he told himself as he turned toward the pallet of boxed tomatoes waiting to be unloaded.
She might not even come. For all he knew, she might not even be buying her produce from his father anymore.
He flexed his knees and kept his back straight as he hoisted the first box of tomatoes and lugged them over to the display table. His uncle Vinnie was fussing with the bananas, ensuring the oldest stock was at the front so they could offload it before the fruit became too ripe.
“Be careful with your back, Dom. You know what happened with your father,” he said as Dom dumped the first box and went back for another.
Dom smiled to himself. For as long as he could remember, his uncle had said the same thing every time he saw anyone carrying a box. Dom figured the hernia his father had had while in his twenties must have really messed with his uncle’s head.
By the time Dom had unloaded all the tomatoes, he’d worked up a sweat beneath the layers of sweatshirts and T-shirts he’d piled on that morning. He peeled off a couple of layers, enjoying the feeling of using his muscles again.
It was good to be back. He’d felt a little uneasy as the plane took off from Rome two days ago, but it was nice to be home. Even returning to the old house hadn’t been that big a deal.
Danielle’s stuff was gone. The only sign that she’d ever lived there was the pile of mail addressed to them both that his sister had left on the kitchen counter.
Mr. and Mrs. Bianco. He wondered if Dani was planning on reverting to her maiden name now that
