the sharp turn their lives had taken, what were they?
Over the past three months she’d been trying to come to terms with her ability to feel attracted to another man so soon after she’d lost Erick, much less wanting one as much as she had John that day in the barn. She’d scrambled for every possible excuse to explain her aberrant behavior. There was the fact that she craved human contact with someone, anyone, capable of carrying on adult conversation. That she missed her husband’s touch and yearned for a man to touch her as he once had. Then throw temporary insanity into the mix, and she figured she had all the bases covered.
The only problem was that her explanations didn’t stop her from wanting John. Worse, she yearned to feel his hot mouth on hers, his hands branding her breasts, even more now than before.
And now she was pregnant.
Darby crossed her arms and took a long, calming breath that did nothing to calm her. Absently she found herself wishing John was there with her, was voluntarily facing what she was alone. She caught herself and briefly clamped her eyes shut.
She looked around the cozy, lived-in waiting area of Dr. Grant Kemper’s old Victorian home on the outskirts of town. He ran his practice here, in an airy room off the foyer. Although he’d officially closed up shop and retired a few years ago, Darby could think of no one else to go to. Her regular ob-gyn was out. To be seen even in the vicinity of the central Old Orchard medical complex would set phone lines on fire within a minute of her appearance. She didn’t kid herself into thinking she could keep her secret for long. She absently splayed her fingers across the flat expanse of her stomach. Oh, no, her little secret would make itself known in her or his own sweet time. But she needed this quiet time to herself for as long as she could hold on to it, if just for the simple fact that her condition was so unexpected. So life-altering.
She rubbed her brow and glanced toward the still-closed door to her right. To the town she was the poor Widow Conrad, whose firefighter husband died a heroic death nearly twelve months ago, leaving her with two young girls to raise all by her lonesome. But while the well-meaning townsfolk saw her that way, she saw her situation completely differently. She wasn’t poor. Not by way of finances, not psychologically. She’d known that every time Erick walked out the door to go to work she might never see him again. She’d accepted it when she’d married him. And while his being ripped from her life had left a gaping hole she had feared would never be refilled, she never once thought her own life was over. Things would just be…different from there on out. She and the twins and the farm and her photographic art. That was how it would be. If sometimes the loneliness she felt deep into the night seemed to reverberate straight through her, if every now and again she felt overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of her responsibilities…well, all single parents felt that way from time to time, didn’t they? She saw herself as neither unique nor worthy of pity.
Besides, she had two beautiful girls as a result of her brief time with Erick.
Her fingers stilled against her stomach. And soon she’d have another child to add to the mix. John’s child.
“Darby?”
So immersed in her thoughts she hadn’t noticed the examining-room door had opened and that Doc Kemp stood there watching her expectantly. She smiled and scrambled to her feet. “Sorry about that. Got lost in thought.”
Doc motioned her into the room. With his portly build, bushy gray hair and full beard and mustache, there was a decidedly Santa Claus-esque look to him she found appealing. Darby entered the room and he left the door open. She darted to it, looked out into the empty waiting area, then softly closed it.
“Ah. I remember you doing something similar a while back,” Doc said. “Approximately seven years ago.”
Darby realized he was right. She had done exactly the same thing when she’d feared she was pregnant with the twins.
“Same reason?” he asked.
Darby blinked, looking over the gleaming, precisely placed instruments on a snow-white towel on a countertop that ran the length of one wall. The neatness of the sheet that covered the black leather examining table. The room smelled of disinfectant and somehow made Darby feel safe. She released a long breath, unaware she’d been holding it until that very moment. She laughed quietly. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
If the doctor’s eyes widened ever so slightly, if he looked momentarily puzzled, he didn’t let on. He merely turned toward a cabinet, took out a kit similar to the over-the-counter ones she’d used herself at home that morning, then motioned toward the connecting bathroom.
Half an hour later, following a pelvic exam and the urine test he’d given her, Darby sat fully clothed on the examining table, feeling an odd mixture of relief and anxiety. Calmed that she’d come to the only person in Old Orchard who wouldn’t judge her. And about ready to jump out of her skin at the thought of her suspicions being confirmed. For once they were, there was no going back. No hoping that she’d been way off base, that the two tests she’d done that morning could be wrong, that she wasn’t pregnant, even though everything she felt flew directly in the face of those hopes.
Doc came back into the room from where he’d left her alone to get dressed and rolled his stool over toward the table. He smiled at her. “Three months along is about my guess.”
Darby didn’t have to guess. She knew exactly the moment the baby within her was conceived. And not only because it was the only time since she’d lost her husband that she’d been intimate with anyone, but because being intimate with John had shaken her to the core, awakened myriad emotions, longings that no self-respecting widow with two young daughters should be feeling.
Even so, Doc’s word gave birth to yet another unfamiliar emotion. Joy. Simple joy that her special yet brief time with John had resulted in a baby that would forever be a part of her life. Even though she feared John wouldn’t. A completely selfish feeling she couldn’t help herself from embracing.
“There, there now,” Doc said softly, urging a tissue into her hands. Only then did Darby realize her eyes had welled over with tears. “If I recall, you had the exact same reaction when you found out the twins were on the way. And look at where you and they are now. It wasn’t the end of the world, was it?”
She managed little more than a shake of her head. She couldn’t even attempt to tell him that her tears were as much out of joy as sorrow.
Doc Kemp reached out and rested a liver-spotted hand on her knee. “You’ve been through a lot in the past year, Darby. I won’t lie to you, I’m a little surprised to see you here, sitting on my examining table again after so long, facing the same problem, but I’m the last person to judge anyone on their actions.” His expression grew solemn. “But you don’t have to do this alone, you know. We’re all here for you.”
Darby put her hand over his. “Thanks, Doc. Unfortunately not everyone’s as understanding as you are.”
“Maybe not. But they’re not all that bad, either.”
“Maybe.”
She wished she could be as convinced as Doc. She’d learned long ago that people liked to fit you into a certain, predictable mold. Should you break free of that mold, step outside that neat little box, judgment could be swift and unkind. The same townsfolk who continued to help her around the farm, showing up on her doorstep with tools in hand determined to assist her through her loss, might all turn in the other direction, leaving her alone. Where now they whispered, “That’s the poor Conrad widow. Awful, the way she lost her husband
