rest of my life.”
On the other end of the line, Emma’s mother didn’t even attempt to hide her sigh. “We know that what you went through with Henry was devastating, but at this point you only have a few options.”
“Oh?” Leaning against the kitchen counter, Emma tightly folded her arms.
“You either find a new man and start over…”
“Out of the question.”
“Borrow a baby. You know, sit for a neighbor.”
Drumming her fingers on the counter, Emma said, “That’ll make me feel just swell for a few hours.”
“Okay, then you adopt another child, then—”
“Please, stop. I lost my son. Henry wasn’t just a puppy, Mom. He’s not that easily replaced.”
“Don’t you think I know that? I lost a grandson. But you can’t spend the rest of your life walking the beach. After a while, your money will dry up, and you’ll have to—”
“I know,” Emma practically growled. “I get all of that. I just need time.”
“For what? We think there’s a part of you scared Rick might’ve been right. That you did have something to do with poor Henry dying, but sweetie, nothing could be further from the truth. Your father and I have discussed this at length, and truly feel the best way to help you through this is by helping you to find a way to prove not to the world, but to yourself, that you were—and still can be—an amazing mother.”
Drumming her fingers on the table, gazing past the tears in her eyes to the churning surf, through a throat nearly closed from grief, Emma said, “Mom, I have to go. I can’t do this.”
“Emma, I didn’t mean to upset you. But you’ve always been so vibrant. Holding down an impressive job while still keeping a lovely home, that we just—”
“Sorry, Mom—really—but I have to go.” Emma not only hung up the phone, but unplugged the cord from the wall jack.
“QUIT BEING STUBBORN, Jace, and try it again.”
Lips pressed tight, two days after Vicki’s abrupt arrival and departure from his life, Jace faced the task in front of him, and wished he were on a combat mission. Lord knew, it would’ve been easier than trying to get those damned sticky tabs lined up straight. He was having a tough enough time even telling which twin was which. Changing diapers was impossible.
He’d hired a PI to find Vicki, but the man hadn’t had much luck.
“Jace,” Granola’s wife, Pam, said with a not-so-gentle poke to his back. “Quit staring at Beatrice like she’s an alien, and get on with it before she catches a chill. Worse yet, before her sister wakes up.”
“Give me a sec,” he snapped. “This isn’t as easy as you say.” Was he supposed to add lotion, then powder? Or was it the other way around? Pam had six younger brothers and sisters, meaning she’d handled this sort of thing a lot. Jace was an only child. “Plus, she’s naked. I’ve never seen a naked baby before, and it’s kinda freaking me out.”
Pam gently shoved him out of the way. “You have to get a grip, Jace. The paternity-test results are due back tomorrow. What happens when you’re proven to be the twins’ father? I can’t stay here forever. I already have a husband.”
“You guys about done in there?” Granola hollered from the living room. “I really need some chow!”
Shaking her head and frowning, Pam easily diapered the baby, then dressed her in one of the pink jumpsuits Vicki had left, along with a brief note concerning their care and listing the girls’ names. Bronwyn had a freckle on the bottom of her left big toe. Other than that, the kiddos were identical.
“Men,” Pam grumbled, passing off Beatrice to him. “You’re impossible.”
Jace trailed her into the living room where Granola sat all comfy in Jace’s favorite recliner, watching his new plasma screen. “What the hell?”
“Language!” Pam snapped.
Jace rolled his eyes. “The kids can’t say more than ‘goo.’ How are they supposed to know what hell means?”
“I’ve had it—with both of you.” She pulled the lever on the recliner, forcing it upright.
“What the hell?” Granola said.
“Your wife’s out of control,” Jace mumbled.
“She’s also leaving,” Pam said, snatching up her purse then storming to the door. “Come on, William. If you’re so hungry, then you can take me out for dinner.”
“What about me?” Jace asked, eyeing the pink bundle squirming in his arms. “What happens when the other one starts crying? You haven’t left me alone with them since they got here, and—”
Pam glared. “And my back aches from sleeping on your sofa. Face it, Jace, sooner or later, you’re going to have to figure out this whole parenting thing.”
“Later works for me.”
“Come on,” Pam said, dragging Granola by his desert-camo shirtsleeve. To Jace, she said, “When we’ve finished dinner, we’ll stop by to check on you and get our stuff. After that, you’re on your own.”
FRIDAY MORNING, following her breakfast routine, Emma walked the beach. Summer heat had set in. Even at nine in the morning, humidity made the air feel thick to breathe. The Gulf was glassy, the usual churning surf little more than a slap on the sand. Despite the climbing temperature, Emma walked and walked, cooling her feet in the water, doing her best to ignore the sun beating down on her head.
As she neared the resort-style hotel, the fifties-era pop that she’d heard faintly at her house became loud enough for her to recognize Elvis.
She’d never been all the way to the hotel, but today, drawn by children’s laughter, she kept walking. Heart pounding, she strode past hotel employees setting out white beach chairs and red umbrellas along the powdered-sand shore. She mounted wide, whitewashed steps leading to the wooden boardwalk guests used to traverse the low dunes.
At the boardwalk’s end, paradise awaited. Majestic palms circled a free-form pool featuring a two-story rock waterfall and a slide on one end, and a swim-up bar on the other. From hidden speakers, Johnny Mathis crooned, and now she was close enough to hear every word. Red hibiscus and cannas lined winding, sun-bleached brick paths leading to tennis courts and mini-golf courses.
The air smelled of coffee from an outdoor dining patio, chlorine from the pool and decades of sun-baked tanning lotions and oils.
While the children’s laughter grew ever closer, Emma still hadn’t found them. On and on she searched, alarmed to find herself almost frantic. She had to see them—just to watch from afar. To give voice to such a thought would make her a psych-ward candidate, but since she didn’t plan on telling anyone, she increased her speed. Private, Southern-mansion-style villas circled the grand hotel. The buildings were all white, making the foliage all the more vibrant. Palms were now mixed with ferns and magnolias and red impatiens for
