back. Why not? She’d grown up there; her family was buried there. “We can visit Melanie’s and your mom’s graves, and I can show you where my mother’s buried.”
“All right.” Her voice was quiet. “Let me check the calendar and see when we could go.”
Had she really agreed to go back to California with Wade? Phoebe wanted to slap herself silly. He’d been in her life again for just two days and already he was turning her world upside down. She should boot him out.
But she knew she never would. Keeping Bridget’s existence a secret had been more than a mistake, it had practically been criminal. And she deserved his anger. She’d really been like that overused cliché—an ostrich with its head in the sand. But at the time, it had been so much easier simply to cut her ties with her old life.
If only she had told his parents about Bridget when she first realized she was pregnant. Or…even after she’d thought he was dead.
But other people would have found out eventually. She could hear them now.
Just like her mother.
At least she knows who the father is. She and her poor sister didn’t even have that.
Oh, yes. She knew how small towns could be. At least, the small town where she had grown up. Vicious gossips. Not everyone, of course. She’d known many sweet, wonderful people in her hometown. But she’d known more than she liked of the kind who didn’t want to let their daughters come over to play with Phoebe and Melanie.
As if illegitimacy was catching.
If she was thankful for anything, it was for the fact that the world had changed since her own childhood. There were families of every kind out there today, and a child without a father wasn’t treated any different than a child with two mothers, or a child who shuttled back and forth between her mother’s and father’s homes in the middle of the week.
She sighed as she looked at her calendar. She had two days off in October, and if she took off another day, they could go to California for a long weekend and make it back without being so pressed for time that it wasn’t even worth the flight. She wasn’t sure her courage was up to the task of introducing Wade’s father to a grandchild he didn’t even know existed, but she could tell that Wade wasn’t taking no for an answer.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay? Angie is just one street over if you need her,” Phoebe told him for at least the tenth time on Monday morning.
“We’ll be fine,” Wade said. Again. “I’ll call Angie if I need anything. And if anything happens, I’ll call you immediately.”
“All right. I guess I’ll see you this afternoon.”
“Bye.” He held the door open for her. “Don’t worry.”
She stopped on the verge of descending the porch steps and looked back at him, a wry expression on her face. “I’m a mother. It’s in the job description.” Then she heaved a sigh and headed for the car as he closed the front door.
It had taken some fast talking on his part, but yesterday she’d agreed to let him keep Bridget this week without anyone stopping by to check on him. And even better, she’d informed him that she’d worked out her schedule so that they could go to see his dad in just a few weeks. She had to clear it with the principal of her building, but she hadn’t anticipated any trouble. So he’d make the plane reservations as soon as she came home and gave him a green light tonight.
His dad. How in hell was he going to explain this to his father? From the time he’d entered adolescence and his dad had sat him down for their first big “talk,” the watchwords of the day had been responsible behavior and protection. Not to mention morality.
He’d never mentioned his feelings for Phoebe to his parents, never really had the chance, given what had happened with Melanie’s death. And then, after the funeral, after things had gotten so wildly out of control, he hadn’t had the chance. He’d had to leave the next morning. And Phoebe hadn’t answered her phone, although he’d tried half the night to contact her.
He could have simply walked down the street and banged on her door. Should have, he amended. But he’d known she was grieving, and he’d felt he had to respect that. And he’d felt guilty, taking advantage of her trust when she’d been so vulnerable. He should have stopped her.
In the end, he’d given up, promising himself that he’d get in touch with her in a day or two. But he’d been deployed to Afghanistan earlier than expected, with barely twenty-four hours to prepare and he hadn’t had time or opportunity to do anything more than think about her.
A month or two later, he’d learned from his mother that she’d left town, that no one seemed to know where she’d gone. The East Coast, someone thought, so he’d made up his mind to visit her the next time he came home. He’d e-mailed her at the same address he’d used for years now—and to his shock, it was returned as undeliverable. And then his mother had had the stroke and all Wade’s phone calls and e-mails with his dad had been filled with medical concerns. He’d only been home twice during that hectic time, once not long after his mom’s first stroke, the second after her funeral.
He’d come home for that on a three-day leave and gone right back again afterward. He wouldn’t have had time to look up Phoebe if she’d just moved to the next town, much less across the continent. Just days after that, he’d watched one of his buddies die when he’d stepped on an unexpected land mine. Others had been dragged away by insurgents operating out of the Afghanistan mountains. He’d barely been able to conceal himself, but he’d managed it. And then unexpected help in the form of an Afghan villager had saved his life and gotten him back to his own troops. On a stretcher, but alive.
He’d had plenty of time to think about her then, while he’d been recuperating. He’d needed her, had finally admitted to himself that he wanted to see if there was any chance that they might have a future together. He’d considered trying to find her, but he didn’t really want to call her and tell her he was lying in a hospital bed. So he’d waited until he was well enough to look for her in person.
But he’d never stopped thinking about her, about any of the all-too-brief time they’d spent together. The revelation of his feelings—and hers, he was pretty sure—at the dance. Which had promptly been put on indefinite hold when Melanie had been killed.
And then Melanie’s funeral. Or more specifically, what had occurred right afterward. God, if he’d relived that once he’d been through it a thousand times. And that was probably a conservative estimate. He would never forget making love to Phoebe for the first time, no matter the circumstances….
“Are you okay?”
Phoebe looked up, clearly surprised. She’d been sitting on the swing under the rose trellis at one side of her uncle’s home. Just sitting and staring.
Her eyes were red and puffy as she looked at him, and Wade realized what an inane question it was.
“I mean, I know you’re not okay, but I didn’t want to…I couldn’t leave without talking to you.”
Her nod seemed to take enormous effort. Slowly, she said, “I just needed a break from it.” Her voice trembled. “I can’t go back in there and talk about her anymore.”
The graveside service was complete; Melanie’s
