the only person she could trust with her true feelings. Rebecca told Desiree the truth about how she felt about her pregnancy, but right after that, Rebecca hugged her tight and told her it would be all right.
“Ahem.” The sound of Tyree clearing his throat jolted them out of their reveries.
“Oh my goodness,” Rebecca exclaimed, finally letting Desiree out of her grip. “I’m sorry. I just . . . I didn’t know how much I’ve missed you.”
Desiree giggled awkwardly, trying to squelch her sobs. “I know, right? I missed you so much . . . and the food . . . oh goodness, the food,” Desiree joked, trying to break the heartbreak and tension of the moment.
“Don’t worry. I’ll feed you well,” Rebecca assured her, wiping her own tears away too.
“Ahem.” Tyree cleared his throat again, his foot tapping the ground.
Desiree and Rebecca both turned their attention to him this time. Rebecca’s eyes welled up again.
“This baby has grown up so nicely,” she sang, rushing toward him. She pulled him to her. “Goodness, the last time I saw you, you were knee high to a fly,” she joked.
Tyree smiled awkwardly, crushed by her tight hug. He didn’t remember Rebecca; that was how small he had been the last time Desiree took him home.
“He’s a tall beanpole now,” Desiree said, smiling proudly at her two favorite people in the world. She wished they had been together all the time. Rebecca would’ve been great at helping her raise and take care of Tyree. Desiree was sure of it. Rebecca would have been the best grandnanny in the world. The thought tickled Desiree somewhere close to her heart.
Rebecca let Tyree go and grabbed Desiree’s hand. “You need to come inside, get settled, and go see him,” she said, lowering her voice.
“How’s he doing?” Desiree asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Well, I won’t say. I’ll let you go see him,” Rebecca said, hanging her head slightly. Desiree’s stomach lurched.
“That bad, huh?” she replied.
* * *
Desiree paused at her father’s bedroom door. She looked down the long hallway and realized she was really alone. She hadn’t been alone with her father in years. Her neck tensed, and she clenched her teeth so hard, pain shot up to her temples. Desiree blew out a windstorm of breath and opened the door. Her eyes went wide and she sucked in her breath at the sight of her father lying in a hospital bed, connected to what seemed like a million wires. The blips and beeps of the fifteen machines sounded uncomfortably loud to Desiree. She couldn’t stop the tears from pouring out of her eyes and down her face.
“Oh, Daddy,” she whimpered, slowly moving to his bedside. “I’m so sorry.”
Finally, she was close enough to touch him. She reached down and picked up his limp, wrinkled hand. Desiree hiccupped a sob and her shoulders fell forward as she took in the sight of the man who had always been her first love.
“Daddy,” she sobbed out, slowly pronouncing each syllable.
His gaunt body seemed swallowed up by the bed, and he looked as if he’d aged two hundred years since she’d last seen him. His head was covered with fine gray peach fuzz, and his cheekbones jutted against his paper-thin skin unnaturally. He was nothing like the tall, barrel-chested, regal man who was Ernest Johnson, her father, her hero, and sometimes her worst nightmare.
“I’m so sorry, Daddy. I never wanted to disappoint you,” Desiree cried, pulling her father’s hand up to her face. Then she knelt at his bedside, put her head down at his side, and closed her eyes. She couldn’t stop the memories, both good and bad, from revisiting her again.
Fifteen-year-old Desiree had lain curled up in the fetal position inside her bedroom at the Idlewild summer home for over a day. She’d been there since the devastating meeting took place between her parents and Tyson Blackwell’s parents the day before. Unable to stop reliving the worst moment of her life over and over again, Desiree had drawn all the curtains, locked her door, and buried herself under a pile of quilts, even though it was ninety degrees outside. She kept replaying his words, their words, everyone’s words as they spoke about her like she was some street whore who had sought to trap Tyson. Tyson had warned her, but she had never thought they’d treat her like that, especially her own father.
Since she had revealed that she was pregnant, her mother had tried to be supportive, but her father hadn’t said two words to her. Desiree had been his little girl, innocent in all rights, before this. She couldn’t even imagine what her father must think of her now. The thought made Desiree cry even harder as she lay on her bed. She was literally sick to her stomach over this.
Carolyn and Desiree had sat together that first night, as Desiree had cried her eyes out over how stupid she’d been to think it was all going to work out with Tyson. She had believed him when he said he wanted to be with her no matter what. Desiree hadn’t ever thought about pregnancy, their family names, and Tyson’s future or her own while she was wrapped up in their teenage love. She had been young, dumb, and in love for the first time. Desiree had become the talk of Idlewild, and she knew it.
As she lay on her bed, she realized that it wouldn’t be long before the news traveled home to Chicago, where her family would head once the summer ended and everyone closed up their Idlewild hideaways and went back to their high-priced stone mansions on the edge of Lake Michigan. The thought of what people in Chicago would say about her caused Desiree to shudder and gag. Loose girl, slut, unworthy were only some of the monikers Desiree imagined people would call her after her pregnancy was revealed.
She had ignored a bunch of calls from friends and family members who had heard about everything through the Idlewild grapevine. Desiree had ignored every single call. Especially since not one call had come from Tyson himself. After Mrs. Blackwell had all but called Desiree a future-ruining slut, Tyson had locked eyes with Desiree and mouthed that he was sorry, but Desiree didn’t believe him. She had seen the look on his face when his mother had called her a slut. His eyes had gotten glassy, and his mouth had turned downward. But still, he hadn’t spoken up. In that moment he had reminded Desiree of a scared little boy, not the man he’d always promised her he would be.
And Desiree had noticed the pain and conflict in his eyes. She’d gotten a funny feeling that maybe this wasn’t the first time Tyson had done something like this. Desiree was devastated by the thought that she was nothing more than another one of his conquests. She had known all along that she was playing with fire by messing with a gorgeous and popular guy like Tyson, but the attraction she had felt for him was so magnetic that she’d lost sight of the consequences. Now, safely ensconced in her bedroom, she tried to erase all thoughts of Tyson, but it was useless. It was all too much to deal with. She wanted to bury her head and never come back out, but then something suddenly got her attention.
A knock on her bedroom door drew Desiree up off her bed. She padded over to the door, barely wanting to pick up her feet. Her usually vibrant face was drained of color. Her always perfectly coiffed hair had turned into a tangled bird’s nest atop her head, her eyes were red from crying, and she could surely use a shower. Wrapped in a soft pink chenille robe, she swallowed hard and exhaled as she put her face close to the door.
“Who is it?” Desiree called out from behind the locked door. She was silently praying it wasn’t her mother again.
Carolyn had been driving Desiree crazy with her efforts to cheer
