being her baby’s surrogate daddy. Didn’t happen.
“Alone is fine.” Thanks to Jarrod and years of hard work and careful spending, she had plenty of money. She was used to living independently and had excellent nursing skills, which would surely come in handy during any bouts of baby choking or illness. Not that she planned on having to do everything on her own forever.
Surely Jarrod’s parents would help with babysitting...if they were still local. She swallowed back the guilt of waiting so long as she opened the large tan envelope and pulled out the letters inside, all but one still sealed, each labeled by Jarrod with specific instructions.
#1—For Krissy—Open after my funeral
She’d read that letter so many times she could recite it from memory.
#2—For Spencer—When you’re ready to give it to him
Spencer, of all people! Why did he want Spencer to be the baby’s godfather? Spencer hated her. And, as of junior year of high school, the feeling was mutual.
#3—For my mom and dad—To explain our agreement
She planned to hand-deliver that one after the birth of the baby.
#4—To my son on his tenth birthday
#4—To my daughter on her tenth birthday
She caressed her pregnant belly, knowing that it would be Jarrod’s son who would be getting letter number four on his tenth birthday.
“Stop putting it off.” Krissy reached inside to pull out a piece of paper that had Jarrod’s parents’ home telephone number on it. God willing it hadn’t changed. With a deep, fortifying breath, she picked up her cell phone and dialed the number.
First ring.
She twirled the post earring in her left ear, an annoying nervous habit Jarrod would have been sure to point out.
Second ring.
Suddenly parched, she reached for the glass beside her bed and took a sip of water.
Third ring.
She started to plan her message. Hello Mr. and Mrs. Sadler. It’s—
“Hello?”
Krissy recognized Patti’s voice immediately, so familiar it brought on a rush of emotion. She swallowed. Wasn’t ready—
“Hello?” Patti said again.
Stop being an idiot. “Hi, Mrs. Sadler,” Krissy said. “It’s me—”
“Krissy! Oh, my word. How are you, honey? It’s been...so long.” Patti may have started out happy to hear from Krissy, but the sadness tinged with disappointment and hurt in her ‘It’s been...so long’ was unmistakable.
“I know,” Krissy said. “I’m sorry. I...” How did one adequately apologize for failing to keep in touch with a woman who’d been like a mother to her throughout high school? For failing to be there for a woman who had been there for Krissy when her own mother couldn’t be? For failing to offer her love and support to a sweet and caring woman who’d been dealing with the worst tragedy a mother could face, the death of a child?
“I...” Krissy tried again. But how could she adequately explain that she’d tried to stay in touch, and she had, for a good year after Jarrod’s death. But hearing the complete desolation in Patti’s voice during each phone call had been too difficult? That it made Krissy feel things she didn’t want to feel when she’d been trying so hard to move past the pain? That knowing she held the key to Patti and Bart’s happiness, in the form of a grandbaby fathered by their beloved son, but not feeling ready to give up her freedom to have that baby at such a young age, made her feel guilty and selfish and just plain terrible?
“I’m sorry,” she said again. It would have to do until she could explain further.
“I’m sorry, too,” Patti said. “I’ve missed you. Now tell me everything. What have you been up to?”
Easy as that, sweet Patti moved past what a terrible friend Krissy had been.
An hour later they were all caught up—getting caught up on the happenings of Patti and Bart had taken less than five minutes, because not much new had happened in their lives. They were in the same apartment, working in the same jobs, still mourning the loss of their son. They were going through the motions of life but not really living. It would have broken Jarrod’s heart to know. It made Krissy feel even more awful for waiting so long to give them a grandchild to dote on.
But in six weeks, all that would change. She wanted to tell Patti, wanted to hear the joy in her voice and give her something to finally be happy about, but not yet. Not until Patti could hold a happy, healthy baby in her arms. Mr. and Mrs. Sadler had been through too much, couldn’t handle any more sadness if anything were to go wrong with the birth, or God forbid, if the baby wasn’t born healthy.
Krissy forced out the question she’d called to ask. “I’m wondering if you know how I can reach Spencer Penn?”
“Of course. Spencer is such a dear. He stops by for Sunday dinner every couple of months.”
Shoot. Leave it to Spencer to screw up her plans. “I thought he was living out in California. Wasn’t that why he hadn’t attended Jarrod’s funeral?”
“Oh, no. He was only out there for a week or two, taking his sister to look at colleges. I told him not to cancel his plans that Jarrod would understand. Now hold on a minute. Let me get his number from my address book.”
Take all the time you need. Can’t find it? No worries. Krissy was in no rush. She’d already put this off longer than she probably should have.
“Here it is.” Patti read off the number. “If you don’t mind me asking, why do you need it?”
Because your son has a sick sense of humor and I’m trying to do the right thing and abide by his wishes for Spencer to be our baby’s godfather, even though the thought made her a bit nauseous.
“I was under the impression,” Patti went on, “that the two of you weren’t friends anymore.”
No. They weren’t. Not since that night... “I need to talk to him about something important,” was all Krissy said, hoping Patti would leave it at that.
Thank goodness she did. “Don’t be a stranger,” Patti said. “If you have some time, we’d love to see you.”
Soon, if things went as planned, they’d be seeing quite a lot of her. “I’d like that. I’ll be in touch.” After your grandson is born.
* * *
A week later, on a Friday evening after work, Krissy sat in her parked car, watching the clock, not wanting to show up too early. She’d kept the heat on, because an April evening in New York was not near as warm as an April evening in Hawaii. Or maybe it was nerves giving her a chill.
It’d taken days of back and forth messages to set up a meeting with Spencer, the pain in the butt. He kept suggesting various bars in White Plains, all relatively close to where she worked,
