day.”
“Oh, yeah.” She smiled wistfully. “I forgot.”
Probably because her late husband was so wealthy he hadn’t needed to work. It was a good reminder of the different lives they lived, the little they had in common.
“Just let me know when you’re ready to show me some samples,” he said. “I’ll be home after five tonight.”
She nodded and offered him a smile that made him feel like some kind of hero, when he felt like everything but.
So he nodded toward the road. “If you’ll open your garage, I’ll carry your trash to the curb.”
“Thanks. I’ll do that now.”
Samantha went back into the house, and before long, the garage-door opener sounded. Moments later, she was showing him where she kept the recycle bins.
“The trash cans are on the side of the house,” she said. “But there’s just one, and it’s only half-full.”
He noticed a large number of boxes that had been lined along the east wall of the garage. Each was marked Salvation Army. “I see you’re recycling clothes and things, too.”
“Those were Peter’s. I decided it was time to get rid of them. I’d like to see someone else get some use out of them.”
The guy had always been impeccably dressed, so someone looking for secondhand clothing was going to get a heck of a bargain.
Still, he was happy to see she’d cleaned out the closets. That had to be a sign that she’d moved on.
Or maybe she was only trying to get over her husband and start anew. Maybe moving on was more of an effort than a reality.
He stole another glance at Samantha, saw her willowy shape, as well as a whisper of sadness in her eyes. Again he was struck by her beauty and the waiflike aura that seemed to envelop her, and something tugged at his heartstrings. She was expecting a baby and didn’t have the support of either a husband or a mother, like Yolanda had.
So he would do whatever he could to make things easier for her, especially until the baby was born. At that point, her life would be full of wonder and awe, rather than grief and loneliness. Then he would back off.
“Well,” he said, “I really ought to get moving. I’ve got a meeting first thing.”
“Thanks for all your help, Hector. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem.” He carried her trash and recyclables to the curb, then returned home and got ready to head to the office.
Life was short and unpredictable, he supposed. People divorced, spouses died and loved ones struggled to carry on.
Maybe Yolanda had been right. Maybe he needed to find a nice woman and settle down. But he had no idea where to look—or when he’d find time to do so.
A car engine started up, and Samantha backed her Jag out of the garage and into the street. Then she hit the remote to lower the door.
As she spotted Hector, she waved, and he gave her a nod.
No doubt she was a nice woman. And if a man got involved with her, he’d certainly have to settle down. After all, he’d soon have a little one underfoot.
But taking on a ready-made family?
Hector wasn’t up for the task, especially when it meant raising another man’s baby.
Samantha had decided to get the visit to her mother out of the way early, since she’d be thinking about it all day if she didn’t.
So after Hector came by and offered to take out her trash, she’d driven twenty-three miles to Hastings, where her mother had been born. Then she continued on to the little cemetery on the outskirts of town.
She parked and purchased a bouquet of pink roses from a vendor who sold flowers and pinwheels for people to place on grave sites. Then she made the short walk to the grassy knoll where her mother had been buried. Once she reached the familiar marble stone, with its carved cherubs, she took a seat on the lawn, which was still damp from the morning dew. There weren’t many people out and about yet—just two women bearing a container of red carnations and a lone man in front of a double-size headstone, a baseball cap in his hands and his head bowed.
Birds chattered in the treetops, and a family of ducks swam in the nearby pond, reminding Samantha that life went on.
She sat in pensive solitude for a while, basking in the loving memories she had of her mother.
She remembered the day they’d spent at the seashore when she was fourteen. The picnic lunch they’d eaten, their romp in the waves, the sandcastle they’d made. The chat they’d had about Samantha remaining a virgin until the right man came along, a man who would treat her with love and respect.
Several years later, while in her first year of college, she’d found that man in Peter Keating, a graduate student. He’d fallen for her quickly—and hard. With time and patience, he’d eventually convinced her that they were meant to be together.
Peter had adored her in a way most women only dreamed about, and at times she’d felt guilty for not quite loving him as much as he deserved. She’d talked about it to her mother once, about feeling as though there was something missing.
But her mom insisted it would come with time. And she’d gone on to ask, “Do you know how many women would give their left arms to be loved by a man like Peter Keating?”
Her mom had been right; it had come with time. Not the spark, but contentment and the realization that she’d done the right thing by marrying him.
She thought about her wedding day, when Mama had sat in the front row at the church, wearing a blue designer dress Peter had purchased for her. She’d looked every bit as elegant as the Keatings and their wealthy, high-society friends.
“This is the happiest day of my life,” her mom had said, her glimmering eyes the same shade as her dress. “You have no idea how relieved I am to know you’ll never want for anything.”
And she hadn’t. Peter had made sure that her life was picture-book perfect. And thanks to her quick thinking at his bedside five years ago, he’d even provided her with a family.
“Just think,” Samantha said softly, hoping her words would somehow reach her mom’s ears. “In less than five months I’m going to be a mother myself.”
Or sooner than that, she realized, as she recalled what Dr. Demetrios had said about triplets coming early.
A monarch butterfly fluttered by, as if carrying her mother’s happy response, and eventually landed on a dandelion nearby.
“I wish you could be here to see the babies when they come,” Samantha said. “We would have had so much fun fixing up the nursery, shopping for baby clothes and waiting for their arrival.”
She had Peter’s mother, though. But somehow she couldn’t imagine Marian Keating in a grandmother role, rocking the babies or changing their diapers. She’d be more apt to offer to pay for a nanny—one she interviewed herself
