breaths, she managed to quell the intense nausea. It was gone almost as suddenly as it had come. Still, she waited a few minutes to make sure.
When she returned to the front of the print shop, she saw that May had completed Chloe’s transaction and was now arguing with Mrs. Nugent, who wanted them to make a personalized photo calendar as a Christmas present for her mother, but refused to accept that they weren’t allowed to reproduce copyrighted pictures of her kids.
“After what that studio charged me for the darn things, I should be able to wallpaper my whole house with them if I want to!”
May’s patient expression didn’t waver. “So long as you understand that we can’t print the wallpaper for you.”
This seemed like as good a time as any for Rachel to take her lunch hour. With a guilty half wave in May’s direction, she crept toward the door, not wanting to get caught up in Mrs. Nugent’s righteous indignation over the “highway robbery” of professional photography. Once Rachel was outside and contemplating where to go for lunch, she admitted to herself that food was the last thing she wanted.
Finally, something good about stress—it had her stomach so upset it was killing her appetite. Maybe she’d fit into that bridesmaid’s dress after all.
A niggling voice in the back of her head pointed out she’d been stressed all morning, yet hadn’t been in danger of tossing her cookies until that fish smell hit. It was similar to last spring, when … She stopped dead on the sidewalk. What a ridiculous thought. Still, now that she considered it, when had her last period been? Rachel bit her lip, not sure. For the first time in nearly two years, she wasn’t obsessively tracking her cycle, trying hard to let go and reach a healthier emotional state.
Oh, yeah, I’m a picture of mental health. She gave a quick shake of her head. Now that she was off the medications that had regulated her cycles, it wasn’t surprising that she might skip a period—or two?—as her body adjusted. In fact, her bursting into tears at the drop of a hat lately and her sensory overreaction to odors was probably just PMS. She’d start her period any day and feel silly about this.
Yep. An-n-ny day now.
Chapter Four
“Hey, Rach! Come in where it’s warm.” Arianne opened the door of her parents’ house. She lived in a garage apartment these days—Susan kept saying she and Zachariah didn’t need all the space, but they couldn’t bear to put the family home up for sale even though it was just the two of them there. “It’s finally starting to feel like December, isn’t it? David’s inside getting a fire started.”
Rachel had seen his car out front; he’d probably come straight from work. A stray memory broadsided her of her husband wanting to create a romantic scene by lighting their first fire in their new home and making love in its glow on the living room sofa. But it had been a ridiculously warm winter that year, and to make the house cold enough, he’d cranked up the air-conditioning. That was David, determined to control his environment.
Then again, there was something to be said for a man who worked that hard to create a romantic moment for his wife. He’d met her while she was vacationing in Mistletoe, and knowing their time together might be temporary, he’d systematically pulled out all the stops in wooing her. He’d—
“Rachel?” Arianne prompted.
She started guiltily, as if she’d been caught committing a crime instead of daydreaming about her own spouse. “I had to let the dogs out! Winnie’s dogs, I mean. Th-that’s why David and I arrived separately.”
“Yeah, we know.” Arianne studied her, looking perplexed.
Well, subterfuge never was my strong suit. Shrugging out of her coat, Rachel scooted past her sister-in-law to greet the rest of the family, which was segregated along gender lines. She heard Tanner and Zachariah offering unsolicited advice on how to arrange the logs; the women were gathered in the kitchen. Rachel made a beeline for the latter and hung her jacket over the back of a chair. Her black jeans and red scoop-necked sweater certainly fitted in the overall color scheme.
Lilah sat at the table in a casual red dress chopping carrots, while Susan, wearing a white-and-red checkered cardigan over dark slacks, seasoned the pot of stew on the stove. The dishwasher stood ajar. Since Arianne hated to cook, Rachel bet her sister-in-law’s job had been unloading dishes.
“Smells divine in here.” Rachel kissed her mother-in-law’s cheek.
She’d always admired Susan’s aura of balance and domestic elegance. The woman seemed comfortable at home cooking for her husband, but equally capable when she was juggling volunteer work in town and at the store. Rachel’s own mom had fought hard to be successful in the workplace, devoting a lot of energy to her career. Though Rachel hadn’t questioned whether she was loved, Mrs. Nietermyer had never seemed completely, well, motherly. As a girl, Rachel had thought her mother harbored an unspoken disdain for homemakers, as if they weren’t as smart or driven. But Susan Waide was sharp as a tack, and Rachel now wondered if what she’d perceived from her mom had been, in part, jealousy … envy over skills she herself couldn’t seem to master.
What kind of mother would I have made? Her chest tightened at the thought, and she pushed away the painful “what if.” “What can I do to help?”
“We’re pretty well set in here,” Susan said. “Could you go remind Zachariah that he and Tanner were supposed to put the extra leaf in the dining room table?”
“Arianne and I can probably take care of that.”
“I appreciate the offer,” Susan said as Ari resumed putting away pots and pans. “But if the boys plan to eat with us, they have to do their part. It won’t hurt them to work for it, dear.”
Lilah laughed. “That sounds like something Aunt Shelby would say.”
Though Rachel always considered Lilah a Mistletoe native, the woman hadn’t been born here like David and his siblings; she’d moved in with her aunt and uncle years ago after her parents had died in a crash. Lilah’s uncle Ray would walk her down the aisle.
“That’s because Shelby Tierney is very wise,” Susan said approvingly. “You’ll have no shortage of marital advice, if you want it. I’m always here.” She swung her shrewd gaze back toward Rachel in clear invitation.
Rachel swallowed. She’d considered discussing the deteriorating state of her marriage with Susan, but it had seemed somehow disloyal to run to David’s family with their problems. Weren’t the Waides duty-bound to take his side? Well, maybe not Arianne. She regularly labeled her older brothers as pains in the butt.
I’ll miss them all so much. She turned away. “I’ll go see about having the guys set up the table.”
Before Rachel reached the living room, she heard masculine laughter. From the snatches she gathered, David and his brother were teasing their father about a fire he’d once tried to start on a camping trip.
“To this day,” Tanner was saying as she entered the room, “Mom still— Oh, hey, Rach.” He crossed the room to hug her, so like his brother in build and coloring that her return embrace was awkward. It had been such a long time since David had held her just to be close. She used to laugh at the way he’d hug her from behind at silly times—while she was trying to put away groceries or brush her teeth. She missed those embraces,
