Page 88 of This Baby Business
“I’m still looking at all my options.”
“I’m sure it will still be something having to do with babies, right?”
“Um, sure. I wouldn’t rule that out.”
“You are your mother’s daughter, after all.”
But that wasn’t true, and never had been. I’d always marched to the beat of my own drummer, as my father said. The entire family had been left-brain thinkers, and I’d been the odd one out. I’d been the one with dyslexia, which at times was my curse and at other times the one thing that made me unique. I’d been drawn to creative pursuits and found my success there. For the most part, anyway.
“Actually,” I said. “I adored my mother, but we were nothing alike. This baby business was her thing, and I never understood it. When she died, I tried my best, but I’m a poor substitute. And that’s okay.”
It felt freeing to tell the truth. I’d been selling and pretending to be someone I wasn’t for so long that I’d almost forgotten who I was. Now so plainly stated and simple, the truth sat between us, clearing the air. Mrs. Lane didn’t look shocked or at all surprised. But then again, if she was a mother and a grandmother a few times over, she’d probably already seen and heard it all.
“You’re good with Grace.” Mrs. Lane glanced at her granddaughter with clear adoration in her eyes. “That’s all I care about.”
Grace cooed from her stroller, where she sat swinging and kicking her chubby legs. I didn’t know how it had happened, or when, but I understood Grace. I was in tune with her mood swings and her needs. I knew the way she liked to be held when outside, so that she got a clear view of the whole world in front of her. The way she seemed to understand my words, and the sound of my voice talking to her through the day. Levi had been right.
I might not be the most informed nanny around, but I was an encyclopedia when it came to Grace Lambert.
CHAPTER35
Irene
Late in theafternoon, Irene pulled back the lacy white eyelet curtains of her room at the Whispering Rose Bed and Breakfast on the outskirts of Fortune. Away from town, it was so quiet the only sounds she heard were crickets. The B and B was on several acres of a beautiful working vineyard.
Just the kind of place where she’d wanted to stay with her husband. Said husband could be in here right now enjoying the beautiful ambience of the soft lighting and the wine tastings every evening, but instead he sat outside in the rental sedan spying on her.
Yep. Still there. She had her own stalker. Her husband.
He’d called and texted since she’d left their room at the Budget Inn. She hadn’t responded. But the next day, she’d noticed him parked in the small visitors’ lot of the B and B for hours. It hadn’t taken a genius to find her, as she’d used his credit card to book the place.
“Frank,” she muttered. “What are you doing?”
He wouldn’t come to the door and knock. She told herself he was simply respecting her space. If nothing else, she’d distracted him from his machinations with the California family court system.
After spending most of the afternoon with Grace at Happy Hollow, the local petting zoo, Irene had come away firmly convinced that her granddaughter was well cared for. Safe. Healthy and alert. Levi and Carly had done a wonderful job, and Frank should be happy with this knowledge. But Irene worried that nothing on this earth would be good enough for him.
At four o’clock, she walked to the tasting room for happy hour. Frank sat in the sedan, hunched over, as though he thought she might not see him there. Afterward, she came back, trying to ignore the sedan. Pretending and playing along that she didn’t see him there. She’d always said that Frank was far more stubborn than any of the children. This time she was going to wait him out. Two could play this game.
But after sitting inside alone for another hour, checking in with the kids via email and updating them on Grace, confirming her flight home, Irene couldn’t take it another minute. She flung open the door of the small cottage then marched across the courtyard to the small side lot.
Frank slid down in the driver’s seat and covered his face with the bill of his Giants baseball cap.
She rapped her knuckles on the driver’s side door.
He rolled down the window then straightened the bill of his hat.
“Why are you here?” Irene asked, hands on hips.
“I had to make sure you were okay.”
Irene sucked in a breath. The sad truth was it was quite possibly the most loving thing he’d said to her in months.
“Oh, Frank.”
“I’m sorry to bother you.” He leaned forward and turned the key in the ignition.
“Don’t you want to see the room you’re paying for?”
