Page 9 of Henhouse
“I think I’m afraid of who I’ll be when the baby gets here. That I’ll lose what’s important to me now.”
Aunt Bea leaned back in her seat, and Hope could tell she was chewing over her words. “Hm,” she mused. “I think the things that get lost along the way . . . the ones we put down and never remember to pick back up . . . those are probably things we outgrew anyway. The stuff that makes the heart sing demands to be picked up, even if it has to sit on the shelf a bit in wait.”
“And what if I never pick it back up?” It was too depressing a thought to consider, but it had wormed its way in almost as soon as the test read positive.
“Then I can only imagine it will mean you’ve found something that makes you even happier than writing. But I don’t think you’ll stop. I can remind you to get to your laptop if you’d like . . . and to go out with Effie and read vampire novels and sing in the shower. You’ve got a lot of people that love you, my Hope. They’ll remind you who you are, and I bet this baby will teach you a thing or two about yourself you never saw coming. Maybe this man of yours too?”
Hope leaned into Beatrice’s hand as she wiped the tear Hope hadn’t felt fall from her cheek. Aunt Bea was kindness untethered. “I think he will. I hope he will.” Hope looked down at her lap. Doubt and anxiety brewed in her belly despite the confessions of the morning.
“I have loved one man in my eighty-three years. I loved him and stopped looking, even after he was lost to the war in Vietnam. It is enough to know that it was real.”
“It’s been very real,” Hope whispered, the hint of a true smile on her lips.
“There’s no reason it shouldn’t continue as such,” Bea exclaimed, her chipper tone drawing a laugh from Hope. “Just give him grace if he is a little hurt that you waited so long to tell him?”
Hope glanced at Beatrice, a bit of guilt in her gaze. “I will,” she promised, but she still knew that love sometimes wasn’t enough. Her family reminded her of it constantly.
Hope nervously combed her fingers through her waist-length curls. She slowed her pace. Her knee-high suede boots scuffed on the sidewalk as she pivoted back from whence she came. She halted. Summoning her nerve, she spun around once more. Her dark floral skirt fannedout around her. It was a loose smock-style dress that she wore under a lightweight wool coat. It was one of her favorites, and it had the added benefit of hiding the weight she’d gained in her lower belly. If she was being honest, she’d popped in the last week or so. Hope counted it as a miracle he hadn’t noticed a difference that morning. But she needn’t flaunt how long she kept his baby a secret while she shared the news.
The crisp spring air prickled her lungs. The cacophony of birds back from their winter retreats was a welcome distraction to the worst-case scenarios on loop in her head. She doubted she’d be able to write a word, let alone twelve hundred, as was her goal for the day until she unburdened herself.
The brick storefronts of Market Square gave way to old Colonial houses and mills made into apartment buildings as she turned onto Islington Street. Brayden was a few months away from finishing renovations on a beautiful home that was built in the early 1700s. It had needed a lot of love, especially since it had to be restored from its abysmal time as a funeral home. Soon, the iconic house on the corner of Islington and Bridge Street would be restored to its incomparable splendor. Hope let herself imagine them raising their baby there together, in the home he’d always dreamed of owning.
Daydreams of picnic afternoons in the backyard and walking to Market Square for dinner lifted some of her fear. Hope could clearly envision pushing a stroller to their favorite tapas bar on humid summer nights and snuggling on the couch for a movie as she came upon the rickety white picket fence that lined the front yard of the house.
Brayden should be inside.
He’d been using his lunch hour to meet with the few subcontractorshe had hired to do the electrical and plumbing work. It was just about finished now, and he’d been very excited.
Hope hesitated.
In that moment, both truths existed—Brayden being overjoyed about the baby, and Brayden not wanting anything to do with fatherhood. She knew which she believed to be more likely, which she yearned for. But the reality was that one would become the truth as soon as she uttered the words,I’m pregnant. As minuscule a chance the latter seemed, it was enough to quicken Hope’s pulse.
Until she remembered that morning.
Brayden dropping in on her and their proclamations of love were just what she needed. He always managed to do that, instinctively knowing when to show up for her, even if he never knew how much it encouraged her. They loved each other. This was good news she brought to his door. Nerves had no place here. Only joy.
Hope charged through the front gate and up the stone walkway. The barren landscape needed tending. Last spring, cosmos bloomed all around the front yard. Then, her favorite flowers seemed like a sign that she and Brayden were meant to be. She’d seen no other explanation for the traditionally annual blossoms to have welcomed her here after their first month of dating. A genuine smile made her cheeks ache as she reached the door. It vanished the instant a leggy redhead with sumptuous lips and eyes the color of milk chocolate stepped out to meet her. Hope did her best not to gawk.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked.
Hope was confused. How was this woman acting like she belonged? Hope was the one who picked the tile for the primary bathroom, the one who had imaginary picnics in the backyard. “I’m here to seeBrayden,” Hope said, trying to un-ruffle as she went for the door. The redhead stepped in front of her.
“He’s not here right now.” There was a sharpness to her tone and her eyes burned into Hope. The air was suddenly too thick. “Why are you here?”
“I just—“
“Oh, you must be the designer he’s been raving about. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Chloe.”
“Chloe?” Hope choked out as if her morning sickness flared up. Chloe’s eyes narrowed. Hope didn’t want to know more. She couldn’t quite fill her lungs.
“Brayden’s wife?” Chloe insisted, clearly pained by Hope’s ignorance.
Hope recovered as best she could, but the crushing weight at her chest threatened to topple her into the dying rose bushes. Bile burned at her throat, and she thought she might vomit all over Chloe’s perky chest. Everything went silent.Had her heart stopped?She had to get out of there. “Right, Chloe. I’m sorry. I have so many clients this spring that it’s a little hard to keep everyone straight. Especially when I’ve only spoken with your . . . your husband.”
Chloe’s face brightened, while Hope’s turned to ash. “No apologies necessary! I’m glad he’s been using you to make decisions around here while I’ve been away.”
“Using me. Yes,” Hope echoed. She turned her wrist over, pretending to check the time. She couldn’t stomach another second on this stoop. “You know what? I had our meeting time wrong. I’ll—I’ll have to reschedule with him.”
