Page 11 of His Best Friend's Baby

She remained silent in the middle of a war with her husband.

CHAPTER THREE

JULIA WOKE to the smell of pancakes and coffee and—she took another sniff of the air. Oh, boy. Bacon. It wasn’t so much the food that had her eyes flying open, it was that she didn’t have to make it. All that food waited for her.

She stared at the ceiling and luxuriated in the faded blue sheets. She had slept like a rock on this soft mattress with all the extra pillows. It was heaven.

This was definitely the right place for Ben. She could feel their roots growing already.

Growing up as an army brat, Julia had worked hard for years to never form material attachments. But one night in this room and she coveted everything—the mahogany bed frame that matched the old washstand in the corner and the five-drawer dresser on the far wall. She wanted the mirror hanging over the dresser that reflected the small window and the perfect California day outside.

Everything was so beautiful. So permanent and substantial.

She’d even take the Michael Jordan posters.

This is a brand new day. Opportunity was here, glimmering like dust motes in the sunlight. She could shed the past and try something new. Try to be someone new.

Try to figure out who I am.

She rolled over to see how her son had slept, but he was nowhere to be found. She sat up and searched the floor around the bed. Where did he go? How could he have woken up and left the room without her noticing? She didn’t trust him entirely on his own with stairs, and they had followed Agnes up a steep wooden flight last night to this bedroom.

Julia rolled out of bed and ran downstairs, her bare feet slipping across the polished hardwood floors on her way to the kitchen. She burst into a scene right out of Norman Rock¬ well.

Ben sat in an ancient high chair, cheerfully shoving blueberries in his mouth.

“Airplane!” he cried. “Big airplane.”

“And what else?” Agnes asked.

“On a bus.”

“You were on an airplane and a bus in the same day?” Agnes asked, her eyes wide as though no one had ever done such a thing.

Ben nodded.

“Such a big boy!” Agnes cooed and Ben smiled, his teeth blue. He lifted his hands above his head to show her how big he truly was. Julia loved this game, loved wondering if he was broadcasting how big he felt, the size of his cheerful spirit.

Ron laughed. “All done?” he asked.

Ben nodded, his blond curls waving, and Ron leaned in to wipe Ben’s face and hands. “Let me atcha.”

Agnes picked up a camera and took a couple of pictures of Ron attempting to clean Ben up.

“Smile, Benny,” she cooed and Julia tried not to cringe at that nickname.

Julia had only sent them one picture of their grandson. A family shot of her, Mitch and Ben taken six months ago—the night Mitch was on leave from Iraq.

Jesse had taken the picture.

Shame and regret trickled through her.

She should have been the bigger person, tried harder to breach the gaps between her and the Adamses. But she was too much like her mother, maybe. Too proud.

New beginnings, she reminded herself.

“Momma,” Ben cried, dodging Ron’s washcloth. Agnes and Ron turned toward her, their smiles radiant.

“We heard him wake up and knew you needed your rest so we brought him downstairs, hope you don’t mind,” Agnes said with a bright smile before focusing on her grandson again.

“Of course not,” Julia croaked, her voice rusty from nearly twelve hours of sleep. Despite her assurance, something in her chafed at the idea that they had come into her room while she slept.

Really, you’re gonna get mad because they let you sleep an extra hour? She tried to relax. Clearly she had been on her own for too long.

Ben struggled to lift himself out of the chair with one hand and reached for Julia with the other.

“Stay there, Ben.” She walked over to kiss his cheeks and his hands, rub her nose with his damp one. All of their morning rituals. He laughed and clapped in response.

“Hog heaven, huh, buddy?” she asked, letting him put his hands on her face leaving sticky hand-prints on her skin. “Pancakes and blueberries.”

“Nana,” he said, pointing to Agnes, but watching Julia.

“That’s what I told him to call me,” Agnes said with an embarrassed laugh, pulling at the neck of her yellow T-shirt. “I’ve always wanted to be a Nana.”

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