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And so I texted Gordon and told him I’d be by as soon as we got the paint. Rachel and I spent the next hour wandering through the paint section at the hardware store. In the end we’d settled on a buttercup yellow, which we both agreed was a happy color.

Rachel and I unloaded the paint, and I promised to return after my talk with Gordon. I made a joke about seeing her in minutes, suggesting Gordon would toss me out. Neither of us laughed.

The one-and-a-half-block walk to Gordon’s bike shop might as well have been a thousand miles.

It took effort and thought to put one foot in front of the other as I walked down the rough brick sidewalk.

Ahead, Gordon’s yellow bike shop looked so shiny and clean.

He’d worked hard to rebuild his life after our breakup and then the demise of our company.

I twisted the handle and pushed open the door. As bells jingled over my head, Gordon glanced up. He held on to his smile for a couple of beats until he sensed trouble.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.” He set down a bike part, which I now recognized as a derailleur, and stopped within inches of me. He didn’t touch or hug me because he knew me well enough to know when I bore bad news.

“You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?” He shook his head. “I’ve been getting a bad vibe off you for at least a week.”

“I’ve been sick.”

His head cocked, asking. “It’s more than that, Daisy. I know you well enough to know when you’re hiding. And you’ve been sinking deeper and deeper inside of yourself for at least a week.”

I’d not considered pregnancy until a couple of days ago, but on some level, I must have known I carried a baby that was not Gordon’s. “I don’t want to hurt you. I love you.”

His bitter, sad smile cut into me more than angry words. “You didn’t the last time either. At least I should be grateful you didn’t write a note and run this time.”

When I left him last year, I’d scribbled a note. My hands had trembled, and I’d been crying when I was ready to tape it to the front door. He’d arrived home early and surprised me. He’d wanted to talk. But facing him had been too much. I’d simply run.

I took several steps toward him. “I’m not running away from you.”

“You’re not?”

“No. Not this time.”

Blue eyes narrowed. “Then what is it, Daisy?”

And here it was, the moment I’d dreaded for days. The moment. I sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly. My skin prickled and pinched as if it had shrunk two sizes. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment he simply stared. He didn’t blink. He didn’t breathe. “What?”

Suddenly another underlying ramification struck me. “It’s not what you think.”

His shock vanished as anger flashed. “Really?”

I tipped my head back wondering when my life would ever feel easy and natural. “I’m four months pregnant. I accomplished the deed while we were broken up. A day before I moved back to Alexandria. I didn’t cheat on you.”

His jaw worked.

“It was my last night in DC at my going-away party. I got drunk.”

He rolled his eyes. “The classic excuse.”

I lifted my chin. “No excuses. I screwed up.”

He shoved clench fists into the pockets of his khakis. “Who’s the father?”

“Roger Traymore.” Roger had been one of the vice presidents at our company. Bad blood flowed between Gordon and Roger, but he’d never told me why.

“Roger?”

An attempted smile fell flat. “When I screw up, I go big.”

My very lame attempt at humor went unnoticed. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Cursing, he shook his head. “Roger is an ass.”

I agreed but had to defend my kid’s biological father. “I didn’t come here to debate. I came here to tell you honestly what’s going on. I owed you the truth.”

“Well, you’ve given it to me with both barrels.” He shook his head and paced back and forth before he stopped to face me again. “I can always count on you for the unexpected left hook.”

I could have marched off in a huff, but I had pulled the rug out from under Gordon, and I owed him a moment to say his piece. “This one clipped me too.”

He shook his head. “When you didn’t answer the first couple of texts, I assumed you were busy. By the fourth I realized there was a problem, and I’ve spent the better part of the weekend trying to guess. I cataloged all your moods for the last weeks searching for a clue. Moody. Distant. Quiet.”

With no way to soften the moment, I relied on the truth. “Par for the course with me.”

Blatant honesty didn’t win me any points either. “Disconnected. That was the new piece of the puzzle. You were disconnected.”

Shrugging my shoulders, I wrestled with tears. “I kept telling myself it was stress or the flu.”

“When did you find out for certain?”

“This morning. The clinic doc gave me the results.”

His face, a still, emotionless mask, mirrored the expression he’d worn after our breakup.

He’d tracked me to my office and gently closed my door.

He’d been quiet and logical as he’d asked me questions, but he’d not railed, begged, or ranted for my return.

I remember wishing then he’d get mad. Yelling, screaming, or ranting would have been better than the wounded silence.

I wished he’d get upset now. At least if he released his temper I could hide behind a little righteous indignation and not feel so much like I’d kicked a puppy.

“Have you told Roger?” His tone sharpened each word.

“No. Honestly that’s the least of my worries right now.”

Challenge darkened his eyes. “Shouldn’t he have been your first call? Doesn’t he have a right to know? I’d want to know.”

“Roger isn’t you. This is not the kind of info he’d like to read in a morning email. Nor would he wish to receive it in any other form.”

“Where is he these days?”

“China, last I heard.”

All polite and all so controlled, and I wanted to scream. I wanted Gordon to get angry. I despised being shut out more than dealing with someone else’s anger. Bad attention beat no attention every time.

Hell, what I really wanted was for him to pull me into his arms and tell me it was all going to be fine. Rachel had said as much, but I wanted to hear it from Gordon.

Instead, he turned and moved back behind his counter. “Thanks for the honesty.”

His control kindled my anger, and I was glad. Anger was an old friend and oddly gave me comfort. “That’s all you have to say?”

He faced me. Sadness deepened the lines at the corners of his eyes. “What do you want me to say, Daisy? ‘Congratulations’?”

“No, Gordon.” My voice sounded louder than I’d intended. “You told me you loved me yesterday. I told you I loved you. And so now we are done with each other.”

“You’re pregnant, Daisy. Not with my baby.

That’s a problem we can’t talk our way out of.

” He shook his head. “I thought you’d changed since the bakery.

Thought you’d gotten a little more grounded, and if we reconciled this time, the roller coaster ride would be over.

I can see with you the ups and downs will never be over. ”

I marched up to the counter and smacked my palms against the nicked wooden surface. “What do you want from me? A flatline ride? Because, Gordon , the last time I checked, flatlines equaled death.”

He shook his head, and I caught the first spark of anger in his eyes. “Don’t turn this on me, Daisy. This is all your doing.”

Yeah, I was on shaky ground, but it was not like being in the right had ever stopped me before. “Hey, I didn’t go looking for this.”

He slammed both his hands on the counter just out of reach of mine and leaned toward me. “You never go looking for trouble, but it sure as hell has a way of finding you.”

“Not fair!” I was upset and mad, and I wanted to yell if he wouldn’t. Roger wasn’t here, but Gordon was a handy target. Now seemed as good a time as any to go for a pound of flesh.

“What the hell do you want from me, Daisy? Want us to get married and raise this baby together? White picket fence. Two-car garage.”

Tears welled in my eyes. “I didn’t ask for this!”

“What do you want?”

“I want ... I wanted you to tell me it’ll be fine. That we’ll be fine.”

He shook his head. “I can’t tell you we’ll be okay, or I can handle this. We won’t be fine because this is too much even for me. Too much.”

I lifted my chin and swore I wouldn’t cry. Curling my fingers into fists, I dug my fingernails into my palms. “So, we break up?”

“By anyone’s standards I have good cause.” He yelled the last words.

On a good day, I’d have come out swinging, but I didn’t know if it was the hormones or the nausea, but those damn tears spilled again. Embarrassed, I turned from Gordon. “Fine.”

I moved toward the door but didn’t hurry, half hoping his voice would soften and he’d ask me to stay. But Gordon offered only stony silence.

Tears falling faster now, I left Gordon’s shop, slamming the door behind me. I marched down Union Street toward the bakery, but with each step closer to it, my resentment bubbled. That damn place. It had been the source of so much pain and sadness for me.

Tempted as I was to keep walking and never look back, the bakery pulled me closer. A glance through the front window showed the paint cans and drop cloths waiting for me. The place beckoned as if it wanted to embrace me, but right now I could not bear it.

I walked around the bakery to the alley and cut through the back entrance.

Grateful no one was on the main level, I climbed the back staircase to my room.

By the time I pushed through my apartment door, I was still looking for a pound of flesh.

I grabbed my laptop, plopped onto my bed, and clicked the computer on.

I opened my email account. Under normal conditions I’d have worried and wondered over what I was about to type. I’d have scrutinized each word and triple-checked spelling.

But I was so upset, I didn’t censor as I typed.

Terry,

It’s been about a month since we spoke. I know we both needed time to process, but I’m out of time. I found out I’m pregnant and I need more biological information.

How did your pregnancy and deliveries go? Can you tell me more about George, my birth father?

I’m not looking for hearts and flowers or mother-daughter lunch dates, just answers.

Yours truly, Daisy

Before I considered a word, I hit send.

As I heard the message zoom off into cyberspace, I sat back on my bed and stared at the inbox as if somehow, I half expected a quick response:

Daisy,

Pregnancies went fine. George Smith is your birth father. I love you,

Terry

But the inbox remained empty. And the longer I stared at it, the stronger my sense of rejection grew. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I shut off the computer and lay on my bed.

Rolling onto my side, I caught sight of the recipe box on my nightstand. I reached for it and held the small wooden container in my hands, tracing the embossed corner details.

If my life had been a book, pregnancy would have been the last plot twist I’d have written. The thought of another human so dependent on me always brought cold chills. I didn’t want to be so needed.

Years ago, I’d built a life raft with room only for one.

When I’d lost my job and the world had caved, I moved back to the bakery and discovered my entire family had pinned their hopes on me saving them.

They’d scrambled onto my little raft. Despite fears we’d sink, somehow my vessel had expanded to include seats for Mom, Dad, Margaret, Rachel, and the girls.

I didn’t have any more oars, but my ability to row faster had grown. Somehow, I would save us all.

And now the boat needed to grow again. I sensed it would grow, but this time I wasn’t so sure I had the strength or energy to row faster. What if I’d already reached my limit?

Had Terry harbored thoughts like these when she’d been carrying me?

Had she thought she could build a boat for us only to discover she couldn’t keep rowing?

Had she looked at me that day in the Union Street Bakery as she ordered sugar cookies and decided she couldn’t keep us both afloat anymore?

What had finally pushed her to simply sail out of my life without a backward glance?

I opened the box and looked at the picture of Jenna. I traced her face. For some reason, Jenna’s smile eased the tension banding my chest.

Fatigue seeped into my bones, draining my energy. My eyelids grew heavy, and soon I simply let them drift closed. I hadn’t napped since I was four, and I’d fought sleep as if my life depended on it. I needed to get up off this bed and prep the lobby for painting.

And I would. Soon. Right after I rested my eyes for a moment. Maybe for a minute to catch my breath.

The sounds of honking horns and the hum of car engines passing under my window grew more and more distant. The bed’s warmth pulled me deeper and deeper, and instead of fighting, I leaned into its tug.

In one moment, I was on my bed, and in the next I sat alone in a white rocker by the river. An empty rocker sat next to mine. How long I sat I couldn’t say, but in the rocker I was content. A gentle breeze. The sun warming my face. Boats passing by on the river.

Finally, a woman approached. She looked worried. Her curly blond hair framed an oval face, high cheekbones, and a full mouth. A light-blue dress flowed around her calves. As she cupped her hand over her eyes, her gaze hungrily scanned the horizon.

“Can I help?” I asked.

Her gaze still on the horizon, she shook her head. “My son. I’m looking for my son.”

I rose, ready to help. “What does he look like?”

“He’s a baby. He has light hair like his father and peaches and cream skin like mine. He’s a pretty baby. A good baby. Perfect.”

“How did you lose a baby?”

Sadness tightened her lips. “He was in my arms, and then I closed my eyes for a moment. When I awoke, he was gone.”

“Did someone take him?”

She shook her head, folding her arms over her flat belly. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” She met my gaze, her blue eyes sharp and vivid. “Keep your baby close. Or someone might take it too.”

In that moment, the wind rushed and swept me from the riverbank toward the cold icy waters. I flew, helpless, so out of control. I wrapped my hands around my belly and braced for impact.

I sat up in bed, heart racing, hands clutching my belly and sweat dampening my brow. “Don’t worry, kid. I’ll figure this out.”