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This would be the third time I’d been the topic of conversation.

The first had been when Terry abandoned me at the bakery all those years ago.

There’d been a big search for her or any of my biological relatives.

No one had stepped forward. Her abandonment had made local newspaper headlines, but our reunion last month had been painfully quiet.

The second time I made the gossip mill had been when I was seventeen.

It was before my eighteenth birthday, and a woman had come into the shop who I was sure was my birth mother.

She looked and sounded like me. And I’d been so taken by her I’d asked her point blank if she was looking for me.

Are you my birth mother? Long story short, the poor woman had come in for a cookie and had never expected to be lambasted by a crazed teen.

When she’d left, I’d been bawling right there in the middle of the shop.

Mom was trying to comfort me. It had been a mess.

And now I’d returned to center stage once again. Pregnant. Seconds after Mrs. Ably left, Rachel appeared. “I’m here to help.”

I glanced toward the neatly applied blue tape hugging each seam in the room. “Looks like you’ve been on the job while I was MIA. Thanks.”

“With the girls gone I’m a little at loose ends.”

“No more clothes to toss?”

“None. But I spent yesterday cleaning. I feel caught up.”

“How does that feel?”

“Good.”

I picked up my tray of yellow paint and my paintbrush, ready to climb back up on the ladder and cut corners.

“Paint fumes aren’t good for the baby,” Rachel said.

I glanced around, half expecting to see Mrs. Ably. “Don’t say the b word.”

She arched a brow. “Not talking about it doesn’t mean the b isn’t smelling fumes.”

“We’ll keep the windows and doors open, and remember, we bought the nontoxic paint that doesn’t smell.”

She picked up a can and read the back label. “Seems like any smell would be bad for the baby.”

“I’ll get a fan. This is our only time to paint.”

“What do I do?”

I took the can, opened it, and poured it into the paint pan. “I cut corners, and you roll.”

Rachel shook her head and reached for the brush. “I’m a master at edging cakes. I’ll cut in at the corners.”

I handed her the brush. “Have at it.”

And so she cut neat, precise lines while I rolled the long strokes that connected her edgings.

We worked in silence for several hours. Painting was a simple, mindless task for the most part, and right now I craved simple.

The smell was a little strong, but with the door open and a breeze blowing, I managed.

After a good four hours, both of us were tired of the work and ready for a break. Rachel made us ham sandwiches, and I grabbed a couple of sodas from the refrigerator in her apartment. We sat picnic-style on a blanket in the center of the newly painted room.

“It looks bigger without all the pictures on the walls,” I said.

“I like it less cluttered.”

She pulled the crust off her bread. “It definitely looks different.”

“You want the pictures back?”

“Not all of them. But it would be nice to have some. Our history is important.”

“We’ll sift through them later.”

“Sure.” As she said it, Rachel sounded broken and sad. I thought about the pictures of Mike that had been on the wall. One more reminder he was gone.

“I know it’s different, Rachel. I wish I could give you your old life back.”

“Thanks.”

“But we’re here now, and we’ve got to make the best of it.”

“I know. And I’m trying.”

“Me too.”

My cell rang, and I glanced at it. “It’s Dad.”

She frowned. “Wonder why he’s calling you.”

“Let’s find out.” I hit the accept button. “Dad, how goes it?”

“We’re hanging tough.” His voice sounded rough and tired. Chuckling, I said, “Let me put you on speakerphone. I’m here with Rachel.”

“Sure.”

I hit the Speaker button and immediately could hear the girls hollering in the background. I glanced toward Rachel, but she didn’t seem worried, as if she’d heard the sound a thousand times.

“Dad,” she said. “Are they driving you insane?”

“They’re little angels,” he said. “But they’re loud little angels.”

“Where’s Mom?” I asked.

“She’s making sandwiches in the kitchen.”

“Can you put your phone on speaker, Dad?”

“What button do I push?”

“The green one on the top right.” I’d gotten them new phones for Christmas. They had all the bells and whistles, but so far all they’d done was call in and out.

Dad sighed into the phone. “If I lose you, then call me back.”

“You won’t cut me off.”

I could hear him muttering oaths mixed in with “life was simpler when each house had one phone attached to a wall.”

“Dad? Green button,” I shouted.

“Hello, hello,” he said. “Do I still have you?”

“We’re here, Dad,” Rachel said. “Mom, can you hear me?”

“Oh, I sure can, dear,” she shouted. “How are you doing?”

“That’s my question to you. Surviving the girls?”

At the sound of their mother’s voice, the girls stopped singing and squealed, “Mooom!!!”

Rachel’s eyes brightened. “Hey, girls. Are you being nice to Grandma and Grandpa?”

“Yessss.”

Rachel shook her head. “Are you sure? Are you taking quiet time each day like we talked about?”

Silence.

Mom cleared her throat. “We’ve been on the go so much, there hasn’t been much time for sitting, Rachel.”

Rachel leaned toward the phone. “Mom, my angels turn into devils when they’re sleep deprived.”

“They’ve been a delight.”

This was not the woman who raised me. That woman had never sounded calm in the face of chaos.

“How’s the bakery, Daisy?” Dad said. “The renovations coming along?”

“We’re getting it done one brick at a time. Jean Paul is finishing up wiring today. And the new freezer will be here by Friday or Saturday.” And with luck we wouldn’t run into major wiring problems, and the floor wouldn’t collapse.

“You still painting the front of the store?”

I picked up Rachel’s crust and nibbled on it. “As we speak.”

“Same color?”

“Pretty much, Dad.” I glanced at yellow walls needing a second coat to cover the blue. “How’s the weather?”

“Hot,” Mom said. “We’re going to Putt-Putt golf tonight. And then tomorrow we’re going to the place where you mine for gemstones. It’s in a nice, air-conditioned building, they give you a pail of rocks, and you spend hours sitting and digging looking for gems.”

“Will I find a diamond?” Anna said.

“I don’t know,” Mom said.

“Will I find a diamond?” Ellie said.

“Count on twenty minutes max, Mom,” Rachel said.

“Send me your positive thoughts, Rachel,” Mom said. “Think at least one hour.”

Smiling, Rachel shook her head. “I’ll think as hard as I can.”

“Hey, Mom,” I chimed in. “Maybe if you click your heels three times, the girls will spend the entire afternoon going through the rocks one by one.”

“Funny, Daisy. Just you wait, dear. One day you’ll be a mother, and then I’ll sit back and laugh.”

“My kid is going to be perfect.” The conviction behind the statement surprised me. “She’s going to be doing mathematical equations while I read my favorite novel.”

Both my parents laughed.

Dad lowered his voice a notch. “Ten bucks says Daisy’s kid is a ballbuster like her old mom.”

“We can only hope,” I said.

“Can I write those words down?” Mom shouted.

“Okay,” I said. They were talking about the grandchild they thought would never be. I was talking about the baby scheduled to arrive by Christmas. Suddenly, all Mom and Dad’s jokes took root. Was the kid going to be a ballbuster? Shit.

Rachel stared at me wide eyed as if to warn me I played with fire. “We’ve got work to do. If you people of leisure will excuse us, we’ve got walls to paint.”

“See you two lovebirds in a week.” I turned the cell over to Rachel. Mom and Dad said their goodbyes, and Rachel took the phone, retreating to a corner to speak to her girls.

As I tossed the remains of my sandwich away, my thoughts turned to the kid and then to Gordon.

I moved to the window and glanced toward his yellow bike shop.

We’d had our talk two days ago and I sort of hoped he’d cool off, see I was as thrown as he was, and return.

He was always the peacemaker and the one who talked me off the proverbial ledge.

Down the street, he emerged from his shop, shepherding an electric-blue bike outside.

A teenager followed and watched as he tested the brakes.

Frowning, Gordon pulled a screwdriver from his pocket and adjusted before pronouncing the bike good to go.

I’d learned over the last few months that he took safety very seriously.

I’d kidded him about it weeks ago, and his expression had grown serious.

“Screw up a company and send it out of business like I did, and you’d worry about the details too.

” Gordon glanced up, a smile on his tanned face.

He pushed his long hair back with his fingers and watched the kid ride off.

He turned, and for an instant his gaze captured mine.

I wanted to shrink from the window, but I stood steady holding his gaze, raising my hand, hoping he’d smile back and saunter to the bakery.

Instead, his expression hardened, and he turned and walked back into his shop.

A hard lump formed in my throat as tears burned my eyes. He had every right to be pissed, but ... I really wished he wasn’t.

I pulled back my shoulders. I didn’t handle rejection well at the best of times. And right now was not the best of times. “Rachel, I need to take a break.”

“What?”

“I’m going for a walk.” I didn’t dare face her for fear I’d really cry. “Keep the phone and finish your call. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Okay?”

“Never better.” My hand on the door, I jerked it open.

The door closed behind me, bells jingling madly over my head.

I thrust unsteady hands into my pockets and headed down the street away from Gordon’s shop.

I didn’t know where I was going, but I needed to move.

To do. And not to think. I didn’t want to dwell on the kid, the disaster renovation, or Gordon.