Page 35

Dad’s gaze held no hint of worry as it moved between Mom and me.

Mom rose. “Frank, give Daisy a minute.”

Dad frowned as he studied me. “What’s wrong?”

I smiled but didn’t rise, feeling the need to camouflage my belly before I told him the news. “Dad, meet me in the basement in fifteen minutes.”

He studied my face. “This about the teenagers you hired? Rachel told me they start in a couple of days.”

“I’ve got an item or two I want to run past you.”

He shook his head. “Is this about the wine? Jean Paul told me. Is there a problem with the renovation?”

I balanced my tone between perky and serious, knowing too much in either direction would arouse more suspicion. “Actually, it’s going pretty well.”

He arched a brow. “What’s wrong? City inspector problems?”

“No. We got our electrical inspections, and I’ve applied for a liquor license. We’re good. I can show you the numbers.”

He studied me a beat longer and then looked at my mother. She nodded her head toward the door.

“See you in fifteen minutes.”

I tossed him a thumbs-up. “Great.”

Mom and Dad left me alone, and I rose, tugging the T-shirt over my belly. I washed my face, brushed my hair, and headed down the stairs.

As I passed Rachel’s apartment, I heard the girls giggling and Rachel talking to them with her calm, patient voice.

I envied how soft and kind she sounded with them.

All her words were wrapped in fur and cotton.

No hard edges. Ellie was like her mother.

She was the gentle one. Anna was more like me. Always questioning, pushing.

Anna’s clear voice rose above her mother’s and sister’s. “But I don’t like blue icing. I like pink icing. Nobody eats blue icing.”

“I eat blue icing,” Ellie said.

“You’re dumb,” Anna shot back.

Rachel’s rebuff was quick but so gently spoken I couldn’t make it out.

My sister had said more than once she wasn’t perfect, but when it came to mothering, she was pretty darn flawless.

I hoped I was as well. Heading to the first floor, I passed Jean Paul, who had begun to paint the new wall a stark white.

After my quick wave went unacknowledged by him, I moved down the stairs.

In the basement I took a moment to admire the shelves that had nearly driven me insane.

Assembled and in place, it was hard to believe they’d been such a job.

I smoothed my hand over a sleek black shelf, and in that moment the kid kicked me in the ribs. Smiling, I lowered my hand to my belly. An odd energy whooshed around me. My head swirled, and my heart beat a little faster. Uneasy excitement hummed over my skin, and the world upstairs faded away.

“ Can you go home? ”

“ No. Not like this. They wouldn’t understand. ”

“ And the baby’s father. Can he help? ”

“ I’ve written him.” Soft weeping echoed. “He wants to help, but he can’t right now. ”

And as quick as the energy came, it vanished, and I stood in the basement alone, with the sounds of the ceiling above creaking as Jean Paul moved around the kitchen.

I glanced around the stone walls, half expecting to hear or feel a message. But as the seconds ticked by, I heard nothing.

This bakery was old and had a vibe all its own.

I’d grown up with its creaks and whispers and for the most part had ignored them.

But since my return months ago, the place all but pulsated with energy.

I wondered if the bakery had changed or if pregnancy had changed my frequency and made me more susceptible.

Find him.

Was this a haunting? I’d always thought a haunting came with a bit more fanfare. I figured chains rattled or curtains rustled, but all I was getting were whispers just as easily imagined as heard.

Find him.

“Find who?”

And then without skipping a beat, Jenna’s name came to mind.

Again, was it my imagination or a real answer? I couldn’t say.

And yet I knew.

Find him.

Jenna wanted my attention.

She wanted me to find him . But who was him ?

I heard a creak on the stairs and straightened, thinking it was Dad. But as the seconds passed and Dad didn’t show, I shoved out a tense breath. Dad wasn’t stupid. He’d lived with Mom during two pregnancies. He’d figured it out but didn’t know how to talk to me.

I could sit here and wait for him to gather his nerve, or I could go to him. “If Mohammed won’t come to the mountain, then the mountain would go to him.”

I found my dad in his workshop in the basement of his house.

The dark room was crammed full of every kind of broken appliance you could imagine.

Since his retirement Dad had fancied himself a handyman who could fix any household machine.

Why buy it new when the old one worked well enough after a few tweaks?

So far, the jury was still out on his newly acquired skills.

He leaned over a toaster looking as if it had been gutted of its wires and circuits. He picked up a screw, but it slipped out of his hand and fell between the ruts of his workbench. “Damn it to hell.”

“This is not a good time,” I said.

He glanced sharply up at me. “Daisy Sheila McCrae.”

He rarely used my entire name. This wasn’t going to go well. “Hey, Daddy.”

“Don’t you Daddy me. You say Daddy when you’re in trouble.”

A tentative grin curled the edges of my lips. “Well, that’s about where I am right now.”

He looked at me, his expression a mixture of anger and frustration. “How the heck did you manage it?”

“We don’t need a lesson in mechanics now.”

“Not what I mean.” He tossed his screwdriver onto the bench. “You’re my smart one. You’re the one who thinks through every move.”

“I missed a couple of key details.”

“You sure did, young lady.” He glanced at my rounding belly, flushed, and looked back at his gutted toaster.

“What am I going to do with you?” His tone triggered faint memories of when I’d been sixteen and dented the fender of the delivery van.

Now, like then, I needed him not to be angry but to tell me he loved me.

“Baby’s due before Christmas.”

Dad shook his head. “Your mother told me.” He sniffed and planted his hand on his hip. “She says you think it’s a girl.”

“I do.”

“Your mother was like that when she was pregnant with your sisters. Knew she had girls both times.”

Moving a step closer, I sighed. “She told you about Gordon.”

“Yeah.”

I shoved my hands through my hair. “You must admit when I make a mistake, I don’t do it halfway.”

He shook his head. “Not funny, Daisy.”

“If I’m not laughing, Dad, I’m crying. This is so huge I don’t know how to wrap my brain around it. Shit. A baby.”

His scowl softened, and for a moment he stared at his toaster. Finally, he laid down his screwdriver, faced me, and held out his arms. I went quickly into his embrace and cried. All the emotions and fears swirling inside me rose to the surface and wouldn’t be ignored. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

“Don’t be sorry, monkey. We’ll figure this out. One way or another.”

I lingered another beat before I pushed away. “I’ll make this work.”

“We all will.” He handed me a tissue box he kept on the shelf. “What about the father?”

“In China. Not father material. Don’t hold out hope. Even if lightning struck him and he had a sudden personality shift and offered to marry me, I wouldn’t. Not much of a man.”

“He was man enough to get you into this mess.”

I coughed. “Right. Well, beyond that he’s not worth much.”

He shook his head. “You sure it’s a girl?”

“I don’t have evidence. Just a feeling.”

“It could be a boy?” Hope clung to each word. The lone man in a house of women held out hope for another male.

“Yeah. I suppose.”

“I’m holding out for a boy. Could use a little more testosterone around this house.”

“Well, we’ll see what Mother Nature comes up with.”

I studied his well-lined face. “So, we are good?”

“Yeah. We’re good.” He shook his head. “I guess I best get up in the attic soon and find that old cradle that belonged to your grandmother.”

“I don’t remember a cradle.”

“Margaret and Rachel slept in it. You were too big by the time you came along, and I didn’t pull it out when the twins were born. Now I’ll dust it off and fix it up for my grandson.”

“Dad, I really think it’s a girl.”

He waved me away. “Let an old man dream.”

As I left his house, my step was lighter. My clan was behind me, meaning the baby and I would be fine.

When I arrived back at the bakery, Rachel met me at the front door. “The deliveryman is here with the wine.”

“Gus’s wine?”

She wiped her hands on her apron. “One and the same. By the looks there’s a lot of it.”

“Yeah, I bought them out. Is he parked in the alley?”

“In the process of parking and wants to know where you want the boxes.”

“Have him take them downstairs. We’ll put them on the shelves. Then we can clear out the boxes.”

Her eyes brightened, and I knew having the girls back had calmed her. “Daisy, it’s more progress.”

I smiled. “I think you’re right. By the way, I thought you were spending time with the girls.”

She held up a baby monitor. “They fell asleep on the couch watching their Barbie Princess video. Barbie is watching the girls. I highly recommend her if you’re ever in a pinch. She’s reasonable, and the girls love her.”

Knowing Rachel needed Barbie every so often lifted my spirits. Even perfect moms had their tricks of the trade. “Yeah, but she’s so pretty. And her hip-to-waist ratio. Doesn’t seem right.”

“I’m hearing laughter and good humor in your voice.” She cocked a brow. “The parents gave you a stay of execution?”

I blew out a breath. “They did.”

Her gaze bored into me. “They take it okay?”

Nodding, I ran my fingers through my hair. “Yeah. Very cool.”

She grinned, wide and bright. “See, it’s all going to be fine.”

I held up my hands. “Don’t jinx me.”

The deliveryman arrived minutes later and studied the low basement ceiling, the bakery equipment pushed close to the brick oven. It would be a tight fit until we moved the equipment upstairs. Shaking his head, he turned and headed back up the stairs to get the boxes.