Page 9 of The Summer We Kept Secrets (The Destin Diaries #4)

J onah opened his eyes, deeply disoriented. Where was he? What time was it? Who had the baby?

Pushing up, he blinked in the dimly lit bedroom, then peered at the empty bassinet next to his bed.

There was a time, not so very long ago, when he didn’t know what a “bassinet” was, let alone had one in his room. But then, life changed.

With a grunt, he rolled over and patted the bed to find his phone and check the time. Eleven-fifteen? Crap. He needed to get up.

For the last few days—he’d seriously lost count of how many—the family had fallen into a rhythm. They slept while Jonah handled waking up in the middle of the night to feed and change his son.

Some nights—the rare, good ones—that was once at midnight, and again at five. After that, Aunt Vivien or his dad or Lacey— some loving soul—came down the next time they heard Atlas cry on the baby monitor some other loving soul had bought him.

Other nights—like last night—Atlas woke on the hour, purely miserable.

Did he miss his mother? Of course he did. And that had to hurt at a month old the same way it hurt at fifteen years old. Jonah understood that longing, that emptiness, that bone-deep misery.

And he hated for his sweet, helpless, utterly innocent son to feel it already. The only thing he hated more? Feeling responsible for Atlas’s pain.

No, he hadn’t been behind the wheel, but he should have gone to get the diapers. Why didn’t he?

Because he lived under a black cloud of death that was probably a ticking time bomb until the next person he loved and needed was met with tragedy.

Grabbing a T-shirt that yet another angel of mercy had washed, dried, folded, and left on the dresser for him, he stopped in the bathroom then marched upstairs to find Atlas and coffee.

Maybe not in that order.

It was quiet up here, bathed in late-morning sunshine. But he heard the soft hum of a woman, murmuring sweetly, high-pitched and babyish. That was Kate, he knew. And Atlas was undoubtedly in her arms.

He stopped for the coffee, which was miraculously brewed and warmed already. How did they run this house with military precision and heavenly peace, satisfying the needs of what felt like dozens of occupants ranging in age from a month to nearly eighty?

Jonah had no idea—maybe it was his dad, maybe it was Aunt Vivien, maybe the strong hand of Grandma Maggie, or maybe it was…her.

He stood at the open sliding glass doors and looked out at the brand-new rattan rocker that Aunt Vivien had purchased for the sole purpose of “Atlas feedings.” Whoever was on duty got to sit on the second-story deck, looking out at the horizon and turquoise water, enjoying the salt-infused air of Destin.

Kate was out there alone—not counting a blissfully quiet Atlas in her arms—an empty baby bottle on the table next to her. Atlas was conked against her chest, his teddy bear blanket spilling onto Kate’s lap.

Her eyes were closed, too, her head back, her glasses…somewhere. On the table, probably. She hummed a soft, sweet tune that would put anyone to sleep—even Atlas, who decided sometime around four A.M. that he was never sleeping again.

Kate had conquered him.

But then, Kate won a lot of battles, Jonah thought with a smile. She quietly fought them with logic and love, and conquered whatever was in the way.

This past spring, Jonah had been a mess, and Kate—a stranger to him, but not his father and aunts—blew into his life and somehow achieved the impossible.

She’d stepped into the role of mother for him and his whole life changed. She’d seen something in him. Encouraged him. Fussed over him. Let him cry. Essentially treated him like they were all treating Atlas.

And somehow, without even trying, she’d started to fill a space in him that had been empty since his mother died when he was fifteen.

Could Kate ever know how grateful he was?

“Oh, hello.” She opened her eyes and whispered the greeting. “I didn’t know you were here, Jonah.”

“I didn’t want to wake him,” he said, just as softly.

“Nothing will wake him.” She patted Atlas’s back. “He’s conked.”

“Thank you.” He walked out and settled on the sofa near her, putting his coffee on the table.

“It was my pleasure,” she assured him. “I had to kick all other takers to the curb to get my time. The great-grandmothers went back to their apartment arguing about something quite secretively. Your father had to take a work call, but he’s in the back office.

Tessa and Lacey went to see a client, and I don’t know where Vivien is, but I assume she’s working, too.

Anyway, no need to thank me. The line to love Atlas is long. ”

He took a sip of coffee as she chattered about all the help. That wasn’t what he wanted to thank her for, but he hadn’t had enough caffeine to get mushy yet.

“Have you eaten?” she asked after a beat.

He shook his head. “I’m on the all-coffee diet. It’s working wonders.”

Kate gave him a dubious look. “There’s leftover quiche in the fridge. I can?—”

“I’ll eat, Kate. I promise.” He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. “It’s just…a lot. I feel like I’m failing at everything except changing diapers.”

“You’re not,” she said simply.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” She shifted Atlas very gently to the other shoulder, earning a tiny whimper and angelic sigh as he nestled closer into her neck and chest.

Kate gave a soft laugh, the breath fluttering the dark bangs that fringed her eyes. “He’s too perfect!” she mouthed, rubbing his tiny back.

“I don’t deserve him,” Jonah whispered.

“Yes, you do. And please don’t say you’re a failure. You’re not even in the zip code. You’re showing up. You’re loving him. That’s ninety percent of it right there.”

He looked at the baby. His son. His everything. “You’re good with him.”

Kate smiled, her eyes softening. “I love babies. Always have. I wish I’d had more, but I also wanted to research everything Cornell could throw my way.” She looked down at the baby. “Goodness, he’s special.”

Jonah nodded, then shifted on the sofa, wanting to take advantage of this quiet and intimate moment.

“Listen, Kate. Thank you. For everything.”

She regarded him, her expression softening. “I don’t need thanks.”

“But you should get them. If it weren’t for you, we both know I’d have never even thought about being a chef, let alone apply to that program. But more than that, you showed up and made things feel…better. Safe. I don’t know—just good.”

“Oh, honey.” Her shoulders dropped as if she actually felt the weight of his words. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“Yeah, I do.” He paused. “I know you and my dad are, you know, getting serious, so…”

She gave a short laugh. “Jonah, I’m not applying to be your stepmother.”

“I know.” He smiled, then looked at his cup. “But I’m not weird about it, if that’s what you were wondering. I get it. My dad hasn’t looked this…alive in a long time. I don’t think I ever saw him this way, even when I was a kid.”

Kate didn’t respond right away. Then, softly, she said, “From what I’ve heard, your mom was wonderful.”

He nodded. “She was…everything. I know she’d want Dad to be happy—she wanted everyone to be happy. Honestly, I think he finally is.”

“I’m not trying to replace her,” Kate said gently. “No one ever could. I understand. But I’m here. And I’m glad to be in your life. You and your whole family.”

He nodded again, unspoken words catching in his throat.

“Now,” she added, tone shifting to bright and practical, “let’s talk about this culinary program.”

He groaned. “Do we have to?”

“Yes. Because it starts soon, and you haven’t really mentioned it or gone out to buy the knives you need or done anything in the way of preparation.”

“I’m not really a ‘preparer.’ That’s my sister’s job. Speaking of Meredith, didn’t she leave Atlanta at the crack of dawn today? She should be?—”

“Don’t change the subject, Jonah.”

He shuttered his eyes and fell back on the sofa cushions. “I haven’t decided yet,” he said.

“Decided?” Kate blinked. “What’s to decide? You got accepted into the program, it starts next week, and you need chef’s knives and some good aprons.”

He shook his head. “I have a baby. And a pile of emotions that hit me like a train every morning. And I don’t sleep. And I keep thinking…” He hesitated and looked away.

“What?”

“I’m cursed.”

Kate straightened, pressing Atlas into her chest. “Jonah.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are, and that’s what worries me. Cursed! Please. The concept is so supernatural, it hurts me to think anyone as intelligent as you would even consider it.”

He looked up, defensive. “I’m not talking about voodoo dolls and hexes.

But how do you explain it? My mom dies in a freak plane accident when I’m a kid.

I flail through high school. I fall in love with someone who makes me feel like I can build a life—and she dies three weeks after having our baby. What else am I supposed to think?”

Kate repositioned Atlas with the grace and ease of a practiced mother, cradling him as she seemed to gather her thoughts before answering.

“Here’s what that means,” she finally said. “Life is random. Tragedies don’t follow a logic pattern or moral code. Your situation doesn’t mean you’re cursed. It means you’re human, and bad things happen sometimes.”

“Twice? To the same person?”

Kate fixed him with her no-nonsense stare. “You know how many times the same person is struck by lightning in their lifetime? Statistically? It happens. But it’s not fate. It’s math. If you stand on a hilltop during every thunderstorm, it increases your odds. But it doesn’t make you cursed.”

He huffed a laugh. “I stayed in the kitchen so my béarnaise sauce didn’t break, and let my girlfriend, who was walking dead exhausted, get in a car and drive to Target for diapers. I didn’t stand on any hills.”

“I’m comparing your logic to superstition,” she countered. “Which is what curses are. There’s no scientific basis for them. None. The very idea is a baseless crutch that you’re allowing to scare you.”