But mostly, it was the echoes of those few minutes in the kitchen with Jen that had pealed so loudly in his head, there’d been no chance of a restful night. She’d been vulnerable with him, and somehow it’d felt like a gift. Like a precious offering she only reserved for . . .
Who? Friends? Had she ever told Mara that story about embarrassing her parents at her dad’s campaign thing? How about Sam?
He lifted the coffee mug he’d borrowed from the main house earlier in the week, threw a drink back, and sputtered at the taste. “I guess Kelvin made the coffee, huh? Tastes like I’m drinking sludge.”
The rest of them were sipping from red plastic cups they’d grabbed at the mini-mart last night just before closing. That’s where the groceries had come from, too. And the paper plates they were about to eat off of.
“If you’re complaining about that, wait ’til you see the orange juice he picked out.” Mariana lowered onto the couch, one hand on her back. Would it have hurt any one of his buddies to let him know about the pregnancy before she arrived? He’d nearly gawked at her stomach when he’d first seen her.
Noah lifted the orange juice carton from the fridge. “Who buys it with pulp?”
“Kelvin,” every other person in the room answered. Even Doug, who’d dragged himself from the bedroom at some point in the past thirty seconds.
They’d come all this way—the team, his team—simply to encourage him. To show him he was still a part of the group. Remind him why his work with Noah mattered.
So why couldn’t he keep his mind from constantly wondering when he’d have a chance to ditch the cottage, cross the lawn, and stop in at the house?
Courtney had moved on to chopping onions, the scent pungent and each slice of the knife loud. Maybe no one would notice if he slipped outside, just for a second. Grabbed a breath of fresh air.
He gripped his warm mug and let himself out the front door, releasing a sigh into the October breeze. The trees rustled against the wind and a shower of leaves twisted downward. He breathed in deep, tasting autumn and wrapped in the scent of morning.
“Getting a little crowded in there?”
He glanced over at Mariana. “You should be sitting down.”
“I’ve been standing for all of a minute. I’m pregnant. Not decrepit.”
He’d thought if someone was going to follow him outside, it might be Courtney. They had a conversation to finish, didn’t they? Or maybe not. He’d rebuffed her in the hospital. She’d slighted him over the phone with that remark about going AWOL. Perhaps they were even and there was nothing more to be said.
“You should talk to Court, you know.”
So much for that thought.
Mariana eyed him. “I don’t think her feelings went that deep. But you stung her pride, Danby. An apology and a handshake would probably go a long way.”
If it was someone other than a fellow soldier speaking to him, that might feel like a cold response to the situation. But how much had he wished for one measly handshake from his father when he’d come back to the States? Simple but significant, it could’ve changed so much.
Maybe he would’ve found the will to speak in his own defense at his court-martial.
“I hope I never did anything to lead her on.”
Mariana shrugged and sat on the front step. “You didn’t. She saw something that wasn’t there. She’s a human—we do that all the time.”
Which was exactly why he’d tossed and turned all night. Wondering if he’d seen something in Jenessa last night that wasn’t there. Or what might’ve happened if he’d dared to believe there was.
He leaned against the cottage wall, one palm splayed on a shutter with peeling paint. He hadn’t missed the wistfulness on Jenessa’s face the other night when she’d said her aunt had picked out the color. But they could use a touch-up. Maybe sometime in between restoring the yard and attempting to mentor Noah and dealing with all his questions and confusions about the future, he could figure out the right paint color and freshen them up.
He lowered onto the step beside Mariana. “Due around New Year’s, huh?”
“Yes. Dale insisted on calling our doctor to make sure it was safe for me to fly this late in the game. For the record, if little he or she takes one day longer than expected in making his or her appearance in the world, I swear I will rip open every feather pillow in my house. Can you believe Dale asked me to stop going to the firing range? He’s worried about Baby’s hearing. I called Dr. Patella about that, too, but would Dale trust his assurances? No sir.”
Lucas chuckled. “I think it must take a special sort of guy to be married to a Bridgewell woman.”
Mariana paused. “Not a Bridgewell woman for much longer.”
He let out a breath. He’d had a feeling that was coming. As soon as he’d seen her last night, he’d assumed that’s why Flagg had begun prepping a replacement.
She seemed to read his train of thought. “I think Noah will fit in great.”
“He’s obstinate. Sarcastic. Pretty much a closed book.”
She grinned. “Like I said, he’ll fit in fine.”
“There’ll always be a place for you, you know. Having a kid doesn’t disqualify you from serving.”
“I know that. But leaving Dale for months at a time started getting old long ago. And besides, I’m forty-one. Might as well make way for the younger generation.”
“You just said you weren’t decrepit.”
“Maybe not, but did you know this”—she pointed to her stomach—“is considered a geriatric pregnancy? I literally watched a nurse circle that word on some form. That might actually be the moment I decided to tell Flagg I’m done. You see someone use the word ‘geriatric’ to describe you and I’m telling ya, it does something to you.”
His laughter joined hers. “Geriatric Mariana. Does have a certain ring to it.”
When he quieted, she looked over. “You know, Lucas, if you ever decide that there’s something you want more than you want this life with Bridgewell, there’s nothing wrong with that. Life goes in seasons.” Gnarled leaves skittered past their feet. “You’ve poured yourself into the team. You’ve sacrificed. We all have. But forever was never part of the deal.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t know what she’d seen or not seen to prompt her words. But he knew, sure as autumn’s promise of shifting colors and coming cold, he’d needed to hear them.
“You are both geriatric and wise, Mariana.”
“I reject the first and happily accept the latter.” She struggled to stand and he jumped up, offering his hand as she straightened. She glanced behind her. “Someone else is waiting in line.”
Courtney. She padded out the front door as Mariana shuffled in.
“I just want to say—”
“Court, I—”
They started and stopped at the same time. He nodded at her. “Ladies first.”
Her posture was as rigid as if they were in line during a morning inspection but she was looking somewhere to the side of him. “I just want to say, it was stupid. It won’t happen again. And as for what I said on the phone . . .” She met his eyes. “Cruelty is weakness. And it’s not me. And I’m very sorry.”