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HER DAD WAS WAITING at the door when Beck pulled the truck up in front of the house. He parked the truck but left it running so he could get out and help her with the bags—the two grocery bags and her suitcase. The yard was mud—puddles stood in the lower areas, and water still dripped from the trees, but the worst of the storm had moved on.
“Mr. Davila,” he greeted the older man as he passed the bags off to him, when it was clear the man wouldn't let him pass into the house.
“Beck. Thank you for bringing her home safely.”
“Yes, sir. Good night.” Beck turned to Lacey, met her gaze, and repeated the farewell.
The words and eye contact seemed insufficient after the time they’d spent together, but she wasn't going to hug him under her father’s watchful eyes. She just nodded and watched him walk back to his truck and drive off.
“What the hell happened in San Antonio?” her father demanded as they walked into the house. “Why are you home two days early?”
“Jesse didn't show up at the airport.” She followed him into the kitchen, where he set the grocery bags on the table.
That’s when she noticed the flowers. And the wine glasses. Two of them. Used.
One with lipstick on the glass.
“Um, Dad? Did I interrupt something?”
Her father’s face was dark red when she turned to look at him.
“It’s...no big deal.”
But it was. In the years that her father had been alone, he’d never dated anyone.
That she knew of.
But now?
“Dad? Who is it?”
“It’s, ah, Marianne Skyler. We’ve been...seeing each other for a while.”
Marianne Skyler, who was on the council with him. Marianne Skyler, who he’d told about her pregnancy. So this had been going on for months, and he hadn’t said anything to her.
She hated the wash of resentment that flowed through her. And then the realization that they’d had romantic time planned because she was out of town, and she’d come back unexpectedly.
Her emotions ping-ponged all over the place, and since they were so close to the surface, tears burned her eyes. Damn, now he was going to think she was upset. Which she was, but not the way he’d think. “You didn't want me to know?”
“Just when I was ready to tell you, you told me you were pregnant, and I just didn't know when a good time was.”
“Any time after that?” Her voice was sharper than she wanted, mostly because she was mad at herself about the tears.
“Yes. I should have. But you had so much going on, and I didn't want to upset you, like I’m doing now.”
“I’m not—I’m not upset about that. About you having a girlfriend, someone in your life. I’m upset that you thought you needed to hide it from me, Dad. I mean, I’ve been open and honest with you about everything, no matter how painful it’s been, and you’ve been keeping this from me?” She picked up the wine glasses from the table and carried them to the sink, then swung on him. “Do you think I don’t want you to have someone in your life?”
“It’s always been the two of us.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’m twenty eight. If things had worked out with Jesse, then I might be leaving, and you think I want you to be alone? I don’t. And it hurts that you think I’d want that for you.”
She had planned to unpack the bags of groceries she’d brought, but now she was just exhausted. The past two days had been a roller coaster of emotions, and she just needed to go rest. She started past her dad toward her room, and he caught her arm.
“I’m sorry, Lace. I really am.”
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow, Dad. I just can’t right now.” But his distressed expression had her stretching up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I love you. I’ll see you in the morning.”
*****
SHE DIDN'T SEE MUCH of Beck over the next few days. He wasn't at his mother’s house, though she could see he had been there, working on the house. But he wasn't there, and she would not ask about him, wouldn't ask if he’d found a job, or if he was avoiding her.
She wasn't going to overthink it. She wasn't going to give into that.
She had bigger worries.
“Your blood sugar and blood pressure have been really steady since Beck came home,” she said to his mother. She’d been more energetic, too. Lacey didn't have to clean as much, because Mrs. Conover was doing more around the house, not sitting in the chair watching TV. The basket of crochet projects was not as stagnant as it used to be. The woman was finding, if not joy, then a purpose in her life. Lacey wondered if Beck saw it, how the two were getting along.
Mrs. Conover made a sound. “He’s worse than you about keeping me on a schedule and making sure everything is healthy.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m terrible.”
Mrs. Conover gave her the side-eye. “You’ve gotten a lot saucier since you started carrying that baby.”
“Maybe it’s the baby’s personality coming out.”
“Oh, you had better hope not. You’ll have your hands full as it is.” The woman shifted as Lacey removed the blood pressure cuff.
“Oh, I know, but now that I’m starting to show, I’m starting to get excited. Looking at nurseries on the internet for ideas, looking for little outfits. Maybe next time I go to San Angelo, I’ll buy a couple of things.”
“You should wait until you know if you’re having a boy or girl. And you think those friends of yours might throw you a shower? So maybe hold off on wasting your money.”
“I was just thinking that having something concrete might, you know, be fun.”
“It will be concrete sooner rather than later. Be careful what you wish for.”