“Divorce is never pretty,” she said at last. Then, with a decisive click, she closed the door.
JENNA BROKE OUT in a cold sweat as Adam’s steps receded. She couldn’t even move. She stood in the middle of the floor, hugging her body, rocking back and forth.
She’d felt nauseated, she’d thrown up, she’d felt better—just the same as last night. But that cycle was exactly what worried her. The flu struck for at least a day. With food poisoning, you threw up until your system cleansed itself. Her nausea hit about the same time each night and always occurred on an empty stomach.
Just like it had when she was pregnant with Ryan.
Dropping her head into her hands, Jenna began to knead her temples. Oh, God, please, I can’t be pregnant.
After Ryan, she and Dennis had tried and tried to have another baby. When she hadn’t conceived after four years, they visited a doctor, who told them Dennis’s sperm count was too low. They were given the name of a fertility specialist, whom they’d never called, partly because Dennis seemed to lose interest—he had his boy and was satisfied—and partly because he’d started drinking.
Jenna took a deep breath and managed to stumble back to her bed. Climbing under the covers, she shivered and wondered if she’d ever be warm again. Just when Dennis and the divorce were almost behind her, she could be pregnant.
A new baby. A huge responsibility. Dennis’s child.
A sob escaped her as she tried again to count the days since her last period, but she couldn’t remember exactly. Dennis had forced himself on her almost three months after the divorce was final. She’d submitted because she hadn’t wanted to wake Ryan with another of their fights, and after sharing her bed with Dennis for thirteen and a half years, she hadn’t thought one more time would make a difference.
But if she was pregnant, it made a huge difference.
She thought of Adam asking her if she threw up when she was upset, and tried to calm down. He’d unwittingly offered her an alternative explanation. Stress did strange things to the body, causing headaches, stomach ailments, insomnia, all kinds of things.
Besides, her symptoms could result from fear. What she needed was to buy a pregnancy test at the grocery store and find out for sure. If it turned out negative, she could relax.
If it turned out positive…
Jenna closed her eyes. Sleep, she ordered herself. Ryan was depending on her and so were the Durhams.
But who could she depend on?
Adam. His name leaped into her mind, and for one sweet instant she let herself pretend. Then reality doused her like an icy ocean wave.
“I can only depend on myself,” she whispered to the moonlit ceiling, and settled herself sternly between the cold smooth sheets.
CHAPTER THREE
JENNA STOOD in the kitchen, staring out the large bay window that overlooked the side yard. If she leaned close enough to the wall, she could see Adam and Ryan stacking wood along the back fence. She’d been watching them for several minutes already, as she drank her morning coffee. After the disruption during the night, she hadn’t made Ryan get up for school. He got good grades and she figured one day off wouldn’t matter much.
“They making any progress?” Mrs. Durham came into the room and opened the refrigerator to survey its contents. She held a pad, on which she wrote various groceries they needed to purchase, but she paused to glance at Jenna.
“I think they’ve spent more time squirting each other with their water bottles. Can you hear Ryan squealing?” Jenna smiled; Ryan and Adam had been running around the yard, wielding their water bottles like pistols. Periodically they took aim and fired, only to have the other duck behind the house or shed. By the time their bottles were empty, they were both laughing so hard they could barely stand.
She felt relief—and pleasure—at seeing Ryan laugh again. He needed to do more of it. He was a sober responsible boy, a wonderful child, but Jenna sometimes worried that her problems with Dennis had made their son older than his years. To see his carefree spirit revived lifted her own somber mood, and she knew she had Adam to thank. Ryan wouldn’t be having such a grand time if he was out in the yard alone.
“Adam never could set his mind to a task and simply do it. He made everything into a game, remember?” his grandmother said.
Jenna looked away from the scene beyond the window to focus on Mrs. Durham. “I remember. But he’s not the same person now. I mean, he’s just the opposite, isn’t he? So intense…”
Mrs. Durham finished her inventory and shut the fridge. “He’s certainly driven. I don’t know what happened to him. When he was young we couldn’t keep him in school. The principal was always calling to say he’d cut class again. Once he graduated and started college, that all changed.”
Looking back at Adam, Jenna took a sip of her coffee. “I guess he decided it was time to grow up.” Grow up and leave me…
“I’m not so sure he wasn’t better off before,” Mrs. Durham muttered. “Anyway, I’m going to the store now. Anything I can pick up for you, dear?”
Jenna’s thoughts instantly reverted to the gnawing worry that had claimed her attention for most of the morning. She needed a pregnancy-test kit, but she wasn’t going to ask Mrs. Durham to get her one. She’d have to go to the store at some point herself.
“We could use some more turkey for Ryan’s lunches, if you wouldn’t mind.” Crossing to the counter where she’d set her purse, Jenna pulled a ten-dollar bill out of her wallet, but Mrs. Durham refused to take it.
“Lunch meat is part of your room and board, you know that.”
“But you pay me a good salary besides. I can’t help worrying that I’m not pulling my weight around here—enough weight for me and Ryan, that is. You and Mr. Durham always encourage me to finish my glasswork, even at the expense of my duties.”
“Nonsense. You handle all the PR, work with our vendors, take care of the bookings. We couldn’t get by without you. All I do is a little bit of shopping and the cooking on Mr. Robertson’s days off. But your stained glass is going to make you rich someday, mark my words. Louis Comfort Tiffany could do no better.” Mrs. Durham nodded toward the window, where Jenna could see Adam and Ryan bent over some new object of interest. “You don’t have to worry about doing anything extra for Ryan’s keep, anyway. It’s been too long since we had a boy in the house.”
Their boy. Adam.
“How do I look?” Mrs. Durham grabbed her own industrial-size bag. “Is the back of my hair okay?”
“You just need it ratted a bit right here.” Jenna used the comb Mrs. Durham fished out of her purse to lift the flat spot at the back of her head, just as she did every morning of the week except Thursdays, the day she went to the hairdresser. “That’s better,” Jenna said, handing back the comb.
“Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Durham retrieved a tube of bright red lipstick from her bag and liberally applied it. Then she ran a finger along each painted eyebrow, patted her nose with powder and snapped her compact shut before slipping it back into her purse. “I should be back in an hour or so.”
Jenna followed her to the door in the wake of the gardenia fragrance that trailed behind her. “Do you want me to go with you?”
“No. I spoke to a young girl earlier on the telephone who wants to interview for the waitress position. I told her she could come any time this morning, so you’d better stay, just in case. Now that Gayle’s moved away, she won’t be able to fill in again, and I don’t like it all falling on you. See what you think of this girl, if she shows up.”
“Okay.”
Jenna watched Mrs. Durham back her beige Cadillac down the driveway,