She could feel the heat rising again, and she didn’t even bother with the excuse of hormones

Sarah knew better.

It was all Hunt. She liked him. More than liked him. She hadn’t come looking for it, and she’d certainly tried to avoid it. But no matter what, she couldn’t kid herself any longer.

Maybe she was attracted to him because it proved that she was still a desirable woman. And maybe he was attracted to her because it proved an inner potency, a life force that had been restored.

If it was mutually self-serving, so be it. But it was also no use pretending any longer that something wasn’t happening between them. And that something was inevitable, as well.

So what did she say after such a revelation?

“Gee, that was a novel way to wrap up a prenatal visit” was the best she could come up with.

“You think that wraps things up?” he asked.

“You and I both know it doesn’t…” she replied with a wink.

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Grantham and back to school! Ever since writing Falling for the Teacher, I have wanted to tell Sarah and Hunt’s story. Sarah intrigued me because on the surface she looked like someone in control. But I had a feeling there was more lurking underneath. What I found was a woman like many of us, someone who has made choices in life, but still wasn’t sure where she was going. In short, she was in search of her story. By contrast, Hunt was someone who had his life all figured out, only to find it pulled out from under him. He realized he needed to change direction, but to where and for how long? In essence, he questioned his future. Together, then, Sarah and Hunt were just too good to leave in the background!

Lastly, cancer has an insidious way of touching many families. This book deals with the impact of lymphoma. For those readers seeking more information about blood cancers, the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society provides helpful and unbiased information at www.leukemia-lymphoma.org.

Best,

Tracy Kelleher

Family Be Mine
Tracy Kelleher

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tracy sold her first story to a children’s magazine when she was ten years old. Writing was clearly in her blood, though fiction was put on hold while she received degrees from Yale and Cornell, traveled the world, worked in advertising, became a staff reporter and later a magazine editor. She also managed to raise a family. Is it any surprise she escapes to the world of fiction?

Many thanks to Dr. Morton Coleman for sharing his expertise and understanding.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER ONE

May…

“YOU KNOW, SARAH DEAR, today’s blessed event makes up for that whole Brooklyn calamity…” Penny Halverson bit her bottom lip. “No, I promised I wouldn’t bring that up. What I mean to say is that you having a wedding in the Grantham University Chapel is…is…like a dream come true. To think that a member of our family is about to be married in a place like that! It’s practically like being in England! Or Disney World!”

Penny dabbed the corner of her eye with the all-cotton hanky that she had ironed just before packing her suitcase for the flight from Minneapolis to Grantham, New Jersey. Even within the confines of the church vestry, the mullioned windows and ornate woodwork conveyed the Gothic grandeur of the Ivy League university chapel. But the fact that Penny’s face shone with a rosy hue had nothing to do with the light piercing the stained glass windows. It was the glow of a mother’s joy—and maybe unexpected heat of this early May day.

Outside, visible through an open door, were beds of Rembrandt tulips edging the green of the courtyard. Their variegated petals flopped in exhaustion. They had managed to survive the ravenous appetite of the local deer population, perhaps a show of respect by the animal kingdom for this hallowed spot, but they were now succumbing to the heat.

“Oh, I know I promised, but I can’t help it.” Penny pursed her lips and squinted her eyes in a mixture of remorse and pride. “It more than makes up for the embarrassment that your father felt when you…ah…when you…ah.”

“When I was living with Earl? Is that what you’re trying to say, Mom?” Sarah Halverson rolled her shoulders backward and worked at adjusting the neckline on her strapless wedding dress. The fitted bodice tapered to hug her long torso a tad too tightly for comfort. “I know you and Dad didn’t approve, and I’m sorry. But, you know, it’s really not a crime,” she said as she yanked at the stays under her arms and hunched her shoulders together to try to get all the pieces to work in harmony.

“Practically everybody I know is doing it or has done it at one time.”

Actually, that wasn’t true. Take her two best friends. Katarina had come back to Grantham to recuperate from a terrible shooting, found the love of her life, and was now happily married to financial wizard Ben Brown. Ben pretended to be cantankerous but was really a pussycat, a pussycat with a teenage son. Besides acquiring a family, Katarina had also started a new business of advising retirees on total financial and lifestyle planning.

And her other best friend Julie was a dedicated obstetrician, way too busy to form any lasting relationship—or so she claimed. More likely, she was too tall for most men and too…well…frank. “I’m not brutal, merely blunt,” Julie would protest over her third Rolling Rock. Julie pooh-poohed high-priced beers, describing microbrews as “fancy labels for dilettante, candy-assed drinkers.”

Sarah, who cherished Julie more than most, found that proclamation more than blunt. After all, her fiancé and very-soon-to-be husband, Zach, thought of himself as something of an expert on high-end beers. He regularly lectured Sarah on the pros and cons of various Belgium brews. “I’m just trying to expand your horizons,” he was fond of saying after a typical fifteen-minute discourse.

Not that Sarah minded. Because while she might chide her mother about her parochial concerns, the truth of the matter was, Earl had been a deadbeat. Back in her callow youth, Sarah had thought Earl was a rebel who had needed to burst the bonds of rural Minnesota to pursue a rock music career. But Earl hadn’t been a rebel. Just lazy. He had demonstrated a congenital failure to expend any effort at anything that required work, including his music. And as Sarah quickly found out, “bursting the bonds” for Earl corresponded to an inability to maintain anything close to a monogamous relationship.

Zach, on the other hand, represented everything that was good and decent in Sarah’s opinion. He was a yoga instructor, a terrific one given his ardent following. Not content to improve his employer’s business, he had bravely struck out on his own six months ago, forming Grantham Yoga and Wellness Center. He knew the uncertainties, especially in the weak economy, but he had a solid business plan and was determined to reach for his dream. As part of his holistic approach, he had also brought in a nutritionist as a partner, and working as a team they had seen their clientele steadily increase. Then, once his finances had started to stabilize, Zach had proposed.

And Sarah had accepted, not because she had felt over the moon—she had given up the whole over-the-moon stuff two months after moving in with Earl. No, she’d accepted because she had found contentment. Contentment was good.

Anyway, besides being financially stable, Zach was a good citizen—he coached in the local youth soccer league. And he was faithful. Zach never showed any inclination to wander despite all those women in sports bras and various forms of body-hugging knitwear.

So, in Sarah’s view, he was free to lecture her for fifteen minutes on whatever he fancied. He could even take twenty.

Speaking of twenty minutes, Sarah glanced at her wrist. She knew it was neurotic to wear a watch on her wedding day—all right, not vaguely—but she couldn’t help it. That was the type of person she had become. Besides, it was her grandmother’s old Longines dress watch, so it was fulfilling the “something old” and “something borrowed” elements of the wedding ritual.

She finished fussing with her dress and turned to her mother. “Mom, I know you mean well, but why don’t we just agree that you’re happy to be able to share this day with me?” Sarah patted her mother sweetly on the upper arm of her jacket dress. Penny was wearing a beige mother-of-the-bride ensemble that she’d made from a Butterick pattern.

“All right, dear.” Penny dabbed her eyes once more.

“I’m just so happy, but I think I’d better warn you.”

Sarah inhaled sharply.

“Your father did mention that he was planning on bringing up something along the lines of you finally turning your life around—as part of his toast, that is.”

Sarah groaned silently and placed her hand on her diaphragm. She pressed against the knot of indigestion that had taken up residence for the past few weeks. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in trying to talk to Dad ahead of time?” She looked at her mother’s dubious expression. “No, I didn’t think so. Well, I’m sure I have survived worse.”

She glanced at her watch again. “You know, he won’t get to say anything if I don’t remind the groom that it’s almost time. Zach is one of those people who never wears a watch, which is why he has me around, I guess.” Sarah hoisted up the full skirt of her dress and headed for the door.

“Can’t your father do that?” Penny said. “He’s just outside trying to pick up the baseball game on that little transistor radio I bought him for our tenth wedding anniversary. It’s practically a relic, but he insists it’s still perfectly good, even if it did confuse the security man at the airport.”

Sarah brushed past her mother. “Far be it from me to bother Dad before the seventh inning stretch.” She strode down the narrow hallway. Her satin ballet slippers moved soundlessly along the stone floor. In deference to Zach’s self-conscious concerns about being shorter, she had given up wearing anything remotely resembling heels. Even barefoot, the top of his head came just to her nose, and Sarah, all five-ten of her, had found herself compensating with a noticeable slump. As a physiotherapist, the poor posture irritated her no end. As a woman prepared to join her hand in holy matrimony, she had decided to compromise. She’d stand up straight at work and slump at home.

She reached the heavy wooden door to the chaplain’s office and knocked. Zach had a habit of meditating in anticipation of stressful events, and she didn’t want to interrupt any Zen-like trance too abruptly.

She didn’t hear anything, so she knocked again.

Penny tiptoed next to her daughter. “Sarah, isn’t it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sarah put her ear to the polished wood. “There’s no such thing as bad luck.” She called through the door, “Zach?”

She heard a muffled noise that sounded as if Zach had a cough drop lodged in his throat.

The strange muffled noise grew louder. She frowned. That didn’t sound like a cough drop crisis. She placed her hand on the doorknob, pushed the door ajar and looked in.

She froze.

“Sarah, Sarah, is something wrong with Zach?” her mother asked.

Sarah turned to shield her mother. She drew the door shut. “Mom.” She wet her lips, and then wet her lips again. “I think it might be better if I spoke to Zach alone.” There was a quaver in her voice.

From the other side of the door, there was the sound of furniture creaking and rocking.

“Nonsense. I’m the mother of the bride. If anyone should talk to the groom, it should be me, by tradition. I know, you don’t believe in these things, but I do. So, young lady, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I can see it’s time I asserted a mother’s prerogative.” Penny led with her shoulder past her trembling daughter. She might be all of five foot three and out of her element in an Ivy League setting, but nobody should underestimate Penny Halverson, she of sturdy Norwegian immigrant stock. She not only made lutefisk, she enjoyed it.

“Zach,” her mother called, barging in. “It’s Penny, and it’s time you got…” Her voice trailed off. The creaking and rocking stopped.

Penny turned back to Sarah, her mouth ajar, pointing vaguely behind her.

Sarah nodded. The next thing she knew, her mother had crumpled to the floor.

“Oh, no.” Sarah crouched next to her. “Mom?” She reached for her hand.

From down the hall, she could hear a tapping of heels. “Hey, Sarah, this is your matron of honor doing her sacred duty. The natives are starting to get restless out there, you know. I think it’s time to get this show on the road.” It was Katarina.

Sarah glanced up before quickly going back to holding her mother’s limp hand. “There’s been a slight delay in the action. My mother just fainted. Could you go get Julie?” She bent down. “Mom? Mom? Can you hear me?”

Muffled voices arose from the other side of the door. Then the sound of footsteps followed by a tentative knock. “Sarah,” came a timid voice.

Sarah got up, turned the heavy iron key in the lock and pocketed it. She came back and squatted by her mother.

“What the…?” Katarina shifted her worried gaze from Penny to the sounds.

“Don’t bother with that,” Sarah said. “Just go get Julie. Mom may have hurt herself when she hit the deck.”

Less than a minute later, an Amazon-like woman came running down the hallway, the straight skirt of her teal bridesmaid dress hiked up around her thighs, her dress sandals dangling from her fingertips. As soon as she saw Sarah and her mother on the floor, she skittered to a stop and dropped to her knees. Her bridesmaid’s bouquet landed nearby.

Katarina followed closely behind. “How’s your mom?”

“She’s just starting to come to.” She looked over at Julie. “Your stockings are mincemeat, you know.”

“There’re worse things in life, believe me,” Julie said. She immediately redirected her focus to Penny. “Mrs. Halverson, can you hear me?”

Penny blinked her eyes slowly open and attempted to get up. “What…what happened?”

“Stay there, Mrs. Halverson. You fainted. I’m Sarah’s friend Julie. You remember me?” Penny nodded.

“I’m a doctor,” Julie went on, her voice calm but authoritative. “I just want to check you out before you try to get up.”

Penny swallowed. “I’m…I’m so embarrassed. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

Julie peered into Penny’s eyes and felt around her head and neck for bumps. “Do you remember what triggered the fainting?”

Sarah’s head shot up. “Ah-h, I wouldn’t go there if I were you.”

Just then an argument seemed to erupt from the other side of the door. Julie frowned. “What’s going on in—”

Heavy footsteps coming down the hallway interrupted her words. “Is everyone all right?” It was Ben, Katarina’s husband. Despite his oversize physique, he looked very smart in a custom-made tuxedo. Katarina must have put the screws to him because he’d even gone and gotten a haircut for the occasion.

Katarina put her hand up. “It’s okay, sweetie. I think we’ve got it under control.”

He looked at Penny lying slack in her daughter’s arms. “Well, it doesn’t look that way to me.” His baritone was full-bodied.

Immediately, there was a large thump from the other side of the door, followed by more scurrying noises.

All heads turned, even Penny’s.

Ben pushed his way toward the door.

Sarah stood. “No, let me.” She brandished the key. “Julie, could you hold my mom?”

“Okay. But you’re sure you don’t want to let Ben check it out?”

Sarah sniffed, slipped her grandmother’s watch up her wrist, and stepped around her mother. “No, I think it’s more like cue the bride.” She set her jaw, unlocked the wooden door and pushed it open.

Katarina and Julie craned their necks.

“Oh, my God! I don’t believe it!” Katarina exclaimed loudly.

“What a total and utter schmuck!” Julie shouted.

A startled voice escaped from the other side of the door. “Sarah, I can explain.”

“No, let me,” came a second voice.

Ben took a step forward, but Sarah held out an arm.

“Oh-h-h…” Penny swooned for a second time. Luckily, Julie was still holding her.

Sarah closed the door, relocked it and faced her friends, leaning against the wall. “You saw what I saw, right?” Sarah looked from one face to another.

Katarina nodded. “If you mean that they were untangling their naked selves from a Revolving Half Moon Pose, I would have to agree.”

Sarah bit her lip. “Actually, I think it was the Downward Facing Pigeon.”

Ben coughed. “Where I come from, we don’t need that many words to describe what they were doing. What I want to know is who’s in there with Zach?”

Julie patted Sarah’s mother on both cheeks to revive her.

“It’s Ken, his partner in his yoga practice,” Sarah said.

“Sarah?” the male voice on the other side of the door sounded plaintively. Penny moaned.

Sarah looked down. “Mo-om…oh…Mo-om, I’m so sorry.”

“Was, Zach with—with…another man?” Her mother was almost too frightened to ask. “Here? In Grantham?”

Julie blew air between her pursed lips. “And they would have still been going at it, totally oblivious to the outside world, if we hadn’t made so much noise.”

“Thank you for pointing that out,” Sarah said. Silently, she rehashed her own lovemaking with Zach and came to the stark realization that they had never achieved such a passionate detachment from reality. Should that have been a clue? Who knew at this point? The only thing that was clear in her mind, and in her heart, was that she was broken. Utterly and absolutely broken. Crushed.

She placed her hand on her stomach to control yet another surge of indigestion. She tried to gather her thoughts, but the image of Zach and Ken kept interfering.

Still, she refused to come apart. She’d save that for later. “Well, let’s see…we need a plan,” she stated in a deliberate tone. “First…ah…the guests. They’ll need to be told that the wedding is off—I should probably do that.”

“I’m happy to do it.” Katarina stepped forward.

Sarah bit down on her lower lip and nodded. “Thanks, but I think it’s only proper that I should. In the meantime, could you let everyone know I plan to address them in a minute?” She looked over to Ben. “And could you do me a big favor? Could you go and tell my father the news? He’s outside. I know I’m being a coward, but I don’t think I could face him, not yet, anyway. And I certainly don’t want him back here. Who knows what he’d do?”

Ben straightened his shoulders. “I’ll be happy to. But first, with your permission, I’d like to deck Zach. I feel the need to inflict pain. You have to understand—it’s a guy thing.”

“It’s not just a guy thing.”

Her own gas pain reared up more violently. She breathed in deeply, if not a little noisily. It was New Jersey, after all, the pollen capital of America. “Thanks, Ben, you don’t need to punch out Zach. Just dealing with my father will be more than enough,” she said. She slanted her head toward the closed door. “First, I’ll take care of business here, then I’ll go tell the guests.”

She studied her mother. Penny had started to sob quietly.

Sarah reached in the hidden pocket of her wedding dress and pulled out a hand-embroidered handkerchief. It had been Grammy’s, as well. She handed it to Julie. “Here, you can pass this to my mom. I know she has one of her own, but this might be a source of added comfort.” Grammy had been a sensible woman. She would have understood.

Next, without missing a beat, Sarah clasped her left hand and began working off the engagement ring that Zach had picked out and she had always found too showy. She passed it to Julie while Katarina busily positioned the bouquet of ferns and lilies of the valley under Penny’s head to act as a cushion.

“Could you take this, too?” Sarah asked. “I don’t want it to get in the way.”

“The way?” Julie looked confused.

“I intend to slap a certain someone silly, but I have no desire to break any skin.”

“Sarah. Let me explain. Ple-ease.” Zach’s wailing voice penetrated through the door.

Sarah shook her head. “When I come back out, and after my mother has recovered—poor Mom—I’m not sure she’ll ever recover. Earl was one thing, but this…. Anyhow, when all the drama’s died down, do you think someone could scrounge me up some Tums?”

“Tums? I was thinking more along the lines of vodka,” Katarina said.

Sarah laughed a sad laugh. “Actually, vodka sounds like a great idea, but under the circumstances, I’m afraid it’s not such a good idea,” she said in a low voice, not wanting to further upset her mother. Penny’s eyelashes fluttered closed.

Katarina raised her eyebrows. “And that’s because…”

“You remember when I told you how my father blew a gasket when he found out I was living with Earl in New York City?”

Katarina and Julie nodded.

“Well, he’s going to have an apoplectic fit when he learns that this time I’m pregnant.”

CHAPTER TWO

September, four months later

“RUN, FRED, RUN!” Huntington Phox called to the black-and-white dog that was dashing from one side of the backyard to the other. A mixture of Australian cattle dog and an undisclosed number of hounds, Fred was low to the ground and moved like a bullet train.

“Uh…Hunt, I think he’s mastered running. It’s ‘stop’ that might need a little more work.” Ben Brown turned from watching the hyperactive animal to his longtime friend and partner.

He and Hunt went back more than a few years, first working at the same investment firm on Wall Street before Ben unnecessarily took the fall for an insider trading scandal and left the company. The two had gone on to found a successful venture capital firm in Grantham. Hunt knew that Ben was grateful. For his sticking by Ben no matter what, Hunt also knew his friend was more than grateful.

He also knew he was cagey. Ben might gladly walk through fire, walk on water, or put out the fire with the water for Hunt. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have his own agenda.

So Hunt waited, knowing that Ben was mindful of the tactical nuances necessary when it came to persuading Hunt about something. Because, even though Hunt may have been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he haggled with all the skill of a Bedouin horse trader.

“So when did you acquire this…this…beast?” Ben asked, opening with what Hunt surmised was a sideways gambit.

Hunt glanced at Ben before returning his attention to Fred. The “beast” raced along the winding paths fronting the flowerbeds, scattering pine-bark chips and beheading several black-eyed Susans.

“For your information, Fred happens to be a dog, a one-year-old dog, and I picked him up today when I was driving by the animal shelter.”

“Well, if you say he’s a dog, I guess I’ll have to believe you. But he looks more like a big tail attached to an unidentified flying object.”

Fred chose that moment to leap a hydrangea bush with a single bound. He made it about halfway before losing air and crashing into the branches. Ben winced. Fred bounced out and looked around. His tongue hung out, practically reaching his knuckles. His eyes were bright and eager.

Ben shook his head. “All I can say, you’re a braver man than I to risk bringing a new puppy to your mother’s garden.”

Hunt turned. His hands were thrust into the pockets of the khaki pants that hung from his slim hips. He had finished his rounds of chemotherapy three months ago, but his weight loss was still apparent. Not that he had ever been heavy. But the lanky physique that had proved ideal for skiing and tennis and wearing a custom-made tuxedo with debonair flair, now resembled an undernourished teenager’s. The bulky fisherman’s knit sweater only accentuated his sunken chest. And the baseball cap he wore barely concealed his stubby hair, thinner and curlier than the thick blond waves he once had.

“It’s not a question of bravery,” Hunt said in response to Ben’s remark. “I brought Fred here because my house doesn’t have a fenced-in yard.” That was true. His ultra-modern in-town dwelling might have a rooftop pool, a state-of-the-art sound system, and a well-stocked wine cellar, but it lacked even a single blade of grass.

He went back to admiring the dog’s antics. “Besides, Mother won’t know. She’s in Manhattan, attending the opening of a new exhibit at the Met.” Those of Hunt’s social ilk only ever used the shortened form of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

“And you think she won’t notice when she gets back?” Ben watched as Fred finally gave up the chase and plopped down in a sunken reflecting pool. The mutt lapped the water, then raised his head and panted. Water dribbled from his corrugated black lips. He looked very wet, very tired and very proud.

Ben laughed.

Hunt shrugged. “I’ll figure out something. In the meantime, I keep reminding myself that I am her only son and heir.”

Ben walked over to the pond and looked more closely. “At the same time you might try reminding yourself that your mother’s prized water garden used to be in that pond.”

Fred burped. He waggled his narrow bottom on what was once a rare species of water lily.

Hunt winced.

Ben straightened up. “Although I don’t have the name of an exotic-plant specialist on speed dial, I’m not without some equally powerful resources. Lucky for you, I think I know how to smooth this over.”

Hunt raised his eyebrows doubtfully. He had an inkling his friend was about to show his hand.

“Oh, ye of little faith.” Ben pulled out a pamphlet from the back pocket of his jeans.

Hunt looked at it. “Don’t tell me. Some little idea of my mother’s?”

“What did you expect? She drove out to my place a few days ago and showed me the course listing for the new session of the Adult Education School. She thought you might be interested, and I agreed it was a good idea.”

“She scared you witless, didn’t she?”

Ben held up his hands. “Completely. Still, in my defense, after she left I stuffed the pamphlet in a pile of junk mail, never intending to talk to you about it. But now, given the circumstances….” He nodded toward Fred. A water lily pad adorned his forehead.

Hunt flipped open the front cover and read the introductory remarks in mocking tones,

“Dear Grantham Community Members,

Welcome to the twenty-sixth year of the Grantham Adult School! As in years past, we are delighted to offer a wide range of classes to meet the needs and interests of the community. Our instructors include noted scholars from Grantham University, as well as artists, artisans and business experts residing in the area. Above all, we at the Adult School believe that education does not end with a diploma. Hence, our motto, Education: the Wellspring of Life.

Iris Phox, President

Grantham Adult School”

Hunt snapped the booklet shut. “As I recall, those very words practically made you gag not all that long ago.”

“Yeah, I admit that’s true. But think what it did for me. When I finally went—okay, not entirely on purpose—to Katarina’s class, I found the woman I love, got my relationship with my son back in order, and acquired a whole new set of friends and family. That’s what I call adult education!”

Hunt slipped his hand in his pants pocket and pulled out his BlackBerry.

“Who are you calling?” Ben asked.

“Oprah. Your story needs to be told to a larger audience.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay. I know it sounds hokey. But that doesn’t mean it’s not a smart thing to do. I mean, look at you. You just hang around doing nothing. You’re not interacting with anyone except…except some mutt whose social skills leave more than a little to be desired.”

“I presume you are referring to my friendship with you?” Hunt joked.

“All right, I asked for that. Not all of us were born on the right side of the tracks.”

Hunt knew that Ben’s declaration grossly understated the harshness of his childhood years.

“But say what you will, at least I’m working my butt off to earn an honest living,” Ben continued.

Hunt rubbed his cheek. “I thought you were okay with me taking a leave from work. If you’ve changed your mind, then you’re free to get a new partner.”

“Jeez, Hunt, I don’t want a new partner. And I’m perfectly okay with you taking time off. What I’m not okay with is you taking a leave of absence from life. I mean, to tell you the truth, I just don’t get it. When you were first diagnosed with lymphoma and had to go through all that wretched treatment, you were amazing, more than amazing. I still can’t believe how you insisted on coming in practically every day while you were undergoing chemo, let alone dealing with the stress and worry. But now that it’s behind you, you’re a wreck. Logic tells me it should be the other way around.”

Hunt frowned. “There’re those people who can’t cope with the prospect of death. For me, it’s the prospect of living that’s got me stymied.”

“Well, just get out there and join the human race. If I can do it, you can! I mean, we all know how hopeless I am when it comes to remembering names and making polite small talk.”

“Let alone impolite small talk.”

Ben pointed at his friend. “See! You’re witty even when you’re not trying! My God, you could practically charm a doorknob!”

“And don’t think I haven’t.”

“So think how many more doorknobs are out there awaiting your unique talents.” Ben noticed the dog in his peripheral vision. “Besides, if what I’m saying doesn’t convince you, I’m pretty sure Fred here will.” He nodded in Fred’s direction. “Don’t look now, but I think you’ll find there’s something shiny hanging out the side of his mouth, something finlike.”

Hunt rushed over to the reflecting pool. “Holy crap, Fred!” He slapped the pamphlet he was still holding against his pants to get the dog’s attention. “That’s one of Mother’s prized koi. She’s going to kill you.” Fred bit down proudly. There was a noticeable crunch.

“Your mother would never kill an animal. She’s on the board of the Grantham animal shelter. I know because she hit me up for a large donation,” Ben said.

Hunt rubbed his mouth. “You’re right. Fred, I think you’re going to live.” He turned slowly back to Ben. “Do you think Mother would hit a recent cancer victim?”

Ben crossed his arms, looking very pleased, indeed. “With gusto. During her visit she was telling me how much she enjoyed the class on weight lifting to prevent osteoporosis.”

Hunt took off his baseball cap, and ran his hand through the thin strands. “Then the only way to get out of this…” He reluctantly looked down at the Adult School listing.

“Exactly.”

Hunt raised his eyes. “And I suppose she already has a course in mind?”

Ben scoffed. “You doubted that for a second?”

“Tell me it’s a large lecture where I can hide in the back of the room,” Hunt implored.

“I could tell you that, but…”

Hunt closed his eyes. “Okay, tell me the truth. I’m man enough to take it.”

“It’s a water aerobics class. Here, give me back the course listing, and I’ll read you the details.”

“Water aerobics?” Hunt grimaced and held out the pamphlet.

Ben flipped the pages. “Here it is. ‘Light Water Aerobics. This six-week class is designed for pregnant women, older citizens and those recovering from injuries, or those wanting a lighter, low-impact workout. Meets Wednesdays, 7:30 p.m., Grantham Middle School Swimming Pool.’” Ben closed the booklet. “See, it sounds perfect.”

Hunt frowned. “If it’s so perfect, why don’t you sign up for it?”

“Because I’m not pregnant, old—”

Hunt snorted.

“Excuse me, thirty-eight is not old. Nor am I recovering from an injury. Besides, I know from Katarina’s experience that her knee rehabbed really well in the water. I mean, what have you got to lose?”

Hunt rubbed his lips again. They were perennially chapped despite a constant application of lip balm. “I don’t know. My dignity? Besides, six weeks? That’s kind of a long commitment.”

“I’ve got news for you. Getting a dog isn’t exactly a short-term affair either—right, Fred?”

Hearing his name, the dog sat up in a way that for any other dog might be considered majestic. On Fred, it emphasized the fact that his head seemed to belong to a breed completely unrelated to the rest of his body.

Suddenly inspired, Fred jumped out of the pool and shook himself all over Hunt.

Hunt brushed the water off his pants. “This affair could be shorter than you think. I wouldn’t say he’s exactly ingratiating himself.” He bent down to grab the leash lying on the flagstones and reached for the dog’s webbed canvas collar. Not quickly enough, though.

Fred was off and running again, this time through a stand of hibiscus.

Hunt stared gloomily at the leash hanging limply in his hand. “So what do I have to do to join this class?”

“Nothing…well…practically nothing. Your mother has already enrolled you. All you need to do is show up tomorrow night, with a bathing suit and towel. How hard can that be?”

Hunt sighed as Fred moved on from rummaging through the hibiscus to trampling the fragile pale pink flowers of fall-blooming cyclamen. “Tell me, do you think Mother has any pâté in the house?”

“Why? Are you feeling peckish?” Ben asked.

“No, I’m looking for something to bribe the dog with to get him to come. And knowing Mother, she won’t have anything as mundane as liverwurst.”

Ben laughed. “I’m sure there must be some imported Brie.” Then he glanced down at his watch. “I’d stay and help, but I’m already late for picking up Matt from school. The only thing worse than seeing your mother angry is seeing my teenage son pissed off.”

“And you call yourself a friend?” Hunt teased. “Oh, all right, far be it from me to cause any family disharmony. And just to show you how cooperative I can be, I’ll make nice with Mother and attend this water-whatever class.”

“Light Water Aerobics.” Ben sidestepped to the gate. He rested his hand on the latch. “Hunt, one more thing…”

Hunt was busy weaving and bobbing, trying to out-maneuver the dog. Fred let him come to just beyond arm’s length. Hunt lunged. Fred scampered away. Hunt swore.

“Hunt?” Ben said again.

“I know, I know, tomorrow night. Seven-thirty. I’ll be there.”

Ben paused. “Do you want me to leave the course listing?”

Hunt waved him off. “Don’t bother. I think you pretty much hit the highlights.”

“If you say so,” Ben agreed. He left quickly—Hunt couldn’t help thinking—curiously relieved.

CHAPTER THREE

WEDNESDAYS WERE ALWAYS a bitch as far as Sarah was concerned. She closed her eyes and rubbed her lower back. This particular Wednesday was proving to be beyond bitchy.

She turned her head and eyed the seventy-year-old woman next to her who was adjusting the plunging neckline of her bathing suit. For someone her age, she looked fantastic. Okay, she had the usual upper arm waddle and her thighs, while toned, showed signs of cellulite. But, hey, Sarah wouldn’t mind having that body at that age. Even half her age for that matter.

Sarah looked down at her swollen belly with its spidery stretch marks. “Wanda, do you really think a bikini is the way to go?” Thirty weeks along in her pregnancy, she was exhibiting all the expected signs, like clockwork.

Talk about stretch marks. Besides her belly, pink and purple lines now etched her breasts and inner thighs. Lovely. Then there was her belly button, which had gone from being an innie to a full-blown outie.

All those women who positively glowed in pregnancy? Not Sarah. Her cheeks might be flushed, but pimples had a way of erupting daily on her chin and the tip of her nose. She had found this incredibly expensive “nighttime eruption solution” that seemed to help. A little.

Sarah rubbed her swollen belly and told herself to quit being cranky. After all, it was all worth it, right? Still, just because she could accept the changes in her body didn’t mean she felt obliged to flaunt them. “Maybe I could wear a T-shirt over the bikini top?” she said.

Wanda grabbed the combination lock from her tote bag and slammed the metal locker shut. “Nonsense, baby bumps are all the rage now, isn’t that right, Lena?” Wanda turned to her good friend. Lena was Wanda’s tennis partner as well as Katarina’s grandmother.

Lena adjusted the strap of her bathing cap under her chin. “What’s that? Who’s right?” Lena patted Sarah protectively on her arm. “Never mind. You would look wonderful wearing a burlap bag. And in that suit—” she raised her arms, hands open “—you are the image of a Rubens beauty in all your womanly glory.”

Sarah twisted her neck around. “Are you trying to tell me that my butt looks fat?” She gripped one cheek in an assessment.

“Nonsense, dear,” Wanda said. “You’re every woman’s dream—a long-stemmed American beauty, curvy like the legs of a Chippendale table, and with breasts the size of cantaloupes. That’s why we all agreed that the bikini was absolutely, positively the right choice.”

Sarah shook her head. “Thanks, I think.” She was still trying to wrap her head around the image of Chippendale furniture and cantaloupes until she decided it was just another strange moment in an already eventful day.

Because at the end of a full schedule of running multiple physical therapy sessions, three of Sarah’s late Wednesday afternoon clients had thrown her a surprise baby shower. They included Wanda, a retired high school math teacher, who was having treatments for the tendonitis in her tennis arm. “I know it would probably get better if I developed a two-handed backhand, but at my age…”

Lena was there, too, a sturdy fireplug of a woman who when she spoke still had a hint of her native Czechoslovakia in her accent. Her arthritic knees had started to act up on her. Too many years of standing up at her hardware store and playing tennis. She’d had some arthroscopic surgery over the summer to clean up one knee, and was now diligently doing her rehab.

Rounding out the group was Rufus Treadway. A mainstay of the local African-American community, Rufus had had a hip replacement about a year ago. Unfortunately, he was not yet tripping the light fantastic, which was a real shame, as far as Sarah was concerned. So she’d pulled some strings and got him an appointment with the hip specialist at the University of Pennsylvania Hospital.

Anyhow, when the three of them had pulled out the streamers and party blowers, Sarah had been truly taken aback. Lena had made a plum tart. “Not to worry. It’s mostly fruit,” she had said.

And butter and eggs, Sarah had thought.

When they next produced several wrapped boxes, she was overwhelmed. “You shouldn’t have,” Sarah protested, expecting to get several hand-knitted baby sweaters and maybe a baby-size Grantham University baseball cap.

“Start with the squishy one,” Wanda insisted.

Sarah carefully removed the wrapping paper—no sense in wasting perfectly good paper when it could be reused—and found a Speedo bathing cap.

“How lovely. I don’t have one,” Sarah said, confused but careful to affix a smile.

“Now the flat one.” Rufus pointed to an oblong wrapped box.

That one yielded flip-flops. Another had a rolled up beach towel.

Sarah laughed. “I think I see a theme here. I know I always tout the virtues of swimming as a low-impact exercise for you all, so I’m glad to see the message is getting across.”

Then came the biggest box. It seemed to contain mostly tissue paper, but buried deep inside Sarah found a maternity bathing suit in electric orange. A teeny-tiny, two-piece maternity suit. “I didn’t know they made bikinis for pregnant women.” She held up the top and bottom to universal clapping.

And last but not least, Rufus pulled out a slim envelope.

“A ticket to the Bahamas?” Sarah joked. She slit the envelope open and read the contents, “This confirms your registration in the Adult School ‘Light Water Aerobics’ class for pregnant woman and those rehabilitating from injuries.’”

“Isn’t it great!” Wanda had exclaimed. “It’s tonight, and Lena and I have signed up, too! It’ll be like a continuation of our workouts here!” Then she squealed.

That should have been a tip-off, Sarah thought as she now stood in the women’s locker room on the second floor of the Grantham Middle School. Goose bumps appeared on more exposed skin than she cared to think about. She picked up her towel from the bench and wrapped it around her waist. There might be less of her on display to the world, but she was afraid she now looked like a beached whale in terry cloth.

Indeed, the whole idea of lowering her inflated body into a chlorinated swimming pool was just not all that appealing to her at the moment. Any sane person in a similar circumstance would be home, curled up in a comfy chair, watching the rerun of Comedy Central’s Daily Show and eating a grilled-cheese sandwich, better yet, mocha-chip ice cream straight out of the container.

“C’mon, dear, you don’t want to be late. If you think I’m a stickler for punctuality, wait till you meet Doris,” Wanda said.

Sarah scooped up her bathing cap and obeyed. So much for sanity. She followed Wanda and Lena down the stairs and, mindful of her manners, she held open the door to the pool area for the older women first. Wham! The heat and humidity assaulted her immediately. The smell of chlorine just about brought up the plum cake.

Sarah looked down and gulped. Finally, she risked lifting her head—and got her first look at the pool. “Wanda, I thought this class was for women only?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Wanda asked all innocent.

Sarah looked around again. Three other women in various stages of pregnancy were there, none of them wearing bikinis. Great. She also couldn’t help noticing that they all had male partners in tow.

The couples clustered together in a circle, tight enough that a take-out venti couldn’t fit in between. As Sarah walked by, she could hear them exchanging due dates and giggles. Men-and-women giggles.

Wanda and Lena moved to the side of the couples group, where they joined an older man with a vertical scar down his chest. Bypass surgery. Next to him was another man who looked to be in his fifties, almost a carbon copy of the older guy except with more hair, considerably less weight, and a hollow look in his eyes and cheeks. Father and son seemed to be old friends of Wanda and Lena, since the four of them…well…mostly the three of them, were chatting it up. The son appeared to hang at the fringes nodding at appropriate times, but adding little to the conversation.

She was about to join them and introduce herself when the buzzer sounded, signaling the start of class. The instructor, clipboard in hand, with a whistle hanging from a lanyard around her neck and reading glasses halfway down her nose, strode to the edge of the pool. She might be pushing sixty, but she looked like she could wrestle a grizzly bear with one hand tied behind her back while teaching the fundamentals of lifesaving with the other. She blew her whistle. The giggling and whispers halted.

“Good evening, everyone. I’m Doris Freund, your instructor for Light Water Aerobics,” she announced.

“Why don’t I call the roll before we get down to business.” She started rattling off names with marine sergeant precision, and when she was partway down the list she called out, “Halverson, Sarah.” She peered over her reading glasses.

Sarah waved. “Pres—”

The door to the pool swung open. Doris looked up at the clock. Everyone else stared at the door.

Sarah immediately saw a man, and from his surfer’s shorts, lanky walk and thin frame assumed he was of college age. But after a quick glance at his face, she realized he was older—mid-thirties. He had the kind of features—sharp, high cheek bones, deep-set ice-blue eyes with lines fanning out at the corners, and a wide mouth with thin lips—that hinted at intelligence, wit, and, okay, might as well admit it, Sarah said to herself, long-term sex appeal. But there was also an air of mystery, or maybe it was sadness. Which only made him more intriguing. But truth be told, the physical attribute that had caught her attention was that he was thin. Very thin, on a frame that could use an extra twenty pounds.

Cancer and the side effects of chemotherapy. Pretty rough. He was young and as an expectant father…

Sarah waited, watching the door, wondering what his wife would look like. Only nobody came. She raised an eyebrow. So if he wasn’t an expectant father…

She saw him glance quickly around and stop. His mouth opened, but no words came forth. He surveyed the group slowly, then screwed up his mouth.

“I find as a rule that the class works better if we all arrive on time,” Doris said sternly. “I’ve scheduled a number of activities, and to maximize the benefits and everyone’s enjoyment I’d prefer not to have to rush any of them, if you catch my drift?” She waited for an acknowledgment.

The latecomer breathed in and lifted his head, elevating his proud chin. “Duly noted,” he said. He blinked. “Mrs. Montgomery?”

“Huntington? Huntington Phox, is that really you? I haven’t seen you since you were in fifth grade.”

“Fourth,” he said.

Doris arched one brow critically.

“Well, maybe you’re right. Fifth.” He didn’t sound convinced but obviously was astute enough to know when to give in. “And most people call me Hunt now,” he said.

“Yes, well, Huntington, it’s good to see you after all this time. But it’s not Mrs. Montgomery anymore. Mr. Montgomery passed away some twenty years ago.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“And then there was Mr. Dunworth.” Her voice took a reflective tone. “He was a merchant marine. But you know how they are. So now it’s back to Ms. Freund, my maiden name. But everyone may of course call me Doris.”

LIKE THAT WAS ABOUT TO HAPPEN, Hunt thought. He noticed that all the class members nodded nervously, all except this one tall woman with straight dark-blond hair that she was attempting to squeeze into a racing cap.

Under other circumstances he might have admired her fine features, but these were not exactly normal circumstances.

How normal could it be given the fact that he was forced to stand in front of a bunch of strangers, not to mention his former grammar school teacher, wearing the only pair of swim trunks he had managed to find in the bottom of his dresser drawer. Not just any trunks, either, but some faded board shorts, half-forgotten mementos from a surfing vacation during his junior year spring break.

But enough about his laughable figure—too bad he wasn’t laughing—since his attention anyway was fixated on this real-life grown-up female. Wearing a bright orange bikini that barely held her bountiful curves.

Hunt blinked, amazed that here at the Grantham Middle School swimming pool of all places, the embers of sexual urges long dormant—one of the many side effects of chemo that didn’t really compute until you experienced them—had suddenly started to smolder. Talk about less than normal circumstances.

And the smoldering was especially bizarre given that her little scraps of stretchy material did nothing to hide the fact that not only did she have the breasts of a pinup, she also was very pregnant—very, very pregnant.

Hunt cleared his throat and turned to address Ms. Freund, or rather, Doris. “Please do not take this personally if I slip up now and again. I seem to find it difficult to call my fourth, no, fifth grade teacher by her first name.”

Doris clucked. “You’re your mother’s son, that’s for sure.”

There were some twitters, and Hunt searched out the source of the laughter. He recognized Lena Zemanova, the grandmother of Ben’s wife. The sprightly seventy-something-year-old wore a no-nonsense racing suit, navy with white piping, and a red bathing cap. She looked ready to swim the English Channel. The woman next to her, with spiky black hair and a leathery tan that spoke of years of retirement and a complete disregard for sun block, also looked familiar. Though Hunt couldn’t quite place her, unless…unless…. He raised his eyebrows.

“That’s right, Huntington,” she replied with a snap of her gum. “I’m your worst nightmare. Wanda Garrity, your high school math teacher from freshman year. And I’m still waiting for your problem set on quadratic equations.”

Hunt caught sight of her pierced belly button, visible through the large silver ring holding together her low-cut silver swimsuit. He closed his eyes. “I’ll have it for you next week.”

“Well, now that we’re all here, why don’t I explain how the course works,” Doris went on in full lecture mode. “As you know from the course description, this class is designed to provide a low-impact aerobic workout. I promise to raise your heart rate in a way that will not tax your joints but instead strengthen your muscles. We’re also going to work on flexibility and strength exercises that are appropriate to your conditions, whether recuperative or reproductive.”

Doris waited. “Does everyone understand?”

A MIASMA OF CHLORINE-INFUSED air produced a rainbow glow around the wall lights. Moisture clung to the white tiles like a sheen of sweat. Sarah patted the back of her neck. Now that she was here, she was ready to get on with things.

Lena leaned across and nudged Sarah. “I’m excited but a little nervous. What about you?” She smiled.

Sarah smiled back at Lena’s bright blue eyes, sparkling with encouragement. “I feel the same,” she said.

“And you’re sure you’re not achy and tired after so long a day? I worry, you know,” Lena said.

Sarah leaned down and whispered, “Not to worry. I’m glad I’m here.”

“Good things will come of it, I promise,” Lena told her.

“Excuse me.” Doris gave them an evil look and went on with various bureaucratic details, like how to notify her if they had to miss a class and the policy on makeups, until finally she put her clipboard and reading glasses on a low bench by the wall. “So, if there are no questions or further interruptions—” she eyed Lena “—why don’t we all get in the water? Congregate in the shallow end and find your partner.” Doris brought her whistle to her mouth and gave an emphatic blow.

They shuffled to the end of the pool. Some of the couples jumped in. Spray splashed up. Giggles arose again, as the pregnant women floated, their bellies giving them terrific buoyancy. Carl, the older gentleman from earlier, used the ladder and steps on the side. Lena and Wanda squatted down and slipped in from the water’s edge. Lena immediately got wet all over. Wanda was careful not to get her hair wet.

Finally, all twelve members of the class were in the water.

Except for two.

Sarah and Hunt stood by the water’s edge, seemingly frozen to the tiled floor.

Doris sniffed. She was at the side of the pool ready to make a formal entry. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

“Partner? Did you say something about everyone having a partner?” Sarah said.

HUNT SHIFTED HIS EYES between the woman in the electric-orange bikini and Ms. Freund. “No one told me about a partner, either.” Doris tsk-tsked and slid into the water gracefully. “Didn’t you read your course book?” She managed to look down her nose despite standing below them in the shallow end.

Sarah shook her head. “No, I…ah…friends enrolled me in the class without giving me all the details.”

“I’ve got much the same story,” Hunt added.

“Well, then you two will just have to pair up,” Doris said. She turned to the rest of the class. “Let’s do some gentle bobbing as a warm-up.”

Hunt frowned. He looked at Sarah. “One of your friends wouldn’t happen to be my mother, would it?”

“I don’t know. Who’s your mother?”

“Iris Phox.”

“The Iris Phox?”

“So you know her?” he said.

“Well, of her. You can’t live in Grantham without having heard of her.” She sought out Lena in the pool. Her bathing cap bobbed up and down. “Lena, do you need a partner?”

Lena pointed to her right. “I’m with Wanda.” Wanda was bobbing up and down. Whatever gel she had applied to her hair kept the spikes perfectly in place.

“I guess I don’t measure up to your idea of a partner,” Hunt said casually. Not that he was looking to be anybody’s partner, but if there was going to be a rejection handed out, he found himself annoyed that he had been the one to be dumped.

Sarah turned to him. “Listen, it’s nothing personal, but these days I don’t do men partners.”

“You have something against men?”

She shrugged. “Hypothetically, no. In practice, yes.”

He made a gesture toward her protruding belly. “Does that mean you used in vitro?”

She protruded her lower lip and blew upward, sending her bangs flying. “I should have been so lucky.”

“You two,” Doris called out from the pool. “No dillydallying.”

“We could both just leave,” she said under her breath.

“And have my mother find out? I don’t think so. On second thought, maybe you could explain it to my mother?”

“I don’t think so. I’m not even sure I could explain it to my friends, especially when two of them are eyeing me from the water right now.” She waved at Wanda and Lena. Then she turned back to Hunt. “I guess we have no choice.”

Hunt sighed. “I suppose you’re right. In which case, shall we?” He brought his hand forward in a gesture of invitation.

“I’m Sarah, by the way,” she said.

“Hunt.”

She dipped one toe in the water.

He noticed she used pearl-pink nail polish.

“I’ve got to warn you, though,” she said.

“You don’t swim?” he asked.

“No, I swim all right. But if you’re looking for a partner to square things away with Wanda, I’m not much help. I don’t remember a thing about quadratic equations.” She jumped in the water and waded toward Wanda.

Hunt followed, sinking immediately. He bobbed up and wiped the water from his eyes. “And here I was counting on you to save my butt,” he said, joining her.

Wanda cracked her gum. “If you only knew.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“IT WAS HUMILIATING,” Sarah blurted out. She wandered around the reception area of the salon in the nearby little town of Craggy Hill, looking at the wide array of OPI nail polishes on display. The salon was located on the first floor of an old frame house, with the cozy, cream-colored carpeted living room serving as the reception. Small back bedrooms worked perfectly as private spa facilities for pedicures, manicures, facials and massages.

Katarina and Julie were treating Sarah and themselves to pedicures as a prelude to the official baby shower that evening at Katarina and Ben’s house.

“I’m sure you’re exaggerating,” Julie said. She was inspecting the line of France-themed colors, turning each bottle to read the label. “Ooh La La Lavender?” she asked to no one in particular. “A must for the fashion-conscious obstetrician on the go-go.”

Katarina checked out the bottles lined up on the mantel. “I never knew there were so many types of clear polish. All right, I’ll take the plunge and go for Shell Pink Shimmy.” She clutched the bottle and turned to Sarah who was wriggling around in a club chair, trying to find a comfortable position. “And what about you, Woman of the Hour?” She leaned her head in the direction of Sarah. “What color will allow you to recover from the humiliation of water aerobics?”

“As if it matters? I’m so big I can barely see my feet.” As if to prove her point, Sarah raised one leg just to get a good look at her sneaker. “So that’s my right foot. Somehow I remember it being smaller.”

“Well, what color is the bathing suit they got you for your class? You could go for that complete ensemble look,” Katarina suggested with what seemed to be sincerity.

“Are you trying to be cruel? It was more like incomplete ensemble. Do you know how little the top part of a bikini covers a pregnant woman’s boobs?”

“I’d give anything to have boobs like yours. Why am I the only Italian-American woman I know who is flat as a pancake?” Julie asked.

“Please, let’s not get into body issues. You, after all, have not entered the world of elastic-waist pants.” Sarah glanced over at the selection of the new Spanish-themed nail polishes grouped atop a gateleg table. “What about that one?” She pointed to a deep pinkish-red one on the right.

“Wow!” Katarina walked over and picked up the bottle Sarah had indicated. “Conquistadorable. You have someone in mind to conquer?”

Sarah waved off the suggestion. “It’s more like I think it matches the cherry pie I baked.”

Julie shook her head. “That’s our Sarah. Bakes a pie for her own baby shower.”

“Well, I just wanted to help out. You guys have done so much on top of working and all. Besides, it’s my way of relaxing,” Sarah said.

And her way of connecting to her roots. Only she didn’t say that.

Sarah might have run away from rural Minnesota as soon as she turned eighteen, but it didn’t mean it was out of her system. True, when she’d followed Earl and become a rock band groupie, she’d gone completely “gonzo”—inky-black nails and purple-dyed hair, plus the requisite tongue piercing and studded neck collar. She’d lost her farm girl glow by staying up all night and bartending at clubs catering to local bands that sporadically favored Earl’s erratic bass playing. But no amount of cheering improved Earl’s musical ability, and it never kept him from straying.

Eager to redeem herself in her parents’ eyes, she became a determined student/working girl. She’d enrolled at Hunter College’s School of Health Professions, commuting to Manhattan from her dumpy apartment in Queens. This time she strove for upward mobility. She switched to bartending at Upper East Side haunts frequented by investment bankers and female interns at Sotheby’s. Sarah had let her hair go back to her natural blond. She learned about button-down collars from the men and artists like Cy Twombly and Helen Frankenthaler from the women. At the same time she racked up a sizable debt for tuition bills, which dismayed her parents yet again when they realized the financial straits she had landed herself in.

So she tried again. Armed with a degree in physical therapy, she gravitated to Grantham for its college town atmosphere and close proximity to New York. And in an area populated by families with sports-happy kids, weekend warriors and aging retirees, the physical therapy business was booming. After first working at a large rehab facility, she landed her current job with a practice affiliated with the hospital. She liked the variety, and liked the feeling that she could follow the progress of a stroke victim from the hospital to at-home care through outpatient appointments at the office.

But still Penny regularly asked, “Is it true that most people in New Jersey are Italian? Not that I have anything against Italians. After all, your father and I enjoy eating pizza at the firehouse fundraisers.”

Zach’s most favorable qualities in her mother’s eyes had been that he wasn’t Earl, and that he’d proposed to their only daughter, just when they’d given up hope.

Now, though, Sarah knew she was truly disappointing them. It was one thing to be an unmarried mother-to-be, but it was another to have left your gay fiancé at the altar. She wondered how Penny explained that one at the firehouse fundraisers.

So here she was, soon to be a hardworking single mother. And while she told everybody that this is what she wanted to do with her life, there were many moments when she wondered, “Is this who I really want to be?”

At least she had baking to keep her company. Besides the cherry pies, there were the peach cobblers, the pineapple upside-down cakes and the snickerdoodles. The trick was to find other people to eat the baked goods so that her ever-expanding waistline was at least somewhat manageable.

Rather than rehash her inability to plot a straight and self-fulfilling course for her life, she decided to give herself a break. To enjoy the sensation of sitting down and knowing that nothing more strenuous awaited her than letting someone else pamper her for a while. Feeling a bit light-headed, she closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of the chair.

“You know, guys, this was a great idea to get pedicures. But I feel guilty.”

Julie looked up from checking the messages on her iPhone. “When have we heard that before?”

Sarah opened her eyes. “Please tell me you’ll let me help pay.”

“Absolutely not!” Katarina protested.

“I know. You can bake the pedicurist some brownies,” Julie said.

“What a good idea,” agreed Sarah.

Julie dropped her head in her hand. “Tell me she’s not serious.”

“Sarah, don’t even think of it. It’s our treat. You see, I was reading online that the third trimester is the time to indulge in girly things,” Katarina said, and grabbed a chair next to Sarah. “Besides, this gives Ben a chance to clean up the empty Cheetos bags and dirty socks and running shoes before the ‘Big Event.’” She made little quotation marks with her fingers.

Sarah swallowed. Just the thought of Cheetos and smelly socks was enough to make her nauseated.

“What I wouldn’t give for a bag of Cheetos now,” Julie said. She scrounged around in her hobo purse on the floor and came up with a packet of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.

“Can I tempt anyone?” she offered. Katarina and Sarah shook their heads, and Julie wasted no time consuming the candy. How the woman managed to live off junk food and still remain rail-thin was a mystery to Sarah.

The owner, Erika, approached them. “Well, ladies, we have one room ready now, and the next two will be free in a few minutes. Who wants to go first?” Her voice had that melodious lilt of some unidentifiable Eastern European language. Her skin was flawless, as well. Clearly, there was something about sour cream, cabbage and potatoes.

Katarina held out a hand toward her friend. “Sarah, I don’t want to hear any objections. This is your evening after all.”

“It may be her evening, but she still hasn’t given us the gory details about yesterday’s water aerobics partner.” Julie stopped munching and texting long enough to speak. “Though considering the pool of candidates who would have signed up—yes, I meant that terrible pun—it can’t have been anyone all that interesting.”

“Oh, he was all right,” she said with a shrug.

All right?! her inner voice objected. Tell them about Hunt Phox’s steady stream of irreverent banter, how it had helped to pass the ninety minutes of class with surprising ease, it demanded impatiently.

Because then I’d have to tell them that not only was he trying to allay our mutual awkwardness, but that fifteen minutes into the workout of stretching and bouncing with Styrofoam noodles and floats, the guy was exhausted.

So what?

Because it was clear from his determined look that he didn’t want to be babied, didn’t want to admit his limitations.

So?

So I respect his pride and his privacy.

Respect nothing. You call the tingling sensation you felt when he gripped your forearms during isometric exercises “respect”?

“Earth to Sarah,” Julie called, interrupting her internal debate. “Are you still with us?”

Sarah shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to flake out there. My thoughts just kind of got away from me. Chalk it up to general tiredness and pregnancy muddleheadedness, I guess.” She blinked a few times, warding off the light-headedness she was feeling. It was a little hot in the shop.

Then she gripped the arms of the chair. “I really have been looking forward to this all day. It’s just the logistics of getting up that seem a bit daunting.” She pressed down to hoist herself up.

Which is when a weird thing happened.

Because instead of heaving herself into an upright position, Sarah became strangely conscious, almost out-of-body conscious, of pitching forward. And her nose—it really was her nose and not someone else’s she kept thinking—seemed to be getting closer and closer to the rug. This isn’t part of the playbook, she told herself.

And that thought came right before her left temple made contact with the cream-colored rug.

CHAPTER FIVE

HUNT FILLED THE VASE with water from the sink in Ben’s kitchen, turned off the tap, and ambled over to the table, careful not to lose any of the hydrangea branches that jostled against each other. He placed the vase in the center of the wooden farm table and fussed inexpertly at the heavy blooms, the globes of dusty-blue flowers drooping toward the table.

“There, that should do it,” he said, and backed away.

“I thought I should bring something to Katarina if I was going to drop in.”

“She’s not here right now to thank you.” Ben leaned against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed, and watched Hunt’s efforts with a skeptically raised brow.

“The dog trashed another bush in your mother’s yard, didn’t he? And you’re just trying to hide the evidence, right?”

Hunt shrugged. “Well, something good might as well come from Fred’s enthusiastic communing with nature. Besides, I think she was returning from her book group by six, and I didn’t want her to look out the window and notice the damage. I made it with plenty of time to spare, I think.” He instinctively glanced at his wrist before he remembered that he had stopped wearing one right after he’d finished chemo and no longer had to get to appointments on time.

No matter, he slipped his hand in the side pocket of his chinos for his BlackBerry. Nothing. Well, that suited him just fine. This was the New Hunt, the Stress-Free Hunt. He started to whistle off-key. The noise caused Fred to lift his head from licking the tile floor around the rubbish bin. He stared at his master with a wrinkled brow that might mistakenly be interpreted as intelligence. Then he scampered out of the kitchen with an unfocused sense of purpose.

“He’s not going to do anything destructive, is he?” Ben asked. He watched Fred bolt down the hallway, his four paws barely touching the hardwood planks.

“He’s fine. As long as you don’t have any exotic fish in the house, I wouldn’t worry.”

“I’ll be sure to keep the cans of tuna fish under wraps.” Ben kept his arms crossed and waited.

“Listen, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

“Sometimes a wise move,” Ben said sardonically.

Hunt continued undeterred. “I’ve come to the realization that I want to do something to help mankind. Make a difference for humanity.”

“That’s great.” Ben uncrossed his arms. “Let me ask you, though. In the process of all your thinking, have you narrowed it down a little? Thought of anything in particular?”

Hunt wagged one finger in the air. “Not yet, but that will come. The crucial thing for now is that I am thinking about what I want to do.”

Fred chose that moment to rush back into the kitchen. A white athletic sock hung from the corner of his mouth. He checked that Hunt was still there before twirling around and racing out again, the sock streaming behind his flopping ear.

Ben headed after the mutt. “You’re lucky that I’m pretty sure that sock was Matt’s.” He walked to the bottom of the steep stairs leading to the second-floor bedrooms.

The eighteenth-century cottage had originally consisted of little more than the kitchen, but it had been expanded in the late nineteenth century to include a living room, dining room and a study on the ground floor. The attic had been refitted into two bedrooms at roughly the same time. The upstairs and downstairs bathrooms didn’t come until the twentieth century, and Ben had recently updated them again.

“You know, Hunt, I was more than happy to renovate the bathrooms as a measure of my love and devotion to my lovely wife, but I hadn’t counted on refinishing the stairs.” He winced as the dog’s nails scurried frantically on the wood as he bounded up the stairs, made a tight circle around the landing, and threw himself headfirst down once more. He stopped only to deposit the sock at Ben’s feet before charging up yet again.

Ben turned to Hunt who had followed him, still muttering something about humanity. “You know, I’m going to bill you for the damage, and no amount of Adult School attendance is going to get you out of it.” Ben shook his head in disgust.

Hunt smiled as he watched Fred repeat his frantic maneuvers. “Give him a break. He’s never used stairs before.”

“Poor baby. To have to live in a house with an elevator must be such a deprivation.”

“That was the architect’s idea, not mine. He called it ‘an elegant solution to a challenging space.’ His way of saying my downtown Grantham lot was way narrower than he originally realized, and why not spend another twenty grand or so on my modern folly.” Hunt marveled at the dog’s fierce glee. “Can you imagine the utter joy he must be feeling at experiencing something for the first time? To be that exhilarated, that overcome with emotion.” He turned to Ben. “Can you remember a similar feeling? I know I can’t. It must be like an awakening…like experiencing birth all over again.”

“Listen, I can appreciate that he’s a puppy and excited. Just don’t start getting all New Agey on me.”

Hunt huffed. “You’re such a cynic.”

“I might be a cynic, but I’m a happy cynic. Happy that you actually came by to see me. I was beginning to think you were only capable of migrating from your Bat Cave to your mother’s stately mansion. What a relief to know you still remember how to drive out here! See, I can be as enthusiastic as that dog of yours. Speaking of which, go bring him down from upstairs.” Fred had taken a sudden detour and veered to the right in the upstairs hallway.

Hunt trudged up the stairs, frowning when he had to grip the handrail for leverage. He hated being weak. More than that he hated having other people see him this way.

Was it any wonder why he had started to avoid people in general? And if he had to go out, that he made a point of putting up a good front, especially with his mother? His mother… For all her outward concern, she was supremely intolerant of sickness. He knew she thought it a sign of weakness. “I simply refuse to be sick,” she was fond of announcing to him in particular.

It was easy to think that way, Hunt surmised, when you’ve never been sick a day in your life, not that he’d ever pointed that out. Not that she would have listened.

By the time he reached the top of the stairs, Hunt was puffing. He stopped to regain his breath, then whistled. No response. “Fred, where are you, buddy?” He pulled the dog’s leash from his back pocket.

From downstairs, Ben’s footsteps moved away from the stairs. “I’ve got to clean up the living room before this baby shower, and I don’t want to find out that he’s gotten into something up there,” he called up.

A moment later Hunt descended with Fred on the leash. He found Ben in the study. “I hope you weren’t too attached to that particular roll of toilet paper. I found another one in the vanity and hid the shredded bits in there instead.”

Ben finished straightening up the piles of library books and magazines. “Good. A move like that will make Katarina think that Matt did it,” he said, referring to his son.

To give Ben due credit, Matt, besides toting the usual baggage of a sixteen-year-old, had only recently come into his life after the death of his mother. Neither Ben nor Matt had known about each other before the reading of the will, and while both were determined to make the relationship work, they were still feeling their way. Katarina helped with smoothing out the relationship, providing mediation and the love, and a secret weapon—her grandmother.

“I don’t think the kid has anything to worry about,” Hunt replied to Ben. “Hey, the kid can take care of himself. After all, he’d have Lena defending him like a mother hen no matter what.”

Ben hunted around for a place to put a pile of old newspapers and settled for dumping it in the log carrier by the fireplace. “That oughta do it. Amada is away for the week visiting her cousin in Mexico, and I was put in charge of tidying up. You don’t know how to vacuum, do you?”

“How hard can it be? If I can graduate from Grantham University, I should be able to work a simple machine. Here, hold the dog, and point the way.”

“It’s in the hall closet.” Ben took Fred’s leash. The dog eyed him cautiously, then pulled away with all his might in the direction of Hunt. “I don’t think Fred has quite warmed up to me.”

Hunt came back dragging the canister vacuum behind him. “Don’t take it personally. He’s afraid of men. Try looking smaller.” Hunt bent down and peered around the back of the vacuum. “There must be a cord hiding somewhere.”

Ben hunched his shoulders, but at six foot three it was a little hard to look small. Then he tried sitting on the arm of the couch. Fred just pulled harder. “I don’t think this is working.” He nodded toward Hunt. “It’s down on the left side.”

“Check.” Hunt pulled out a length of cord and plugged it in.

“So if he’s afraid of men, why is he so fond of you? Oh, I forgot, it’s your naturally unthreatening charm.”

“What’s that?” The sound of the vacuum cleaner filled the small space.

“I was just commenting on your wimpiness,” Ben shouted.

“You can’t rile me,” Hunt yelled back. “I’m perfectly secure in my manhood. Witness my confident manner with the vacuum cleaner.” He pushed it toward Ben and caught the ragged edge of an ancient Oriental rug, causing the machine to grab. The noise changed to a desperate high-pitched gurgle, like blackbirds swarming in an air-conditioning vent.

Fred jumped back, cowering behind Ben’s leg.

Hunt tried pulling the vacuum away, but that only made the machine grip harder.

“Turn the damn thing off,” Ben shouted.

“What?”

Ben stood up and stepped on the power button. “I said,” he still shouted before realizing it wasn’t necessary. “Sorry,” he lowered his voice.

Fred inched forward and bravely inspected the vacuum. There was a faint burning smell.

Hunt crouched down and worked the rug free from the bottom of the vacuum.

Fred nudged his thigh.

“It’s okay, boy.” He fondled the dog’s ear.

The puppy lifted a hind leg and scratched at his belly. The three paws remaining on the wood floor immediately splayed out from under him. His belly plopped on the floor. He looked up at Hunt and over to Ben, seemingly proud, as if that was what he meant to do all along.

Hunt laughed. Fred was good for making him laugh. Not much else did these days. Then he stood and looked forlornly at the vacuum. “Well, if I proved one thing, it’s that even though my virility may be intact, I’m nowhere near as competent as the average woman.”

As soon as he’d said the words, Hunt felt the stirrings in his libido. Until he caught sight of his water aerobics partner he wasn’t all that convinced that his loss of sexual desire was a temporary side effect of his chemo as his oncologist had assured him. But, aah, the miracle of a teeny-tiny electric-orange bikini, he thought with a smile.

“Now that we’ve got that straight, I declare the job done,” Ben announced. He passed the dog’s leash to Hunt and unplugged the vacuum. “So, tell me, how did that aerobics class go?”

Hunt blinked. Had his friend been reading his mind?

“I know I kind of backed you into it, and for once, I was actually feeling a bit guilty.” Ben searched around the end of the vacuum, trying to figure out how to push the cord back in its hole. Brute force didn’t appear to be the answer. “Did it work out okay?”

“Well, it was wet and completely embarrassing, so I hope that makes you feel even more guilty.”

“So who did they match you up with then?” Ben glanced up. “There must be some way to push the cord back in, don’t you think?”

“You knew about the whole partner bit?”

“I suppose I might as well come clean. I wasn’t sure you’d go through with it if you knew it required close personal contact with a stranger. So who was it? Some old man recovering from angioplasty?”

“No, actually it was a woman, about thirty maybe.”

Ben dropped the cord, raised his hands and stood up.

“I’m done.” He faced Hunt. “So what was she recovering from?”

Hunt frowned. “I’d say recovery is not quite the right word.”

Fred tiptoed tentatively toward the vacuum. He put his nose down by the exhaust and sniffed.

Ben frowned. “What do you mean?”

“She’s pregnant, bro.”

“Pregnant? So where’s the father?”

Fred slumped down on his belly and began gnawing on a corner of the plastic casing.

“Apparently not in the picture.” Hunt stared off, not focusing on anything in particular. “What is it about fathers and their children, anyway?”

Ben growled.

Hunt quickly explained. “No, man. You didn’t even know that Matt existed until last year. I was just commenting on the sorry state of affairs in general. I mean, you never even knew your father. Mine barely acknowledged my existence. My most vivid memory of him is not his face, but this big black Cadillac driving away. When he died while I was still young, I realized I didn’t miss my father, but that shiny limousine was another matter.”

“If it will make you feel any better, I’ll buy you a set of whitewalls on eBay,” Ben said.

Hunt smiled. “Spoken like a true friend and, I must admit, a good father.”

“Tell that to Matt.”

“No, Matt knows you’ll always be there for him,” Hunt said. The way you were always there for me through cancer, Hunt could have said, but being a guy, he didn’t. When it came down to it, he really wasn’t New Agey after all, just his stiff-upper-lip mother’s son.

“So what’s with this woman’s husband then? How come he’s not there doing squat thrusts or jumping jacks or whatever it is you do in the shallow end?”

“Some of us have already chosen to do underwater jogging in the deep end with floaties.”

“Floaties?”

“A technical term. I’ll enlighten you later,” Hunt said.

“Anyway, as to the lady in question, my partner—” the term sounded strange but surprisingly not unwelcome “—from what she said, I’m not sure if there was ever one on the scene.”

Ben whistled. “An unwed mother, huh?”

“Single parent is the politically correct term these days,” Hunt corrected.

Fred turned his head and mouthed furiously on a button along the bottom edge by the left rear wheel.

“There didn’t have to be a guy, you know. It could have been a sperm bank donor,” Ben suggested hypothetically.

“Who knows? She made it pretty clear she wasn’t into men,” Hunt replied.

“She’s gay?” Ben asked.

“She didn’t say that, and I didn’t ask.”

Fred bit down, and the cord suddenly sprang into action, retracting on command. It snaked in quickly and the plug smacked Fred in the butt. The dog seemed stunned, then gave a delayed bark.

Ben shook his head. “How do you like that? We’re actually stupider than that dumb dog of yours. Forget your average female.” He made a face back at Hunt. “So, was she okay to look at?”

Hunt watched Fred lick his fur. He exhaled. “To tell you the truth, it wouldn’t have mattered if she were only attracted to hedgehogs. And the fact that she’s pregnant? Weird maybe, but so not a problem. It just made her all the more womanly. In fact, everything about her turned me on.”

CHAPTER SIX

AFTER SARAH’S SPEEDY RECOVERY, the three pedicures, and, luckily, no further dramas, Julie drove them all to Katarina’s. She pulled into the driveway, and Katarina glanced over her shoulder to the backseat of the Honda CR-V. “She’s asleep. Is that a bad sign?”

Julie turned off the engine. “I think it’s perfectly normal for a woman in her thirtieth week of pregnancy to fall asleep at the end of a long day. It’s other things that have me concerned,” she said in a low voice. She glanced behind, then pointed outside, out of earshot.

Katarina nodded and, wincing as she opened the door as quietly as possible, tiptoed out. They huddled together by the driver’s-side headlight, their backs to the car.

Katarina began, “I thought you said that dizziness happened occasionally when you’re pregnant, especially if the mom-to-be is overheated or hasn’t eaten in a while.”

Julie shook her head. “I know what I said. That Sarah was sitting down, allowing the blood to collect in her lower limbs, and when she stood up, not enough blood returned to her heart and her blood pressure dropped, causing her to faint. That part’s simple.”

“Are you worried about something else?”

“She comes in every two weeks at this stage, but I’d like to see her sooner. I don’t think it’s something more serious, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

“So there’s no need to worry then, right?”

“Wrong. There’s every chance in the world that her fainting could happen again.”

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