A Memory Away. Melinda Curtis

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       CHAPTER SIX

      “I’M NOT ASKING for money,” Jess clarified, not only because she meant it, but because Duffy’s face had pinched and paled. “That’s not why I’m here.”

      His features hardened like an overcooked scone. She’d ruined scones, ruined pastry with promise, ruined the fragile fabric of friendships. She’d come to Harmony Valley for her memories. She’d found so much more—the possibility of a family for her little one. She didn’t want to ruin this for Baby.

      Jess tried again. “I was only pointing out that if Greg took the money—which I’m sure he didn’t—it would have been in his bank account. I’m not asking for anything. I just want my memories back.”

      His cool gaze said he didn’t believe her.

      Baby decided her bladder made a lovely pillow, one that needed fluffing. Jess wasn’t feeling fluffy or pillow-soft. She was feeling as cold and hard as a lump of stale brown sugar. “I’ve always made my own way. And I’ve owned up to my mistakes. If what you say is true about Greg...” She paused to adjust how she was sitting, so both she and the baby were comfortable, using the time to remove the note of hysteria from her voice. “It’s a mistake I made.”

      “Most people would disagree,” Duffy said, as if aware of the tightrope they were walking with army boots on. “How much money did he take from you?”

      Enough to buy a no-frills new car or start a great college fund or allow her to spend several months home after the baby was born. “It doesn’t matter.” The door to resentment, the one filled with embarrassing, hurtful memories of a life with no alternative but charity, banged open. And with that bang came a biting rush of outrage at being thought of as destitute. “I spent nine years living in a foster-care barracks with seven other girls. The woman who asked we call her Mother received a good salary to take care of us.” It hurt to swallow the indignity of being boarded like a dog. There’d been no love, no nurturing, just a head count. “She got a salary. To be called Mother.”

      “But how much—”

      “I won’t ask you for a cent!” She awkwardly pushed herself to her feet. She’d had enough of relationships measured by dollar signs. If she told Duffy a figure, that’s all she’d be to him, that’s all her child would be to him. “I won’t take your money. I won’t even sleep in your bed tonight. The sheriff mentioned I could sleep at the jail.”

      Thunder rolled across the valley. It might as well have been resentment rumbling in her veins.

      “Somehow, I don’t think the jail will be as comfortable as my bed.”

      “I don’t care.” She was shaking. Her hands, her legs, her voice. “I’ve slept in worse places.” On air mattresses and park benches and concrete floors.

      “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” He got to his feet, arms out placatingly.

      She didn’t see Duffy. She saw Greg. Heard his voice. Wondered if he’d lied. I need a little money to tide me over. You trust me, don’t you?

      Suddenly, Jess didn’t feel as if she’d trusted Greg. But she’d loved him. She just knew. She’d loved him.

      “Duffy, I want to look after myself and my baby. And to do that, I can’t blame my situation or my mistakes on someone else. I can’t accept a handout.” Her mother’s face came to mind, thin and taut with worry as she stroked Jessica’s hair that last night at the homeless shelter. You’re a strong girl, Jess. You can make it on your own. Jessica had clung to her mother’s words after she’d disappeared, locked them tight in her heart when times were tough. She stepped around the corner of the couch, nearer the door, nearer the bathroom.

      “I never said...” Duffy moved to block her path, looking perplexed. “Can we back up the conversation? To somewhere around the time I invited you to spend the night because the road’s flooded?”

      “No.” The bathroom was in her sights and Baby was fluffing the bladder pillow again. “I told myself I’d never be like my mother and walk away from a child because there wasn’t enough money. I work hard so that won’t happen.”

      But what if she couldn’t make it work? Vera had already begun asking questions about maternity leave and schedules once she returned. She’d hired Jess out of culinary school, and Jess suspected she was the highest-paid baker of the bunch, the only one with formal training, the only one who didn’t speak Spanish, the only one who didn’t fit in.

      The tremble in Jessica’s limbs locked her shoulders back.

      Duffy was frowning. His frown conveyed doubt. Not suspicious doubt, but a kind of self-doubt, as if he was questioning what he knew. “I don’t know what went on between you and my brother. I don’t know how he got your money. But one thing I do know. You’re never giving up that baby.”

      His words touched her, soothed and comforted. She was no longer shaking, no longer on the defensive.

      “So you’ll stay.”

      She gave him the stiffest of nods, and then beelined to the bathroom.

      * * *

      HE’D SAID TOO much about Greg and the assets he’d liquidated after his brother’s death. But other than pointing out the money in Greg’s bank account was most likely hers, Jessica claimed not to want anything from him.

      Doubt prickled his insides like a porcupine with raised hackles.

      His brain whispered, Don’t believe her. She was in league with Greg.

      But there was his heart—the part of him Greg had called soft and sentimental more than once—smoothing the hackles of suspicion: She’s not like Greg.

      Duffy СКАЧАТЬ