Saving Home. Marie Ferrarella

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СКАЧАТЬ her sister an accusation. “I look at you with your skinny little body and it’s everything I can do not to drag you down to the pier and toss you into the ocean.”

      Andy forced a smile to her lips. She was deeply regretting having said a word to her sister.

      But again, that still didn’t change anything about the way she felt, Andy thought in mounting despair.

      She wasn’t exactly sure what possessed her, but Andy needed to make Alex understand. What she was experiencing had nothing to do with any sort of envy, but it was daunting and bordering on debilitating.

      “Okay, I’m very sorry that you’re going through all this, Alex, and everything you just complained about is probably true—”

      “Probably?”

      The single word was like waving a red flag in front of a bull.

      “Probably?” Alex repeated, a flash of anger just beneath the surface.

      Andy ignored all the very visible warning signs from her sister and pushed on. “But at the end of your temporary misshapen time as the Goodyear blimp’s stand-in,” she told Alex, “you’re going to have a really amazing, mind-blowing prize for all your trouble. You’re going to be holding a baby in your arms.”

      She couldn’t contain the hopeless sigh that escaped her lips.

      “Me, I’m going to go on feeling inadequate and adrift.”

      “Adrift?” Alex repeated incredulously, mocking Andy’s choice of words. “Well, point your nose back toward home port, Melancholy Girl, because you’re supposed to be taking over this front desk so I can eat and put my feet up before they get way too heavy for me to lift.”

      As Alex slid off the extra-padded, wide stool she’d been perched on, she caught a glimpse of Cris heading for the kitchen.

      Perfect timing, Alex thought.

      Cris had been the inn’s resident chef for several years now, but as her own pregnancy had progressed, she had slowly—and reluctantly—been relinquishing some of her duties to Jorge, her chief assistant. Not to mention they’d hired a couple of part-timers who were currently working alongside of her.

      Still, Richard Roman’s second born was determined to continue working in at least a supervisory capacity for each and every meal prepared. Breakfast and dinner were included in the overall price of a room at the inn, lunch was not. But Cris still insisted on opening the kitchen in case any of the inn’s guests felt like dining in.

      As far as Cris was concerned, the inn took the place of home for guests. In this she and their father were of like mind.

      Catching Cris’s eye, Alex beckoned her over. She watched with a touch of envy as Cris seemed to maneuver with what appeared to be far less effort than she’d had to expend to cover the same ground.

      This baby had her completely out of shape, Alex thought, frustrated.

      When would this ordeal finally end so that she could have her life—not to mention her body—back? At this point, she was starting to feel as if she’d always been pregnant and there was no other way to be—no matter how much she wished there was.

      “Hey, Cris,” Alex began before the latter reached her. “You’ve been through this before, right?”

      Where was this going? Cris wondered.

      Of course she’d been through this before. She’d given birth to a son six years ago. Ricky. Named him after his grandfather. It still hurt her that Ricky’s father had died halfway around the world, fighting for freedom, before he had ever set eyes on his son.

      What was Alex getting at?

      “I believe you know my son, your nephew,” she replied, waiting for Alex to continue.

      “If you’ve already been through this once,” Alex said, underscoring the point, “how could you have willingly let it happen again? It’s like being possessed by some alien life form that makes you go to the bathroom every ten and a half minutes. Why would you want to go through all this a second time?”

      Andy bent over and addressed the very large bump that was to be her future niece or nephew. “She doesn’t really mean it, Baby. Your mother’s just a very grumpy lady at times.”

      Glaring at her, Alex shifted her stomach away from Andy.

      “Because,” Cris told her older sister, acting as if the question was a perfectly logical one rather than something Alex’s haywire hormones had made her spit out, “there is nothing in the world to equal the feeling of holding a baby in your arms for the very first time.”

      Alex was clearly not sold. “If that’s all it is, you could get a part-time job volunteering on the maternity ward at the local hospital,” she retorted.

      Cris remained undaunted. “Talk to me after you’ve given birth to little whose-its-what’s-it and see if you feel the same way,” she told her older sister.

      “I will,” Alex promised.

      “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have special lunch orders to oversee,” Cris told them.

      As she turned to continue to the kitchen, Cris glanced at the Christmas tree that the entire family—not to mention a number of the inn’s paying guests—had spent the better part of the weekend putting up and decorating. Her eyes narrowed as she weighed its appearance.

      “That side seems a little barren,” she finally assessed, pointing toward a section that faced the kitchen rather than the front desk. She looked over her shoulder toward the only one of the three of them who could safely negotiate a ladder at this point. “Andy, could you do the honors?”

      Andy was always one eager jump ahead of everything and everyone. So when she replied with a less than enthusiastic, “Sure, why not?” the response—more to the point, the tone of her sister’s voice—made Cris immediately halt in her tracks.

      She gave her younger sister a lengthy scrutiny. “Is there something wrong, Andy?”

      Before Andy had a chance to reply, Alex spoke up for her, summarizing what she viewed was the problem.

      “Apparently our little sister is battling a case of the doldrums.”

      Cris, her mothering instincts hardwired into her from birth, retraced her steps to Andy. She paused to press her lips against her younger sister’s forehead.

      “You don’t feel unduly warm,” she judged, stepping back.

      “That’s because I’m not running a fever,” Andy retorted, pulling her head back.

      Cris stareded at her for what seemed like an eternity before she said, “No, you’re not. You’re also not smiling—or behaving anything like Andy.” She tried a little humor to alleviate the situation. “Okay, who are you and what have you done with our little sister?”

      “She’s feeling sorry for herself,” Alex said matter-of-factly.

      For one of the few times in her life, Andy СКАЧАТЬ