Page 8 of His Best Friend's Baby

“That’s not funny, Ron.”

“I’m not kidding, Agnes.”

Silence. And then the clatter of a pan hitting the sink and Agnes—a short, round woman with a curly nimbus of gray hair and a tea towel trailing like a silk scarf behind her—was running down the hallway toward them.

“Oh, oh!” she cried, barreling past her husband to wrap her arms around Julia. Julia was awash in the scent of garlic and roses. Agnes’s strong wet hands gripped Julia’s back and she felt all the air rush from her body. Agnes dropped her arms and knelt in front of Ben.

“Hello, hello, little boy,” she cried, tears running down her round cheeks.

Julia shut her gaping mouth. This welcome was simply more than she could have hoped for. More than she’d ever dreamed.

Careful, Mitch’s snide voice whispered. You always believe the things that are too good to be true.

Julia, exhausted and emotional, ignored her dead husband’s voice. If this was too good to be true she would figure it out later, as she always did. Right now, she was swept up in the tide of the moment, helpless to stop this strange homecoming.

“He looks just like Mitch, doesn’t he, Ron?”

“Yes, he does,” Ron agreed, lifting his glasses to wipe his eyes. “Let’s get them in the door, Agnes.”

“Of course.” Agnes started to get up and Julia held out a hand to assist and found herself back in her mother-in-law’s arms.

“We’re so glad you’re here,” Agnes murmured. “Thank you for coming to us.”

The icy silences between Julia and Agnes had seemingly melted away after Mitch had died in the helicopter crash. Julia had gotten a call from an inconsolable Agnes, who’d begged Julia to come to California, to bring Ben so they could get to know him—the only thing left of their precious son.

Come, she’d said, we will be here for you.

It had been a spell, an enchantment, we will be here for you. Words so foreign to Julia they might have been a different language.

A million things rushed to Julia’s throat but all she could manage to say was a tight, “Thanks for having us.”

“Are you hungry? Did you just get in? Do you have a place to stay? You have to stay here. We insist, don’t we, Ron?” They stepped through the foyer into a small dining room that opened into a large living room with a fireplace and bookshelves crammed with books.

The dining-room table was freshly wiped down, the streaks still damp on the oak finish, and the smell of garlic and potatoes filled the air.

Julia’s stomach roared to life.

“I guess she’s hungry,” Ron said.

Julia pressed a fist to her stomach. “You know, airline food,” she said with dumb chuckle. The truth was the rubbery airline sandwich was probably the best meal she’d had in weeks.

Ron crouched, his knees cracking, to get a better look at Ben, who blinked owlishly at the old man. “Hello,” Ron said in a soft voice and everyone seemed to hold their breath, as if this were a test that they could all fail.

After a moment, Ben reached out a curled fist and dropped a handful of raisins in Ron’s hand and smiled his heartbreaker smile.

Ron and Agnes sighed in adoration.

Nice one, Ben. Julia ruffled her son’s blond hair. They’re goners for sure.

“We got in this morning.” Julia unhooked her son from the stroller and he pitched himself from the seat with his usual enthusiasm. “We’re over at the Motel Six on the highway.”

“Oh, no,” Agnes gasped as if Julia had said, “We are living in trees.”

“You have to stay here, we can’t have Mitch’s bab—”

“You are welcome to stay here,” Ron interrupted. “We could go pick up your stuff and bring it back.”

Julia and her overextended bank account heaved a sigh of relief. She had hoped they would offer, but the motel had been a necessary plan B. “That would be nice, thank you.”

“We have so many questions.” Agnes took a deep breath and seemed about to launch into all of them and Julia braced herself with the limited reserves of energy she had left.

“Agnes, the girl is asleep on her feet. Let’s get her some food and let her rest for a minute,” Ron cut in reasonably and Julia’s affection for the man leaped off the charts.

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