Page 16 of Nineteen Seventy-Six

Rory nodded as he listened. “You think like a lawyer, Noah.”

Noah winced. “I’ll leave that to you.”

“We always knew there would be parts of this plan no one else could ever know,” Colleen jumped in. “Colin will understand your love of your wife, because of his love for his own.”

Noah winked at her from across the parlor, one arm draped over the mantle of the fireplace, suit jacket hanging open. She couldn’t wait to get him back to The Gardens.

“I pray you’re right,” Rory said.

“They are right,” Carolina said, slipping her hands into his pockets as she leaned in for a kiss. “And soon, we’ll have a beautiful daughter, and not even Colin, in his infinite anger and hurt and fear, could ever begrudge us that.”

“Convince Catherine to call Colin to check in,” Noah said. “So he knows she’s okay, and Oz is okay. Help her with a believable story, but whatever she says can’t bring Colin to your doorstep. She calls home, he calls off the dogs. He calls off Charles. You do that, and we can all breathe until Robyn is born.”

“Robyn,” Colleen said, smiling. “What a beautiful name.”

Carolina blushed. “Robyn Elizabeth. We plan to call her Ari, for short.”

Rory seemed to remember what mattered most about all of this, as he slipped his arms around his wife’s waist and, leaning close to her, said, “We can’t wait to meet her.”

Chelsea slipped the flask from the inside of her left cowboy boot. When Maureen flashed her a scandalized expression, Chelsea shrugged and took a long sip off the metal flagon before replacing it.

“I’m breastfeeding,” Maureen felt compelled to say, to explain away what Chelsea evidently thought was her total squaredom.

“Your loss,” Chelsea replied. She waved at her husband, Mason, a gesture to say to go find his own fun for a bit. She dug in her dress for a pack of cigarettes, frowned at Maureen as she lit one, and tucked them away again. “Where is your little crotch monkey, anyway?”

“Chelsea!”

“Well?”

“Olivia’s with my mother.”

“I hope my mom isn’t too tired from minding my brothers’ children when Mason and I finally squirt out some little ones.”

“Vulgar.”

Chelsea blew out her smoke. “You love it.”

“Not really, not anymore. When you’re a mother, you’ll understand.”

“Oh?” Chelsea laughed. “Does becoming a mother cause one to lose their sense of humor?”

“No, but you might see certain things as not entirely ladylike. You start thinking of the impression you’re leaving on the young women you’re raising.”

Chelsea took a long drag. “I don’t intend to have girls, Maureen. I know better.” She leveled a meaningful look on Maureen, then held up her hand, pretending it was a mirror. This made Maureen laugh.

“I don’t want Livvy to end up like her Mama,” Maureen confessed. Chelsea was always both her best and worst confidante. Best, because she gave direct, no-nonsense advice and genuinely loved Maureen. Worst, because any time she shared something not-so-great about herself, it shattered the princess-like image Maureen wanted to convey to the world, and especially girls like Chelsea. “I want better for her.”

“All parents want a better life for their kids. That’s the whole point of procreating.”

“Is it?”

“What else could there be?”

“Love? Nurturing?”

“Sure,” Chelsea replied. She stubbed her cigarette under her boot. “But, really, Maureen, people who actually give a shit about being good parents, and have worries like yours, aren’t the ones fucking their kids up for life.”

“How do you figure?”

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