Page 55 of Upshot

“You,” Reed says, pointing at me. “You don’t leave this house until you’ve listened to what he has to say.” I nod. Not looking to poke the bear.

“And you,” he continues, swinging around to point at Rand, “do not let her leave this house until you’ve told her everything. The misunderstood words, the nursery, everything.”

Without another word, Reed ushers my sisters back out the door. It closes soundly behind him. Rand and I are left standing in the living room, staring in silence at each other. I don’t want to listen. I don’t want to hear any more lies. But if I don’t, I know Reed will just drag me back. Though, just because I let Rand speak doesn’t mean I have to buy a word he says.

My brain sticks on the last thing Reed said. “Nursery?”

Rand gives me a shy smile. It’s the one I love the most. My heart does a small flip. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Surprised me. Can I see it?”

“Of course.” He motions me toward the stairs. Upstairs, he moves past me and blocks one of the doorways. The door is the only one pulled firmly closed. “Look, I just thought the baby would be more comfortable when it stays over here. I didn’t do it to pressure you into anything.”

He stands in silence, watching me for a minute. Finally, he shrugs and opens the door.

I step inside another world. Rand reaches past me to turn on the light. The first thing that strikes me is the mural on the wall. It’s like something from a Beatrix Potter book. There is a meadow with rabbits, flowers, and a distant lake. I want to lose myself in it.

“Did you paint this?” I ask.

“I had Peter come do it. He’s as gifted an artist as he is an architect.” I look over my shoulder to find Rand still hovering just outside the room. For the first time in a very long week, I smile. He smiles back.

“It’s beautiful.”

“We had a heck of a time coming up with something that would work for either a boy or a girl.”

“I love it. It’s perfect.” I let my gaze take in the rest of the room. The crib I fell in love with in Austin is against the wall. The expensive one I considered too extravagant. So is the matching dresser, rocking chair, and bookcase.

The crib is made up with a soft green sheet. One of the blankets I ran my hands over in the store hangs at the end. A floppy-eared bunny sits in the corner.

The bookshelf is full of the books we received at the baby shower. When I pull open the drawers of the dresser, they are brimming with clothes. I turn to look at him. He’s still at the door watching me.

“Your dad brought some stuff over,” he says.

“Traitor.” We both smile. He chose a soft, deep pile rug for the middle of the room to cover the hardwood floor. It makes me want to slip off my shoes and stretch my toes in it. “I love this, Rand. The room is beautiful.” He nods but stays silent. “There’s something I’m confused about though.”

“Okay?”

“I don’t understand what you’re doing. Why are you here? I told you to leave. I thought you were gone for good. Why decorate this nursery if you don’t want this baby.” I cover as much of my stomach with my hands as possible. This baby doesn’t need to hear any more about this.

He stands, staring at the floor. Slowly, he looks up until his gaze finds mine. “Let’s go downstairs. We can sit and talk.”

I follow him downstairs. He continues into the kitchen to get us a drink while I do my best impression of a walrus trying to sit.

I take the water offered when he returns. At this point, even water gives me indigestion. Rand joins me on the couch. He sits on the edge and turns to face me. Then he begins to talk.

twenty

RAND

I take a deep breath, trying to organize my thoughts. Brontë stares back at me, waiting. If I get this wrong, I’ll be doomed to living in a small town where the woman I love most in this world is forever out of reach. But if I can just find the right words, and explain them well enough, maybe we can put this behind us.

“I want you to know that I would never intentionally say anything to hurt you.” She continues to stare at me. At least she hasn’t stormed out the door. “You walked in on the middle of a fight. My father came to drag me back. He was trying to convince me you were nothing but a gold digger. What you heard was me asking if that was what he expected me to say.”

“But you did say it.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. What I didn’t get out was the end of the sentence. That I never thought of you like that. I was, in my own stupid way, telling him something that I’d known for a while. That I love you, and this is where I belong. With you and the baby.”

“But you still left.”

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