Chapter 27
Twenty-seven
Luc
I’m early to pick up my mom at the airport, which isn’t like me. Paradise is small enough that you can usually time arrivals down to the minute, but I don’t trust my sense of time today. Everything feels slightly off, like my internal clock reset itself overnight and didn’t bother to tell me.
It feels strange to be welcoming my mom to town without Addison being aware of it.
But it’s been more than a week, and she still hasn’t reached out.
When I text her, she responds with only the basics.
So, just as Addie’s doing what she needs to do for herself, I’ve decided to do what I need to do for myself.
And that means continuing to move forward and make plans, even if she’s not going to be part of them.
As I stroll through the terminal, a couple of tourists linger by the windows, their jackets zipped, faces tipped toward the lake like they’re trying to memorize it before they leave. I know that look. I’ve had it myself. This place gets under your skin.
My mother’s flight lands on schedule, and when she comes through the doors, her scarf is knotted just so, expression open and alert, eyes already scanning for me. She smiles when she sees me, and for a second, I almost forget why my chest feels tight.
“Hi,” she says, pulling me into a hug. “You look thinner.”
“I’m fine,” I tell her, which is reflex more than the truth.
She looks me over the way she always has, not buying it, but not challenging me either. “Paradise still smells the same,” she says instead. “Clean. Like water.”
I nod my agreement. “Are you hungry? I don’t have much food at Mitch’s place right now, but there’s a diner in town. We could start there.”
“Lead the way,” she says, and then she tells me about Dad and the dogs as we make our way to Dot’s.
We’ve beat the lunch rush, so we get seats quickly. Mom settles into the chair across from me and wraps her hands around her mug once our server has filled it with coffee.
“I asked you to come because I needed to talk to you,” I tell her. There’s no use waiting around on this.
Her brows lift. “All right. Just don’t tell me you already hate practicing medicine. You have too much debt not to practice.”
I chuckle. “No. I’m enjoying my work, and I really like Paradise.”
“I still wish you would have come back to Regina.”
I shake my head. We’ve had this conversation lots of times. “This is the place for me.”
Reluctantly she nods. And that’s my cue to move forward.
“There’s someone in my life,” I tell her. “Her name is Addison Dempsey.”
She nods. “All right.”
“We met when I was out here to meet with Dr. Hutchinson.”
Mom brightens. “I see. I hope I can meet her while I’m here.”
I skip over her ask and take a deep breath. “She’s pregnant—with a boy.”
The statement hangs between us. Solid. Irrevocable.
My mother exhales slowly, her gaze dropping to the table. When she looks back up, her expression has shifted. She doesn’t seem shocked, not angry. Just…recalibrated.
The server returns to take our order. We both go with the French dip and fries.
When we’re alone again, Mom looks at me. “Is this something you planned?”
“No,” I say. “Definitely not.”
She doesn’t flinch. “I’m disappointed to hear that.”
I nod. I deserve that. “I know.”
She takes another sip of coffee. “How far along is she?”
“Seven months.”
“And how does she feel about all this?”
Now, we’re getting to the tricky part. I hesitate, which probably tells her everything.
“It’s complicated,” I say. “We’re not together.”
Her mouth presses into a thin line. “I see.”
I don’t try to explain it yet. I don’t justify myself. I’ve done enough of that already.
“And how do you feel?” Mom asks.
“I’m excited,” I admit. “And terrified. And aware that I’ve already messed this up in ways I can’t undo.”
She softens at that, just a little. “Those can all be true at once.” She reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers. “A grandchild,” she says quietly, as if she’s testing the shape of the word. A smile follows, tentative but real. “I didn’t expect that this weekend.”
I nod. “I know. I didn’t know myself until I took over the practice, but I realize that’s been a while.
” I look up sheepishly. “I was trying to get things sorted out before I shared it with you. But I’m not sure that’s going to be possible.
Turns out Addison was supposed to be my patient,” I add.
“But I referred her to an obstetrician.”
Mom nods, taking that all in. “When do I get to meet her?”
My stomach tightens. “I don’t know if that’s possible.”
“Why not?”
“Because right now she doesn’t want me in her life beyond what’s necessary.”
“Hmmm…” Mom says. She doesn’t tell me Addie will come around or that everything will work out the way it’s meant to. She’s never been that kind of optimist. But she also doesn’t ask a million questions. She seems content to let me share in my own time.
Our lunch comes, and we both dig in and talk about the cold fall weather for a bit. We’re halfway through our sandwiches when she finally asks, “What did you do that upset her?”
I swallow. “I decided something for her. We should’ve had a conversation instead.”
“Did you act out of fear?”
“I was trying to protect her.”
“From what?”
I don’t answer right away. But Mom is the one person I trust not to let me lie to myself. So I should let her in on this. “Her family is pretty intense.”
“You said her last name was Dempsey… Is she part of the Dempsey family that’s been in Paradise for generations?”
I nod.
“I know the stories about the Paradises and Dempseys. I can imagine that’s part of it. What happened?”
“I intervened on her behalf, and she can’t get over it.”
She sits back in her chair, thoughtful. “Loving Addison doesn’t mean you get to make choices for her. Even when your intentions are good, and even if she’s the mother of your child.”
I want to correct her, say that I’m not in love. But I feel the truth of what she says, and it settles somewhere inside me, uncomfortable and undeniable.
“I know,” I say instead.
Outside, the lake flashes silver through the windows. People move around us, coming and going, lives intersecting and then separating again. I’m suddenly aware of how little control I have, no matter how much I’d like that to be otherwise.
We finish eating, and Mom insists on paying for lunch since I flew her out here. She reaches for her coat. “Let’s go,” she says gently. “You can tell me the rest on the drive.”
Back in the car, Mom watches the scenery in silence, one hand resting on the door, the other folded in her lap.
I keep my eyes on the road. “I didn’t tell her you were coming.”
“That’s all right,” she says. “But why not?”
“We just haven’t been talking much lately, and I didn’t want to introduce something else that might feel like pressure to her.”
We drive a little farther before Mom speaks again. “Can you tell me more about what happened?”
There’s no judgment in her voice. No urgency.
“I thought I was helping,” I begin. “That’s how I framed it. I took care of something before it could become a problem.”
“And did she ask you to?”
“No.” I sigh. “She was dealing with enough already. Her family. The pregnancy. The uncertainty. I thought if I removed one variable, it would make everything easier.”
My mother nods, eyes forward now. “For whom?”
“For both of us,” I say.
I tell her about going to Evie and how quickly everything fell apart. “She found out what I’d done before I could explain it to her,” I say. “And when I had the chance, I explained it like I’d done her a favor.”
“How did that go?”
“Quiet,” I say. “Which should’ve been my first warning.”
She glances at me. “Why?”
“Because Addie only gets quiet when she’s already made a decision.”
The lake comes into view again, sunlight breaking across the surface in a way that looks almost staged. I slow as we pass the turnoff toward the water, not because I need to, but because something in me wants to linger here.
“She didn’t argue,” I say. “She told me I was wrong. And she just…shut it down. She stopped trying to make our relationship anything beyond what’s necessary because we’re having a child.”
My mother considers that. “What did you feel in that moment?”
“I felt like I was losing my chance to have a partner,” I say. “And losing my place in my child’s life. So I stepped back.”
“You didn’t try to fix it,” she says.
“No.”
She exhales softly. “That must have been difficult for you.”
I don’t argue. I’ve spent too many years calling my inclination towards action responsibility or leadership or decisiveness. “I don’t handle helplessness well,” I tell her. “It makes me feel…irrelevant.”
She turns that over. “Not unlovable?”
“No,” I say after a moment. “Unnecessary.”
She nods. “That makes sense. Right now, she’s doing all the work.”
I grip the steering wheel. “I don’t want to be that person, the one who confuses care with control.”
“Then don’t be,” she says simply.
I almost laugh. “It’s not that easy.”
“No,” she agrees. “It’s hard. Because it means you have to tolerate uncertainty. And let other people make choices you wouldn’t.”
The road narrows as we head over the bridge.
The water is choppy and gray. I’ve driven this stretch dozens of times with Addie beside me, her window cracked, her attention half on the lake and half somewhere else entirely.
Paradise Hill comes into view, with the rolling hills of grapevines waiting patiently for winter to be over and spring to begin.
“I don’t know how to fix this,” I say finally.
“You may not be able to,” she says. “Not with her.”
That hurts, but it also steadies me.
“What you can do,” Mom continues, “is decide who you’re going to be moving forward. Not to win her back. Not to undo the past. But because your child will be watching.”