32. Chapter 32
thirty-two
Ifidget with the hem of my blouse, waiting. It’s all I’ve done for days. Wait.
My eyes snap to the door as it opens. A woman steps in, her face grim.
“Mrs. Prescott. The results are negative. Bowie is not Grant Prescott’s biological son.”
“What?” The scream rips out of me. “How can that be?”
I jolt upright in bed, my heart pounding, cold sweat beading on my forehead. Beside me, Bowie is curled in a tight ball, soft and safe.
Staring at him—feeling my heart thudding in my throat—guilt washes over me.
I know he’s Grant’s. I was never with Calder back then. But I know now, with every fiber in me—I was in love with Calder the whole time I was married to Grant. Under the surface. Maybe that’s why he was unfaithful—because I failed first.
I lie on my pillow, staring at the ceiling. What have I done? Was I unfair? Should I give him another chance?
Impossible. Not after making love to Calder. No. No one else can ever touch me.
My gaze drifts to my innocent, sleeping son. I’m taking him away from his father. Can I ever forgive myself for what I’m doing?
My stomach’s been in a knot since I got up. Bowie’s in the backseat with his tractor and farm animals, making one noise after another. “Oink, oink! Mmm-MOOO!”
Mercy slides into the passenger seat. “You okay?”
“No. But thanks for asking.”
She snorts. “Figured.”
Bowie pipes up from the back. “Where we goin’, Mommy?”
My throat tightens. “Just a doctor visit, Baby. A quick check. Won’t hurt.”
Mercy twists around in her seat. “And afterward, we’re getting pancakes the size of your head.”
Bowie gasps. “With sprinkles?”
“Hell, yes with sprinkles.”
He giggles, kicking his little boots against the seat. The sound loosens something in my chest.
We reach a stretch of open road, the sumacs already turning red. Fall is coming to Texas. Not as colorful as Tennessee, but sumacs, red oaks—it’s still beautiful.
Mercy watches me for a long moment, then reaches over and touches my shoulder. “You’re not doing this alone,” she says quietly.
“I know.” I swallow. “It’s just… having to do it at all.” It’s so demeaning. I hate Grant for being willing to deny Bowie.
She nods. Then—because she’s Mercy—she changes the subject like she’s tossing me a life preserver. “So. Calder Boone.”
I groan. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I’m starting.” She grins. “You two in the Red Wagon twice? Girl, the whole town thinks y’all are engaged.”
“Mercy.”
“What? I’m just sayin’. The way that man looks at you—girl.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “We’re… figuring things out.”
“Mm-hmm.” She taps her nails on her cup. “Funny. Tanner said the same thing.”
I glance over. “About you?”
She stiffens. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Mercy pushes her sunglasses up her nose like a shield. “We’re not talking about me.”
“We are absolutely talking about you.” I chuckle for the first time all morning. “What’s going on with you and Tanner? Truth.”
“Nothing.” A little too defensive.
“Mercy.”
She sighs so dramatically Bowie giggles in the back seat.
“Fine. We kissed.”
I whip my head toward her. “What?”
“Eyes on the road, woman!”
“You kissed Tanner?”
“He kissed me,” she mutters. “And I may have kissed him back. A little.”
Bowie leans forward in his booster seat. “Aunt Mercy! You kissed Uncle Tanner?”
Mercy groans. “Lord help me.”
I laugh, the sound surprising even me. “I knew it.”
“It’s not good.” She leans her head against the seat. “It’s complicated.”
“Why’s it complicated?”
She turns to look out her window.
“Avoidance will get you nowhere with me, Mercedes. Spill.”
She shifts her shoulders. “We’re such… good friends.
Neither one of us wants to mess that up.
” She looks at me. “And we could, so easily. I mean—let’s face it.
I’m possessive. What’s mine is mine and every woman in two counties wants Tanner.
He’s a born flirt. I mean, look at him. He’s successful.
Never met a stranger. He could make Cruella Deville cream her pants.
What if he thinks I’m too possessive. What if I suffocate him? ”
She doesn’t think Tanner Briggs would be possessive? Please.
“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror, Mercy? I’d like to see what Tanner would do if someone tried to hustle you out from under him.”
“But what if I fuck it up?” Her eyes plead.
“One dollar!” Tanner calls from the back seat. “Shame!”
Mercy whips in her seat to face him. “I paid ahead!”
“Not that many.” He holds out his hand, and we laugh as she tugs a dollar from her wallet. Bowie tucks it under his butt and goes back to playing with his farm animals. I realize—he hasn’t demanded Blippi since he went to the hardware store.
“I want to know about you and You-Know-Who,” Mercy says.
“No more You-Know-Who!” Bowie grumbles from his perch in the backseat. “Who is You-Know-Who?” he demands, his brows pinched together.
“It depends,” Mercy replies, this time watching him through her visor mirror.
“On what?” he asks, looking at her reflection.
She makes an oops face. “On the time of day.”
“Oh.” He goes back to his farm animals.
I don’t know how that satisfies him, but it does.
“You two… hooked up,” she whispers at me.
I sigh and smile. “Yeah.” Turning, I mouth, “It was wonderful.”
“Hot damn. I knew it.” She slaps the console.
“Aunt Mercy! Another dollar!”
“Well, fuck.”
“Two more!”
The nurse leads us into a small exam room painted the color of sand. Bowie climbs onto the chair like it’s a jungle gym, swinging his little boots, completely unbothered. Mercy sits beside him… giving me a look that says breathe, Laurel.
I can’t. Not really. A paternity test. How humiliating.
The nurse smiles at Bowie. “Hi there, handsome. I’m Miss Jenna. You wanna help me with something important?”
Bowie beams and wags his shoulders. “I’m a cowboy. Do you like my boots?”
“Lord,” Mercy snorts.
Jenna plays along. “Those are nice boots, Mr. Cowboy. Now, I need you to open your mouth real big so I can tickle your cheek.”
“Tickle?” He draws back, covering his mouth with his hand.
“Yep.” She holds up the swab. “This is my tickle stick.”
He giggles, covering his mouth with both hands. “Nooo!”
Mercy leans in. “Buddy, you gotta let her. It’s quick. Like this—” She opens her mouth wide in an exaggerated O.
Bowie copies her immediately. “Ahhhh!”
So trusting.
“Perfect!” Jenna swabs one cheek then the other as Bowie shivers, letting out a dramatic, “That tickles!”
Mercy loses it, laughing into her hands.
Jenna grins. “All done! You were amazing.”
Bowie claps for himself. “I did it, Mommy!”
“You sure did,” I whisper, brushing his curls back. My voice wobbles, but I don’t think he notices. “You’re so brave.”
He leans into me, warm and trusting, and something in my chest cracks wide open.
Jenna seals the swab in a tube. “We’ll send this off today. Results usually come back pretty quick.” Those results will go to Grant. Of course they will.
“Can I get a copy?”
She shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”
My stomach drops. Mercy puts a hand on my back, steadying me.
Bowie holds up his plastic pony. “Mama? Can we get pancakes with sprinkles now?”
Mercy answers before I can. “Baby, we’re getting the biggest pancakes in Texas.”
And for a moment—just a moment—I can breathe again.
His tummy full, Bowie falls asleep in his car seat before we get out of Marble Falls.
All I want is to hear Calder’s voice. Feel him squeeze my hand. Just for a second. Just to steady me.
Mercy glances over her shoulder, sees my son asleep, and takes her opportunity. “I want to hear it all. Don’t leave out a single detail.”
“Nothing to tell…”
“Oh, shut up!”
I cut my eyes at her, sheepishly. “I asked him to make love to me.”
“Oh, fuck.”
“It was… wonderful.”
“He’s never stopped loving you, Laurel.”
“But he said he wants to take it slow.” I risk a glance. “What does that even mean?”
“Means the man’s scared shitless and the stubborn ass can’t admit he’s scared of anything. He just wants to make sure you’re in it for good this time.”
“I was in it for good last time. The difference is—back then, I let other people make my decisions. I’m not that person anymore. He’s afraid he’s my rebound.” I take my eyes off the road to look at her—really look at her. “He is not my rebound.”
I say that—and it comes back to me—that damned guilt. The wondering if I should give Bowie’s father another chance, and then another unwelcome wave of shame washes over me. This time, for Calder. Why would I even allow that thought into my head.
Never. I know exactly what I want.