CHAPTER 6
C HAPTER 6
P ixie stared at the impressive woman standing before her. Marlow Heddings. Dylan’s wife . God, this was the hardest thing she’d ever done in her entire life. From the inside out, she shook with fear, with illness, and with the knowledge that she would probably be cursed and hated.
How could Mrs. Heddings not hate her? She hated herself.
But . . . she loved her baby, and so she was here.
On the long, grueling, nearly impossible drive, she’d rehearsed what to say, the words repeating themselves over and over in her head, and yet now that she was here, all she could do was well up with tears. She hadn’t known so many tears could be stored in one body.
Any second now, her legs would give out. She tightened her hold on the baby and waited for the lash of rage.
Instead, the woman simply stared at her as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. Not that Pixie blamed her. Only the worst sort of person would show up here.
If desperation hadn’t forced her, she never would have been so bold, so disgustingly shameless.
Finally, one small word, quavery with tears, breathless with worry, faint with illness, squeezed out of her constricted throat. “ Please .”
* * *
Marlow couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Pixie Nolan was here, in Bramble. Why?
She’d seen photos of Pixie during the divorce negotiations. God, she looked so young in person. Much younger than Marlow had realized. It was bizarre, but she heard herself ask, “How old are you?”
The girl was trembling all over, her expression ashen except for splotches of red on her cheeks. Her light blond hair was badly tangled, and still she was beautiful.
“I’m twenty.”
Closing her eyes, Marlow tried to ground herself, but it wasn’t working.
“I’m sorry,” Pixie said, her voice quavering and high. “I don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t have anyone.”
Marlow opened her eyes, only to see tears tracking down Pixie’s face. “Why?”
“If it was just me,” she said in a rush, “I swear to God I wouldn’t be here.”
“Dylan is dead.” Did the girl not know that?
“Marlow,” Cort said, his arm coming around her waist, his strength surrounding her. “She has a baby.”
It took a moment for that word to penetrate. Baby? Gaze dropping, Marlow took in the infant sleeping swaddled in a blue blanket.
Life couldn’t be so unfair! This had nothing to do with her. Nothing . Why involve her?
“I’m so sorry,” Pixie said, openly crying now, her nose running, her voice broken. “I’ve been sick, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Christ,” Marlow complained, her stomach knotting, her brain cramping—and her heart clenching hard. Pixie wavered, looking as if she might keel over. In fact, Cort had one hand outstretched, as if to catch her. Marlow’s own throat closed tight, but she managed to say, “Come in.”
Cort immediately supported the woman, steering her through the foyer and into the sitting room, where he helped her into a comfortable seat on the couch, then quickly plucked two tissues from the box and handed them to her. As Pixie cleaned up her face, he put his hand to her forehead, then turned to Marlow. “She’s feverish.”
Great. Just freaking great. If only she were numb, but instead feelings bombarded her. Strong feelings. Powerful, even. “I’m not sure what to do.”
Pixie nodded, then again dashed the tears from her cheeks. She avoided Marlow’s gaze. “I . . . Andy is only three months old. I could live in my car, but he can’t. I’m breastfeeding.” She grew silent, sniffling. “I’m almost out of diapers. I have no way to wash his clothes.”
Slowly, Marlow sank down on the couch, not close to Pixie, but not that far away either. Needing a moment to decide on what to say or do next, she glanced at Cort.
Of course, he easily interpreted her look. Standing before Pixie, his feet braced apart, his hands on his hips, he asked gently, “Have you taken anything for your fever?”
Pixie shook her head.
Glad for a reason to grab a private moment, Marlow shot back to her feet. “I’ll get you something. And maybe some juice?”
The hope and gratitude in Pixie’s big blue eyes were enough to unravel Marlow. She spun away, anxious for a quick escape from this new reality.
Why couldn’t the past stay in the past?
She wanted to be free and clear of it; instead, it was smothering her.
The neediness of her in-laws had been bad enough, but now this? The “other woman,” at her doorstep, begging her for help?
Literally begging.
She went through the bedroom into the attached bathroom. In the medicine cabinet, she found two OTC medications. Unsure which would be best, she carried both with her to the kitchen, where she poured a glass of orange juice. On impulse, she put two cookies on a napkin and, feeling like a martyr, reentered the sitting room.
Cort now sat on the coffee table, talking quietly with Pixie. He’d taken charge of the situation, thank God, because for a few minutes there, she hadn’t known what to do.
But no more.
This was her new and improved life, but life was never perfect. She’d continue to deal with every blow that came her way, and no matter what, she’d stay true to herself.
That meant liking herself enough to be kind, but not a pushover.
Putting everything on the table, she turned to Pixie. “Since you’re breastfeeding, are there restrictions on what medicines you can take?” It pleased her that her voice sounded strong instead of stricken, that she’d infused concern into her tone. Damn it, she was concerned.
Warily, Pixie peeked at her.
The girl was far too timid, but then again, she was wrecked. The color in her cheeks was a clear sign of fever, and she looked drawn to the point of collapse. The baby stirred, stretching and scrunching up his little face before settling again.
Cort lifted his phone. “I just looked it up. Let’s give her this one.” He picked up one of the bottles, shook out two pills, and handed them to Pixie with the juice.
Her quietly mumbled “Thank you” was barely audible. She swallowed the medicine, drank a sip of juice, handed the glass back to Cort, and then just stared down at her son.
When she finally lifted her gaze to Marlow again, there was a quiet dignity there. Yes, desperation remained, illness too, but she faced Marlow head-on. “I swear to you, I didn’t know he was married.”
The vow startled Marlow. It wasn’t what she’d expected and was hard to believe. Pixie had worked for the Heddings. Okay, sure, a warehouse position was not a corporate job, but still, surely she’d known the marital status of the company heir?
“We can sort everything out later.” Marlow offered a cookie. “Oatmeal raisin.”
Pixie drew a deep breath, then started coughing, and that woke the baby.
Hurriedly, Cort grabbed more tissues to hand to Pixie.
The baby let out a scream that could peel paint from the wall, and that startled Marlow even more. Good heavens, the child had a pair of lungs!
Pixie covered her mouth as the deep, barking cough continued. The baby wailed even louder.
It was unbearable.
“Here.” Marlow scooped up the baby and put him against her shoulder, jostling him lightly, patting his back, and ignoring the arrested expression on Cort’s face and the panic on Pixie’s.
The child was small and warm, and he smelled . . . Well, he smelled partly wonderful, at least on the top of his head where a downy thatch of hair grew. But other scents were crowding in, too.
She hadn’t handled a baby since her teenage years. Thankfully, her instincts remained. “Cort, could you take that blanket and spread it out on the couch? I believe he’s filled his diaper.”
For the first time since she’d met him, Cort looked bemused. He moved at a snail’s pace, as if fearing he’d misunderstood or wasn’t quite sure what he should do.
It delighted Marlow to know she wasn’t the only one at a bit of a loss in this strange situation.
“Pixie, good, you’ve caught your breath.” Marlow rubbed the baby’s back, glad that he’d stopped wailing. “Shallow breathing for now, okay? At least until I find out if you have a diaper bag or anything.”
She nodded. “I left it in my car.”
“Good. Cort? Yes, that’s perfect with the blanket.” Perversely enjoying his discomfort, she smiled at him, and asked, “Would you mind fetching the diaper bag and anything else that looks essential for, say, the next hour?”
Watching her closely, he smoothed his hand over the small blue blanket one more time, and then nodded. He rose, gave both women a glance, and said, “I’ll be right back.”
The second he left the room, Pixie sat forward with her head in her hands. “I’m so sorry.”
“You already said that, and I believe you.” Never had Marlow seen anyone so miserable. “No reason to debase yourself, okay?”
Breath hitching, Pixie nodded and more tears spilled out. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“You said you have no one?”
“My parents . . .” Nervously, she licked her lips. “We were never close. Dylan is gone. There isn’t anyone else.”
Her pallor concerned Marlow, as did the awful way she shook. “I think for now, you need to eat something. Let the medicine work. Maybe rest for a bit.” She didn’t allow herself to think beyond that. “I don’t have to be at work for a few hours yet. We’ll tackle this one step at a time.”
Her promise broke the dam. Bent forward, arms crossed over her knees with her head resting against them, Pixie sobbed in earnest, and the sight broke Marlow’s heart. Had she ever been that forlorn? That desolate? Even when she’d discovered Dylan was cheating, when he’d issued only insults instead of apologies, she’d known she had resources at her disposal. And she’d had her pride.
Apparently, Pixie had neither.
Cort reentered in a rush but slowed when he saw Pixie sobbing.
“It’ll be okay,” Marlow told him. “She’s overwhelmed on top of being ill. While I change the baby, could you get her something to eat?”
He gave her another wondering look but nodded. “I can do that.” He set the diaper bag on the coffee table, then crouched down in front of Pixie. He offered her more tissues. Soon the tissue box would be empty.
Quietly, Cort moved a small wicker waste basket nearer to her. After Pixie dutifully mopped her face and tossed the tissues away, Cort held up the juice. “Take another few sips.” Once she’d finished half the glass, he asked Marlow, “Sandwich? Something else?”
“I have more of those delicious frozen dinners you introduced me to, but yes, I also have lunch meat and canned soup.”
He returned his attention to Pixie. “With that cough, I’m thinking soup is the way to go.”
“I . . . you shouldn’t . . .” Pixie glanced at Marlow. “I don’t mean to intrude so much—”
“If you’re hungry, then you should eat.”
After a searching look, Pixie nodded. “Thank you. Soup sounds incredible.”
“Try to drink all the juice.”
It amazed Marlow, but Cort treated the woman with the same care he’d give to an overwrought teenager.
“You’re both so kind and it’s killing me.” Again, she swiped at her eyes, but the tears kept flowing. Her face was now blotchy, her eyes swollen and her nose red. “You can’t know . . . can’t imagine.” With a shuddering breath, she admitted, “I’m so afraid.”
“Well, no reason to be afraid now.” Marlow put the baby on his back and then tried to figure out the workings of his little clothes.
“I can do that,” Pixie offered, already reaching into the diaper bag to find a nearly empty tub of wipes and a lone disposable diaper.
“If you’re able, that might be best.” She wasn’t at all sure she wanted her renewed initiation with babies to begin with a soiled diaper. Carefully, she lifted the baby and turned him, so Pixie had the business end.
Even with her hands shaking and weak, the young mother made quick work of it.
Then the two of them sat there staring at each other, a wrapped-up dirty diaper between them. Talk about bizarre scenarios you never saw coming.
Marlow got to her feet. “I’ll get a bag.” She darted into the kitchen and was immediately pulled up against Cort’s warm chest.
Against her ear, he whispered, “How’s it going?”
She honestly couldn’t say. “It’s . . . tricky.”
Putting his forehead to hers, he said, “Remember, I’ve got your back. Anything you need from me, anything at all, just let me know.”
His generosity left her without words, so she hugged him as tightly as she could and hoped the gesture expressed all the things he made her feel.
With his hands moving up and down her back, he said, “You could call in sick today.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m determined to be the best employee Herman has ever had.” It was part of her campaign to remain in Bramble. The town had four hundred and one citizens.
She wanted to be number four hundred and two.
“You,” Cort said, nudging up her face so he could give her a light kiss, “are determined to do it all, but you don’t have to.”
“For me, I do.” It was how she operated. A part of her genetic makeup. All or nothing. That mode had gotten her through life so far, and especially through the past difficult months of Dylan’s cheating and subsequent death. Instead of braking, she accelerated into the twists and turns, and hopefully, she’d get to the finish line—with peace of mind her goal—all that much sooner. “How about you? Do you need to be somewhere?”
“I texted Wade to tell him something had come up and I wouldn’t be over today.”
“I’m sorry. My problems shouldn’t interfere with your life.”
After a searching look, he turned to the stove to stir the soup, then switched off the burner. Keeping his back to her, he said, “Here’s the thing, Marlow. This shouldn’t be your problem either. You don’t own it, didn’t ask for it, and aren’t obligated to handle it. Except that you’re a good person.” He glanced over his shoulder. “And so am I.”
Damn it, now she felt like crying. Not the same despairing tears that Pixie had wept, but tears of tenderness. “Thank you.” Cort was another twist she hadn’t seen coming, but in many ways, he was proving to be the best part of Bramble.
Back to business, she set out a tray. “Use this. Grab her some crackers too, from that cabinet. And then maybe refill her juice?” She opened a drawer and found a disposable plastic bag. “I need to remove a dirty diaper.”
They shared a quick smile, and Marlow returned to Pixie.
The girl looked nearly asleep with the baby in her arms, hungrily nursing.
“Oh.” Okay, this was something she’d never seen before.
Hastily, Pixie pulled the blanket up over the baby’s face to also cover her breast, but he only pushed it away. “He was hungry.”
“Does it take him long?” They both spoke in whispers. “I only ask because your soup is ready.”
“He’ll probably be back asleep in a minute. The drive was hard on him. I think it wore him out.”
It looked to Marlow as if it had worn out Pixie, too.
Without looking up, Pixie stroked her fingertips over the baby’s cheek. “That was my last diaper. My car is on empty. And I only have forty dollars left to my name.”
Marlow sank to the couch again, the dirty diaper forgotten.
“I’m so ashamed,” Pixie said. “My life is a complete mess, and I have no one to blame but myself. You have every reason to hate me, Ms. Heddings. Most of the time I hate myself, especially because there’s so little I can offer Andy.” She pressed a kiss to the baby’s head. “I love him so much.” When her voice broke, she squeezed her eyes shut, got herself under control, and promised, “I won’t sob on you anymore. I can’t believe I did that already. I just . . . I meant it when I said I had nowhere else to go.”
The baby stopped sucking, and Pixie expertly rearranged herself before putting him to her shoulder. Gently, she rubbed his back until he gave a loud burp.
Cort stepped into the room. “Soup’s ready,” he said quietly. “Where would you like to put him?”
Pixie looked uncertainly at Marlow. “It’s okay if I stay to eat the soup?”
“I insist on it.” There was no way she could turn the young woman out, not until she knew what was going on and how Pixie had gotten into such a dire circumstance.
Pixie gave the briefest nod of thanks. “Then maybe we could put his blanket on the floor instead of the couch? He’s not rolling over yet, but he does rock sometimes, and he often spits up.” She touched a thin, pale hand to a couch cushion. “I wouldn’t want him to ruin your beautiful furniture.”
“It’s not actually mine. It’s Cort’s.” That struck Marlow, and she said, “I didn’t introduce you. I’m so sorry. Pixie Nolan, this is Cort Easton, my landlord.” And now more . “Let me grab a quilt.” She hurried to the bedroom and back, then put the folded quilt on the floor for padding, with the baby’s blanket over it.
Cort asked, “May I?” and carefully took the baby from his mother.
Marlow knew why. As Pixie stood, she wavered, looking far too frail and unsteady.
She watched, her gaze anxious, until Cort had her baby settled. “His name is Andy.” She twisted her fingers together. “Could I use your restroom?”
“Of course.” Marlow led her through the bedroom to the only bathroom in the cottage. “Pixie.”
The girl paused.
“When did you last eat?”
Holding onto the door frame, she smiled. “Yesterday.”
So many questions went through her mind. “When yesterday?”