Chapter 40 Willow
forty
Willow
Two months later
Sun shines through the crimson foliage, warming the crisp fall air. Amy’s roses are reblooming, the barn garden now bursts with the last sunflowers on a backdrop of violet-blue asters while the hydrangeas turned from baby blush to dusty mauve, their tips drying in places.
A raven croaks from the roof before flying gracefully to the barn, from where she watches me brushing Calla while the puppies, Muffin, Maple, and Myrtle, try to snatch the brush from me.
Lane sets two piping hot mugs of cinnamon apple cider on the garden table. “I missed this season so much. Fall at Lilyvale is just the best,” she says in a monotone as she plops on a chair, her empty gaze betraying her words.
Since Noah real-proposed to me over two months ago, we’ve been absorbed in each other, making love in most every room of Lilyvale, going on overnight hiking trips, making a mini-honeymoon out of the Phish concert in Upstate New York, and spending our evenings into the night simply talking in the deep way that doesn’t require spreadsheets.
I’ve neglected my sister-in-law, and I’m concerned about her.
She spent several weeks in New York interviewing for jobs, but now she’s back, helping Ms. Angela at the bed-and-breakfast. She even took some housekeeping shifts at Wendy and Todd’s hotel.
She hasn’t said a word to Noah about where she stands workwise.
I can’t give her career advice, but I can listen.
“Thanks for the cider,” I say as I pull a chair next to hers.
Today we took a day trip to Burlington to finish our shopping for Grace and Ethan’s wedding a week from Saturday, and Noah’s birthday after that. It wasn’t the right time to ask the hard questions. What’s happening with the job search in New York? Why the gloomy face?
And because Mom and Aunt Angela hitched a ride to the big city with us—it’s been great to see that Noah was right, Marcy did get the message that he really loved me, and she’s stopped bugging me about that—it didn’t give me the opening for a heart-to-heart.
Now my gaze rests on the pumpkin patch Beck planted, vines gracefully climbing on wooden arches, heavy gourds dangling by some magic three-to-seven feet over the ground, and I hope for inspiration as I take a sip of the mulled apple cider.
Calla stands with a grunt and sets her big head on Lane’s lap. “How did you know you were in love with Noah?” Lane asks, petting the dog mindlessly.
Oh. Maybe an opening? I knew she was going through something.
Heartbreak sounds about right. But my heart skips a beat at her question.
I never really thought about it that way.
For so long I was convinced I could never have him, I give her the simple truth.
“I could never see myself marrying anyone else.”
“Wow. So if it hadn’t been him…?”
I shrug. “Then no one else.”
“That’s… intense.” She stops petting Calla. “Shit. How did you feel when he proposed to Anika?” Tears pool in her eyes.
I shrug. “Lucky girl.” Somehow this conversation isn’t really doing it for me.
Rehashing the days when I was invisible to Noah isn’t what I want.
“Is there someone you want to talk about?” I ask Lane with a you-can-talk-to-me-we’re-sisters smile.
She’d been going on dates early in the summer, not coming back until morning—even leaving a few days with this Jake guy, who she even said she liked a little too much before she suddenly stopped mentioning him.
“I’m pregnant,” she drops.
Shit.
Shit!
I was not expecting that. I set my mug down and let the silence drag on between us, giving her a chance to say more but also not knowing what to say at all. Whatever I ask (Do you want to keep it? When are you due? Who’s the dad?) is probably going to be the wrong thing.
But she looks at me expectantly.
“Okay…” Fuck. Am I supposed to say “Congratulations!!!” or “I’m sorry…”? “Help me out here. I don’t know what you need from me,” I say, spreading my hands in a sign of utter helplessness.
She pulls me to her side, and I hug her back. “You’re the best,” she whispers in my neck.
“You got… pretty low standards. I didn’t say or do anything.”
Her shoulders shake.
“Hey, baby, I got you. We got you.” I pull her away from me so I can look at her. “Are you crying or are you laughing?” I’m so confused by the state of her face.
“Both!” she says, hiccupping weirdly.
Hormones. And I mean, also, the whole freaking situation.
My heart swells and breaks for her at the same time. A baby!
I need to know where she stands with all this. To get her talking, I ask the safest question I can come up with. “How far along are you?”
“I’m due in six and a half months, and I’m not sure about the dad.”
Holy shit!
She must read my facial expression, because she adds, “I know who the dad is. I… He’s all sorts of wrong.”
Lots to unpack there. “Didn’t peg you for a bad boy kinda girl,” I say with a smile in my voice.
“It’s… complicated,” she says with finality in her tone.
I raise my hands. “I’m sure. Now, what do you need from me?”
Her mouth sets the way Noah’s does when he talks about the Callaway legacy, a mix of sadness and determination. And I hate that for her.
“A baby is happiness and only happiness,” I urge her.
Her hands unconsciously move to her still-flat belly.
“I don’t know how to take care of a baby,” she whispers, her eyes welling up.
“But it’s all I can think about! It’s like…
I’m a different person now. There’s someone growing inside me.
Counting on me.” She’s only twenty-two, but she has Noah’s innate sense of responsibility, and in that moment I know she and her baby will be okay.
I move us to more practical questions. “What are you doing about work?” It’s fair to assume that’s why she hasn’t moved to New York.
She looks away. “I already lined up some online writing gigs. I’m hoping to land something more permanent, but… I’d be working from here? If that’s okay. I don’t think I can do it alone.” She seems uncertain and almost ashamed. “I’ll pay rent and stuff.”
I take her hand. In the space of a few months, she seems to have grown five years or more. The post-teenager who argued that this place was as much hers as her brother’s is gone. As much as it’s reassuring, it also makes me a little sad. “That’s a great idea.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I know it’s not fair to you guys, seeing as you just got married, but—”
“Oh shut up!” I scoff. “Are you kidding? A baby here is going to be the best thing ever. I can’t wait!” I squeeze her hand harder, laughter bubbling inside me as I imagine midnight bottles and pitter-patters in the hallways.
“I’m scared to tell Noah,” Lane confesses.
My heart clenches. She has no idea how much she’s unconditionally loved in this family. “Oh, honey, Noah will feel the way you feel. If you’re happy, he’ll be happy. If you want him to punch the dad in the face, he will.”
She ignores my attempt to know more about the father. “What should I tell him?” Her face is still scrunched with anxiety.
I let go of her hand to push a strand of hair behind her ear, then give her nape a reassuring stroke.
“Let him know you already have a plan. That you need time to figure out what you’re going to do about the dad.
That you’re staying here for the time being.
Guys aren’t always the best at dealing with something they can’t fix.
But ask them to install a nursery or attach a car seat, and all of a sudden they feel more in control, and it helps them. ”
“Gotcha.” She nods a little sadly.
“Hey. Noah’s going to be over-the-moon happy about having a niece or nephew. He’ll just be worried about you for a while, until he sees everything’s gonna be fine. It’s… it’s just how he is. He worries about you guys because he loves you so much.”
She nods sadly again. “He sorta sacrificed his teenage years because of us and well, the rest of it too. I hate to be doing this to him.”
“Honey. You’re not doing anything to him.” I wish I could tell her to let me worry about Noah, but this is her story to tell.
“Will you be there when I tell him? He’s just so much… calmer when you’re around.”
A warmth akin to bliss lodges itself between my ribs. “Of course. Maybe after the wedding?” A night of fun at the King’s family farm will put a lot of things into perspective. “He’ll be more relaxed.”
“So, Sunday?”
“I think so.”
“That’s a good idea.” She worries her bottom lip. “D’you think he’ll be happy I’m staying for now?”
I take her hand again. “Don’t do it to make him happy. Do it because it’s right for you.”
She nods. “Okay. Yeah. That makes sense.” She takes a deep breath, stands up, and looks around. “Willow?”
“Yeah?”
“You have your phone? We lost Muffin again.” She stumbles around in the garden, but this time I don’t panic.
Because since that unforgettable night at the river when Noah real-proposed to me with a shoe, after we spent a good two hours searching and finding the lost puppy, we had them all equipped with GPS sensors attached to their little collars.
Between the vacuum cleaners, which Zach installed a while back and have a tendency to stay stuck under furniture, and the puppies who actively search for the strangest places to get lost, my phone now looks like some kind of spy device.
It opens directly on a 3D map of Lilyvale, with symbols and shapes slowly moving around.
Of the three sets of paws, Muffin’s appears to be somewhere behind the barn. “Over here!” I call out to Lane, who comes rushing back up. I click on the icon, and a steady but faint beep sounds. “It seems to be coming from… the pile of leaves?” she says.
I laugh. “Yup, it’s moving.” We carefully move leaves around with our feet, until a furry tail wags. “Do you have terrier in you?” I ask the little guy as I bring him back to his mom. Calla barely gives him a lick.
“I think she’s tired of her teenagers,” I joke. I’m not, though. The puppies are a handful, but they bring more joy than I’d ever imagined. And yes, we named them. Because even if they end up leaving Lilyvale, they will still be ours, in a way.
“Oh yeah. Look at her. She couldn’t care less.” Lane gives Calla a head scratch, and the big dog plops down with a grunt. “Willow?” Lane asks.
“Yes sweetie?”
“Is it okay to be selfishly happy that Noah married you and not what’s-her-face?” She takes me in a big hug. “You’re just the best sister I could ever dream of.”