Chapter 52 Harriet
FIFTY-TWO
HARRIET
THIRTY-ONE WEEKS PREGNANT
I arrive at the house where I’m due to perform my last freelance gig before the baby arrives.
The couple booked me to sing at their Ruby Anniversary luncheon.
It’s a beautiful spring afternoon, not too hot that I’ll be sweltering under the baking sun.
The house is a fancy Greek revival, with pristine lawns and huge columns that tower above me as I knock on the front door.
A brunette woman answers the door, clipboard in hand, looking flustered. “You’re the singer?”
She doesn’t wait for my response before she spins on her heel, giving me no choice but to waddle after her as she disappears inside. I left my equipment in the car, hoping there’d be some muscle here to help bring it in.
I follow who I presume is Edna, the events coordinator, into the backyard, where tables are set up for brunch and a small stage is being erected in front of a large rose bush.
“This is where you’ll perform. Two thirty-minute sets, right?” She turns to look at me and blanches at my swollen belly. “You’re pregnant.”
I gasp. “Oh my god, am I?”
My joke goes down like a lead balloon. Tough crowd.
“Is that an issue?” I’m not missing out on the money for this gig. Why it would be an issue is beyond me.
Edna—though she still hasn’t introduced herself—rolls her eyes. “So long as your water doesn’t break while you’re performing.”
“You don’t have to worry about that.” I throw a thumb over my shoulder. “However, when I spoke to your assistant, she said someone could help bring my gear in from the car.”
“Vinny! You’re needed!” she screeches.
A teenage boy materializes, dressed in a white button-up and black tie.
“Yes, Edna?” he wheezes.
“I need you to collect this lady’s sound equipment from her car and set it up on the stage.” She turns to me. “It’s the beat-up Subaru, right?”
Charming. “That’s the one.”
She says beat-up, I say loved. Not that it’s gotten much use recently, what with Warren insisting on driving me everywhere.
The car has seen better days, but it was the first thing I purchased when I moved to Iris Meadows and holds sentimental value.
When he’s working and can’t chauffeur me around, I know he’s tempted to hire a car service.
I’ve told him many times, until I can’t fit behind the steering wheel, I’m driving.
I hold up my bag. “Is there somewhere I can freshen up?”
Her eyes are glued to the clipboard again. “There’s a guest bathroom through the kitchen. People will begin arriving in twenty minutes, so please make yourself scarce before then. I’ll fetch you when you’re on.”
Vinny snickers at the face I make before going in search of the bathroom.
Once I locate the bathroom in the maze of a house, I change into a formal yet stretchy dress and sandals and top up my makeup. I take my time, unsure of what making myself scarce looks like in Edna’s eyes, and by the time I’m done, it’s showtime.
The couples’ daughter carefully curated the set, choosing songs from throughout her parent’s relationship. I can sing almost anything, so long as people don’t mind me putting my twist on a classic. Today is also a nice break from singing any of my own songs.
Yesterday, the ball really started rolling on the copyright suit.
My lawyer, Steven, went to law school with Talia, and he’s lived up to her praises so far.
According to him, the record label Peter now works for is notorious for getting themselves in trouble, and this isn’t the first copyright suit they’ve had knocking on their door.
It’s been relatively stress free, and I’m hoping any pending drama happens after the baby’s born.
When I play the finishing chords to “You’re Still the One”, the crowd claps, a few giving a standing ovation.
“You’re too kind. Thank you,” I say into the mic. “We’re going to take a short break while lunch is served.”
I prop my guitar on the stand and take a long swig of water. Edna is scurrying after the servers as they deliver the food, so I make my escape in search of a quiet corner where I can devour some snacks. My phone rings as I sit at the large dining table inside.
“Hey,” I greet right before I pop a Goldfish in my mouth.
“You’re always munching on something when you answer my calls.” Talia laughs. “How’s the event?”
“Easy. Nice people, although…” I check my surroundings. “The event coordinator could do with a few less sticks up her ass.”
“Ah, how I don’t envy you.”
“Right back at you. Poor Steven must be so tired of explaining legal jargon to me. How do you do it?”
“With the promise of a large glass of wine and bubble bath at the end of each day.” She sighs, and I can hear her tapping away on her keyboard. “Steven said he issued the cease and desist yesterday. How are you feeling?”
I rustle the snack packet between my fingers. “Honestly, okay. I’m sure it’ll feel real once they respond, but for now, I’m living in this delulu headspace. Warren’s good at keeping me distracted.”
Talia wolf whistles. “I bet he is. He’ll probably be waiting for you when you get home, ready to whisk you away upstairs so he can ravage you.”
“You’re reading way too many regency romances. And sadly, he’s on shift, so the ravaging is postponed.” My heart droops a little, knowing he won’t be around to offer me a foot massage or pretend to enjoy the casserole I made last night. “I don’t know how firefighters work those long shifts.”
“Me neither.” A man’s voice echoes in the background. “Now? Okay, I’ll be there in five. Harry, sorry, they’ve brought my meeting forward. I’m gonna have to go. Good luck with the rest of the gig, and text me if you hear anything from Steven.”
“Will do.”
We hang up, and I shovel the rest of the Goldfish into my mouth. Talia can’t help herself being involved in the case with Peter. That’s just who she is, but I know if things get messy and Tate becomes involved to keep what I tell her to a minimum.
I’m about to make a trip to the toilet when a petite blonde approaches the table. She’s dressed in a beautiful black-and-white dress, and I recognize her as the couple’s niece from the speeches.
“Hi.” I smile. “Can I help you?”
“Yes. Or no. I’m not sure.” She frowns at the floor before shaking her head. “I won’t pretend I wasn’t eavesdropping on your phone call.”
Shit, did I say something about the suit? No, my conversation with Talia was vague to anyone overhearing, though I still laugh nervously. “Sorry, I have a habit of talking loud.”
“It wasn’t that.” She steps forward, eyeing my baby bump. Do people dislike pregnant woman in these parts? “Were you talking about Warren O’Connor?”
There’s no hiding my surprise. “Oh. Um, yes.” A sickly sensation creeps into my stomach. “How do you know him?”
Her curiosity shifts into a tight-lipped smile, and sympathy lines her face. “I worked with his wife, Alison.”
Ah. Now, the awkwardness makes sense. What if his ex is here? It’s not as if I have anything to feel guilty about. Their marriage ended years before we met.
“How is he? I haven’t seen him in a long time.”
I keep my response simple, unsure how much Warren would want me revealing. “He’s good. Keeping busy and working hard.”
Her eyes widen. “He’s still a firefighter?”
“Yes…”
She presses a hand to her chest. “Wow. We thought he would never go back after everything happened. I can’t believe it’s been eight years.”
I stand from my chair. “You’ll have to forgive me—baby brain—but what exactly happened?”
She stares at me like I’ve grown two heads. “Alison’s death.”
The room sways, and I grip the edge of the table. I’ve misheard her. The sun has gotten to me, and I’m experiencing sunstroke.
Oh, god.
“Are you okay? Do you need to sit?” the stranger asks. I don’t know her name, and she’s just unknowingly upended everything.
“I-I…” I’m trembling.
Warren’s wife is dead.
She died, and he never told me.
“Here, you sit, and I’ll get you some water.”
She scurries off, and I collapse onto a chair. I try piecing everything together: the evasion in discussing his marriage, not wanting to be in a relationship at first. But why? Why didn’t he tell me?
I fumble for my phone and find a text from Warren’s sister.
Diana: Hey, how are you? Just checking in to see how Warren’s doing too. Today can be rough for him, but I’m glad he’s got you.