Maybe This Time (15 page)

“If you change your mind about the money, you know where to contact me.”

He turned and walked to the elevators. Emma had revealed a lot, either deliberately or accidentally. She wasn’t coping. The baby was difficult. But what was Darcy supposed to do about it? She didn’t want him in their life. He had no reason to feel guilty because he wasn’t doing more. She had no right to expect his practical help and he doubted she would take it if he offered. Something fundamental was broken between them, and a baby wasn’t going to fix it.

* * *

T
YPICAL.
D
ARCY SWOOPS IN
, pats her on the head, tells her she’s doing a great job then disappears to the pub. No one could push her buttons like him. Why did they keep hurting each other? Why did he try to appeal to her emotions when what she needed was practical assistance?

You told him you didn’t need or want him in your and Billy’s life, remember?

Emma forced her focus on her work. She didn’t have time to stand around brooding. She was in the middle of her evening rounds. She went into Roy’s room.

“Sorry, I got sidetracked with Darcy for a minute,” she said to Roy. “I see you’ve taken your pills. We’ll do your blood pressure now.” She strapped the cuff around his upper arm and set the machine. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Roy said. “Aside from this bum hip of mine.”

“Which will be fixed up in no time.” Emma noted the systolic and diastolic measurement. His blood pressure was a little high. “I see your surgery is scheduled for tomorrow morning.”

“Have you got your tomatoes in yet?”

He was avoiding talking about his operation. After years on the wards she recognized the tactic among patients afraid of surgery. She and Roy used to be buddies, swapping plants and gardening tips, and she had a soft spot for him. “I’m in an apartment. I don’t have room for a garden.” Nor the heart for it, either. She’d lost that along with Holly.

“Nothing beats the taste of homegrown.”

“That’s true.” She wrapped the cords around the blood pressure cuff and replaced it on the trolley. “How many plants have you got this year?”

“A dozen, three of the cherry variety.” Roy tipped up the chip packet and the last one fell into his palm. “Funny you calling your baby William when you and Darcy have split up.”

“You shouldn’t eat that salty stuff with your blood pressure.” She stuck a thermometer clip on the end of his finger. “How come you planted your tomatoes so soon? You always told me to wait until the first week in November.”

“I had to get them in before I went into hospital. Marge wouldn’t get around to it if—”

“If what?”

His face settled into a frown that made his jowls droop even more than they ordinarily did. “You got a balcony? Tomatoes grow great in pots. I don’t even know where you live now. Darcy shouldn’t have let you go.”

“I’m in Mornington. It wasn’t a question of Darcy letting me go.” He’d walked out on her. Sure in hindsight she could see that maybe she drove him to it, but their problem was they hadn’t agreed on the things that really mattered—Holly, how they saw themselves as a family, what their plan was for the future. Emma managed a tight smile. “I believe it’s called irreconcilable differences.”

“I’ve seen plants that have been cut back to nothing, burned by summer drought, ripped out of the ground—you name it. You stick them in good rich soil, give ’em plenty of water and some nourishment and they survive, even thrive. Nothing can’t be fixed with a little TLC.”

“You’ve been reading Marge’s romance novels, haven’t you?” Emma recorded his temperature and removed the finger clip. Then she squeezed his hand and held it. “Don’t worry about the operation. Hip replacements are routine these days. You’ll be back in action in a few weeks.”

Roy started to bluster about how he was fine, then his gaze flicked to hers. “The doctor was in earlier—the one who’s going to knock me out. She told me I’m at risk because of my blood pressure.”

“They have to warn people. It’s a standard caution. You’re going to be fine. I promise.”

“What if I cark it on the table?”

“I’ll water your tomatoes,” she said lightly.

“Will you bring Billy around to see Marge?”

“Oh, Roy.”

“Promise me.”

If only he knew how much she would have loved for Billy to be part of the big, boisterous Lewis family, under the right circumstances, that is, if she and Darcy were together. He would have lots of cousins, including a boy nearly his own age. But how could she attend Lewis family gatherings when she and Darcy weren’t together? And Darcy was unlikely to take Billy on his own.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t leave Roy hanging. “I promise.”

A flurry of activity at the door made her turn around.

“Good afternoon.” Dr. Avery Pritchard swept into the room, his white coat flapping. “How is our patient today?”

Emma handed the doctor Roy’s chart on which she’d written her observations. “He’s doing well, Doctor.”

“Excellent.” He turned to Roy. “I’m Dr. Pritchard. I’ll be doing your hip replacement tomorrow morning. It’s a straightforward procedure....”

Emma wheeled out her trolley with the meds and blood pressure equipment, leaving Roy with Dr. Pritchard.

She wished Darcy wanted to be a part of his son’s life as much as Marge did. He was keeping himself at arm’s length with offers of money. She got that he was devastated by Holly’s death, but that was in the past. Billy was here and now. She didn’t care for herself, but for Billy’s sake she wished Darcy would let Billy into his life. How awful to think of her son growing up aware that his father lived nearby but didn’t want to know him. Besides everything that had gone wrong between them over Holly, she couldn’t ever forgive Darcy for that.

* * *

W
HAT THE HELL
was wrong with Emma? Darcy turned his truck out of the hospital parking lot and headed to Summerside. She was in trouble, forced back to work early. Why wouldn’t she let him help her by contributing financially? What was so wrong with him easing his conscience in that way? It was almost as if she was punishing him for not wanting to be a father to Billy.

She was really punishing herself. And the baby.

So be it. It wasn’t like he had a ton of spare cash to throw around. He’d done his monthly bookkeeping last night and business had fallen off since the wine bar opened.

He parked in front of the pub and got out in time to see two of his regular customers coming down the street—Greta, a hairdresser, and her boyfriend, Larry, a gangly apprentice baker. If it weren’t for people like Greta and Larry, who came in a couple of times a week, he would really be hurting. They didn’t drink a lot—they nursed a couple of beers and socialized—but he could count on them.

He lounged in the doorway, enjoying the first mild evening in months—spring was definitely here at last—and waited to greet them with some of that personal service he hoped would be the salvation of his pub.

Greta paused to peer into a boutique window. Larry tugged her away, waving a piece of paper in her face. Instead of coming straight to the pub, they crossed the street. Darcy’s stomach fell as he watched them walk into the wine bar.

He swore quietly. If even these two abandoned him, he was in trouble. Surely they couldn’t afford the wine bar prices. In about thirty seconds they’d be out the door again, over to his pub.

Hands on hips, he waited. Three minutes ticked by. Greta and Larry didn’t come out of the wine bar—but four more people went in. Wayne must be giving out more discounted drinks. It was almost as if he was trying to put himself out of business. Except that his strategy was drawing huge crowds. Customers were flocking to his joint and not to Darcy’s pub. Greta and Larry weren’t his only customers to defect in recent months. Oh, people still came to the pub, too, just not as often.

Thoroughly disgruntled, Darcy went back inside. He stood in the doorway and surveyed the room, much as Wayne had a few months ago. In contrast to the wine bar’s colorful furniture and paintings the wood-paneled pub looked dark and, to Darcy’s now-jaundiced eye, less than inviting.

Light. He needed more light in here. More windows and modern light fixtures. Maybe he ought to get a draftsman or a builder to look over those architect’s drawings for a garden room. Alternatively, if he didn’t want to go the whole hog he could paint, put in new carpets, buy those tall tables and stools....

“What’s the matter, boss?” Kirsty said, going past with a tray of drinks. “Is your dad all right? His friends came in and then left again. Complained they couldn’t play a proper game of darts without Roy.”

“He’s doing okay.” At least the wine bar had yet to put in a dartboard or shuffleboard.

A garden room with glass walls on three sides would solve the light problem. If he put in a kitchen, he could offer simple meals and snacks.

Garden room. Kitchen. He was talking about a major project. Suddenly it seemed daunting. If he and Emma were still together, he could have talked it over with her. She was great with practical stuff. And she had excellent color sense. Darcy couldn’t afford an interior decorator but Emma would know how to match carpet shades with seat covers.

“What do you think of the decor in here, Kirsty?”

She shrugged. “It’s cozy, warm. It’s a pub.”

If he changed the atmosphere to attract new customers, would he lose the ones he had? Hell, he was already losing them. He couldn’t sit still and do nothing while the wine bar stole his business.

If he did do major renovations, he would have to take out a sizable loan. Could he afford to do that?

Could he afford not to? Going into debt was a gamble, but if he didn’t do something he was in danger of going under, maybe not this year but possibly next. But possibly the wine bar really would be a novelty that would wear off. When people got tired of the red velvet couches they would come back to his pub.

What if they didn’t? The wine bar had been open nearly four months now and was busier than ever.

He’d been complacent, secure in the knowledge that his was the only bar in town. Circumstances had changed. Now he had to try harder. Maybe he should be grateful to Wayne for forcing him to lift his game. If he was going to go bankrupt, he might as well go out in style.

The pub was his livelihood, his home away from home, the place where the people he cared about hung out. He’d lost his wife and daughter. He’d lost his interest in Latin dancing and football. Since he’d split up with Emma the pub had become the center of his life. Hell, it had become his
whole
life. He lived in the upstairs apartment and worked every day behind the bar. All he had left was the pub. It represented everything that was important to him—his connection to family, friends and the community. If he lost it, he didn’t know what would happen to him.

He didn’t want to find out.

* * *

E
MMA STRUGGLED TO
fit the tubing onto the intake nozzle of the breast pump. Who made these stupid tubes so small? Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink and on the counter. Her dishwasher had broken and she hadn’t cleaned up in days. Her cold had worsened in the night and she longed to crawl into bed. But she was on duty at the hospital this morning and she wanted to be there when Roy went in to surgery. First she needed to try to pump enough milk for Billy to take to day care.

The phone rang.

“Perfect.” She put the tubing down and fished among the clutter for her phone. “Hello.”

“Hello, darling. How’s everything?”

“Hi, Mum.” Emma forced a cheery note into her voice. “I’m good. Where are you?”

“At a roadhouse in some tiny town in the outback of Western Australia. Your dad’s tanking up the car and I’m waiting for our food order. How’s my gorgeous little man?”

Emma glanced over at Billy, strapped into his car seat. He was quiet for once, playing with the plastic keys dangling above him. At times like these she felt the best about him, that is to say, neutral.

“He’s smiling. And holding his head up. He’s definitely going to have dark hair, although I think his eyes might be blue-green like mine.”

“You can’t tell at this stage. They won’t be set for months yet.”

“Mum, I’ve only got a few minutes. I’m getting ready for work.” Emma tucked the phone between her chin and shoulder and picked up the breast pump to have another attempt at assembling the pieces.

“That’s okay. I just wanted to say hi. I wish we weren’t on this big long trip when you had the baby.”

“You were here for the first two weeks.” There, was that right? Emma gave an experimental tug on the tubing. It came off in her hands.

After the birth her parents had flown home. During their stay Billy had been a model baby, sleeping most of the day and only waking at night to be fed and have his diaper changed. Emma had blithely urged her parents to resume their trip. A week after they’d left, Billy had developed colic. Two and a half months later he was still crying every night for hours.

“If you need me, say the word and I’ll fly back,” her mother said. “I don’t feel right leaving you, and I don’t like missing out on his early months. The first two weeks were wonderful, but he’ll be doing so much more now.”

“He’ll still be small when you’re here at Christmas.”

She couldn’t let on she was struggling. Her mother had been a rock when Holly died. Emma had also leaned on her when her marriage was falling apart. Her mother would return to Summerside in a heartbeat if she thought Emma needed her. However, her parents had planned and saved for years to travel around Australia in a campervan. They deserved this trip, and Emma wasn’t going to spoil it for them.

“I tried calling Alana, but she’s never home,” her mother said.

Emma pushed at the tubing, finally easing it over the nozzle. “She’s got a new job—” The words were out before she could take them back.

“She’s working? She didn’t tell me that.”

Uh-oh. “It’s new. Might not last. Don’t say anything to Dave. She hasn’t told him yet.”

“She hasn’t told him? Why not?”

“It’s a long story....”

“And you don’t have time right now. Okay, I won’t keep you much longer. How’s your milk supply? Alana told me you were having trouble.”