Pregnancy Plan (31 page)

Sunshine broke through Jen’s weariness and
she smiled. George, so much like Ethan in coloring and loving
personalities, the two were kindred spirits.

Her dog, always willing to share his love
with everyone, crowded closer to Allison. She grabbed his collar to
hold him at bay and fell back against the wall. “George, I had a
bath.”

The indignant tone didn’t stifle George’s
zeal, but shattered Jen’s enjoyment of the light-hearted exchange.
She’d never have the perfect Norman Rockwell family, not with
Craig, not with anyone. Yet, not having a baby with Craig was
probably the best thing she could’ve done considering her current
circumstances. Being a single mother would have been no picnic.

Ethan’s small hands closed around her
leg.

Jen helped him to his feet and shoved her
depressing thoughts aside. “Come on, guys, back upstairs. Your mom
wants you to play quietly in your rooms for a while.”

She herded the group up the steps. “You
don’t have to go to sleep, just keep the noise level to a low
rumble.”

At the top of the stairs, George led the way
through the door on the left while Allison stopped in the hallway.
“I don’t see why we can’t play downstairs. It’s not like you guys
are going to say anything we haven’t heard before.”

Following George into Ethan’s room, Jen
paused near the doorway to keep from treading on the plastic army
men scattered across the floor. She swiveled on her heels to answer
Allison. “Oh, but we are,” and she dropped her voice to a whisper.
“The secret society of the executive wives’ club is plotting to
take over the world.”

Ethan’s eyes widened with wonder.
“Really?”

“No, silly, she doesn’t want to tell us
they’re talking about Daddy.” Allison’s shoulders sagged and she
stomped into her room on the opposite side of the hall in a
disheartened huff.

Unsure how to handle the young girl’s
sarcasm, Jen ushered Ethan farther into his room, decorated in G.I.
Joe paraphernalia. Army fatigue green curtains covered the window,
and the bed’s cotton comforter displayed soldiers fighting for
victory.

Jen studied the toys facing off on the
floor. So many times while visiting Craig at his office, she’d run
into Eric. Each time, he had recounted his son’s army battles with
pride and amazement. Love had sparked in Eric’s eyes and while she
enjoyed the tales, she’d never understood, until now, how much the
man had truly loved his son.

Tears gathered. She swallowed back the
heartache and forced excitement into her tone. “Wow, you have an
incredible number of military men here. Are you in the midst of a
battle?”

Ethan puffed out his chest. “Someone has to
fight for justice in the world, and I’m the chosen one.”

Jen dropped to her knees, grabbed his hands
and kissed each with a loud smack. “My hero! How can we ever repay
you for saving us?”

“Ain’t nothing.” Ethan tugged his hands
free. He held his shoulders back in an erect stance for a moment,
then his face fell and he threw himself into her arms. “I miss
Daddy.”

The admission tore a hole through Jen’s
heart. He’d never know how much his father adored him. The loss of
the special bond between father and son plunged Jen into a dark
void. Pain constricted her lungs and she couldn’t breathe.

She gathered Ethan closer. His small body
snuggled tight against hers eased the restrictive bands squeezing
against her chest. His clean little boy’s scent drew tears and a
crack formed in her armor. She wasn’t alone. The other members of
the executive team had families who were grieving as well. She now
realized the importance of their get-togethers: by helping each
other, they would all move forward—a snail’s pace for some.

George nudged her, his nose wedging deeper
into her armpit. Jen wiggled away from the abuse and released
Ethan.

Innocent hazel eyes met hers. She forced a
smile and shored up her courage. “Me, too, but he’d expect us to
continue the fight.”

Ethan nodded and wiped away the tears on
Jen’s face with his sleeve. “Be a brave soldier.”

Renewed by his simple honesty, Jen smiled
and decided she needed to get her life back on track. Jostling
George out of the way, she rolled to her feet. “You’re right. Now,
let’s march onto victory.”

Jen’s feet lagged on the bottom step. She
rubbed her sweaty palms on the stair’s railing
.
I can do
this. I can tell them I need to start seeing other men.

Fortified by her conviction, Jen entered the
large area and immediately caught sight of Marianne and Sylvia,
sitting together on one of the sofas, deep in conversation. Not
willing to interrupt and happy to have a few more minutes to
herself, Jen automatically assessed the value of the house in
today’s market. The living room, which led seamlessly into the
breakfast nook and kitchen, had no walls between the two, creating
a perfect area for entertaining.

Brie furthered enhanced the appeal of the
sitting area by arranging two full-length sofas and two recliners
in a semi-circle in front of the fireplace. Gas logs shimmered with
red-and-blue flames, adding a cozy glow to the over-sized space.
The picture windows along the exterior wall added depth and drew
her gaze to the snow-covered cornfields, glowing eerily from the
light of a fingernail moon. The farm butting against Brie’s
backyard would also add value to the house because she didn’t have
noisy neighbors behind her home.

The beige carpet in the living room met
rich, radiant wood. The honey-brown color lined the floor of the
breakfast nook and kitchen. The oak cabinets were a little lighter
and additional warmth to the area. Only the toy box tucked away by
the patio door hinted at the other uses for the large space.

“Hey, Jen, you want a drink?” Brie strolled
around the bar separating the two areas, tray in hand. In a pair of
faded jeans and a bright yellow sweatshirt, her small form and
casual appearance made her appear no older than a teenager. Tiger
slippers added to the illusion.

Jen’s taste buds tingled with the desire for
something that could soften the frazzled edges of her day. Two
fingers of whiskey, neat; unacceptable with the other ladies. She
stroked George’s head to keep him near and stepped around the end
of the floral couch to perch on the armrest. “Sure. What’s the
drink of choice tonight?”

Brie set the tray on the coffee table in
front of Marianne and Sylvia. “Tea. With the snow we’ve been having
this week, I figured I’d serve something hot.”

“Wonderful idea.” Marianne shifted to the
edge of the couch. A squint formed between her brows and she leaned
in to read the labels on the small packages of the various teas.
“I’m a huge fan of Earl Gray.”

Why doesn’t she just get reading
glasses?
Jen inwardly groaned and knew it would never happen.
Marianne didn’t like the idea of getting older.

“They’re in the pile somewhere. Can you also
pour while I get the sandwiches?” Brie, the perpetual hostess,
smiled and returned to the open-area kitchen, leaving Marianne to
handle her assigned task.

“Brie, you’re a killer to my waistline.”
Sylvia scooted forward. “Tea would have been more than enough. You
didn’t need to fix sandwiches too.”

Marianne poured hot water into a cup and
offered the mug to Jen. “Here you go. Now you won’t have to wait on
us.”

“Thanks.” Jen grabbed her favorite flavor of
tea and dropped it into her cup, before settling into the tan couch
opposite the two women. The difference between Marianne and Sylvia
struck her anew.

Each an executive’s wife, they presented
very different pictures of what a successful man might want in a
woman. Marianne, petite with a classic style, wore a long
fashionable skirt and a coordinating top. At a formal dinner or at
home in the kitchen with kids, she could handle any situation.
Sylvia, on the other hand, was a tall woman who could have been a
model in her youth, but now she looked like an Amazon warrior with
an excess of a hundred pounds to lose. She dressed
professionally—in a pair of black dress pants and a long,
bright-red sweater that fell to her hips. Both had over twenty
years invested in their marriages.

They had lost more than a mate; they had
lost a companion of twenty plus years and the union of solving
problems together. Now, they faced the problems of tomorrow alone.
She couldn’t say the same about her marriage to Craig. Yes, they
had managed to stay together. But was it because they had been too
lazy to get a divorce? Or had both of them been unwilling to admit
failure?

Brie rejoined them and set a platter of
finger sandwiches on the coffee table. “Marianne, did I hear you
say your son heard from Momma Turner’s insurance company?”

The muscles in Jen’s chest tightened.

“Yes.” Marianne poured a cup of hot water
for Brie and set down the teapot. “Travis hates to be in the dark
about anything and checks in with them regularly to see how their
suits against all the plaintiffs are going.”

Jen shifted restlessly on the edge of the
couch.
Here we go again, another night of discussing the demise
of their dead husbands.
The smooth flavor of lemon zinger that
had tasted so inviting only moments ago, now churned through her
stomach. Bitter bile hit her tongue. Disgusted, she abandoned her
cup to a nearby end table and sank into the corner of the
couch.

“Plaintiffs? How many are there?” Brie knelt
near the coffee table and chose a bright orange packet.

“Let’s see, there’s the driver, the trucking
and repair companies, and even the manufacturer of the brakes.”
Marianne counted them off on her fingers.

“
But why sue all those
other people? The police have already established the brakes
failed.”

“In the legal arena, you have to sue
everyone along the food chain.” Marianne stirred her tea and a soft
tinkle rang repeatedly from her cup.

Jen cringed. The irritating click played
against her nerves like a chant from an old comedy
. Bring out
your dead.

“Especially the larger companies because
they’re the ones with the money,” Sylvia added and lifted a small
triangle sandwich to her lips. In the blink of an eye, the dainty
treat disappeared. She blotted her fingertips on a napkin and
reached for another without any regard for the calories contained
in the compact package.

Jen scanned the appetizing tray and bit back
the reason for not having food at these meetings. They always
over-indulgenced in emotional eating.

Brie strolled to her favorite recliner. The
tigers’ heads on her slippers bobbed up and down in time with her
step and in harmony with Marianne’s spoon. “But I don’t understand.
The insurance company had to pay us no matter how our husbands
died.”

“Yes, but they’re trying to recoup their
cost. Jack, Craig, Eric, and Bob shouldn’t have died. If the brakes
had worked, the truck wouldn’t have flattened their car and killed
our husbands.” Marianne’s tense voice held a trace of anger and her
gaze a spark of malice.

Without meaning to, Jen envisioned an
eighteen-wheeler squashing a mid-size car. The pancake remains
flashed in her head, before the muscles in her neck and shoulders
throbbed with pain. She lifted her hand to rub the ache but changed
direction and eased forward to pet George where he lay on the floor
instead. “Did Travis learn anything new?”

“Not really. The trucker is on suspension
and the other companies are still filing information with the
court.” Marianne rested her spoon on the coffee table, giving Jen’s
nerves a much needed reprieve. “It’ll be several months before the
case goes to trial.”

“Then we shouldn’t worry about it at the
moment.” Jen glided one last stroke along George’s smooth coat and
straightened. Her heart beat heavily in her chest and her palms
grew sweaty. If she didn’t tell them soon about her decision to
start dating again, they’d run off on another tangent concerning
their husbands.

She drew in a deep breath and blurted out,
“I’m moving on with my life.”

Waiting for a comment, she charted the slow
descent of Marianne’s cup to her lap. A second later, Sylvia
shifted forward and grabbed another sandwich from the platter. Brie
offered a weak smile.

“Want to explain?” Marianne retrieved her
spoon.

Squaring her shoulders, Jen drew in a
fortifying breath. Each of the other women had been in a loving
relationship. They didn’t know about the year she’d lived in a
house with a man who bore the title of her husband, but not her
lover.

“First, I’m not talking about anything
related to Craig’s death. I loved him.” She twisted her hands
together and shifted to the edge of the couch. “But I have to move
on and...the best way to do that is by finding someone new.”

“What?” Sylvia jumped from the couch. Tea
splashed on her sweater and she dropped her sandwich. Animosity
tightened Sylvia’s lips and lines of anger popped out across her
forehead. “You can’t. It’s wrong. Craig’s only been dead for a few
months.”

The over-exuberant display of emotions
shocked Jen and she froze. What the...

“Easy, honey. If you’re not careful you’ll
burn yourself.” Marianne rose beside Sylvia and grabbed her cup.
“Look, you’ve already spilled some on your sweater.”

Brie rushed forward and gathered a few
napkins. “Here.” She shoved several in Sylvia’s hand and stared at
the spot.

Uncertain what to do, Jen stood. George,
next to her, his warm body nestled against her leg, kept her from
drifting forward. They didn’t understand because she’d never
revealed the marital problems she and Craig had experienced. She
couldn’t, not now, maybe not ever.

Sylvia’s gaze swung between Marianne and
Brie. “But didn’t you hear what Jen said? She wants to go out with
another
man
.
”