A sudden, unwanted vision of Kieran Love burst across her consciousness. After the accident in Antony’s pond, he’d moved in with his parents for a few while. She’d gone to see him once, at his mother’s direct request.
“I know it will cheer him up to see you,” Lindsay Love had insisted as they blocked shoppers at the big Publix grocery on Highway Twelve. “Please. Humor an old woman, will you?”
And of course, Cara had caved, agreeing to come by the next day, around two thirty, after a short day at the clinic.
“Don’t let on I begged you, all right, hon?”
Cara had nodded and resisted the urge to fold the woman into a hug. She’d always adored Kieran’s mother and the woman had seemed so frail and unhappy that day.
Once there, she’d nearly marched right back to her car, twice. She’d had no business there. None whatsoever. The man inside no longer played a part in her life, not anymore. And the house’s familiar front door, its comfortable edges and nooks and crannies held so many memories—all of them good—she didn’t want to relive them. It would make her pine. It would make her weak. It would make her not want to marry Kent even more.
“So, you kids have something to tell us? That’s why we’re out here having dinner in the middle of the lake?” Kent’s father intoned interrupting the memory of her awkward visit with her ex-boyfriend earlier that day. Kent Senior studied her like a specimen of something he didn’t understand—not like his wife’s overt fake enthusiasm, but somehow worse. Not a new thing, that, and something she’d gotten used to, but the tips of her ears flamed hot in a way that did not bode well for her blood pressure. Kent’s parents were insufferable. What made her think bearing them a grandchild to carry on the family name and tradition of stuck-up lawyering would help change that?
“Son?” Vivian prompted, sipping her wine.
Kent cleared his throat, wiped his mouth, and put the napkin on the table before reaching over to help Cara to her feet. Yet more red tendrils escaped her sun hat she shook her head so hard. A drop of sweat rolled down her face as he crushed her close to his side. She tried not to struggle away from him. That would surely not look good at this declarative moment.
“Mother, Daddy,” he began, gripping her hard as if sensing her need for escape. “Cara and I....” He stopped. She glanced at him, perplexed. The man was never at a loss for words even in the face of his know-it-all parents. “We’re gonna have a baby.” The sentence burst out of his mouth and hung in the air over the remains of their lunch.
Kent’s mother narrowed her gaze. His father blew out a puff of air as an expression resembling extreme relief spread over his face. Cara blinked, trying to process why he would appear as though someone had called in his death-row pardon. His mother stayed seated while Kent Senior pulled the two of them into an uncharacteristic bear hug. He smelled of old booze and cigars and at that moment, Cara realized she faced the shotgun barrel of her future.
“Son, that is....” Mr. Lowery gripped their elbows. “That is the best news I’ve heard in a long time. Let’s celebrate. Viv? Darlin’ did you pack that champagne like I asked you to?”
Kent dropped his arm from around Cara so fast she nearly fell over. He watched as his mother rose to her feet, slim, perfectly put together for a day on the lake in her designer capris, tank top, and sandals revealing her expensive pedicure. The expression on Kent’s face was one Cara would later recognize as anguish.
“Well,” she said, her dismissive tone firmly in place. “How...nice.”
The very air bulged between them all, fraught with things she couldn’t begin to fathom and didn’t think she wanted to until Mr. Lowery snagged her, and turned her around in a little circle under his arm on the deck of the pontoon boat, making the boat sway and bob and sending her stomach into a death spiral.
“Oh good heavens let go of her, Kent Senior.” Vivian gave her son the wine bottle without meeting his eyes. “The poor dear is positively green around the gills. I know how it is, honey, and I’ve just the thing. Come over here and let’s talk baby names or something.” She patted the seat Cara had vacated, her expression not even close to matching the apparent kindness of her words. They remained flinty, accusatory, hard in a way that made Cara want to jump into the speed boat and get as far from her as she could.
“Now, now, don’t be mad, Junior,” she said, giving her son a hairy eyeball. “Takes me a bit longer to absorb the joyous news is all. Relax. A Lowery baby is cause for happiness.”