Her friend paled. "Willow … I thought you wanted … "
"I'm not sure what I want yet," her friend said. "I'm just curious, okay? After med school, are most doctors pro-choice?"
Callie looked caught. "Well … in med school you learn a lot about horrible birth defects, so … " Her friend drew in a deep breath.
"Callie?" Willow asked. "Are you okay?"
Her friend shook her head. "I just really can't talk about this right now," she said. "I'm so sorry."
She had never seen Callie tongue-tied before. Willow wondered if she had inadvertently asked her friend a question that was more personal than she would have guessed.
"Okay," Willow said quietly. "I've made a lot of irresponsible decisions the past few years. I'm trying on this idea, because I don't want to make any more of them."
"Willow, how many weeks are you?"
She watched Callie's face, which was curiously ashen. "I'm six weeks. Why?"
"You have more time to think about this, then," Callie said. "Take some more time."
"I will." Willow ate another bite. But Callie only pushed the food around on her plate. "Are you okay, Callie? You look really tired."
"I haven't been sleeping," her friend admitted. "It's been a really hard week."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Willow said. "Have a glass of wine? One of us should."
* * *
When Willow drove home from work the next Monday, she found herself following a green Jeep down the road, and then up her own driveway. They parked side by side, and Willow glanced into the vehicle, feeling great relief when she saw that Coach was in there alone.
"Hi, Coach," she said, getting out.
"Willow!" he said. "How are you?"
"Good," she said brightly, though it was a lie. Willow still doubted that Coach knew her scary little secret. And she sure as hell didn't want to involve him.
"Willow, I hate to ask … " he tilted his head to the side.
"Do you need something?"
He opened the trunk of his car with an exasperated sigh. "Is there a chance I could run a load of laundry through your machine? I had no idea that the Laundromat would be closed today." He pulled out a laundry bag and a bottle of detergent.
"Oh, sure!" she said. If only all of life's problems were so easily fixed. "Follow me."
* * *
"I really appreciate this," Coach said, emerging from Willow's laundry room, his bottle of detergent hooked over her thumb. "I'm a little overwhelmed taking care of Mr. Grumpy. There's nobody so miserable as a laid-up skier during racing season."
Willow did not want to land on the topic of Dane. "The wash cycle takes about forty-five minutes," she said. "If you play your cards right, you'll be a few minutes late. And just in time to eat one of these, hot out of the oven." She'd left a batch of bread dough rising on the counter top while she was away at work, and now she stood at the counter, shaping them into rolls.
"Well that is something to look forward to," he said. "In the meantime, I'll check on his lordship."
She couldn't help it. Willow laughed.
Coach winked at her on his way out the door.
* * *
When he tapped on the door again, Willow was just removing the first batch of rolls from the oven. "Come in," she called.
"Lordy, it smells good in here," Coach said.
"Toss your laundry in the dryer, and I'll butter one for you," she offered.
When he reappeared, she pushed a plate toward him, the roll steaming and butter oozing across the torn surface. "Coffee?" she asked.
"I don't want to be any trouble," he said.
She waved a hand. "I'm having one."
"I'd love one." Coach sat down on a stool and beamed at her. He had a very kind face, and the sort of demeanor that made it easy to feel comfortable in his presence.
Willow turned toward the espresso machine and began to tamp down a shot. She would make herself a tiny coffee with a lot of milk in it. It was strange, but lately she'd found herself behaving like a pregnant lady. She'd cut down her coffee consumption to almost nothing. And she didn't take anything for the headache she'd had over the weekend. Her mind might run in an endless loop of indecision, but she took good care of her pregnant body. Her subconscious clearly wanted in on the decision.
"So, what is it about Mondays in Vermont?" Coach asked, chewing. "Everything is closed. Driving up to the shuttered Laundromat felt like the last straw."
"Tell me about it," Willow smiled. "It's restaurants, too. It took me a while to figure that out after I moved here. Don't get hungry on a Monday. I think it's because they cater to the tourists from Connecticut, so closing Sundays is a bad idea."
"Ah," Coach bit into his roll. "Wow," he said, chewing. "This is amazing."
"There's nothing like warm bread to lift your spirits," Willow agreed. And hers could really use a lift.
"So you're not a native Vermonter?" Coach asked.
Willow laughed. "Far from. I grew up in Philadelphia."
"You still have family there?" he asked.
It was an innocent enough question. He had no way of knowing how difficult the topic really was. "No family," she said, without elaborating. Technically, Willow couldn't be sure this was actually true. But after the state stepped in after neighbors had leveled charges of neglect, Willow had never seen her parents again. She had only the shakiest memory of their faces.
Coach was studying her. "Another member of the club, then," he said.
"What club?" Willow transferred the rest of the hot rolls onto a rack to cool.
"Dane has no family-that's how I became his nursemaid." He put another bite into his mouth. "For me, there was a wife. But she died."
"I'm so sorry to hear that."
"Thanks, it happened years ago. So how did you get to Vermont, then?"
Willow was happy to hear a change in the subject, even to this one. "There was a man. He left. It happens."
"It does." He sipped his coffee.
"So … " Willow had a question that had been bothering her. "The knee. Will it heal properly?" She didn't really want to start a conversation about Dane, but she'd hate to think his career was over, all because of one nasty fall. And, vain as it was, she still felt culpable.
"It will heal," Coach said. "There's no reason to think he won't be training for the Olympics by the fall. It just wasn't that bad a break."
"Well, that's good news," Willow said.
"It is," Coach agreed. "Most definitely."
Twenty
Willow pulled her truck into the gas station and hopped out with her credit card. She began her transaction only to look up and see that the man filling up his pickup truck in front of her was Travis. She felt her face flush as she locked the nozzle in place. Travis had left her two messages inviting her out to dinner. And she had ignored both of them. She'd been feeling too overwhelmed to be social, especially with someone who might be attracted to her.
"Hi," he said mildly. "How are you doing, Willow?"
"Good, Trav," she smiled, hoping for a neutral topic of conversation to spring forth into her mind. "I'm doing well."
Now there was a big fat lie.
"I heard about your injured tenant," Travis chuckled.
"Did you?" Willow asked, hoping to sound impassive. She fiddled with her gloves so she wouldn't have to look him in the eye.
"Sure. The lifties always talk about him. What's it like having a world-renowned asshole living on your property?"
"It's fine, because I never see him," Willow dodged. And it was true.
"At least the rent checks won't bounce." Travis took the nozzle from his truck and hung it back up on the pump.
"Hey, Travis?" Willow asked.
"Yeah?"
"What did you mean that night when you said his family was crazy?"
"Ah," Travis said, folding his arms. "I don't think he's dangerous, exactly." Then his face split into a grin. "In spite of his name, right?" He slapped his leg. "Anyway, his mother was always lurching around town when we were growing up. She was kind of out of it all the time. And then his brother, too. They're just a family of drunks. It turns you into an asshole."
Willow's pump stopped, and she put the nozzle back in its holder. "I'm pretty sure I come from a family of drunks," she said, giving Travis a sideways glance. She capped her fuel tank. It was one of the only things she'd gleaned from her childhood file with the state. She knew almost nothing about her parents, except for the fact that alcoholism had been one of the causes of her removal from their home. "Does that make me an asshole?"