And Babies Make Five / At Long Last, a Bride: And Babies Make Five

Her brow furrowed. “No, I haven’t forgotten. But how did you know?”

“Because everyone else has already carried their garbage to the curb. I was just about to drag mine out and thought I’d offer to take yours, too.”

“Oh,” she said, her voice a gentle wisp. “You mean, it’s trash day.”

“What did you think I was talking about?”

“It’s.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, today was my mom’s birthday.”

Oh, crap. No wonder she seemed so down. “I’m sorry, Samantha. I guess this is going to be a tough day for you.”

“I don’t want it to be, so I’m going to drive out to the cemetery for a while this morning.” She gave a little shrug and went on to explain. “It seems like the right thing to do. Then I’m going to go shopping. I’d like to buy some wallpaper for the nursery, which will give me something else to think about for the rest of the day.”

In spite of his resolve to distance himself, he just couldn’t do it. Not today. Not when she would be thinking about her mother and realizing how alone she was. But her plan to focus on the baby, on the future, was a good one. In fact, he suspected that had been her reason for getting pregnant in the first place. She probably wanted to re-create a family for herself.

“My sister chose a jungle theme for her nursery,” he said, wanting to keep her mind on the baby instead of her mom. “You ought to see it. She and Chad had a lot of fun setting up everything.”

Great, he thought. He’d just tossed out a reminder that she didn’t have a husband, either.

“I’ll bet it’s really cute. I’m not sure what kind of theme I’d like. I’ve still got a lot of time to decide.”

He couldn’t help glancing at her belly, noting the size of the mound. She seemed to be even bigger today than she had been last night, although that was probably only a result of the clothing she’d chosen to wear. But still, he doubted that she had as much time to prepare for the baby as she thought she did—probably only a couple of months or so.

“If I find some prints that I like, I’ll probably bring them home and think about it. Maybe you can help me decide which one to use.”

Picking out baby stuff was the last thing he wanted to do, but under the circumstances, how could he tell her no? “Sure, I’ll do that. It sounds like fun.”

Fun? How lame was that comment? Hector wasn’t into shopping, unless it was at Home Depot. He could hang out there all day. But looking for wallpaper with baby ducks and chickens? It would be pure torture.

“You could go with me,” she said, “if you want.”

Shopping? No way. He could still remember the time Patrice had dragged him to the mall to look for living-room furniture. It had been a pain in the butt, and they’d had a big fight that had landed him on the sofa for two nights.

He forced a smile. “I would, but it’s a work day.”

“Oh, yeah.” She smiled wistfully. “I forgot.”

Probably because her late husband was so wealthy he hadn’t needed to work. It was a good reminder of the different lives they lived, the little they had in common.

“Just let me know when you’re ready to show me some samples,” he said. “I’ll be home after five tonight.”

She nodded and offered him a smile that made him feel like some kind of hero, when he felt like everything but.

So he nodded toward the road. “If you’ll open your garage, I’ll carry your trash to the curb.”

“Thanks. I’ll do that now.”

Samantha went back into the house, and before long, the garage-door opener sounded. Moments later, she was showing him where she kept the recycle bins.

“The trash cans are on the side of the house,” she said. “But there’s just one, and it’s only half-full.”

He noticed a large number of boxes that had been lined along the east wall of the garage. Each was marked Salvation Army. “I see you’re recycling clothes and things, too.”

“Those were Peter’s. I decided it was time to get rid of them. I’d like to see someone else get some use out of them.”

The guy had always been impeccably dressed, so someone looking for secondhand clothing was going to get a heck of a bargain.

Still, he was happy to see she’d cleaned out the closets. That had to be a sign that she’d moved on.

Or maybe she was only trying to get over her husband and start anew. Maybe moving on was more of an effort than a reality.

He stole another glance at Samantha, saw her willowy shape, as well as a whisper of sadness in her eyes. Again he was struck by her beauty and the waiflike aura that seemed to envelop her, and something tugged at his heartstrings. She was expecting a baby and didn’t have the support of either a husband or a mother, like Yolanda had.

So he would do whatever he could to make things easier for her, especially until the baby was born. At that point, her life would be full of wonder and awe, rather than grief and loneliness. Then he would back off.

“Well,” he said, “I really ought to get moving. I’ve got a meeting first thing.”

“Thanks for all your help, Hector. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem.” He carried her trash and recyclables to the curb, then returned home and got ready to head to the office.

Life was short and unpredictable, he supposed. People divorced, spouses died and loved ones struggled to carry on.

Maybe Yolanda had been right. Maybe he needed to find a nice woman and settle down. But he had no idea where to look—or when he’d find time to do so.

A car engine started up, and Samantha backed her Jag out of the garage and into the street. Then she hit the remote to lower the door.

As she spotted Hector, she waved, and he gave her a nod.

No doubt she was a nice woman. And if a man got involved with her, he’d certainly have to settle down. After all, he’d soon have a little one underfoot.

But taking on a ready-made family?

Hector wasn’t up for the task, especially when it meant raising another man’s baby.

Samantha had decided to get the visit to her mother out of the way early, since she’d be thinking about it all day if she didn’t.

So after Hector came by and offered to take out her trash, she’d driven twenty-three miles to Hastings, where her mother had been born. Then she continued on to the little cemetery on the outskirts of town.

She parked and purchased a bouquet of pink roses from a vendor who sold flowers and pinwheels for people to place on grave sites. Then she made the short walk to the grassy knoll where her mother had been buried. Once she reached the familiar marble stone, with its carved cherubs, she took a seat on the lawn, which was still damp from the morning dew. There weren’t many people out and about yet—just two women bearing a container of red carnations and a lone man in front of a double-size headstone, a baseball cap in his hands and his head bowed.

Birds chattered in the treetops, and a family of ducks swam in the nearby pond, reminding Samantha that life went on.

She sat in pensive solitude for a while, basking in the loving memories she had of her mother.

She remembered the day they’d spent at the seashore when she was fourteen. The picnic lunch they’d eaten, their romp in the waves, the sandcastle they’d made. The chat they’d had about Samantha remaining a virgin until the right man came along, a man who would treat her with love and respect.

Several years later, while in her first year of college, she’d found that man in Peter Keating, a graduate student. He’d fallen for her quickly—and hard. With time and patience, he’d eventually convinced her that they were meant to be together.