Jacqueline Diamond – His Baby Dream (страница 7)

Stacy continued doing research. “Listen to this! Puce is a French word that refers to the color of bedbug droppings.”

Together, they said, “Eww!”

“I’m sure the bedbugs have been out of the picture for hundreds of years,” Stacy said.

“Do you suppose that’s why Ellie hates the color?” Harper asked. “Or does she loathe anything purplish, reddish or violetish in general?”

“Violetish? Never mind.” Stacy pressed a number. A moment later, she said, “Ellie? What color is puce?”

Over the phone, which was on speaker mode, came, “It’s yellow-green.”

Stacy and Harper laughed.

“What?” squawked Ellie’s voice.

“I’ll tell you later,” Stacy promised. “What do you think of this dress?” She held up the phone so her sister could see. Harper twirled like a model.

“Ooh, cute!” said Ellie.

“You like the color?”

“You bet!”

They agreed to have one sent to her in her size. With Ellie’s and her mom’s needlework skills, they could tailor it as needed.

Stacy hung up. “I can’t believe we agreed on the bridesmaid’s dress and my colors. Purple and blue. How cool!”

“You still haven’t found a gown,” Harper warned.

Stacy indicated the remaining dresses. “If I don’t find one today, it won’t be the end of the world. We’ve got months and months.”

That turned out to be a good thing. None of the gowns caught the bride’s fancy.

Only later, after they’d purchased the bridesmaid gowns and Harper had been measured for alterations, did Stacy’s words come back to her. I felt as if the bottom had dropped out.

Before volunteering, she’d searched the web for comments by egg donors. Some did have regrets, but most reported immense satisfaction.

As she drove to Adrienne’s house to collect Mia, Harper reminded herself that she had a strong sense of who she was and what she wanted from life. Plus, unlike Stacy, she already had a child.

Whom she suddenly couldn’t wait to hug.

* * *

ALL WEEK, PETER NOTICED whenever Harper arrived to drop off or collect her daughter at sports camp. Mostly, he gave her a friendly nod from a distance, despite the temptation to walk over and chat. He was here to work, and she had tasks to accomplish, as well.

The Fourth of July holiday fell midweek. Usually, he joined his parents for a barbecue, but this year they’d flown to Maryland to see his sister and meet Betty’s new fiancé. Peter nearly asked Harper about her plans, except that would imply he wanted to be included. Instead, he volunteered to supervise a group of underprivileged children at an Independence Day festival.

On Friday, Peter missed seeing Harper. She must have been there, because Mia arrived and departed, but he got tied up with administrative matters. Thank goodness he had arranged to see her tomorrow.

Thank goodness? Peter’s thoughts must have a mind of their own. He missed Angela too much to get involved with anyone else.

The memory of his wife reminded him that he’d been neglecting her rose garden. As a result, he spent Saturday morning deadheading flowers, fertilizing and spraying for black spot.

Although he planned to tramp around Harper’s yard, he showered and changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a crisp, short-sleeved shirt. For good measure, he added a splash of aftershave lotion.

The address she’d provided was located a couple of miles across town, in a neighborhood of trim, one-story homes. He liked the clean lines of her house, while the bright flowers around the front steps welcomed him.

When the bell rang, footsteps pattered inside the house. Mia opened the door, her face shining with eagerness. “Mr. Gladstone!” She stepped back, tightening her grip on a black-and-white kitten, which responded by swiping her cheek with a closed paw. “This is Po.”

“As in Kung Fu Panda?” he asked as he entered. The delicious scent of baking filled the air. Not just baking—chocolate.

“Yeah!” She shifted her grip on the wiggly animal. “Want to hold him?”

“Cats don’t usually let strangers hold them,” he observed.

“Okay.” Swinging around, Mia bellowed, “Mom!” in a voice far too big for such a tiny sprite.

“I’ll be right there,” came the cheerful response. “I’m taking the brownies out of the oven.”

He waited with Mia in the living room, which was solidly furnished with a dark brown sofa and a large entertainment center. Angela had relegated their TV to Peter’s study, lining the front room with glass-front cabinets displaying decorative figurines and plates. Being surrounded by so much fragility made Peter feel as if he had to watch his step, but every couple compromised. He’d venture to guess that the large-screen TV had been more Sean’s idea than Harper’s.

She appeared with her short chestnut hair rumpled and her cheeks flushed from the heat of the oven. “Hey, Peter. Right on time. I appreciate this.”

“Glad to help.” He produced a pair of disposable cameras. “I had these left over from a science class and figured the guests could use them.”

“Great idea!” Harper set them on the coffee table. “I suggested on the invitation that the kids bring cameras, but not everyone will. Now, while the brownies are cooling, let me show you the yard.”

They cut through a large, modern kitchen and out via sliding glass doors to the patio. There, a slatted cover shaded a table, chairs and a glider. Beyond spread a lawn rimmed by bushes.

Mia released the kitten, which prowled across the lawn. The little girl followed, keeping a close eye on her baby.

“My brain’s working overtime on decorations and stuff,” Harper said. “I’m just not sure how to handle the bug hunt.”

Peter made a circuit of the yard, checking for spiderwebs, anthills and other signs of creepy-crawlies. Afternoon wasn’t the best time to look, since insects were more active in the mornings and evenings, but this was when the kids would be hunting.

As he pointed out activity, Harper took notes. “I have to fight my instinct to knock down that web,” she said when they spotted a large one stretching from the rear fence to a nearby bush.

“It’s huge!” Mia glanced protectively at Po, as if the kitten might wind up in the arachnid’s snare.

This was the kind of teachable moment Peter relished. “That’s an orb weaver web,” he said. “I doubt it will be there tomorrow, let alone next week, but there might be a new one. Orb weavers consume their webs late in the day, rest for an hour or so and then spin a new one in the same area. You can see there isn’t much detritus—old stuff like leaves stuck in it.”

As Harper and her daughter peered intently at the web, Peter noted their resemblance, from their sturdy stance—legs apart, as if braced to run from a ferocious spider—to the mixture of fascination and revulsion in their green eyes. Would he see the same reactions in his own future child?

Peter tore his attention away to concentrate on Mia’s next question, which was, “Are they poisonous?”

“Orb weavers do have venom,” he confirmed. “That’s how they paralyze their prey. But they don’t often bite people, and the venom isn’t nearly as strong as a black widow’s.”

“All the same, I can’t put the children at risk,” Harper said.

“It’s no greater a risk than getting dehydrated in the heat or being bonked by a soccer ball.” Growing up intrigued by such critters, Peter had never worried about the danger. “You’re lucky I’m not your kid. I used to freak out my mother by bringing home snakes.”

“Ick! Ick!” Mia jumped around as if a real snake had appeared.

“Nonpoisonous ones.” Peter chuckled at her antics. “But for the party, you should advise the kids not to touch anything.”

“Like we would!” the little girl cried.

“Most bugs are harmless,” he advised.

“Ick!” That seemed to be her favorite word.

“You wouldn’t mind if a butterfly landed on you, would you?” When she shook her head, Peter went on. “Some creatures just need better public relations. However, I agree about not touching spiders. There are dangerous varieties in Southern California gardens and sheds, like black widows and brown recluses. You should never turn over rocks or poke around a garage without heavy gloves.”

“What if an orb weaver did bite you?” Harper clearly hadn’t lost track of their subject.

“You might experience localized pain.” Such facts stuck in Peter’s brain because he found biology fascinating. “You’d feel some numbness and swelling, possibly a blister. If there’s nausea or dizziness, you should go to the emergency room, but usually the symptoms pass within twenty-four hours.”

“Gee, that’s reassuring,” Harper drawled, and shut her notebook. “Mia, you can help me tell the other kids what Mr. Gladstone said, but don’t scare them unnecessarily.”

“Can I scare them necessarily?” she asked.

“Arm them with the facts,” Peter suggested. “That’s what teaching is about. Giving people knowledge so they can draw rational conclusions.”

As the three of them returned to the house, Harper said, “So—just for the sake of argument—you don’t think it’s your role to shape young minds? I heard a school board member say that was the purpose of education.”

“Only to shape their minds in terms of being logical and informed,” Peter told her. “Okay, I guess my moral values get involved, too, but I would never usurp the role of a parent. I’d hate if someone tried to indoctrinate my child in a way I disagreed with.” He amended, “If I had a child.”