Fudgeballs And Other Sweets (12 page)

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Authors: Lori Copeland

BOOK: Fudgeballs And Other Sweets
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Those tests. She had to buy one of those home pregnancy tests. But everyone on the island would know what she was doing if she marched into the pharmacy and bought one.
She stood, stepped to the sink, splashed water on her face and headed to the kitchen, where she made a cup of tea to calm herself. She had to think rationally. Give it another day or two. She'd had late periods before—not often, but once or twice in her teens. Five days late once, and she'd been a virgin. There was absolutely nothing to be concerned about. It was a false alarm. With the expansion plans and the extra work at the store, it was a stress reaction.
Relax,
she told herself.
Tomorrow you'll laugh about it
.
 
THE TEENAGE CLERK glanced up as Jenny took her purchase to the counter. She'd been lurking between the pharmacy and cosmetic aisles for over thirty minutes. When the last customer left the store, she hurried to the counter with her easy one-step pregnancy test. She set the test down, then stacked an
Enquirer
and a couple of packs of gum on top of it. She mentally groaned when she saw that the clerk was the daughter of a friend, but she couldn't wait another minute. She had to know.
“Hi, ya, Miss McNeill.” The girl shoved the magazine and gum aside, then picked up the test box and read it.
Jenny felt heat creeping up her neck and was sure she was turning a bright shade of red. “The, uh, price is on—”
“Mrs. Luttrell!” the teenager called out. “How much is the One Step Clear Blue home pregnancy test? It's not marked!”
“It's not?”
“No!”
“I'll look!”
Jenny prayed for a tidal wave to swamp the island.
“On special. Sixteen ninety-eight.”
“Thanks!” The clerk turned to Jenny. “On special. It's your lucky day.”
Oh, yes
,
real lucky
. She had all those fudgeballs to make and package, and she was sick as a dog and humiliated to the core.
The girl rang up the test, the magazine and the gum. “Anything else?”
“No, thank you.” She paid, then got out of there.
Pedaling home, she wondered how long it would take for the news to spread. Two hours, max, she was betting.
 
“YOU BOUGHT a pregnancy test?”
Jenny checked her watch. Forty-three and a half minutes. The gossips were upping productivity. Leaning against the door frame, she crossed her arms. “Don't you think that's a little personal?”
Dave sobered. “I think if you're pregnant, it involves me.”
Their gazes locked.
“You don't know that.”
“I'd bet the new kite line on it.”
“Are you implying that I'm trying to trap you into marriage?”
Irritation tinged his face. “Come on, Jenny. This is the nineties. Trap me?”
“Well, don't worry, I'm not going to corner you. I'm a few days late. I think it's stress, but I want to be sure.”
“Look, Jenny—”
She pushed away from the door. “No,
you
look. If there's anything to tell, I'll let you know.” She shut the door and leaned against it for support. How dare he confront her about something so personal? How dare he assume that he—That she—How
dare
he! Who'd told
him,
of all people that she'd bought a pregnancy kit?
Had his first reaction been anger or concern?
Sinking to the floor, she buried her face in her hands. How had her life become so darn complicated?
 
PACING IN THE BATHROOM, Jenny checked her watch for the fourth time. Thirty seconds had passed since the last time she checked. Impatient, she grabbed the box that had held the pregnancy test and reread the instructions.
“Easy one step. Use any time of day. Over ninety-nine percent accurate. Results in three minutes.” She looked at her watch again, tapped it, put it to her ear, heard nothing and sat on the toilet seat, exasperated. Of course, she would hear nothing—it was battery operated. She tossed the empty box in the trash and checked the time again. “Two minutes. One to go.”
She felt foolish talking to herself, but it was either that or go nuts. Too late. She was already nuts, certifiably crazy. Crazy for her life to hinge on a slender stick, crazy for straining to see one line for negative or two for positive.
“One, two, buckle my shoe—come on, come on. Bingo!”
One line. Her eyes strained to make sure. Definitely only one line.
Running from the confined quarters to the living room. she shouted, “Hallelujah!” .
She dropped to the sofa and drew her knees up. Negative. Sudden tears pricked her eyes. She swiped at them, confused. Surely she didn't want to be pregnant, did she? Or did she? She stretched out flat on her back and ran her hands over her smooth stomach. Sadness engulfed her.
Dave would be relieved. At least he'd know she wasn't trying to trap him into marriage. He hadn't actually said that, but he'd had a look on his face like a deer caught in headlights. She rubbed her stomach again. Why wasn't she happy? She turned on her side and curled up in a fetal position.
Hating herself for thinking it, she pictured herself married to Dave, babies and puppies running through the house. Crazy. She was really bonkers. She was even starting to like Jake, dam it.
She rolled off the sofa, walked into the kitchen, picked up the phone and dialed. “Dave? It's me. I just wanted you to know ... it's a false alarm....Yes, positive—no, no, the test is negative. I'm positive the test is negative....Well, it would have complicated things.” Was that wistfulness she heard in his voice, echoed in hers? It couldn't be. She wasn't emotionally ready for all that a pregnancy would entail. Even if Dave agreed that matrimony would be the proper course, she wouldn't marry him. Would she?
Reluctantly she dressed for work, feeling empty and alone for the first time in her life. Even the expansion and her booming business lacked luster today, but she had to move forward. There were all those fudgeballs that had to reach the White House tomorrow by air express. At best. she would be working late into the night.
She worked fast and furiously the rest of the day, but it was still an hour past closing time before the Closed sign was pulled into place, and she still had three more batches of fudgeballs to cool and wrap.
“I'd be glad to stay,” Mrs. Wilcox offered, “but the mister gets testy when I'm not there to fix his supper. I could come back....”
“No, I'll finish up. Here.” She handed the older lady a box of misshapen fudgeballs. “Take these to Mr. Wilcox.”
“Oh, he'll love it!” The woman beamed and sampled a couple.
“Have a nice evening, Mrs. Wilcox. I'll see you in the morning.”
Jenny locked the door, then turned to look at the copper kettle. She was beginning to hate that thing.
Hours later, her aching back told her it was late—later than she realized. She moaned when she glanced at the clock and saw it was two in the morning. Leaving the last batch to cool, she walked to the front window and glanced out. The full moon bathed the deserted streets in mellow light. She rubbed her tight shoulders. A Kasada backrub would feel good about now. A Kasada anything would feel good.
Light filtered from the kite shop onto the front walk, and she wondered what was going on. Of course, he was packing. She stepped out the door, leaving it ajar for fresh air. She smiled at the poodle sleeping soundly on her cushion. She was reluctant to leave her out so late, but Princess couldn't stay in the store.
She cupped her hands to her eyes and peeked into the kite shop window. Dave was behind the counter, bent over his workbench, Jake at his feet
When she opened the door and stepped inside, Jake flew past her. “I'm sorry. Jake?”
“He won't go anywhere, and I hope Dogcatcher Harris is sleeping right now.”
She laughed and walked closer. “You have a big order for the White House, too?”
He chuckled softly. “I haven't heard from Clinton in—oh, days. Obviously, he doesn't like kites as well as he likes fudge.”
Leaning on the counter, she propped her chin on her hands and stared at him. There wasn't a sign of a packed box or crate around. Men. “What are you doing here so late?”
He kept his eyes on the kite he was stringing. “Couldn't sleep. I'm worried about Megan.”
His eyes looked more than tired. They looked incredibly sad. Was he worried about more than his daughter? “Dave, I should have stopped by earlier. You must have been concerned when you heard about the pregnancy test.”
“Oh, that. No, I wasn't concerned. Just surprised.”
Yes, he
was
surprised, she remembered. “Well, you can rest. I told you over the phone, I'm not pregnant.”
His gaze rose to meet hers, his brows knitted.
Her laugh came out a nervous twitter. “You act as if you're disappointed. I thought you'd be happy—ecstatically so.”
Turning to his kite, he shook his head, “Don't be silly. Of course, I'm happy. Aren't you happy?”
“Sure, same as you. A baby would complicate my life right now.”
“Yeah, they can do that.”
She averted her head as tears sprang to her eyes. What was wrong with her? Twice today, she'd had to stop and have a good cry. She should be immensely relieved. Instead she felt disappointed and empty. This morning her period had started. Had she waited another day, she wouldn't have had to take the pregnancy test. All it did was spread gossip about her around town and alarm Dave unnecessarily.
She sniffed into a tissue. “I have to go—have to finish up the White House order.” As she turned to leave, he reached out and took her by the shoulder.
“Is something wrong?”
“Wrong? No, what could be wrong?” She sniffed again, and he turned her to face him. His features softened, and his gaze caressed her. She wanted to dissolve into his arms and sob her heart out. “I—I'm sorry—I've been an emotional wreck all day.”
He tipped her chin with the crook of his finger. “Anything I can do to help?”
She shook her head. “No. I don't have anything to cry about. I guess I'm just tired.”
He stepped away, and she felt suddenly abandoned. “You work too hard.”
“Is there any other way to work?”
He laughed and picked up the kite he was working on. “What do you think? It's my new design.”
She studied it, blew her nose, then said, “It's great. What are you calling it?”
“Sky Walker.”
She nodded, then hung her head. “Oh, Dave, I'm sorry. Lately, I've been so...so—I can't even explain.”
He put the kite down and returned to her side, draping his arm around her shoulder. “You know what? I think we miss Dory. I know I do.”
She leaned into him. He smelled like Irish Spring soap. “I can still hear her squeals when she would see me in the morning—”
“And that silly little giggle when I'd tickle her belly.”
Just thinking about it made Jenny smile. “I hope she's all right. I thought Rob would write.” Her merriment trickled to a smile, then sadness overtook her. Her hand slid to her stomach. No baby. “I have to get back to work.” She pulled away and walked toward the door.
“Yeah, I think I'll call it a night—or morning, or whatever.”
He disappeared into the back room, and she let herself out. Thirty more minutes and she could drop into bed, exhausted.
She let out a scream as she walked into the store and saw Jake and Princess standing in the middle of the table of cooling fudgeballs, knocking them on to the floor, clearly in the midst of a fun new game. Her gaze flew to a nearby chair that was tipped over. Likely they'd used it to reach the table.
Furious, she grabbed Princess and without thinking paddled her behind. “You have never misbehaved in your life! What's gotten into you?” Whirling on Jake, she yelled, “You! Get off this table!” She smacked him with a flyswatter. “You're teaching Princess bad habits—you've ruined the President's balls!”
She couldn't believe she said that.
“Fudgeballs!” she amended, screeching.
The dogs flew to the back room, yelping.
She could hear Dave whistling for his dog. “Here, Jake.” Whistle, whistle. “Where are you, boy?”
Boy?
She fumed.
Boy
had just demolished the White House fudge! It would take another six hours to cook, cool and pack twenty-six dozen.

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