His Surprise Son (3 page)

Izzy glanced in the direction from which Nate had come. The heavily shingled roof of the Eagle’s Crest Inn peeked through a grove of pine trees. “How did you even see me from the inn? ” she asked.

“My room faces the street. And my desk faces the window. When I saw you crawl by, I thought, ‘Well, what do you know? Fate must want us to have a reunion, even if Izzy doesn’t.’” His gaze narrowed. “It’s been a long time. You must have a few minutes to spare for an old friend.”

There it was, the liquid velvet voice that used to make her feel as if she were wrapped in the most comfortable blanket ever created.

“I haven’t, actually. I’m due back at the deli.” Shoving the empty bottle into the saddlebag on her bike, she climbed back on and tried to tug sixty pounds of wrinkled canine to a standing position. “Let’s go, girl.” No movement.

“I think she needs a nap.”

What her pet needed was a couple thousand volts. “She’s fine. She loves to run. Let’s go, Latke.” Izzy put her right foot on the bike pedal, intending to pull the dog into a standing position if she had to. She jerked with surprise when Nate clamped his fingers around the handlebars.

He leaned forward, his shadow looming over her. Humor fled his expression, replaced by curiosity and displeasure. “If I didn’t know better, Isabelle, I’d say you plan to avoid me until I leave town. Why?”

“That’s not my intention at all. I’m just very busy right now. I’m sure we’ll find time before you go. When did you say you’re leaving?”

“I didn’t say.”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll run into each other again. And now I know where you’re staying, so...” She tried to back the bike up, but he was still holding her handlebars.

“So you’ll get in touch?” His voice grew quiet, penetrating. “I should expect a call? Like last time?”

“Last time.” Izzy’s stomach began to twist so hard she wanted to double over. “What do you mean?”

“When I went to Chicago, you and I agreed to talk once a week. Then suddenly you were gone, no forwarding address, no warning.”

Threads of anger wove through Izzy’s fear. “No warning? Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I should have told you all about my plans. Ten minutes once a week wasn’t a lot of time, though. I’d have to talk really fast.”

“I’m not following you.”

“You’re not? Every Sunday afternoon,” she reminded him, “from five to five ten Pacific Time? Nate Thayer’s obligatory check-in to the girl he’d knocked up back in Oregon. Very thoughtful, those calls, but you have to admit they didn’t leave a lot of time to talk about anything in depth.” Which, she had thought at the time, must have been the point.

Surprise hijacked Nate’s features, and Izzy took the opportunity to wrest the handlebars from his grip. He moved in front of the bike immediately. “That’s what you thought I was doing? Just fulfilling an obligation?”

“That
is
what you were doing. Look, Nate,” Izzy chided, “it’s ancient history, but let’s not rewrite it. When I got pregnant, you saw your college dreams flushing down the toilet. So, you and your parents came up with a solution—put the baby up for adoption and check in with the pregnant teenager once a week to make sure she’s still on board. Perfectly logical. Frankly, if I’d had a scholarship to a big university and parents who’d already picked out the frame for my diploma, I might have felt the same way.”

“You agreed that adoption seemed like the best solution.”

“I was seventeen, pregnant and dead broke. I wasn’t in a great position to argue.”

Nate’s brows swooped low. A muscle tensed in his jaw. “Are you saying you didn’t want to put the baby up for adoption?”

Her mind began to race like a machine that was out of control—couldn’t slow down, couldn’t stop.

“You agreed we were both too young to be good parents,” he said, glancing at a car that whizzed by. “I don’t want to discuss this on the street. Why don’t you come up—”

“I don’t want to discuss this at all.” She made a show of looking at her watch. “I have to go.” When she tried to push the bike forward, however, Nate held on.

A sharp burning sensation rose behind Izzy’s eyes.
Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry, not after all this time.
But she remembered one occasion—just the one—when Nate had stopped being logical and reasonable about how they were too young and too uneducated and not financially able to raise a baby properly. On that single occasion, before he’d left for college, his brow had hitched in the middle like it was right now, worry muddying the usually clear and confident expression in his eyes, and he’d said, “Do you think it’ll be a boy or a girl?”

In that one moment, they had felt like parents, not two kids who had made a colossal mistake.

She swallowed hard.

“You know what I remember, Nate? I remember what your mother and father said—that our relationship was ‘a lapse in good judgment.’ And that we’d be crazy to throw our futures away.” They had meant their son’s future, of course. There hadn’t been many people around at that time who’d held out much hope for her future. “We shouldn’t blame each other for anything. It might have been different if we’d loved each other, right? But we were just kids.” Her sad smile was the genuine article. “You’re lucky you had parents who were looking out for you.”

“Izzy—”

“I really do have to go now.”

Using the heel of her running shoe to flip the kickstand, Izzy climbed aboard her bike and pushed forward toward Latke, urging her to fall into step. Nate watched her every move but didn’t try to stop her this time as she checked for traffic and made a U-turn on Vista Road.

Traveling downhill, Izzy went as fast as she dared push her trotting dog, desperate to outrun worry and the tears that, finally, would not be denied. She swiped the back of her hand across her nose and used her palm to wipe her eyes. Determined to keep the details of her home life private when she was younger, she’d kept to herself in middle and high school, flying as far under the radar as possible and even earning the nickname “Loner Chick.” After a while, she’d been largely ignored, which had been fine by her. She’d never traded one word with Nate Thayer until the summer after he’d graduated.

What a tangled web she had woven when she, a girl from as far over the wrong side of the tracks as you could get, fell in love with the golden boy of Thunder Ridge. And got pregnant.

That hadn’t been her biggest sin, though. No, not by a long shot. Her biggest sin had been believing Nate loved her back, that he would change his mind about the baby and that they would live happily ever after. Her biggest sin had been telling herself the lie that when you loved hard enough, all your dreams would come true.

Chapter Three

F
or Izzy, “home” was the one-word description of the blood, sweat and tears she had put into constructing not just a building but a family. The deli had been her first real home, and she had happily painted its aged walls, twisted new washers onto leaking faucets and waxed its linoleum tiles until the memory of their former luster glinted through the wear and tear.

It was the same with the cottage in which she and Eli made their home. When she’d first laid eyes on the 860-square-foot space, her heart had sunk. The tiny house was all she’d been able to afford and even then she’d had to borrow the down payment (paid back in full) from her boss Henry, who by that time had become more of a surrogate father to her.

The prospect of owning her own home, a place she and her son could call theirs forever, had pushed her to overlook the dark wood walls, the ugly threadbare carpets and the cracked enamel in the ancient claw-foot tub, not to mention the spaces in the roof shingles through which she could actually see the sky. Izzy and Eli, who by then had turned seven, dubbed the little house Lambert Cottage, and she’d learned all she could about repairs and improvements.

Today their home was a sunny, whitewashed space with a scrubbed pine floor she’d discovered beneath the carpets, and pale pear-green furniture she’d reupholstered on her own. She made Thanksgiving dinners in her tiny kitchen and hosted birthday parties in a garden filled with azalea, honeysuckle and lydia broom. It was no longer possible to see sky through the roof, but there were times late at night as Izzy lay in bed saying her prayers that she gazed into the darkness above her head and was sure she could see heaven. Coming home never, ever failed to soothe and reassure her.

Except this afternoon.

Unleashing Latke, she set out a bowl of fresh water, chugged a tumbler of iced tea, rinsed her glass and set it upside down on the wooden drain rack, just as she would have done on any normal day. The difference was that today her hands shook the entire time, and she thought she might throw up.

Since she’d pedaled away from Nate, memories had been buffeting her so hard she felt like a tiny dinghy on a storm-ridden sea. Some of the memories were good. So good that yearning squeezed her heart like a sponge. Others were more bittersweet. But there was one memory that rose above the others, whipping up a giant wall of emotion that threatened to capsize her: the recollection of the day she’d accepted that the boy she loved was never going to love her back, not the same way, and that she’d rather be alone the rest of her life than beg for a love that wasn’t going to come...

Fifteen years earlier...

Nate ran his fingers through his hair—that famously thick black hair—then remained head down, elbows on knees, hands cradling his forehead. “Damn it.”

Izzy winced at the frustration in his tone, wondering if he was directing it at her, at the news she’d just given him or at both. Probably both. What hurt the most, she thought, was that the best summer of her life was now quite clearly the worst of his. “I’m sorry.”

What a stupid thing to say!
Plus, she’d whispered the words, which made the fact that she’d apologized even worse.

She was no wimp. But sitting next to Nate on a bench in Portland’s Washington Park, exhausted and freaking terrified, she figured that if
I’m sorry
was the best she could do, then so be it. Seventeen had felt so much older and more mature just a week ago. Tonight she felt like a little girl afraid of the dark and of the unknown.

“You’re positive?” Nate demanded. His voice, which had always made her think of soft, dark velvet, tonight sounded more like a rusty rake scraping cement.

Izzy nodded. She was “positive,” all right. She’d bought four early-pregnancy tests, which had sucked up three hours’ worth of income from her job waiting tables at The Pickle Jar deli. Every single test had turned up a thin pink line. She’d never liked pink.

“I’m pregnant,” she confirmed.
May as well get used to saying it out loud.

“How?” Raising his head, Nate looked at the evening skyline beyond the Rose Test Garden, where they sat, rather than at her.

How?
How
was obvious, right? They’d been having sex since May. Nearly four full months of his waiting for her when she got off work at the restaurant and then whisking her away in his old Toyota pickup. It could have been a limousine or a horse-drawn carriage—that was how lucky Izzy had felt to be driving into the night with Nate Thayer.

“I mean, we used protection,” Nate said now, trying to reason out her news. “Every time.”

Hardly the words of comfort—and solidarity—she’d been hoping for.

Suck it up, Izz. He’s shocked.

A year older and already graduated from high school, Nate had plans for his life...so did she...plans that did not include becoming a teenage parent.

“Not every time,” she countered.

“What?”

“Protection. We didn’t use it
every
time. Not on the Fourth of July.”

“The Fourth? Yes, we—” He stopped. And swore again.

Her heart, which for the past few months had felt as if it were unfolding like one of the roses in Washington Park, suddenly shriveled around the edges.

They’d made love in the bed of his truck nearly two months ago on Independence Day, atop a thick pile of sleeping bags. With most of the people in their hometown watching the fireworks down at the river, she and Nate had agreed to keep their romance as private as possible. Izzy hadn’t wanted to invite prying eyes or unwelcome comments. So on that Fourth of July, they’d driven to the resort where he’d worked over the summer. Parked near a small lake, with Santana cranked up on the radio, Nate had gazed down at her. The lights in the distance had illuminated his face—so beautiful, so serious. Wondering at his expression, she’d touched his cheek, and he’d whispered, almost as if he was surprised, “I feel better with you than I do anyplace else.”

Her love had exploded like the fireworks.

“Are you sure it’s mine?”

Sudden and sharp, the question plunged into Izzy’s chest with the force of a dagger. Her gaze fused with his and she saw the truth in his eyes, so obvious that she couldn’t catch her breath: he hoped another boy could be the baby’s father.

Suddenly, the scent of spent blooms from the end-of-summer roses became overwhelming. Running for the cover of the bushes, Izzy retched into the ground.

While her stomach surrendered its contents, her mother’s words from earlier this summer tumbled through her brain.

“Running off with that hottie? If you’re smart, you’ll get knocked up. Then maybe you can get him to take care of you.” Felicia had punctuated her advice by raising her beer can in a mock toast. “It never lasts, but it’s better than nothing.”

On her way out the door—yes, she
had
been going to meet Nate—Izzy had turned to give the woman who’d only sort of raised her a withering glare. “I would never do that. I’m not like you.”

Genuine laughter had erupted around the cigarette Felicia had put between her lips. “Oh, sweetie, you are exactly like me. The only difference is you think it’s classier to give it away for free.” As Izzy slammed the screen door, Felicia’s words tagged after her. “You’re going to wind up like me, too. Count on it.”

It took Izzy a while to realize that Nate was beside her, one hand smoothing her light brown curls from her face, the other supporting her shoulders as she bent over the ground.

“I don’t want your help.” With her forearm, she knocked his hand away. Nate reared back in surprise.

Of course he was surprised. Up to now, she’d never been anything but sweet and agreeable. She’d been so happy, so grateful to be with him.

“Hey!” He grabbed her arm when she attempted to rise on her own. “Stop. You’re going to make yourself sick again. Just relax a minute.”

“Relax?” Was he serious? “Good idea. Maybe I’ll sign up for prenatal yoga. I’m pretty sure Ridge High offers that senior year.”

Nate rubbed both hands down his face. “Okay, look, I was being an ass when I asked if it was mine. I’m sorry. I don’t... I don’t know how to do this, Izzy. No one has ever told me she was pregnant before.”

“Well, that makes two of us, because I’ve never said it before.”

He nodded. Then, ignoring her protest, he put his arm firmly around her waist and led her back to the bench. Finding a napkin in the picnic basket she’d packed for them, he wiped her brow. His touch and the fact that he insisted on helping her was sweet torture. She’d spent her whole life relying on herself, no longer daring to hope for one person she could lean into until she’d met Nate. When he collapsed against the bench, not making physical contact with her, she had to fight the urge to scoot closer.

He stretched his neck up, as if searching for an answer in the dark sky. “I’m supposed to leave for college in two weeks,” he said.

“I know.” He had told her from the beginning, and lately she’d hoped... Never mind what she’d hoped.

Don’t panic. Panicking won’t help.

“I’ve got to tell my parents.” He sounded as if he was about to tell them he’d found out he was dying.

“Maybe they’ll be supportive.”

Nate’s laugh told her otherwise. “Izzy, my father works twelve-hour days on a dairy farm and moonlights as a handyman so I can have a college fund. My mom taught piano and cleaned hotel rooms to pay for my after-school sports fees, because she thought it would help me get a scholarship. You think they’re going to enjoy hearing this?”

“Don’t yell at me, I didn’t get pregnant alone!”

“I know that!” His energy felt explosive as he rose from the bench. “I’m just saying this changes everything. Not only for us. For other people.”

“I can get a full-time job,” she said, hearing the desperation in her voice. “I can work while you go to school, so—”

“You can’t support three people.”

“You said you were going to work while you’re in college.”

He nodded. “I’ve got to help with tuition and books.” He shoved his fingers through his hair. “If I’m lucky, I’ll have enough left over for living expenses.”

“I can pay my own way. I have for years. I don’t expect you to—”

“Izzy! Who’s going to take care of the baby while you and I are in school and at work and studying? I’m going to college in Chicago. We’d be two thousand miles away from anyone we know. No,” he said when she opened her mouth to protest. On a giant exhalation, he plowed both hands through his hair, then moved as if he were slogging through thigh-deep sand to sit beside her.

An anchor of fear pulled at Izzy’s heart. Looking at the Portland skyline, she blinked as the city lights blurred.
No tears. Absolutely no tears.

They didn’t live in this sprawling city. Both she and Nate were from a Ridge community three and a half hours away. They’d come to Portland to soak up a view that was a taste of the bigger life awaiting them.

He was going to build skyscrapers.

She had planned to be the first person in her family to earn a high school diploma and go on to college.

Suddenly, Izzy felt as if nothing was holding her upright, as if she might slide off the bench. Stiffening her spine, she sat side by side with him—silently and with space between their bodies, which had not been their way this summer. The August evening felt hot and oppressive.

At the point where the silence was about to become unbearable, Nate spoke again. This time he sounded like someone who’d been running in the desert. “We’ll figure it out. I’ll talk to my parents. There’s got to be something... We’ll figure it out together.” Nate’s large palm and beautiful long fingers curved around the hands she clutched on her lap. Chancing a look at him, Izzy saw that he was staring at the ground.

The warmth that usually flooded her body when he touched her did not come.

Not once in four months had Nate actually said the words
I love you
. Izzy had counseled herself to be patient. Told herself she didn’t have to hear the words to believe he felt them.

She shook her head.
Stupid...stupid!
How could a girl like her possibly know what love looked like?

With the rose-colored glasses off, the truth became painfully clear. Now, even though she was right next to Nate, even though he’d said they would find a solution together, she felt the heart that had warmed and softened this summer turn as cold and hard as stone.

* * *

“So the waitress says to the man at the counter, ‘We have two soups today, sir, chicken with noodles and split pea—both delicious. Which would you like?’ And the customer says, ‘I’ll take the chicken.’ But, after the waitress calls in the order, the man changes his mind. ‘Miss,’ he asks, ‘is it too late to switch? I think I’d prefer the split pea.’ ‘Not at all,’ the waitress replies, and she turns around and hollers to the cook, ‘Hold the chicken, make it pee!’”

Henry Bernstein leaned back in the guest chair in The Pickle Jar’s tiny office and smiled the sweet, mischievous smile that usually warmed Izzy down to her toes. Henry had told her at least one new joke every week for the past seventeen years. At seventy-six years young, he liked to claim he knew more jokes than a professional comic.

“Where’d you hear that one?” Izzy tried to smile, but she wasn’t up to her usual hearty laughter.

“I spent a week with two hundred senior citizens.” Henry shrugged. “It’s a laugh a minute in those retirement homes. Lots of company, three meals a day and all the Bengay you want. Not a bad life.”

Henry and his younger brother, Sam, had just returned from visiting their friend Joe Rose, who lived at Twelve Oaks, a senior residence along the Willamette River. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, but I’m even gladder you’re back,” Izzy told him sincerely. “It’s never the same around here without you. And I hope you’re ready to get back to work, because I’ve been putting together some marketing ideas. I think I know how we can pump up business.”

Raising the elegant, elderly hands that had scooped pickles out of an oak barrel back in the day, Henry said, “In a minute, in a minute. First, tell me what’s so awful that you haven’t been sleeping.”