Three For The Road. Shannon Waverly
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Dear Reader,
I have to admit, I had an ideal research arrangement during the writing of this “Nine Months Later” story. My daughter was expecting her first baby, which allowed me to become intimately reacquainted with pregnancy and its many joys and woes.
One of those joys was a baby shower that I hosted, an affair my daughter really, really wanted. Not for the presents, she said. She merely wanted a get-together with friends and family to celebrate her pregnancy. She was especially looking forward to the stories women typically swap at showers, about morning sickness and bloated ankles, stretch marks and fifty-hour labors.
I didn’t fully understand until the day of the shower, when thirty women were gathered in my living room. And there in the middle of them was my daughter, enthusiastically swapping stories with the best of them. Entering the sisterhood of motherhood.
It’s difficult to explain my feelings at the time. I just know I was suddenly very glad I’d had the shower and given my daughter her moment.
For as joyous as pregnancy is, it can also be a frightening time. Ready or not, one’s life is about to change, drastically and forever. I can’t imagine going through it without a wide net of support—a loving husband, friends, family. Not only do they minimize the terror of impending motherhood, through their joy they expand one’s own joy, as well.
Writing Three for the Road gave me a new appreciation for the importance of support systems. My pregnant heroine has no one. Not only is Mary Elizabeth unmarried, she’s also leaving home, job and everyone she’s ever known. I found this a most distressing situation! The mother in me wanted to throw a shower for her, surround her with friends and family who’d assure her she was not alone. The writer in me gave her Pete. I hope you approve.
All the best,
Shannon Waverly
Three for the Road
Shannon Waverly
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHARLES DRUMMOND STARED at his daughter over his reading glasses. “How far along are you?”
Mary Elizabeth swallowed. “Nearly three months.”
“Nearly three months,” he echoed, his long patrician face set in distaste.
“I’m sorry,” she said on a broken whisper.
Removing his glasses and tossing them onto the desk, he got to his feet and began to pace. “How could you do this, Mary Elizabeth?” He didn’t raise his voice. A Drummond never did. “How could you bring such disgrace to this house?”
Above his meticulously groomed gray head hung a family portrait painted seventeen years earlier, one year after he’d been named president of the Deerfield Institution for Savings and two years before his wife’s death. The five Drummonds presented as perfect a family image as ever there was, even to the extent that the artist had inadvertently painted Mary Elizabeth’s eyes blue instead of brown, to match everyone else’s.
“But no one cares about such things anymore.” Mary Elizabeth spread her hands. “Times have changed.”
Charles stopped pacing. A muscle jumped in his cheek. “If you believe that, you’re more a fool than I thought.”
She flinched.
“People talk, Mary Elizabeth, especially about families like ours. And they never forget. Ten years from now, twenty, they’ll still remember you as the Drummond girl who got pregnant before she was married.”
This wasn’t the way she’d envisioned their conversation. She’d entered this library hoping they’d discuss her situation like two rational, enlightened adults. She hadn’t come looking for easy answers; all she’d wanted was his love and support during a difficult time. When would she ever learn?
Charles reseated himself in his leather chair with a long disgruntled sigh. “Have you set a date?”
“For what?”
“A wedding, of course. Have you and Roger set a date?”
Her breath stalled. “No. Roger doesn’t even know.”
“Well, what are you waiting for? Are you afraid he’ll refuse to marry you? He won’t. He’s an extraordinarily decent young man.”
“Father, we broke up seven weeks ago. It’s over between us.”
Charles breathed out a bitter laugh. “Apparently not.”
“But I don’t want to marry Roger. We don’t love each other.”
“You made your bed, Mary Elizabeth...or do you think you’re so extraordinary you should be excused from doing what’s morally right?”
“No, of course not, but I don’t see the point of raising a child in a loveless home.”
“You should be grateful to be so lucky. Roger has a good job and a secure future at the bank. He doesn’t have any vices that I can see...well, any other vices.” His hard blue eyes flicked briefly to her waist. “He comes from a pleasant family....”
But Mary Elizabeth was still shaking her head. “Marrying under these circumstances, he’d feel trapped. He’d resent me and the baby. I don’t want that.”
“What do you intend to do, then, have it out of wedlock?”
“I...yes, that’s an option.”
Charles shot her a crippling look. “Over my dead body.”
“But—”
“I don’t care if certain segments of