Baby's First Christmas. Marie Ferrarella
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going to have a mother to help him or her celebrate a first birthday.”
Marlene opened her mouth, then closed it again, reshuffling the words that were on the tip of her tongue. Nicole was only being concerned. And sometimes, it did feel good to have someone care if she ran herself into the ground.
“You’re right, I am doing too much. It’s just that—”
“You can’t let go.” Their father had always said that. Nicole’s mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but those aren’t original words.”
Marlene had been at the office since six, and she wasn’t in the mood to argue. “Stop hinting that I’m Father.”
“Who’s hinting? Aren’t you listening? I’m stating it outright.”
The baby kicked hard, hitting something that felt very vital. Marlene winced. “We’ll talk about this later, okay?”
Nicole merely nodded as she began walking toward the door. Almost there, she stopped and turned around. “Oh, and by the way…”
Her tone was far too nonchalant for Marlene to be fooled. Now they were getting down to it, she thought, crossing to where she stood. Now they were getting to the real reason that Nicole had come by.
“Yes?”
Nicole dug into her purse and produced an envelope. “This came yesterday.” She held it up to her sister. “I’m sure it was sent in error.”
Marlene didn’t have to look at the contents to know what her sister was talking about. She’d mailed the envelope herself the day before yesterday. It contained a single piece of paper. A check against Nicole’s trust fund.
Exasperation shimmied through her. Nicole could be so damn stubborn. Marlene made no move to take the envelope from her. “So that’s why you’re here?”
“That’s why I’m here.” Crossing to the desk, Nicole dropped the envelope on top of a folder.
Marlene struggled not to lose her temper. “Nic, grandmother’s money must be gone by now.”
Nicole shook her head. “Not yet,” she answered mildly. “There’s still some left.”
Nicole’s tone belied the feelings of frustration churning within her. She hadn’t wanted to wind up in these circumstances, pregnant and widowed, on the threshold of the rest of her life but caught in a holding pattern. But she would be damned if she was going to take handouts. She had always wanted to earn her own way, and she was going to do just that. Very soon.
“I stretched it,” she told Marlene. An ironic smile curved her soft mouth. “Some things I did pick up while living under James T. Bailey’s reign of terror.”
It felt right referring to her father by his given name, more so than calling him Father. He’d never been that to any of them. Only biology had made him a father, not love. Never love.
Nicole shrugged. “Being frugal comes in handy these days. And,” she added needlessly, “I do work at the art gallery.”
That wasn’t earning her anything and they both knew it. “A few days a week.”
Nicole remained unfazed by her sister’s sharp tone. “The holidays are here. I’m almost full-time. It all adds up.”
Marlene felt her temper sharpening. Lately, it took very little to set her off. “Why will you accept the art gallery owner’s money and not that?” She waved a hand at her desk to where the check lay. “It’s rightfully yours, you know.”
The money was part of a trust fund that had taken all of Marlene’s best negotiating skills to set up. Initially her father had staunchly refused to allow it. He’d wanted to cut Nicole off without a penny after she’d run off. But Marlene had finally convinced him, utilizing his vanity as a tool. How would it look, his cutting off his penniless daughter? He had always been concerned with what others thought of him. In that light, he’d thought of his children as extensions of himself. So he had agreed, and Nicole had benefited—if she would only accept the money.
“Answer to question one…” Nicole said, holding up a finger. “Because I work for Lawrence, and what I get from him is a paycheck, not charity. Answer to question two…” A second finger joined the first. “It’s rightfully mine when I’m thirty, not now. I can get by, Marlene. And I really don’t want his money.”
It always came back to that. The feud. “He’s dead, Nicole, can’t you forgive him?”
“No.” Nicole snapped, then relented. “Not yet.”
Marlene felt the clock ticking away the minutes between her and the pending meeting. Still, she couldn’t let this matter go just yet. “At least come live at the house.”
Nicole smiled at Marlene, but she remained adamant on that point as well, even though the invitation was extended to her almost weekly. “No way.”
For all intents and purposes, their parents were gone. Their father was dead and their mother had disappeared out of their lives years ago. There was no one in the house but her and Sally. Marlene’s voice lowered. She didn’t hear the trace of wistfulness in it. But Nicole did. “I’m not that bad company.”
Nicole didn’t want to hurt Marlene, but she couldn’t turn her back on what she felt was right, either. “You have nothing to do with it. Call it stubborn pride. Call it not wanting to encounter the ghost of our ‘beloved father,’ whispering, ‘I told you you’d come crawling back.”’
“Nic—” Marlene reached out to touch Nicole’s shoulder, but Nicole moved aside.
“Call it whatever you want,” she continued, “but I want to do this on my own—financially.” She tempered her voice and looked at her sister. “Just let me lean on you emotionally once in a while and I’ll be fine.”
Marlene smiled at Nicole. This was what she wanted, to have Nicole turn to her. If they did it in degrees, that didn’t change things. For now, they were all the family they had. Until the babies were born.
She shook her head at Nicole, her expression a fond one. “God, but you are stubborn.”
Nicole agreed readily. “Also learned at Ye Old Inn of Sadness. Besides,” she said, nodding at Marlene’s desk, “I wouldn’t throw any rocks if I were you.”
The buzzer sounded again like an angry goose that had been ignored. Nicole sighed.
“Try to enjoy yourself tonight, Marlene.” She patted Marlene’s arm as she slipped by her into the hall.
Marlene thought of the hours she would be on her feet and sighed inwardly. “I’ll do my best.”
Marlene slowly slipped on her black pumps.
She really didn’t want to go to this party. She felt tired and heavy tonight.
If she could, she would have just collapsed onto the bed and closed her eyes. But even as the idea suggested itself, she knew it was impossible. She had responsibilities. Clients to socialize with and new ones to garner.
She looked into the mirror, slowly running her hands along the outline of her stomach, trying to visualize the occupant housed within. The one who made her so tired all the time.
Never had eight months taken so long to drag by. Part of her couldn’t wait for the baby to be born, and part of her, the part that secretly feared the unknown, could hang on just a while longer until she was more prepared.
She sighed. It felt as if she had been pregnant forever.
Marlene focused on her reflection. Her hair was piled up high on her head, with tendrils curling along her neck. She knew she looked attractive, but that didn’t change things. She still didn’t feel like attending the party. The prospect of talking about nothing but business wearied her before the night had even begun.
Not