"That's another thing," she cried. "Why is it every girl from the south has two names? Why can't we call her Tammie without the Lee?"
"It's her name, Jacqueline."
"It's ridiculous."
Reese studied her as if he was really noticing her for the first time. "Why are you so angry?"
"Because I'm afraid of losing my son." Paul and her close relationship with him was the only consolation she had in a life that brought her little joy. Now she'd done something stupid and insulted her son.
"Call him back and apologize."
"I intend to," she said.
"You could order flowers for Tammie Lee."
"I will." But the gesture would be for Paul's sake, not his wife's.
"Why not go to the flower shop on Blossom Street."
Jacqueline nodded. "I plan to do something else, too." She prayed it would be enough. She hoped her son realized she was making an effort to accept his wife.
"What?"
"I saw a sign in the window of that new knitting shop. I'm going to register for a knitting class. The sign says the beginning project is a baby blanket."
Reese so rarely approved of anything she did that the warmth of his smile moved all the way through her.
"I might not like Tammie Lee, but I will be the best grandmother I can." Someone had to provide the appropriate influences for Paul's child. Otherwise her grandchild might grow up eating deep-fried pickles. Or going through life as Bubba Donovan...
CHAPTER 3
CAROL GIRARD
C arol Girard had never imagined that getting pregnant could be this difficult. Her mother obviously hadn't had any trouble; Carol and her brother, Rick, were born two years apart.
Before they were married, Doug and Carol had talked about having a family one day. Because of her high-powered job with a national brokerage firm, he wanted to be sure she was as interested in a family as he was. Doug had asked if she'd be willing to put aside her career for a few years in order to have children. The answer had been an unqualified yes. Babies were a given with her. She'd always pictured herself as a mother, always saw kids as an important part of her life. Doug would be a wonderful father and she was deeply, passionately, in love with her husband. She wanted to have his children.
Heating her lunch in the microwave, Carol glanced around the kitchen of her sixteenth-floor condo overlooking Puget Sound. She'd quit her job only a month ago and she already felt restless and impatient. She'd left the brokerage firm with the sole intention of allowing her body to relax, to unwind from the demands of her routine. Doug had convinced her that job-related stress was the reason she hadn't conceived, and her obstetrician conceded that it was possible. A barrage of humiliating tests for both her and Doug had revealed that in addition to her age, thirty-seven, she had to contend with something called ASA or antisperm antibodies.
The phone rang and she leapt on it, grabbing the hand-set before it had a chance to ring twice.
"Hello," she said cheerfully, eager to talk to anyone, even if it was a sales call.
"Hi, honey. I wondered if you were still at home."
A momentary panic attacked her. "Am I supposed to be somewhere?"
Doug chuckled. "I thought you said you were going for a walk this afternoon."
That was something recommended by one of the books they'd read. As a result, Carol had decided she should exercise more, and now that she was home during the day she had plenty of opportunity to spend time outside. This was all part of the program they'd discussed and agreed upon before she'd left her job.
"Right. I was just getting ready to head out." She eyed the microwave and turned her back on her waiting lunch.
"Carol? Are you okay?"
Her husband recognized her mood, her depression and anxiety. Doug had been right to suggest she quit work. They were both frightened, since there was a very real possibility that she might never carry a pregnancy full-term. It didn't help that they had one last shot with in vitro fertilization. The insurance company where Doug worked had its headquarters in Illinois, where state law mandated that company health coverage could pay for three attempts; their first two had failed. IVF was the very end of the technological line, the ultimate procedure the fertility clinic had to offer in the quest for a biological child. July would be their last attempt, and after that they were