The Inn At Seagrove - Rachel Hanna Page 0,29

she will cause trouble one way or the other, and waiting to figure out how she's going to do it is like sitting on a grenade waiting for it to explode."

“Okay, I didn't need that visual."

Julie finally laughed. "Please just promise me you'll protect yourself. I'm going to encourage her to find another place to live as soon as possible, but I hope you won't let her get in your head. She's very good at that."

"I promise. I'll be on guard."

“I mean, maybe it would be better if I had her come sleep on my sofa."

Dawson reached across the table and took her hands. "You have enough on your plate. I'm a grown man, and I can handle your mother. And who knows, one day she might be my mother-in-law."

Julie stared at him, her eyes wide. That was the first time she’d heard him mention anything about ever getting married, and honestly she hadn't thought about it much herself. Her marriage to Michael had been quite enough for one lifetime, but maybe Dawson was thinking differently than she was.

“What?"

“Okay, so by that deer in the headlights look, I'm going to take it that you’re not ready to talk about marriage. Let's just forget I said that, put it in a box and move on."

She smiled. "I think my brain is just a little overloaded right now."

He stood up and pulled her up with him, bringing her into a tight hug. "We will get through this together. Maybe your mother being here is going to be some kind of blessing in disguise."

“You're so cute. And so, so naïve."

Chapter Eight

Meg sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair and waited for the meeting to start. The counselor seemed nice enough. She was probably around her mother’s age, so not overly easy for her to relate to personally, but she said she had six children and went through postpartum depression with four of them. The thought alone made Meg never want to have another child again.

Postpartum depression was no joke.

There were days when she felt like she was just about to pop her head out from under the dark swamp waters she was in, but then she’d get pulled right back down again. The doctor had adjusted her hormones last week, and at first it seemed to help a little. But, then she found herself crying in the bathtub for over an hour while Christian rocked Vivi to sleep one night.

Five other women milled into the room and found seats, no one really looking at each other yet. PPD really didn’t make women overly social. They were probably just like her, doing the best they could to just stay upright.

“Welcome to the Thursday morning PPD support meeting. I’m your host and head counselor, Tammy Akins. I’m a lifelong resident of the Charleston area, and the mother of six crazy kids, ages ranging anywhere from four to fourteen…”

“Dear God in heaven. Who has that many kids nowadays?” the woman beside her whispered. Meg couldn’t help but giggle, causing Tammy to look at her for a moment before continuing her welcome message.

“Before we get started, why don’t we go around and introduce ourselves. Tell us about your baby, your family situation and how you’re struggling…”

“God, I hate introducing myself,” the woman whispered. Meg looked at her and nodded.

“Me too.”

“Why don’t we start with you, ma’am,” Tammy said, pointing at Meg.

“Me?”

“Yes, hon, you.”

Ugh. “Well, my name is Meg. I’m twenty years old, boyfriend, three month old baby girl named Vivi.”

“And how’re you struggling, hon?”

Meg took in a deep breath and blew it out. “A lot of crying, depression, no motivation. And sometimes I don’t feel… connected… to my baby. Or my boyfriend.”

“That must be hard,” Tammy said.

“Duh,” the woman beside her whispered.

“Pardon?” Tammy said to the woman beside Meg.

“Oh, nothing,” she said, faking a smile and waving her hand. Meg really liked this chick, whoever she was.

“Have you talked to your doctor?”

“Yes. She has me on some hormone stuff, but I don’t think it’s working. Next stop is medication.”

Tammy nodded and smiled. “Well, there’s no shame in taking medication if you need it. Now, let’s move to you.” She pointed at the woman beside Meg.

The woman sighed, like she was being put out to be there in the first place. “Okay, well, I’m Darcy. Twenty-three years old. Married. Four month old baby boy named Hatcher.”

“And your struggles?”

“Well, my main struggle seems to be judgmental people who think there’s something wrong with a woman having emotions after the birth