to voice mail, the technology most adored by chickens.
Of course David’s appearance shouldn’t and wouldn’t change a thing as far as Clay, but it was a wrinkle she didn’t know how to smooth out yet.
Clay would think she’d made up an excuse. But she certainly couldn’t slip out on a “date” tonight to watch Casablanca at his apartment. Instead, she listened to his message, enjoying the tenor of his voice as he promised to call later if he didn’t hear from her. Maybe she’d answer that call, but she wasn’t seeing him tonight.
With a sigh she opened the pantry, stared at the pathetic baking shelf. Mother hated to bake, but there was probably enough to—
I think that’s when I knew I loved you.
She slammed the door closed, biting her lip as if that could stop the sting behind her eyes that had started when Ashley first called him Dad.
Had he forgotten? Had he blocked out that conversation in Gainesville, the day he’d told her a child “doesn’t fit my lifestyle”? Well, at that age it hadn’t fit her lifestyle, either. And she’d had to deal with her parents. Her mother. The face of disapproval.
Not that she’d been mad that Lacey had gotten pregnant. Oh, no. What upset Marie Armstrong was that Lacey didn’t have what it took to get David to marry her.
She abandoned the pantry and the kitchen altogether to change the sheets on the guest bed. Passing the den, she glanced at the bookcase, her gaze drawn to photo albums that filled one shelf. There, in the middle, stood an album neatly labeled 1996–1997.
Kind of a wonder Mother didn’t call that the Year of David.
She pulled out the album and tucked it under her arm, heading to the backyard to curl up in what had become her favorite getaway lately, the hammock her dad had hung between two queen palms.
Cocooning into the canvas, she opened the photo album and started turning the thick, plastic-covered pages, stepping back in time to the red brick buildings and moss-covered oak trees of the University of Florida. Those were happy days in Gainesville, especially the year she RA’d at Tolbert—and had met David.
She’d finally settled on a hospitality major after trying and quitting at least three others. So even though that decision was going to cost her an extra year, she was certain she’d found something to see through to completion. And, of course, she’d made great friends on the fourth floor.
She paused on a picture of the dorm on Halloween night, smiling at Zoe channeling her inner Posh Spice. And Tessa dressed to climb Mount Everest. Jocelyn hadn’t gotten into costume that night, but even if she had it wouldn’t have hidden the sadness around her eyes that remained there almost the whole year.
And there was Lacey, beaming behind her girls, and bone skinny, damn it. She went as Little Red Riding Hood in a scarlet leotard and boots. The Big Bad Wolf showed up just a few weeks later when she’d gone to hear a guest lecturer speak for her Asian Cultures class, a world traveler doing a slide show on his near-death experience hiking Mount Huashan.
To this day, she couldn’t remember a thing David Fox had said about his brush with Huashan Death, but she could describe the shades of green in his eyes, the music of his easy laugh, the strength of his hands, the shape of his lips. By the end of the lecture, she was fantasizing about marrying him.
And he, she learned later, was fantasizing about something else with her.
He got his way, and they were lovers by their second date.
She flipped to the back of the book to spring of that year, the weekend she’d brought David Fox home to meet her parents. It was Easter, and she was two weeks pregnant but had no idea. She was also as in love as a woman could be, and would have given anything to spend her life with David.
Anything but the child she carried inside of her, and that was what David wanted her to sacrifice in order to travel the world with him. Not only did she not want to travel the world; she wanted that baby.
That baby, and more, to be honest. But that was not the life David envisioned.
She rocked the hammock, leaving the book resting on her knees, open to the picture. David’s hair had been black and long, curling over his collar, reminding her a little of someone else.
Clay.
The realization hit