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I’m overwhelmed with relief, but it’s also a little embarrassing. I expected drama. Disapproval or anger. Yet no one seems to care. It’s almost like they all knew. Well, except for Oliver, and he’s so caught up in his own day of happiness he doesn’t care at all.
In the kitchen, Ian caresses my shoulder. “You barely ate. Are you doing okay?”
“Yeah.” I give him a reassuring smile. “The nausea’s been bad.”
Mrs. Duke steps through the door as Ian’s fingers brush over the black bands on my wrist. He’s a doctor, but it’s not like gynecology is his specialty. Still, from his thoughtful glance, I suspect he’s pieced together the natural remedy I’ve chosen.
Mrs. Duke bustles into the kitchen and smoothly maneuvers me away from the sink.
“Now, you two,” she says as she turns the water on and holds a finger below the stream, “I know it’s too early to be sharing, and things change, but there’s a rumor going around, and I just have to know. Is there a grandbaby in the works?”
Ian’s arm wraps around my shoulder, and he pulls me into his side. He doesn’t say a thing, but with Mrs. Duke, you really don’t have to say much. She claps her hands like she did outside and reaches for my arm, giving it a quick squeeze.
“Don’t worry. I won’t say a word.” She turns off the faucet, steps away from the sink, and pulls me into her arms. “Sandra, I love you so much. Your father would be so proud and thrilled.”
And all the tears fall.
ChapterThirty-Two
Ian
The Weekend of Oliver and Kate’s Engagement
“Ian, can you bring me the platter?” Dad calls through the open window.
Given Mom and Sandra seem to be having a moment, I gladly step away, leaving the two of them to it.
I deliver the platter to Dad, and he coughs into his hand.
“You okay, Dad?”
“You betcha. So, is it true? Sandra’s pregnant?”
“It is,” I tell him, rocking back on my heels, feeling absurdly proud, which doesn’t make a lot of sense, but after the hell I’ve been through over the last month, I’m soaring. Nothing can bring me down.
“You gonna marry her.” Dad doesn’t really say it like a question, but I treat it like one. He’s a traditional guy, and he loves Sunny like a daughter.
“Yes, sir.” Of course, that’s if she’ll have me. She may have lingering doubts, but I don’t. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted her to be mine.
He flips a couple of burgers and steps back.
“And you know about her Mom, right? You be careful with her.”
Wait, what?
“I love that girl like she’s one of my own.” Dad raises his glasses, and his eyes are glassy from emotion. He closes them and pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing like he’s holding back tears. He resets his glasses, sniffs, and seemingly pulls it together. I place a hand on his shoulder, watching the burgers sizzle.
“Dad, if you’re worrying about Sandra’s heart, she’s been to one of the best doctors in Texas. She got the all-clear. She’s got a healthy heart. There are no medical concerns.”
Dad sucks in his bottom lip, and his eyes squint. It’s his thoughtful expression. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?” An uncomfortable sensation churns in the pit of my stomach.
“Son, Sandra’s mom committed suicide. Postpartum depression when she was barely two weeks old. Now, your mom tells me they know a lot more about it than they did forty years ago, but you gotta watch her. Her mom got left at home a lot with her dad working, and…” Dad’s words trail as he flips the burgers one by one.
The oxygen seeps from my lungs far too quickly. But, no… “That’s not right, Dad. She died from heart issues.”
“Her father may have told her that, but…that’s not what happened. Nearly killed him. If he’d gotten home thirty minutes earlier.” Dad’s face exhibits so much pain, and I remember Mom saying Dad blamed himself. He must’ve kept her dad working long that day.
