Page 27 of Bluebell Promises

“You need to tell him,” Ivy shot.

“And you need to drive us home before I throw up everywhere,” Wren said.

Ivy groaned and started the engine. Wren’s soul stirred. All the way home, they didn’t speak to one another, and when the car was back in the garage, Wren had half a mind to stomp inside, acting out the part of the much younger sister. After all, Ivy was the mother she’d never had. Celia, too. But Celia was more fun, somehow. How had she managed that? Growing up a Harper sister, fun hadn’t seemed to be in the cards.

“I do love you, Wren,” Ivy murmured.

Wren sighed. “I know that. I love you, too.” But she couldn’t look at her. She opened the door and got out, hurrying back to her room, where she found Pierre the Frenchie fast asleep. He woke up when she sat down and came up to lick her nose.

“You’re just the sweetest,” she said. And then, almost immediately, she burst into tears that she couldn’t control.

They were the hormones, maybe. But there was too much on her shoulders to comprehend.

A little while later, Wren checked her email to see if any of the jobs she’d emailed for had written back to her. She had gotten one email from a local magazine, inquiring about her photographs of Bluebell Cove and the surrounding areas. It read: We think you have a really unique eye for Maine and its coastline. We would love to work with you. For some reason, this made Wren want to scream. Once upon a time, she hadn’t had an eye for only Maine coastlines. Her résumé had nearly every coastline on it! She’d photographed almost all of the continents. Her art was wide-reaching. Why was she trapped here in Maine—like her mother before her? Did all cycles repeat themselves? Was she doomed?

But because she had no other option for cash, she wrote the magazine back, praying that it would bring a bit more girth to her bank account. She desperately needed it.

After that, maybe because she wanted to torture herself, she googled: What to do if you’re having a baby and you don’t know what to do. Immediately, what felt like hundreds, if not thousands, of testimonials popped up. For more than an hour, Wren felt immersed in other people’s drama, other people’s heartache, and other people’s problems. It was a relief, sort of.

She read: Hi! First time I’m ever posting on here. I’m pregnant with my first baby, but I’m already forty-six years old! I didn’t know it would ever happen for me. The crazy thing is, I thought I was entering menopause? More than that, I got divorced from my husband of twenty-two years last year! We tried to have a baby years ago, but it never happened for us. We drifted apart for many reasons, but I can’t help but think that a baby would have pulled us together more… Anyway, I can’t think about that. I’m pregnant with my boss’s baby.

Wren winced, then quickly went on to the next one. She didn’t want to think about the devastation that woman had endured. But she couldn’t help but think there was a bit of joy in the story, too. A baby! After so many years of trying. Wren had never tried to have a baby.

Wren read: The thing about having a seventh kid is… I don’t really remember what it’s like to be alone anymore. I think I’m losing track of myself. Who will I be when all these kids grow up and graduate and leave the nest? Will they know anything about me by then? Or will I be completely invisible, drowning in all their needs? What about my needs? But I love them…

Wren continued to read about women who had many children, about women who’d tried and tried to get pregnant, about women who didn’t know if they wanted their new baby, and about women who were considering giving their babies up for adoption. Many of the women had realized, once they were pregnant, that they weren’t in love with their husbands anymore. These were particularly hard to read. They wanted to stay together for the baby's sake, but they worried they weren’t listening to their own hearts. One woman wrote, What if my daughter grows up and realizes that I was never happy? That I didn’t do anything for myself? What if she grows up and doesn’t know how to believe in love?

On and on the stories went. They made Wren feel a little less alone in the world. Many, many women had been pregnant throughout time. After all, every human had to be born. That meant an innumerable number of women who’d given birth. This was hard to fathom.

Wren wished she could pick up the phone and call Angelos. She wished she could tell him—or the version of him she’d known during their brief time together, when they’d been in love, or whatever that was—that she was terrified to bring their child into the world. But she was sort of glad to bring that baby into the world, too. “My feelings are complicated,” she whispered to Pierre the dog.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. It was Ivy’s knock. Wren would recognize it anywhere. Wren considered pretending to be asleep, but she guessed that Ivy would know she was doing exactly that and call her out.

“Come in,” she mumbled.

Ivy opened the door just a crack, as though she wanted to preserve her dignity, especially after the doctor’s appointment. “Hey. Someone is here to see you,” she said.

Wren darkened her phone. She assumed it was Juliet or Celia or one of her nieces. “Okay. Maybe I can come downstairs and hang out?”

Ivy looked worried, which told Wren that this person was not a relative.

“I can tell him to go,” Ivy said.

“Who is it?” Wren demanded.

“It’s Ben Brooks,” Ivy said.

Wren raised her eyebrows with surprise. Although she thought Ben was terribly sweet, and although she’d adored their brief talks and the fact that he’d saved little Pierre during his time of need, she’d hardly thought of him in days. She’d had so much on her mind.

“He says he needs to talk to you,” Ivy said, cupping her elbows. And then, she whispered, “Wait, he isn’t…”

“The father? Ivy, no. That timeline, it’s just, no.” Wren rolled over and put her feet on the ground. “I’ll come. I’m sure it’s no big deal. We hardly know each other.”

But Ivy continued to look at her as though she couldn’t trust a word that came out of her mouth.

15

Three Months Ago