Money. She pressed her hands flat against the plastic liner, letting the water hit her directly in the face. She had money now. Lots of money. Problem was, how to get Anton to even consider accepting a penny of it.
Leaving that worry for another day, but feeling lighter for knowing about the check-shaped safety net tucked in her wallet, she dried off, noting how her stomach already bulged, as if it had a sort of pregnancy memory.
Even though she’d always been slim-hipped, she’d carried two near-eight-pound babies and delivered them without much more than the usual pain and suffering. This third one would probably do her figure in for good, especially after she breastfed again.
She sighed and poked through her closet for something somber, decent, and clean to wear. When she entered the kitchen, her hair was up, makeup on, she wore stockings for the first time in months, and she felt less like ten miles of bad—pregnant—road.
“Mama!” Kieran said, holding up his arms. He sat across from Antony in a high chair she’d borrowed from the Norrises, since Antony hadn’t quite graduated from his. Mainly she used it as a way to contain her rambunctious firstborn for at least a half hour three times a day, and she was not about to give it up. “Pretty,” he said when she leaned over to kiss the top of his head, taking a whiff of him, as she usually did.
“Mama!” Antony yelped. “Me!” She kissed him too, and wiped oatmeal off his mouth.
“Coffee, Linds?”
She nodded and accepted a cup before sitting, watching her boys interact with each other while their father loaded the dishwasher. He finished, wiped his hands, and turned to her, a self-satisfied look on his face. She smiled, determined not to point out the dishes he’d left beside the sink, the toast crumbs all over the table and the splat of oatmeal under Antony’s high chair.
“Thank you,” she said, leaning into him when he stood next to her. “I’m sorry about this. I know you prefer to spend mornings at the brewery.”
“No, we’ll be fine here, won’t we, boys?”
The two boys in question eyed him warily. They glanced a question at their mother in unison. She nodded. They smiled. “Dad!” Antony yelled.
“Got that right,” he said, hauling them both out of their chairs and tucking one under each arm. “We are gonna start something new today. A tradition.”
“‘Dition!” Antony yelped.
“Ball,” Kieran said in delight when his father gave him a small basketball. Anton turned to face Lindsay.
“Go on, honey. Do what you need to do. We are gonna have ourselves a ball game.”
“It is hot as blue blazes out there, Anton. Don’t you go giving my boys heat stroke.”
“We’ll be fine. We’re going to the park to shoot hoops, and then we’ll take a dip in the pool.”
“You know I don’t like that public pool.”
Anton shot her an exasperated look. “Either I’m in charge, or you are. Pick one.”
She sighed and stuck a pair of fake pearl earrings she’d found at a yard sale in her ears. “Fine. Please bring them home in one piece and not coated with germs.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted her.
The boys mirrored him, looking up at their father for approval. She smiled, picked up her purse and headed out into the blistering morning.
Three excruciating hours later, they had the service sorted out, including the small reception afterwards at the country club. Lindsay had nearly passed out in the small, cramped offices of the funeral home. She was hungry, but the thought of food made her dizzy. She sipped cup after cup of coffee, and once the needlessly expensive casket and everything else was chosen, she could hardly wait to get home and lie under the squeaky ceiling fan after a quick, cool shower.
She kissed her brothers and father and got into her truck, painfully aware of its in-need-of-repair loud exhaust as she pulled out onto the street and pointed herself toward home. Humming along with the radio, she pulled up the drive and got out, grimacing at the simmering heat.
“Anton?” she called into the quiet house, taking note of the perfectly clean kitchen and living room. “Honey?”
The tinny sound of a baseball game coming from his small radio floated up from the patio level. She poured herself a glass of lemonade, shed her shoes and her stockings then headed down to join him. He sat facing away from the house, sipping a beer, his feet up on one of the chairs she’d bought with a small glass-topped table at the secondhand store. His broad shoulders were bare. She smiled and sneaked up on him, pressing her lips to his neck. He startled and nearly tipped over.
“Hey,” she said, sitting down and sipping her lemonade. “You look relaxed.”
“Yeah,” he said, not looking at her. “Get everything settled?”
“Yes, the service is Sunday.”
“All right,” he said, squinting as he sipped his beer.
Something about his demeanor set off warning bells in her head. “What’s wrong? The boys—”
“The boys are fine, Lindsay. The house is clean. The toys are put away. They’re down for naps.”
“Okay,” she said, not at all happy with his tone. “What is wrong, then?”
He dropped his feet to the concrete and produced her wallet. She blinked at it, unable to process why it was here, with him, and not in her purse. Her face flushed when he tugged her father’s check from it and laid it out flat on the glass surface between them. Heart pounding, she reached for it, but he snatched it first.
“You were going to mention this, I presume.” His jaw was clenched tight. She’d not seen him this mad in years.
“You presume correctly.” She sipped and tried to ignore the gathering storm between them.
“I told you before, I will not take charity from your family.”
“I’m aware of that.”
He leaned forward, holding the piece of paper that represented enough money to pay off their house loan to his uncle and fix every single thing that needed it, with a few thousand left over for an actual savings account. She’d been doing the math in her head all day. Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten anything of substance in hours, and her head ached from low blood sugar.
“You don’t have to shove it in my face, Anton. I’m aware of it. It was given to me, after all.” She let herself have the subtle dig.
His brow furrowed even more. “I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, hiding this kind of thing from me, but—”
“Stop it right there. First of all, I wasn’t hiding anything from you. I had every intention of telling you about it. But there were other things to tend to today, in case you forgot.”
“No, I didn’t forget that the mother you hated who was about to marry you off to that abusive asshole, Will Scott, and who has not laid eyes on our children since their birth, died this morning.”
Lindsay swallowed her retort, since he spoke nothing but the truth. “Well, since you have such a fine memory you also know I was busy with the arrangements, regardless of what she did or didn’t do for me or you. It’s my obligation as a daughter.”
“Bullshit,” he spit out.
“What did you say?” She rose, fists on the table, fury ramping her headache up a hundredfold.
“I said, bullshit, Lindsay. Until two days ago, your mother could have died and you would never have even known about it. She paid you to come to her, to give a damn about her funeral, to see my sons.”
“I’ll remind you, Anton, that those boys did not spring from your dang forehead fully formed. I bore them and birthed them and take care of them pretty much all of the time. They are my sons, too.”
“Don’t change the subject,” he said, flapping the check in the air between them.
“Give it to me,” she said, forcing herself to stay calm, to not rise to meet his temper.