The Big Bang (20 page)

How Frank had circumvented Will Pierce-Cohn to pull off an online meeting and offer the board the more enjoyable obligation of attending the ribbon cutting instead, became clear with the first item in the report:

Laney lifted her cup once again, but to Will, whose anger over the playground, and not entirely surprising resignation, clearly provided the catalyst for her quickly realigning day.

As Laney skimmed the current budget, tabled-until-June business about upcoming road repairs, and the proposed directory of property owners, she couldn’t help but marvel over the sheer synchronicity of it all. How interconnected. She’d shown a home, using, as Frank called them,
soon-to-be completed mini-Eden playgrounds, sure to make more complete that little slice of heaven we call Melody Mountain Ranch
as selling points, only to have those playgrounds result in a resignation that freed up her wildly overscheduled day.

Not to mention a position on the homeowner’s board for Tim Trautman, her buyer.

If she hadn’t sold the house to the Trautmans which eventually led, even if indirectly, to Will’s resignation, she wouldn’t be looking at the word-for-word report and hour-by-hour schedule, now entitled,
Our Upcoming, Not-to-be-Missed Memorial Weekend
she’d submitted, but prayed she wouldn’t have to give in person.

Frank’s, Tim’s, and her own intentions heard and answered, en masse, by The Universe.

With his
Thanks to Laney Estridge, her committee, and the Melody Mountain youth group for their work
, Laney drained her coffee cup in toast to herself.

She was about to double-click on Compose Message to let Sarah know she was off the hook when she spotted the droplet of blood on her desk.

Sensing moisture from her nostril and just ahead of the gush, she reached for the Kleenex box, and had a wad of tissue pressed against her nose before the bleeding could damage the keyboard.

A
fter begging the last woman he’d hooked up with not to absolve her extramarital guilt by blabbing the details of how they’d gotten it on in the back of her husband’s newly leased Lexus, Tim all but lost interest in the need for a little strange.

Until he spotted Hope, bent over her oven in black lingerie.

He couldn’t be entirely delusional in thinking she might be willing to re-create the scene for him in the near future. After all, she’d invited him into her nearly identical but infinitely more tasteful home for a meeting in her guest bedroom.

“Can I get you anything before we get started?” Hope asked.

If her invitation weren’t offered under the pretense of baby nursery planning for his wife, Tim would have taken his chances, leaned in, and kissed her then and there. “I’m good, thanks.”

She started up the stairs in a tight-ish top and appropriately short skirt. “Follow me.”

Anywhere,
Tim whispered silently, falling in behind her.

Given the less-than-ideal circumstances, she’d have to make the first move, but he’d get to give that first, and only,
no for the record.
Something along the lines of,
the attraction is undeniable, but the action is nothing to take lightly
whispered quietly, with the proper expression of intensity. Afterwards, when the glow still colored her cheekbones, but the guilt waterworks began, he would hold her, assure her what had happened was not her fault, but inevitable. He’d whisper that everything was truly okay as long as they kept this moment, and any others that might ever or never happen again, to themselves. His promise, to never let anyone else feel their shared pain of knowing how they felt about each other, would be that much more poignant.

Especially if it turned out to be true, which was a distinct possibility, given the glimpse he got of upper thigh as she started up the stairs.

“I understand congratulations are in order,” she said.

Or, fingers crossed, would be sooner, rather than later.

“Thanks,” he said in answer to what she was actually talking about. “I got the call from Frank asking me to take over Will’s position on Monday night and by Tuesday morning calls and e-mails were already rolling in from covenant violators.”

“Seems weird Will resigned like that.”

“Apparently he’s been thinking about it for a while.”

“Oh,” she said, reaching the landing at the top of the stairs.

“He said he’s been asked to cochair the PTA at his kids’ school or something.”

“I was worried he quit over the whole playground issue.”

“Not according to him.”

“That makes me feel better,” she said. “I’m sure volunteering in the best interest of his kids has to be a more gratifying work than trying to reason with irritated homeowners, anyway.”

“Maybe I should have given that a little more consideration before I said yes.”

“I’m sure you’ll be great,” she said.

He simply smiled, followed her down the hallway, and stepped into what he could only call a truly beautiful nursery. Awash in the warmest shade of yellow he’d ever seen, Hope had somehow managed to capture the absolute peace of standing in a colorful garden under a shade tree enjoying a gentle cooling breeze. No detail, from the baby furniture to the accent flowers painted along the base of the walls to the insect-themed curtains, matching bedside lamps, and throw rugs, was overlooked. The place was baby Eden.

Squared.

“Wow,” he managed.

“You like it?”

“Love it, but I’m back to feeling guilt-ridden over commandeering your nursery.”

She pointed to a daybed covered in lavender swatches of paint and fabric that, despite not being pulled together, was already beginning to look like a purple version of her existing nursery. “Honestly Tim, working on this plan for you makes me feel like I did when I put the design together in the first place.” Her eyes, already a liquid blue, sparkled. “Hopeful.”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” he said, hopeful himself that somehow, the emotion of it all might have her feeling the need to whisk all that crap off the bed and replace it with him.

She walked directly over to the bed like she’d read his mind, but instead of doing the improbable, or even slightly more plausible act of removing everything gingerly and moving it neatly elsewhere before attacking him, she picked up a binder with
Trautman Nursery
scrawled across the front in lavender pen. “And as I said the other day, once you pick the tones, fabrics, and finish accessories the room might have a similar feeling, but it’ll have its own look.”

“It’s looking like I may be in over my head.”

“I’ll go easy on you,” she smiled.

Now they were getting somewhere.

“For example,” she pointed toward the opposite wall, “ignore the book shelf and changing table and picture an interconnecting shelving system with a storage bench that goes under and around the window.” She opened the notebook and handed him a tear sheet. “You’ll have all the storage you’ll need but still have room for a double dresser with changing stations.”

His head was already spinning.

“Which leads me to window treatment options.”

“As in curtains?”

“Sheers or panels.” she stepped across the room and tugged on what were apparently sheers. “I’ll put a few different styles, including valances and roller shade choices, in the binder for you and Theresa to pick from.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“As for lighting,” she handed him something she’d printed off the Internet. “This one with the butterfly and flower motif would be perfect.”

“Sounds good,” he said, meaning it, particularly when he spotted the red Target tag and a price point of $24.99.

“I think you should consider this chair-and-a-half so one person can comfortably sit with both babies. We can order it with a lavender petal ribbon stripe that pulls in colors from the comforter. If not…”

Tim felt himself drifting off somewhere after
blue vs. gray
lavender and
hand-painted baby wipe dispensers
and didn’t quite tune back until he heard
hand blown
.

“So that’s a yes?”

“Sure.”

She smiled and noted something in her binder. “Have I lost you?”

“No way,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe just a little decorating overload.”

“I have pretty much all the information I need to get the plan pulled together,” she said. “One more thing.”

“What’s that?” He smiled.

“What about doing some flowers like I have running along the base of the walls?”

“As in a mural?”

“Given the history of murals in your house, I’d normally advise against that.” She giggled. “But widely spaced three-dimensional flowers at the baseboard could be really cute.” She paused. “Especially if we mix in some birds and bees.”

Their eyes met.

Hope’s cell phone chirped.

She grabbed the phone from its pole position in her back pocket and looked at the display. “I’m afraid I have to take this.”

The bad timing was so perfect, he was sure it had to be her husband.

“Hi, Frank,” she said.

Or Griffin.

H
ope’s new aquamarine and silver bracelet caught a ray of morning sunlight and sent refracted blue light dancing across the dashboard as she turned off I-70 and onto the Pena Boulevard airport overpass. “It’s really beautiful, Jim.”

“Glad you like it,” he said.

More a token
sorry I’m leaving on Mother’s Day
than
soon to be a Mother
gift, there was no denying the bracelet’s significance. Jim knew she loved blue and any blue gemstone. What he didn’t know was that aquamarine was April’s birthstone. She touched her left breast to reconfirm the tenderness she’d been feeling for the better part of a week. The tenderness she felt every time they’d had sex, which was every day since day fourteen, just to be sure.

The gift was another of the undeniable signs that continued to present themselves. It couldn’t just be coincidence that Jim gave her an aquamarine bracelet on a Mother’s Day that would be all about completing her nursery layout for the Trautmans and finalizing the playground plans.

Both of which projects were foretold by Renata.

A new life is ready to come through very soon.

All she needed was confirmation from the pregnancy test sitting on the counter awaiting tomorrow’s first-morning urine from the first day of her missed period.

“Cop ahead,” Jim said.

Hope slowed and watched the needle drop below sixty-five.

“British Airways is east terminal, I think,” he said, scanning the signs directing Denver International traffic. “No, no, west.”

If she could get him dropped off by 8:40, she’d be back home loading her car by 9:15 and over at the Trautmans to set up by 9:45. Ten at the latest, depending on when Tim could get away from church to help her get the car unloaded. She’d felt bad having to run off after Frank called to deal with the plant mix-up at the nursery, but Tim was satisfied by her offer to come over to his house during church again and not only lay out the nursery plan, but arrange the room so the various options they’d discussed from paint color to fabric swatches were set up for Theresa.

She’d be done by noon at the latest, giving her time to relax before she was due to meet with Frank.

Maybe even take a little nap.

Had she really just considered taking a nap between work on the two projects that made her feel unbelievably happy and energized?

“Hope! It’s the west terminal!”

“Oops,” she said, veering out of the far left lane.

Her text message alert buzzed before she’d completely corrected her almost mistake. “Can you check and see who that is for me?”

Had to be Tim calling to confirm timing.

Jim took her phone from the center console. “Frank Griffin.”

Or Frank, who’d put her on speed dial judging by the amount of calls and texts that had been coming in, would likely continue, until the playground was done and set up.

“Need me to read it to you?”

“I’ll get back to him after I drop you off.”

“’Kay.” Jim half-nodded.

“He tends to check in more if he knows you’re going to be out of town.”

“Be sure and thank him for me when you do,” Jim said rechecking the outer pouch of his briefcase for his passport and tickets. “Nice to know someone’s looking in on you for me.”

Would he be so blasé if she admitted Frank’s interest in both her professional abilities and her well-being had her feeling more appreciated than she had since—?

Her text alert buzzed again as she made her way past long-term parking. “Frank again?”

“Nope,” Jim said. “Tim Trautman.”