2 Weeks 'Til Eve (2 'Til Series Book 3) Read online

  Tuesday, December 5th

  -14-

  Catherine wiped her hands on her belly since it was the most obvious place. The way her heart was racing right now would have been more suited to standing backstage before taking to a podium to give a speech. This wasn’t public speaking. This was “Hello, come in. Did you have a nice trip?” All of it said to the people who had raised her and for better or worse created what was standing here today, shaking in her boots.

  She took an extra second, hiding behind the solid wood front door, breathing much the same way she’d been taught in that birthing class she’d taken with Fynn. She didn’t think she would need the breathing for childbirth, as she was considering asking to be knocked out with a blow to the head and woken up when it was over, but right now it was proving handy, a calming force.

  There was nothing more she could do; as ready as she would ever be. She gave herself a once-over, noting that she could have gussied herself up a bit, but nicer maternity clothes wouldn’t hide her gluttonous size any better. Of course, Elizabeth Hemmings had gained just the right amount of weight; even way back when it wasn’t frowned upon to totally let yourself go. That figured. Catherine had already warned Fynn that he might have to hold her back if her mother tried to say anything about that.

  A final deep breath—in—out. Then she forced herself to turn the handle.

  “Howdy, stranger!”

  Catherine was too confused to speak. The voice, the face, everything was wrong about what she saw before her. Not just wrong in place and time, but off. She stuck her head out the door and looked both ways on the front porch as if expecting cameras.

  “Great welcome. Is that how you always answer the door?” Tara asked. “With a moment of silence?”

  She looked so different; not just I-haven’t-seen-you-in-months different but seriously tempered was the word that came to mind. The hair wasn’t vibrant red like last time. It wasn’t black with a hue of purple or burgundy like it had been before that. It was normal deep chocolate brown, possibly even natural, although Catherine didn’t know what Tara’s natural color was seeing as how she had been dyeing it all the time she’d known her, not to hide grays but to punch it to in-your-face shades. And the clothes, too, were so much more conventional, if you could judge a woman by her muted outerwear. Like a real live grownup, possibly one en route to a funeral.

  “How did—what the—and you’re—I thought it was—” But Catherine couldn’t capture her true feelings in words. Not any of those words at least. She scanned the horizon, almost certain that her parents would be arriving any second—the first chink in the plan of a picture-perfect life.

  “Don’t seem so thrilled and overjoyed to see me.”

  “It’s not that, it’s just, why didn’t you call? I—”

  “Because you won’t answer your calls. Or call me back,” Tara pointed out.

  Catherine winced.

  “Are you going to refuse to invite me in now?”

  She blocked the doorway easily with her size, standing firm.

  “Wow, you really don’t like drop-ins, huh? Like mother, like daughter I guess,” Tara shrugged.

  She knew it for the jab it was. She didn’t like to be compared to Elizabeth Hemmings, who was stiff and structured and unbending about proper etiquette and appropriate behavior. Catherine was go-with-the-flow, or at least she wanted to be. Welcoming at the very least. And here she was acting just like her mother.

  “Besides, this isn’t a drop-in anyway. I sent you a warning.”

  “What?”

  “The telegram.”

  “That was a warning?”

  “Nothing says urgent message like a telegram,” Tara singsonged.

  “So does a 911 text,” Catherine grumbled. “Or a message on my voicemail that says you’re coming…. But why do I even bother?” she asked the air above her. “Wait, you didn’t even say anything in the telegram about coming here!”

  “How else are we going to meet up? You can’t travel like that.” Tara gestured disdainfully at her tumescence. “Really, Catherine Marie, you have to think.”

  “But I—you’re the one who—why can’t you just be normal?” Settling on the last because it summed up her feelings best.

  “Well isn’t that a fine kettle of fish,” Tara said.

  “What are you, seventy?”

  “I just thought, after all this time, maybe a hug was a more appropriate greeting than—”

  “We aren’t huggers; you know that.” And they weren’t. Not like girlie girlfriends.

  “Maybe I’m getting sentimental in my old age. We septuagenarians know—”

  “Seriously, Tara, what do you want from me?” Catherine tapped her foot impatiently.

  “Life got a little boring, so I was looking for a change of pace; a little vacation from the humdrum.”

  “Coming here? To a fly speck? Because New York City got boring?” Something definitely smelled with that line. Bad.

  “Well… yeah.”

  “What about Jason?” As in, why not bother him if you’re bored? The guy you’re sleeping with, who lives in Illinois, which is definitely not here.

  “Oh, that? It’s over.”

  “Over?” Catherine hacked out. “When? What happened?”

  Tara shrugged it off. “Not much. I just figure that I’m not getting any younger, as you pointed out, and… well, I still have my list to complete and, heck, I’m halfway to North Dakota as it is. Or maybe I should head south to North Carolina and hit Kentucky along the way. Just me, making my dreams a reality—”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, ignoring the rest.

  “I am telling you.”

  “When it happened.” She rolled her eyes at the absurdity.

  “Again, you won’t take my calls.” Low and slow.

  “I would have been there for you,” she insisted. All it would have taken was a normal message that she’d broken up. Simple. “I thought it was just the usual… and I don’t really have time for any—”

  “So you’re like a poor-weather friend,” Tara clarified.

  “A what?”

  “Well, there are fair-weather friends, so I guess there are poor-weather ones too, who aren’t there for you when things are good.”

  “Tara, we’re friend friends,” Catherine sighed, rubbing her forehead with frustration. “All-weather friends if you want to go there. I’ve just been really swamped here and trying to settle into this thing called married life and motherhood and—”

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  “But it is. I should have realized what you’re going through.”

  “I’m not going through anything. I’m fine.”

  “Come on, I thought you were happy with Jason. You were different with him. Like he meant more than just your list. Heck, as far as your list goes, you covered that part just by sleeping with him at the wedding. Remember? If you sleep with a guy who was born and raised there, that place is in his boner and it counts.”

  “Bones, Cat. His bones. You’re just being gross now.”

  Catherine’s jaw dropped. “I’m being gross? I’m not the one trying to screw a guy from all of the PINK states—Pennsylvania, Indiana, Nebraska—”

  “You’re cheapening it. I’ve learned a lot from my quest.”

  “You sound like a complete dork. D&D much?”

  “I’m serious. Guys from New Jersey and New York? Completely selfish lovers. No care for the woman at all. But guys from the Midwest? A different animal. More passionate. More to prove, I guess. And they are proving it.”

  “You can’t judge any of that from a one-night stand. Anyone who’s into that is just trying to get off. It’s selfish by nature. That’s why Jason and his Midwesterness is different.”

  “But—”

  “Admit it, Jason was different. You could have slept with him at the wedding and added him to your list because he was actually from Illinois, through and through, but instead you saw him again. And you ke
pt dating him, Tara! Tell me, were you seeing anyone in New York all this time?”

  “I’ve already filled my New York quota by a mile,” she mumbled.

  “And we’re back to the list again,” Catherine groaned. “Just admit it, you’ve been totally preoccupied by one certain person. You’ve been in a re-la-tion-ship.” Speaking slowly and clearly. “In fact, until recently, you had no time for me either. I should have known something was up.”

  “Well, dicks always before chicks. Except in the dictionary.”

  Catherine scrunched her nose, thankful that Cara was safely off at school.

  “Come on, you obviously feel the same way,” Tara admonished. “Case in point.” She motioned at the world that was the Trager household. “That must be some dick Fynn’s got, to give everything up like that.” She snapped her fingers.

  “Do you always have to be so crass?”

  Tara stared off into the distance for a second, like she was really thinking the question over.

  “Are you okay?” Catherine prodded.

  “I’m here aren’t I?”

  “That’s why I’m worried.”

  Tara waved her off. “I’m fine. You know me, I can roll with whatever. Besides, like I said, I still have some states left to visit and guys left to do, which I obviously couldn’t do with Jason in my pants. Honestly, New York to Illinois was way too much of a commute for a quickie, and sex every few weeks is like a starvation diet. The long-distance thing was a nightmare.”

  “Come on, Fynn and I made it work.”

  “We aren’t all you and Fynn. You guys are freaks of nature.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “I meant it as one.”

  “So now what?” Catherine asked, rocking from one foot to the other uncomfortably. This whole conversation could have been had over the phone—a laugh, a tear, a talk-to-you-later—then simply hang up. But like this, it was awkward. What now?

  “Well, have you got any room at the inn?” Tara quipped, fitting for the season.

  Her jaw hit the floor.

  “I’ll take that as a no, or a hell no, I guess, considering the throbbing vein in your forehead—not terribly flattering, by the way, Catherine Marie.”

  “I just—my parents are coming and staying for a couple of weeks, so I don’t actually have the room.” Though even if she had the room, would she have given it to her just because Tara had the gall to show up? Wasn’t there such a thing as tough love? Not giving in to other’s bad choices to help them learn how to make good ones? This would certainly apply.

  “William and Elizabeth are visiting? For Christmas? Won’t that be merry and bright!” A jolly jab, Tara knowing full well that it wasn’t either.

  “Not for Christmas. Not that long. But they’ll be here soon, so—”

  “Well, don’t worry about me and Bessie, we’ll find a place to crash.”

  “You and Bessie?” Catherine blurted, wondering if Tara had picked up an old lady hitchhiker out on the road.

  Tara gestured behind her.

  Catherine stepped out onto the porch and looked down to the driveway below. There was Magnus, who’d obviously greeted Tara without sounding the alarm about her arrival—completely useless as a guard dog. But even worse, he was sniffing around the perimeter of a U-Haul.

  Everything was obviously not fine and breezy and simple.

  Catherine turned to her friend, eyes popping out of her head, wondering what else could possibly go wrong five minutes before her parents were supposed to be here. Five minutes was a long time when it came to Tara.

  “Meet Bessie,” her friend said. “I wasn’t planning on moving in. I just didn’t really have any place to put my stuff for the moment so I rented her to hold everything—”

  “What about your apartment… the one that was my apartment… in New York? That was a home for all your stuff. That’s how apartments work.”

  “I gave it up.”

  “Gave it up?”

  “Yup.”

  “And now you’re here… with all your stuff. Tara, this is insane. And, honestly, I don’t have time for insanity.”

  “You’d have time for Georgia,” she humphed.

  “Actually, no,” Catherine said, finding her voice in sudden indignation.

  Tara looked back at her skeptically; ready to deny the assertion as a bold-faced lie.

  “First of all, it’s a moot point because Georgia would never do anything like this. And secondly, we haven’t been getting along very well and she would hardly even call me right now,” Catherine admitted, defeat underlying her words.

  “Like you’ve been doing to me.”

  “No,” she said weakly. “You and I didn’t have a fight.”

  “And that’s supposed to make it better? You won’t even talk to me long enough to have a fight.”

  “Because this is what you do if we talk. Crazy stuff like this, Tara.” She gestured at their surroundings, including Bessie.

  “No, this is because you haven’t been talking to me.”

  “So now it’s my fault that you dropped everything and came out here?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Pretty close.”

  They stood there, a stalemate, until Catherine could take it no longer. “Listen, Tara, I’m just trying to adjust. I’m big as a house. My brain is completely useless. I’m trying to figure out this life I landed in…” She noticed the look on her friend’s face, that one that said she didn’t want the invite to her pity party. “And I have been a total shit to you in the process,” she acquiesced.

  “That’s a start,” Tara agreed.

  “You deserve a better friend.”

  “I do.”

  So go find one. It was wrong to even think it, but this was such horrible timing… that just got worse as Catherine glimpsed a strange car rounding the bend in the driveway. “Shit,” she growled. All her hopes that she would have everything in perfect order, welcoming her parents into her grown-up house and grown-up life with her grown-up responsibilities in check, were completely dashed. By Tara. And Bessie.

  Tara turned to follow her gaze. “Oops.”

  “Oops is right. Don’t make any sudden movements. Don’t look them straight in the eyes. Especially not my mother. Act like this is all perfectly normal. Average. Expected. You know exactly why you’re here and where you’re going.” She said it in a careful monotone, like they were trying not to wake a sleeping grizzly bear that would rip their faces off.

  “I got this. No problem,” Tara said as the car came to a stop behind the U-Haul.

  -15-

  “Don’t tell me Fynn is moving out,” William Hemmings said as he unfolded himself from the front seat of the rental car. A Buick. Acceptable American transportation.

  Elizabeth Hemmings, on the other hand, could be seen through the windshield, looking completely stricken, holding her hand to her throat in a show of terrified concern.

  Probably wishes she had a dishtowel to wring.

  “Nice to see you too, Dad,” Catherine called out, nodding her head toward her mother. She descended the porch, leaving Tara behind, coming around the U-Haul to give her father a hug that brought her back to her childhood, him smelling just like Daddy should smell, the same cologne he always wore.

  “You look terrific,” she whispered next to his ear.

  “And you… well, there’s a whole lot of you around now, isn’t there?” He pulled away. “I can’t believe it. Just can’t believe it.”

  The last she had seen her parents was at the wedding, so it was an understandable surprise. “Isn’t it crazy?” She cradled her belly, realizing as she did so that she hadn’t even put on a coat to come outside. Too busy being caught off-guard by Tara to properly dress herself.

  “And who is this big lug?” he asked of the golden retriever stepping all over their feet and whipping them with his tail in a frenzied need for attention.

  “This is Magnus.” She ruffled his fur. “He used
to knock people down; this is an improvement.”

  “Elizabeth,” William Hemmings called back into the car, “in case you didn’t know, we’re here.” Chuckling, he headed for the trunk.

  “You made it! Hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the place,” Fynn hollered, coming around the house from the garage and almost startling Catherine out of her skin. She hadn’t even realized he’d come home from measuring the kitchen for his next job. He hadn’t bothered coming in the house—probably because she’d expressly told him to keep his ass off the furniture and feet off the floor until they got here. She’d never said a thing about popping his head in, though.

  “No problem at all. Didn’t even need that GPS.” Her father motioned vaguely toward the dash. “Just a good old reliable map.”

  Fynn’s steps faltered as he took in the truck. Then he focused his gaze on Catherine. “Trying to move out right under my nose?”

  She could hear her father laughing at their similar sense of humor. He’d taken a real liking to Fynn.

  Elizabeth Hemmings finally opened the passenger door and got out, adjusting her plaid scarf and wool overcoat with her gloved hands. “Catherine, you are going to catch your death out here. You should have a coat on. And in your condition.” She shook her head.

  “My condition makes me hot most of the time, Mom.” Though she was feeling the chill right now, and not just the one coming off her mother.

  “I’ll get you your coat,” Fynn offered.

  “I’ll get it. Just tell me where. I’ve only been inside once and that was in the dark with a flashlight,” Tara said from the porch, alluding to their breaking-and-entering episode that had gone south, back when Fynn was just an aggravatingly hot stranger with something Catherine wanted badly enough to go on the lamb for it. And Tara had been there for her, ready to go to jail or get shot; whatever happened first.

  “Tara?” Fynn blurted in surprise.

  “Hey there! Just passing through.” Hands up in surrender.

  “From New York?”