Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87502 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87502 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
And then, about a month after I’d finally gotten settled in the little cottage, I started feeling sick every morning.
I told myself it couldn’t be. I’d been barren for so long. But then I remembered the breeding belly the Beast had given me. It hadn’t gone down for days. On the plane ride to Colorado, one of the stewardesses had asked me when I was due.
Now it might be time to ask again—this time for real. I went to the store and bought three tests.
All three of them came back positive.
As I sat on the toilet, staring at the third positive test, I knew I had to do something to turn my life around. I was growing new life inside me—I had Kor’s baby in me, even if it was his Beast that had put it there. He might be dead, but his son or daughter would live on, and I had to be the best mother I could for him or her.
I guess you could say that after that I straightened up and got my life together. I decorated the cottage and actually unpacked—I’d been living out of my suitcase up until then. I went to the store and got some nutritious ingredients and started making myself eat. I even went to a doctor and got some prenatal vitamins.
I wanted to decorate the cottage’s spare room as a nursery, but I was waiting to find out if I had a boy or a girl inside me. I did go out and buy a lot of children’s books and started reading to my belly every night. I loved the sing-song cadence of the rhyming books, and I often lulled myself to sleep, reading to my unborn baby.
The sadness never fully left me, but I learned not to let it consume me. Kor was gone, but his legacy and the Jamison line would live on. I still cried at least once a day, and I missed him dreadfully. I wasn’t sure if I was strong enough to be a single mom, but I wanted to try. I told myself that I would find the strength…though I wasn’t sure where it would come from.
Gradually, I began living normally again…except there was still a big hole in my life. A hole I knew no one and nothing would ever be able to fill.
And then, one day, I went to the farmer’s market.
FIFTY-FIVE
VIVIENNE
I went because I heard they had fresh peaches and one of my cravings lately was for fresh peach pie.
I’d been having a lot of crazing cravings in my third month—pickles dipped in hot fudge sundaes, deviled eggs topped with grape jelly, and rare roast beef made into a sandwich using French toast as the bread, just to name a few. It felt like the craving for fresh peach pie was at least semi-normal and so, despite wanting to sleep in, I dragged myself up on a Saturday morning near the end of my first trimester to go to the local farmer’s market to try and get the peaches.
The market was held in a grassy square in the middle of town and was already crowded by the time I arrived. Families pushed strollers between the rows of booths while older couples examined fresh vegetables and homemade jams. There were baskets of apples and tomatoes, jars of local honey, fresh baked bread, and enough flowers to fill a dozen gardens. The air smelled like sunshine and growing things and fresh coffee from a vendor near the entrance.
For the first time in weeks, I almost felt normal. Well, as normal as a pregnant widow could feel, anyway.
My hand drifted automatically to my stomach as I walked. I wasn't showing much yet, but I could feel the slight curve there beneath my sundress. Sometimes I talked to the baby when I was alone in the cottage. I told myself it was silly, but I couldn't help it. This child was all I had left of Kor. The baby was proof that what we'd shared had been real and not some beautiful dream that had been ripped away before I could hold onto it.
The thought made my chest ache the way it always did when I remembered him.
It had been three months, and I still thought about him every day. I still woke up reaching for him in the middle of the night. Three months and I still couldn't quite convince myself he was really gone.
I blinked hard and forced myself to focus on the peaches instead.
No crying at the farmer's market, Vivienne, I told myself firmly. People will think you've lost your mind.
I found the fruit stand easily enough. There were baskets overflowing with peaches—large, golden fruits with pink blushes on their skins that smelled absolutely heavenly. My mouth watered immediately, and I could practically hear the baby demanding that we bring some home.