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Erica looked at her daughter. “I’d like you to stay.”
Summer rushed toward her. “Mommy, I’m sorry.”
Erica held her, smoothing her hand over her head. “For real?”
“Yes. I’m sorry for what I said. Grandma’s right. I was being a brat.”
Erica fingered the edges of Summer’s uneven hair. “Why do you hate layers?”
Her daughter laughed. “I don’t know but I do.” She raised her head. “I am sorry.”
“Then I forgive you. Ready for burgers?”
Summer smiled. “I’m starving.” She stepped back. “Can I help with the grill?”
Mara moved to the cooktop and ignited the burners. “Go wash your hands, please.”
Summer hurried down the hall to the half bath. Erica watched her go, then moved close to her mom.
“Thanks for coming to my defense.”
“I don’t usually, but every now and then she pisses me off and I can’t hold back.”
Erica smiled. “That’s a good flaw. When you’re on a tear, you scare us all.”
“I’m happy to know I still have it in me.”
Erica collected sliced cheese for the burgers, along with condiments. Summer returned and, under her grandmother’s supervision, lowered the burgers onto the heated grill.
Order had been restored, Erica thought. At least for now. But even with the apology, her daughter’s comments still stung.
When her daughter had been little, she’d assumed that Summer would grow up and join her in the business. She’d loved playing with her daughter’s hair and dressing her like a princess. But that wasn’t who Summer was, and she was the antithesis of being interested in Twisted. Something that would make Peter happy. He’d won that battle.
Given that he was still in jail, it was unlikely he was enjoying the victory and she was just petty enough to take a little pleasure in that.
11
“I’m concerned about your blood pressure,” Dr. Gerstenberger said, a frown pulling her brows together. “And you haven’t gained any weight since your last visit. The baby is doing well, but I’m worried about you. Tell me how you’re feeling.”
Allison told herself to stay calm and answer the question in the most neutral way possible. If she actually told Dr. Gerstenberger how she was really feeling, she might start crying and never stop. Or start laughing hysterically and then start crying. Either way she would end up in tears and her lovely doctor would consider admitting her for a psych evaluation.
“Peter’s, ah, traveling on business,” she lied. “I’m nearly seven months pregnant, working, and I have a twenty-month-old at home. You can imagine how I’m feeling.”
“It’s tough,” her doctor said. “You’re not going to like this, but you have to take care of yourself. You’re not twenty-three.”
Allison managed a genuine smile. “I know, I know. I’m having an old-lady pregnancy. I have to be careful. I’m being careful about what I eat.” When she could eat, she added mentally.
“You need rest and nutrition. I know your son makes relaxing difficult, but you need to do that, as well. I don’t want to put you on bed rest for the last few weeks of your pregnancy.”
Bed rest! Allison held in a shriek. Oh, sure. Bed rest. Why not? By the end of her pregnancy, she would be homeless, so hey, she would just hang out in her car. Resting would be absolutely no problem.
“I’ll do better,” she said, hoping she meant the words.
“Good. I want to see you in three weeks. Eat more, put your feet up and hang in there. We’ll get through this.”
Allison wished that was true, but she had her doubts. The situation that was her life seemed unsolvable. The only bright spot was she got paid today. The money would help for sure. At this point, she wanted to save as much as possible for whatever hit was coming next. If nothing else, she would need it to survive the few weeks after Bethany was born.
She ignored the fact that she would probably be homeless by then. Why think about the most depressing thing?
