Page 123 of The Treasure House

To her horror, tears shone in her father’s eyes. “Oh Dad, don’t!”

“Have you told him, whoever it is?”

“No.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

She didn’t answer. No. Yes. Maybe. She didn’t want Freddie to be all honorable again. The last time was goddamn humiliating, but this would be a million times worse. She didn’t want him proposing because he should. The idiot should propose to her because he loved her.

“Why not tell him?” Marly’s father seemed flummoxed.

She lifted her chin. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“But he might do the right thing.”

The right thing! As if marrying her was only right if she was compromised. It made her want to scream. Dad seemed to sense her rising temper and backed off.

“You know I’ll always be there for you,” he said gruffly, but he seemed extra deflated that night, as he sat over his TV dinner. Marly felt guilt worm through her. She’d made a miserable time in her father’s life even more miserable. And there was no Mom to comfort either of them.

A postcard came from Paris when Marly was in the middle of vomitous morning sickness. Dad left it propped on her bed with the other mail, tactfully not interrupting her as she hurled. The postcard was the first thing Marly saw when she emerged from the bathroom, her mouth astringent with the Listerine she’d used to wash her mouth out.

I was supposed to be here with a girl I know, but she stood me up. x F

Marly ran her finger over his words. Her heart hurt. How could he be halfway across the world when she needed him? Why hadn’t he loved her the way she loved him?

Angry and hurting, Marly tucked the postcard inside her copy of Forever Amber. She’d been reading that book the night they met, she thought nostalgically. God, she wished she was rolling around in bed with him in Paris and not throwing up in Boston. But it was all the rolling around that got her in this mess in the first place. She slid the book back on her bookshelf.

“I told your mother.” Her father’s voice made her jump. He was hovering at the threshold of her bedroom nervously. She suspected by the way he was staring at the bookshelf that he’d read the postcard. Marly was glad Freddie never signed his full name.

“You told Mom what?”

“About the baby.” Dad cleared his throat. He couldn’t meet her eye. “I like to think she can still hear me, that there’s still something of her in there.” His voice sounded tight. “She loved you so much, Marly.”

Marly was horrified to see his lip tremble.

“I know she’d never forgive me if I screwed this up,” he said roughly. “I told her everything. I kept hoping she’d come to herself and tell me what to do. How to take care of you. Both of you.” He glanced at Marly’s stomach, which wasn’t even showing yet.

“I can look after myself, Dad,” Marly said, although she knew it probably wasn’t true. How would she work and raise a kid all by herself?

“People will talk.” He sounded wretched. “It’s not easy when the baby’s a…” He couldn’t finish.

Marly bit her lip. “We can tell people I’m engaged. That would be bad, but not as bad.”

“Are you engaged?” He looked her in the eye, and she could see he didn’t hold much hope of a yes.

She shook her head. “But people don’t have to know that.”

“Well, where’s the guy?” her father said. “Why isn’t he marrying you, given the circumstances?”

“We’ll tell people he’s in the army.”

His gaze went back to the book she’d hidden the postcard in and she saw his fist clench.

“You know I haven’t told him, Dad. It’s not his fault.”

“And you haven’t reconsidered telling him?” Dad asked gruffly.

Of course she had. She wasn’t a total idiot. But her heart hurt at the thought of forcing his hand. If he married her like this, he’d resent them, her and the baby. She couldn’t bear it.