The Girls Of Mischief Bay - Susan Mallery

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about this. Why can’t the doctors figure out the problem? And when are they going to tell her that all these miscarriages are a bad idea?”

      She’d bled a lot with the last one and Pam had ended up insisting she go to emergency.

      John put his arm around her. “She really wants a baby.”

      “And I want her to have one. Just not like this.”

      Her husband squeezed, then released her. “Jen texted me. She and Kirk are coming over an hour early. They want to talk.”

      Pam pressed her lips together. “Why didn’t she text me?”

      “Probably because she knew you would ask questions.”

      “Didn’t you? Is something wrong?” A thousand possibilities, all of them horrible, flashed through her mind. “You don’t think one of them is sick, do you? Or maybe Kirk shot someone and is going to be indicted for murder.” She pressed a hand to her chest as her breathing hitched. “Oh, God. What if they’re getting a divorce?”

      Her husband chuckled. “I have to admire your ability to see disaster in every situation. You think they’d tell us that together, before Sunday dinner?”

      “Probably not.”

      “Then maybe stay calm until we hear what it’s about. For all we know, they want to move in with us to save money.”

      Pam rolled her eyes. “Don’t even joke about that.” Her mind stopped swirling with disastrous possibilities and she tried to think of good ones. “I wonder if they’re getting that puppy they’ve been talking about. Jen called me last week to ask about how long it took to house-train Lulu. A puppy would be nice.”

      “I’m sure they’re getting a puppy.”

      “I don’t know if that’s a great idea. They both work, so they’re gone all day.”

      John kissed the top of her head. “You are the queen of finding the cloud in every silver lining.”

      She smiled. “Okay. Point taken. I’m going to get the roast ready.”

      “Need any help?”

      “No, thanks.”

      She returned to the kitchen, Lulu walking beside her. The dog curled up in her kitchen bed while Pam set the roast on the counter. She would let it warm up for about an hour before popping it in the oven. In the meantime she could peel the four hundred pounds of potatoes they would be eating tonight. Unlike a lot of their friends, she and John saw their grown kids a lot. They’d stayed close geographically and seemed to like hanging out with their parents.

      So far they’d been blessed with their children. Jen, their oldest, had been sweet and funny. Steven had been a typical boy—always getting into trouble. But he had a good heart and lots of friends. Brandon, their youngest, had been more difficult. He’d been moody and attracted to trouble. High school had been hell. He’d skipped class, hung out with horrible kids and discovered he liked to party. The summer he turned seventeen, he’d wrapped his car around a tree.

      Angels had been with him, Pam thought, as she peeled her potatoes. The crash should have killed him, yet he’d walked away with nothing more than some bruises and a broken arm.

      She and John hadn’t known what to do, so they’d erred on the side of tough love. They’d sent him to rehab for six weeks. Not one of those touchy-feely kinds with meetings where you shared and did crafts, but one with a boot-camp philosophy and lots of lectures from people in recovery. Brandon had quickly realized he was far from the biggest, baddest dog in the pack. He’d come home older, wiser and, most important, sober.

      He’d completed his senior year with a 4.0 GPA and had made what had seemed like the impossible decision to be a doctor. But he’d stuck with it and was now in his second year of medical school.

      “My son, the doctor,” Pam murmured.

      They were all in a good place right now. She would be grateful and not borrow trouble. Although she did think that Jen and Kirk might not be ready for a puppy.

       Five

      Pam sat next to John on one sofa while Jen and Kirk sat on the other. Her daughter, a pretty brunette, smiled broadly.

      It didn’t seem like there was anything wrong. They both looked happy. Kirk was relaxed, which he probably wouldn’t be if he’d shot someone in the line of duty and was going to prison. Plus, they would have seen it on the news.

      Pam glanced at the clock. It was barely two—probably too early to make herself a Cosmo. Although she would like to point out that it was already five in New York and probably tomorrow in Australia.

      She reached for John’s hand. He gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze.

      “All right, you two,” he said. “You’ve kept us in suspense long enough. What’s going on? Is it a puppy?”

      They were moving, Pam thought, looking at their faces. Kirk had gotten promoted or something. No, that wouldn’t work. He was on the Mischief Bay police force. It wasn’t as if they were going to relocate him to San Francisco.

      Jen glanced again at Kirk, then turned back to her parents. She drew in a breath and laughed.

      “No puppy. We’re pregnant!”

      Pam felt her mouth drop open.

      “What?” John stood and crossed to them. “Pregnant? How far along? Did you plan this? Pregnant!” He pulled his daughter into his arms. “My baby’s going to be a mommy. That’s great, honey. We’re so happy for you.”

      Pam felt the room shift a little. As if one side of the house had suddenly dropped a couple of feet. She managed to stand and felt her face moving, so guessed she’d smiled. Kirk walked up to her and she hugged him because it was the obvious thing to do.

      Jen pregnant. There was going to be a baby. She loved babies. Adored them. She couldn’t be happier for her daughter and son-in-law. There was only one unbelievable catch.

      She was going to be a grandmother.

      * * *

      The Farm Table was an upscale, organic, locally sourced restaurant. The kind of place completely at home in the beachy, LA-vibe quirkiness that was Mischief Bay. Everything in the restaurant was either sustainable or repurposed. The floors were bamboo, the tables and chairs rarely matched and the dishes were all old Lenox, Spode and Wedgwood patterns. But the odds of any one table getting two place settings that were the same were slim.

      Eclectic didn’t begin to describe the decor. A combination of elegant, shabby chic and country, with a rabid interest in recycling to the point that the restaurant kept a pig and two goats to eat any food leftovers that couldn’t be given to a local organization that specialized in feeding the homeless. The food was extraordinary.

      There was generally at least a three-week wait to get a reservation. Which meant getting a call from Adam inviting her to dinner was only half as shocking as hearing his suggestion as to where they would go. The man obviously had some pull, she thought as she stopped in front of the valet and handed over her keys.

      She tucked her clutch under her arm, walked into the restaurant and glanced around. Adam was already there, standing in the foyer. He smiled when he saw her—a warm, welcoming smile that made her feel just a little bit giddy.

      She was willing to admit she had been more than a little pleased to hear from him. She hadn’t thought she would. Now, as she moved toward him, she saw his gaze drop to take in what she was wearing. The sudden widening of his eyes added to her sense of anticipation.

      She’d put a lot more thought into what she would wear on this date, as opposed to the last one. Despite the fact that it was late February, this was still Southern California and evening temperatures weren’t going to dip below

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