May 30^th

The camera flashed and the tiny naked baby scrunched her face a little tighter. Allie tried to suppress a yawn. Why the heck was she so tired? She’d always been a morning person. Even when she was a kid, she’d bounce out of bed at the crack of dawn, ready to start the day. Not lately, though. She’d been tired and groggy every day until noon. She wondered if she was depressed.

Her one-night stand had become her favorite daydream. She’d been fantasizing about Logan for weeks, and enjoying it too much to try and break the habit. It wasn’t just about the amazing sex, either. Sure, it was sometimes. A lot of the time. She relived that night in visceral snippets every time she closed her eyes. But there was more. She’d tried casting other leading men in those fantasies. Movie stars, country male vocalists of the year, all the usual suspects. But it didn’t work.

It wasn’t the sex. It was him. There was something about him that had twisted itself around her and wouldn’t let go. She could not stop thinking about him. And the image she saw most often in her mind was his face. His sexy smile, his killer dimples, and those Elvis-blue eyes.

Somehow, she still hadn’t convinced herself that tryst in a hotel room with a stranger had been the biggest mistake she’d ever made. It felt more like a moment on a paradise island in the eye of a hurricane.

Her practical mind, the one that had been created by her mother, told her she was lucky he hadn’t been a serial killer. Hadn’t she seen enough made-for-TV movies to know how flings with strangers could turn out?

But he wasn’t a serial killer. He was just…wonderful.

That night had been healing for her. Logan seemed to sense whenever worry nipped at the edges of her mind, and he’d grab her eyes with his and just hold them, and the worry would go away. For those few hours, she’d stopped mourning Jeff and worrying about Angie. She’d stopped bleeding for Cassie, who was walking now, and Jack, first-grade paleontologist, who’d lost their daddy. She’d stopped wondering if her big brother was going to make it back home.

Logan had stopped everything. He’d made it easy, looked at her as if she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, touched her as if he could read her mind, held her as if he didn’t want to let go.

 And it had felt like she’d hit a reset button.

She’d been doing better, since then.

It had been her first one-night stand. Her only one-night stand. But some part of her had really expected him to call her afterward. That was probably stupid, and maybe naïve.

She was embarrassed now, that she’d written her phone number on a slip of paper and slid it into the pocket of his jeans. She didn't want to be that girl. The one who thought a one-night stand was going to lead to a relationship. Allie was too smart for that. And yet every day since, those fantasies just kept spinning out. And the memories, replaying. And her pulse sped up whenever the phone rang.

But he hadn’t called.

So far.

Obviously, the night hadn’t been as amazing for him as it had been for her. She shouldn’t be suffering such crushing disappointment.

Maybe that was why she felt so tired and run down. Maybe it was just from getting her hopes up so many times and being disappointed. Maybe she ought to try convincing herself that Logan was an arrogant ass. A handsome, sexy, arrogant ass who just happened to be crazy good in bed and even better at turning on the charm. Faking a real connection. Making a girl like her believe there was more going on than sex.

But none of that had anything to do with her client, so she stifled a yawn and tried to snap a few more pictures while the brand-new baby on the pillow in front of her was willing to cooperate. She adjusted the light and snapped some shots from another angle.

The baby stretched and made a face that reminded her of a grumpy old man, and she zoomed in and captured the moment.

Newborn shoots were hard. Babies didn’t always cooperate. Parents’ expectations were high and, to be honest, she wasn’t a huge fan of working with kids. Sure, they were cute—even this one. He would grow into those ears. However, she was an artist, and you couldn’t create art when you were rushing to get through the shoot before the kid started whining, wailing, pooping, or puking. She’d only agreed to take the shots as a favor to her sister. Apparently, the mother didn’t get along with Edie, the other professional shutter bug in town. And Edie was a saint. She’d helped Allie get into the business, sent clients her way when she needed down time. If her sister’s friend didn’t like Edain Brand Armstrong, there was something wrong with her.

She aimed to catch another cute expression from an angle that minimized those ears and clicked the shutter. The new mom, Janet Slater, pushed her way into the frame just as the camera flashed, ruining yet another shot.

“His face looks oblong from that angle. And I don’t think there’s enough light.”

“That might be because you keep stepping in front of the spots,” Allie said as gently as she could manage. It was taking superhuman effort to keep from biting the woman’s head off and she wondered if it was PMS.

J-Slate gave her a dirty look. “You might as well start taking pictures of me holding him. All these have been absolutely hideous.”

Allie took a deep breath and counted to eight. She’d been shooting for ten. “You should put a diaper on him. He’s been uncovered for a long time.” The studio was warm, but in her experience with babies, scant though it was, she’d found twenty minutes naked to be well inside the red zone.

“I showed you magazine photos I liked. We’re going for an upscale look. That’s the whole reason I came here instead of going to Walmart. Now can you take the pictures or not?”

“I can.” She tried not to growl the loaded reply.

Janet smoothed her blond cigar curls and picked up her infant. Allie was feeling bad for the little guy already. His mother was probably already planning which extra-curricular activities he would participate in, where he was going to go to college and what careers were worthy of him. She tried to pose them as best she could, even though momzilla clearly thought she knew better and contradicted Allie at every turn.

It took another ten minutes just to get the first shot set up. But then she was finally ready and snapping shots, changing angles, snapping more. The mother tried her best to look serene and hide her bitchiness. It didn’t work. Medusa trying to play the Madonna.

The baby started to stir. He wiggled in his mother’s arms and turned his head from side to side.

Allie said, “Um, I think he’s—”

“Take the pictures!” Janet snapped.

The little guy turned his head back toward the camera and smiled the tiniest smile Allie had ever seen. The camera flashed, Janet shrieked and the baby relieved himself. And not in the better way.

Allie’s stomach heaved. No warning, whatsoever. Maybe it was the heat or the mess or exhaustion, but whatever it was, there was no stopping it. She pulled the camera strap from around her neck, grabbed the first thing she could reach and doubled over, retching in agony.

When it was over, she felt hot and lightheaded, but other than that, she was completely fine.

“I guess we should call it a day,” she said wiping her mouth. She looked down and realized she’d just thrown up in Janet’s designer diaper bag. “Don’t worry about the sitting fee.”

The furious mother gathered up her baby and headed for the restroom. She didn’t take the diaper bag.

 “Alexis Wakeland, if you were hung over, I swear on your life, I will never send another customer your way as long as you live.”

The censure in her sister’s voice didn’t surprise her. Neither did the fact that she had instantly believed whatever crazy story Janet Slater had told. Angie was the oldest in the Wakeland Clan and she took her role seriously. She took everything seriously. Since her husband’s death, that tendency had grown even stronger.

Jeff had possessed the rare and magical ability to make Angie mellow. Without him, her crazy ran wild and no one could get it back in check.

Allie rolled over on the studio couch and tried to ignore her sister. It didn’t matter what she said, Angie was going to believe what she wanted to believe. And most of the time, she chose to believe that Allie was a screw-up. For a while, Allie had earned the title. She’d got into trouble in high school. At fourteen, she’d been caught joyriding with seven friends crammed into the science teacher’s VW Beetle. He’d parked outside a middle school dance with the keys in it. She and her pals hadn’t been able to resist. Allie had driven, and a cop had pulled them over. There’d been open containers in the car, sickeningly sweet strawberry wine coolers. The cops hadn’t cared that she’d been the only one not drinking them.

At fifteen she’d cut school to hang out with her boyfriend under the highway bridge, where the Cimarron River twisted lazily by. They’d had a cache of junk food and a pack of Marlboros. He’d also had a whole box of condoms, but she didn’t know that until later, when his dad and her mom showed up. His dad grabbed him and shook him, and the condoms fell out of his pockets like rain.

At sixteen she’d sneaked into Mrs. O’Connor’s classroom and stolen the final exam, answers and all, ran off copies, and returned it. It’d never occurred to her how suspicious it would look when she and her friends all got perfect scores.

She’d spiked the punch at the Honor Society reception. She’d organized a kegger for senior skip day. She’d switched college majors five times and then dropped out.

One day she woke up and realized that all she was getting out of college was a permanent hangover and a pile of debt. She could pursue photography without it. She’d taken plenty of courses on it. And she was good.

Since then, she’d taken charge of her life, like all her self-help books said she could. She’d bought a house, a car, and started her own business, a business that had its own green-and-white striped awning on Main Street. But her older siblings still saw her as the irresponsible baby of the family who broke curfew every weekend.

She’d given up trying to prove she was anything else.

“Allie!” Angie demanded. “I didn’t come over here just so you could ignore me. Now, answer me. Are you hungover or is there something wrong with you?”

“I’m not hungover. I haven’t had a drink in months. I don’t do that anymore, Angie.” She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Maybe I have food poisoning or something.”

The little girl on Angie’s hip babbled and cooed, happily unaware of her aunt’s misery.

After giving the floor a quick once-over, Angie set Cassie down on her bottom. The toddler didn’t stay put for long. The second her mother let her go, she pulled herself to a standing position and tottered unsteadily across the studio.

“Glad I cleaned that up,” Allie muttered. Thankfully, the backdrop behind and under Janet and her baby had caught all the mess. It was now occupying a trash bag out back, with one designer diaper bag for company.

Angie perched on the edge of the studio’s little couch and placed a hand on Allie’s head. “You don't have a fever. You look pretty terrible, though.”

“Thanks, Sis,” Allie said with a hint of sarcasm. “I don't think your friend is going to be back anytime soon.”

Angie shrugged. “I’m pretty sure we’re not friends anymore.”

“Uh-oh. Why?”

“She was being mean. So, I told her she shouldn’t get pictures done until her baby grows into his ears.”

Allie laughed and then instantly regretted it. “Don’t make me laugh. I don’t want to do to your purse what I did to her diaper bag.”

“I heard. That was a Gucci, you know.”

“Yeah. I’ll have to send her a check. So what was she being mean about? What did she say?”

Angie sighed. “That you were either hungover or knocked-up and she wasn’t sure which was scarier.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Allie said, but the second the words were out of her mouth, alarm bells started going off in her head. She closed her eyes, trying to remember the date of her last period. “No. It’s gotta be food poisoning. Morning sickness can’t possibly be this bad or women would never reproduce.” She could hear the edge of panic underlying her attempt at humor, and she knew Angie heard it, too.

“Allie, is there a possibility that you could be pregnant?”

Allie shook her head. She was being paranoid. She and Logan had used protection. She couldn’t be pregnant. “No.” But now that she was thinking about it, she was pretty sure she hadn’t had her period in the last month. Not since that night, in fact. Hell.

“I don’t think so.” She glanced at Angie and saw the look on her face. The one she always got when she thought Allie was messing up her life.

Rolling her eyes, Angie reached for her purse. “I picked up a test kit on the way over. Just in case.” She pulled out a plastic bag with the Big Falls Pharmacy logo on the front.

“That is the most insulting—God, Angie, do you really think I’m running around having sex with every man I meet?”

“Of course I don’t think that.”

“I’ve had sex once this year. Once!” Well, more than once. A lot more than once. But all in the same night.

“Okay.” Her sister looked sorry. But then she said, “And when was that?”

She pressed her lips tight, still mad. “The night before Adam shipped out.”

“That was in March,” Angie said, nodding. “So, you’d have noticed if you’d missed a period in April.”

“Sure I would.” She blinked, thinking back, and realizing she didn’t remember. “I don’t really write it down or anything. It’s not like I’m having so much sex I have to keep track.”

“And how about this month? Did you—”

“Not so far, no.”

“It’s the thirtieth, hon.”  Sighing, Angie held out the kit again.

Allie wanted to be mad. She wanted to be outraged, but a little voice in her head told her to stop being self-righteous and take the damn test. It wasn’t going to be positive. She couldn't be pregnant. The test was going to be negative and then she would laugh at herself for even being paranoid enough to take it in the first place.

She managed to sit up without hurling on something, even though her nerves had her feeling more nauseated than ever.  Clinging to what was left of her pride, she took the test kit from her sister, and walked across the studio to the small bathroom to follow the instructions on the package.

The results were supposed to take a minute to show, but before Allie had even finished washing her hands, she saw the little plus sign starting to appear. It was faint and fuzzy. She rubbed her eyes and hoped she was imagining it, but the longer she looked, the clearer it became and by the time the minute was up, the plus sign was as clear as day.

Angie’s knock on the door startled her. She must’ve jumped a foot in the air. “Allie? Are you okay?”

Allie pushed open the door and stared at her big sister, knowing she was about to prove herself the biggest screw-up who’d ever lived.

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered. Saying it out loud made it so much more real. Suddenly she was picturing herself carrying a newborn, holding a little pooping, puking infant and not being able to give it back when it started crying.

“Who’s the father?” Angie asked.

Allie closed her eyes and a tear managed to work its way out of the corner of her eye. “Logan. I didn’t catch his last name.”

The look on Angie’s face was incredulous. “Alexis!”

“Oh God, please don’t tell Adam. He’s going to kill me.”