Andi’s emotional fog had allowed Greg’s siblings to run things any way they wanted these past few months, but she’d set up a meeting with them for later today at the site. Even through her numbness, she’d been irked at the way they’d dismissed her, and now that she’d surfaced, she planned to take control of her life and her place in Wren Development.
And what a way to surface ... she was having a baby ... a Wren heir.
The house Greg had insisted on buying for them was over three thousand square feet, a big, square contemporary settled among other big, square contemporaries. Andi parked in the driveway next to the Sirocco Realty sign with its red, diagonal “Sale Pending” banner. She’d already signed papers and the house had closed, so she had through this coming weekend to move, and it was just a matter of schlepping boxes and getting her furniture taken by truck. She couldn’t wait to move in.
She hit the remote for the garage and looked at the wall of boxes waiting for her. She’d left a small trail to the back door and traversed it now, letting herself into the sleek kitchen with its stainless appliances and sink, deeply veined, dark slab granite, and glass and chrome cabinets. No more stainless-steel cleaner, she thought with a sense of freedom. Her cabin was rustic. Not “decorator” rustic. More like old-time, maybe-there-are-mice-in-the-walls rustic.
She was going to have her work cut out for her and she didn’t care.
Of course everyone had told her to wait. Selling your home wasn’t the sort of decisions to make when you were still grieving. She didn’t see how she could explain that she’d never liked the house anyway, that she’d been dragged along by a husband who earnestly believed his wishes were her wishes, and who argued with her whenever she disagreed, certain he could make her see that her opinion was faulty, that she just needed to see his side. She’d learned to rarely fight with him, to pick the few battles carefully for which she would go to the mat. Whenever she did, Greg would roll his eyes and smile, like she was a crazy woman, and finally lift his hands as if she’d been blasting him with artillery fire, drawling, “Oh . . . kay,” in a way that meant he would acquiesce, but she would be sorr . . . eee, no doubt about it. His behavior had put her teeth on edge more than once, but she’d never seriously considered divorce until maybe Mimi. She understood Greg had thought their marriage was stronger than she had, but his perception was always different than hers, so she’d let him believe what he wanted. People were individuals, and as the French said, vive la différence.
And there had been those times when she and Greg did see eye to eye, most of those times being when they were discussing Wren Development and Carter and Emma’s involvement. Greg thought both of them would be poor stewards of the profitable company founded by his grandfather, and Andi had agreed. Of course she’d believed Greg would be the person in charge, never dreaming she would be the one left holding the reins.
She stalked past the heaps of boxes in the foyer and dining room. She didn’t know where she would put everything in her two-bedroom cottage. Half of her belongings were going into storage as it was, and she’d made a pledge to herself that she would empty out the storage unit before a calendar year had passed, using, selling, or giving away everything inside. She had until Sunday evening to move. It was Wednesday, so that gave her five days.
Andi hurried up the stairs. She didn’t want to be late for the meeting with Carter and Emma and have to explain what kind of doctor she’d visited. Until it became too obvious to hide, she would keep her condition a secret.
Her steps hesitated in the hallway as she passed the doorway of the spare bedroom she’d planned as a nursery. It was painted a bright yellow, and there was a chest of once-scarred pine drawers, a piece of Greg’s from his childhood, that Andi had repainted white. That was as far as their plans for a family had gone. She’d wanted to wait until she knew what sex the child was before decorating further.
She wondered now if Mimi knew the sex of her baby. She’d tried so hard not to think about Greg’s mistress and her child, whether that baby really was Greg’s.
Now, shaking her head in disbelief, she went on to the master bedroom, which was done in tones of cream with touches of green, its heavy Mediterranean furniture Greg’s choice. He would never have gone for the Schultz Lake cabin even though Wren Development was building the new lodge, heralding a new era for the whole lake community. It wouldn’t matter how many people were making the cabins their primary residences. In Greg’s world, that wasn’t how it worked.