Something in him had already switched off, Barbara could feel it. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t be flipped back on. It would be, she was sure of it. She forced a smile, even though her throat felt raw. She hadn’t pictured it this way. But she refused to be sad. What did a perfect moment matter compared to a lifetime of happiness?
Barbara swallowed hard and smiled. “I’m pregnant!” she squealed, grabbing Steve’s hands and pressing them hard against her flat belly, ignoring the way the color had left his face. “Isn’t it amazing, Steve? Six weeks. I know we wanted to wait until we got married. But we can get married right now, there’s nothing stopping us. I don’t need a big wedding. I don’t even need to be a bride. I just want to be your wife.”
Steve stopped near that clutch of awful benches, motioning for Barbara to have a seat—across from him. Not next to him, where he could wrap an arm around her. No, facing her. Barbara perched on the edge of her bench, watching Steve stare down at his hands clasped in front of him, as if he was trying to decide where to begin.
“Wait, you don’t actually think this is my fault, do you?” Barbara asked, her voice rising. That couldn’t be what this was about, but it bore stating. Because Barbara refused to be made responsible for Hannah’s insane choices. “I have done everything right, Steve. I have given my life for my children.”
“I don’t blame you for what’s happened. No, of course not,” he said, though he sounded like he was considering it for the first time. “We made mistakes with Hannah, that’s obvious now. But that’s on both of us.”
So he wasn’t letting her off the hook, he was putting himself on there with her? “What about the father? Are we going to find out who he is? Isn’t it statutory rape?”
Steve shook his head. “Hannah would have been sixteen.”
Barbara crossed her arms and blew out a breath. “But you’ll keep on trying to find him. Right?”
When Steve looked at her, his eyes were glassy. “Of course I will.”
“Good,” Barbara said. “Because crime or not, he’s accountable.”
Steve was nodding, but his attention had slipped away again. Barbara sensed it. He was thinking about something else entirely.
“How long have you known she was back?” he asked finally.
Barbara should have prepared better for this moment. She’d known it would come. But all she’d wanted to do was forget the whole sordid mess. A mess, mind you, that she had no hand in creating.
“Who was back, Steve?” Barbara held herself tight, resisting the way her body had begun to tremble. “And before you answer—is this really what you want to talk about, with your daughter upstairs in a hospital bed?”
Steve didn’t blink. “Tell me what happened between you and Jenna, Barbara. I need to know all of it or I won’t be able to help you.”
And there it was: the truth. This was what he thought of her.
“Help me?” She laughed icily. “Why would I need your help, Steve? What are you suggesting?”
“I know you were at Blondie’s. Jenna’s daughter came to see me. She told me that there was some blond woman with her mother during her last shift. They recognized your picture at Blondie’s, Barbara. You were with her the last time anybody saw her.”
“Yeah, and so what? I talked to Jenna, Steve.” Barbara could feel her temper rising. “I wanted to know why she was back. I wanted to make sure she understood.”
“Understood what?”
And he looked so worried. Unbelievable. Was he still this pathetic after all these years? It was infuriating. Barbara was so angry, her cheeks were burning. So angry that she could have spit—at Steve. How dare he sit there and make her explain herself when all she’d done was protect them.
“I asked her to leave us alone, Steve.” Barbara fluttered her eyelashes and smiled viciously. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. We’re a family, that’s what I said. A happy family. I told Jenna she couldn’t just come back here after all these years and ruin that.”
Steve was supposed to say that Jenna never could have done that anyway. He was supposed to tell Barbara that he loved her and the kids far too much for anyone to threaten what they had. Not even Jenna. But he didn’t say that. Steve was not a man who lied.
“Barbara, whatever happened, I’m sure you didn’t mean to—”
“‘Mean to’?” Barbara snapped. “‘Mean to’ what, Steve?”
“Barbara, please just tell me what happened.”
“Jenna happened, Steve. That’s what happened.” Barbara stood calmly. She took a breath, steadied herself. Because she wasn’t going to give him—to give Jenna—the satisfaction of getting upset. “If you want to know the truth, our nice talk inside the bar did turn a lot less nice in the parking lot. And you want to know why?”
“Yes, Barbara,” Steve said. “I want to know everything.”
“Jenna said she wasn’t agreeing to anything until she talked to you,” Barbara said. “She’s been here for months, trying to work up the courage. Pathetic.”
But that’s all Barbara was telling Steve. She wasn’t about to recount how Jenna had then started talking all this nonsense about what Steve had done the night Simon Barton died. Barbara hadn’t listened to her lies, because that’s what all of it was: lies. Barbara remembered that night—when she was still blissfully, stupidly unaware of just how many pregnancies never made it past week twelve. She’d been the one riding home in Steve’s truck after he spoke with the police. He told her all about what had happened with Simon. He’d been standing there when it happened. They’d been stupid and drunk and horsing around. To this day, Steve felt awful about it.
But the more Barbara didn’t listen, the more hysterical Jenna got in Blondie’s parking lot, shouting about how the necklace she was wearing was some kind of proof of something. Something about Steve. She just would not shut up. And so Barbara tried to make her. She hadn’t meant to rip the necklace off. She’d only meant to shake it, and Jenna.