Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
“That’s an excellent idea.” Scarlett’s brows lifted. “Sometimes I wonder if I just enjoy the beginnings, and that’s why I never seem to move past them. The beginnings are what make everything romantic.”
“Not the whole falling in love part?” Constance teased, reclaiming her seat.
“Well, that too.” She raised a shoulder. “But maybe it’s really the possibilities that are easy to fall in love with. Looking at any situation, any relationship, any story, and having the sublime ability to wonder where it will take us is a bit intoxicating, really. There’s a rush every time I load a blank sheet of paper. Like a first kiss from a first love.”
Constance gave her engagement ring a quick glance before tucking it under the table in her lap. “So you’d rather keep loading the paper than finish it?”
“Perhaps.” Scarlett rubbed at the spot just beneath her ribs where her baby often enjoyed testing the boundaries of her body. “I don’t know if this baby is a boy or a girl. I think it’s a boy, though I can’t explain why. But in this moment, I can imagine a boy with Jameson’s eyes and his reckless smile, or a girl with our blue eyes. Right now, I’m in love with both, basking in the possibilities. In a few days—at least I’m hoping it’s a few days or I swear I’ll explode—I’ll know.”
“And you don’t want to know?” Constance arched an eyebrow.
“Of course I want to know. I will love my son or my daughter with all my heart. I already do. But while I’ve entertained both possibilities, only one is the truth. Once this baby is born, that part of the story is over. One of the scenarios I’ve spent the last six months imagining won’t come true. That doesn’t make the outcome any less sweet, but the truth is, when a story is finished, no matter what kind it is, the possibilities are gone. It is what it is, or it was whatever it was.”
“So be kind to your characters and give them all a happy ending,” Constance suggested. “That’s better than anything they’d have in the real world.”
Scarlett stared at the hatbox. “Perhaps the kindest thing I could do for the characters would be to leave their stories unfinished. Leave them with their possibilities, their potential, even if they only exist in my own mind.”
“You leave the letter unopened,” Constance said softly.
“Perhaps I do.”
A sad smile curved Constance’s mouth. “And in that world, perhaps Edward is actually on leave, sneaking up to Kirton-in-Lindsey to see me.”
Scarlett nodded, her entire body tightening with nearly painful emotion.
The kettle whistled, and Constance rose to her feet. “It might be a bit difficult to get published that way,” she said over her shoulder with a forced, teasing smile. “I think most people appreciate books with endings.”
“I hadn’t really thought as far as actually publishing anything.” The ache in her back flared, reaching around to the front of her abdomen in a breath-stealing, vicious grip.
“You should. I’ve always loved listening to your stories. Everyone should get that chance.”
Scarlett shifted her weight again as Constance made tea. “I think perhaps we should take that in the living room. This chair isn’t agreeing with me.”
“We can do that.”
The sound of porcelain clicking filled the kitchen as Scarlett struggled to her feet. Little by little, the ache dissipated, and she managed her first full breath.
“Scarlett?” Constance questioned, the tray in her hands.
“I’m okay. Just a bit stiff.”
Constance put the tray on the table. “Would you rather take a walk? Would that help?”
“No. I’m sure I just need to stretch my limbs here for a minute.”
Constance glanced at the clock. “Why don’t we ring for the midwife? Just to be sure.”
Scarlett shook her head. “The nearest phone is three blocks away, and I’m fine.” She was…until the ache returned and spread again, locking all the muscles of her abdomen.
“You are most certainly not fine.”
Scarlett felt a pop, and then warmth gushed down her thighs. Her waters had broken. Fear unlike anything she’d ever known gripped her tighter than the contraction.
“I’ll ring for the midwife.” Constance took her elbow and guided her to the chair. “Sit. Don’t try to walk until I can get you into bed.”
“I want Jameson.”
“Of course,” Constance said in that soothing tone of hers as she made sure Scarlett was seated.
“Constance,” Scarlett snapped, then paused until her sister looked her in the eye. “I. Want. Jameson.”
“I’ll ring the midwife, then the squadron, I promise. Midwife first, unless your husband developed some expertise on delivering a baby?”
Scarlett glared.
“Right. Sit. Don’t move. For once in your life, let me be in charge.” She ran out the door before Scarlett could argue.
Five minutes. Ten minutes. Scarlett watched the clock tick the minutes by as she waited for Constance.
The front door opened twelve minutes after she’d left.