Free Bailey's Irish Dream by DEBBY CONRAD

already written off men.  Marriage and babies just weren’t for her.  How could she have forgotten that so quickly?  This was the beginning of her life in a way.  Tomorrow she’d call Gwen and see if she’d found a storefront yet.  Then she’d tell her family about the business she intended to open.   
    Bailey turned around slowly and saw the blinds wiggle and then close.  With her head hung low, she made her way up the walk, and let herself into the house. 
    “Let me guess,” her father said as soon as she’d shut the door.  “Stanley no longer wants to marry you.  Right?” 
    “Doyle, how could you say such a thing?” her mother scolded, touching Bailey’s hand.  “Tell your father it isn’t true, dear.  Tell him you and Stanley just had a teensy little fight, and in the morning everything will be all right.”  Mimi looked Bailey in the eyes.  “Tell him, dear, so he doesn’t worry.”
    She didn’t want her father to worry, or her mother either.  But she had to tell them the truth.  She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but the wrong something popped out.  “We were arguing about . . .”  She paused.  Tell them.   “We were arguing about . . . what to name our baby.  I’m sure you’ve probably guessed by now, but I’m pregnant.”
    Doyle caught his wife in his arms as she fainted.  Looking at his daughter, he said, “I want to talk to you, young lady.”
    Bailey swallowed hard.  What on earth was wrong with her?  When had she become such a liar?  “Let’s get Mom upstairs.  We can talk about this in the morning.”
    “You’re damn right we’re going to talk about it.  And we’re going to talk about that no-good Stanley too.”
    Dear God, Bailey thought.  What had she done now?  “This isn’t Stanley’s fault, Dad.”
    “No?  Then who’s fault is it?  Don’t tell me.  I already know.”  He started up the stairs.
    What had he meant by that? she wondered.
    * * * * * * * * * *
    Bailey had tossed and turned most of the night, thinking about the turmoil she’d created and how she could get out of it.  Maybe if she told her parents she was a compulsive liar and couldn’t help herself, they’d forgive her.  Or maybe she should tell them she was mentally ill.  That might work.  She should probably be locked up somewhere for a good long time. 
    Finally, just before the sun rose, Bailey drifted off to sleep.  It was close to eleven when she woke.  “Omigod!” she screamed, charging out of bed.  She couldn’t believe she’d slept so late.  Some hostess she was.  Grabbing a white terry robe from the back of her door, she flew down the hall and made her way to the kitchen. 
    Kaitlyn and her mother sat at the kitchen table, talking quietly. 
    “I’m so sorry I overslept,” Bailey said, reaching for the coffee pot.  “Where is everyone?”
    It was Kaitlyn who answered.  “Mark took the kids down to the beach.  And I’m not sure where Dad went.  He was gone when I got up at eight.”
    “How are you feeling, Mom?” Bailey asked, although Mimi looked perfectly fine with her hair pulled back neatly in a French twist, as usual.  She’d dressed in a floral linen shift complete with stockings and pumps.  She had an ethereal beauty that never ceased to amaze Bailey. 
    “I’m fine, dear.” 
    “Can I make you some breakfast?” 
    Mimi looked up at Bailey and smiled.  “No, thanks.  Besides, you don’t cook.”    Bailey had meant cereal, or toast.  Something easy that she couldn’t ruin.  “Kaitlyn and I toasted a couple bagels.  How are you feeling this morning?”
    “Fine,” she said, reaching for a mug.
    “Did you know you shouldn’t be drinking caffeine in your condition?” 
    Kaitlyn’s head flew up just as Bailey turned around.  “What condition?”  Her eyes darted to Bailey’s stomach.  “Oh!  That condition,” she said with a wink and a smile, obviously playing along.
    Bailey looked helplessly