Free Seed No Evil by Kate Collins Page A

screen: Jillian. I took a deep breath to psych myself up for the call. “Hello, Jillian. What’s going on?”
    â€œAbs,” she said in a chiding tone, “know what I learned today? That Dr. Baybee has a word for people like you.”
    â€œPeople like me? What did I do?”
    â€œIt’s not what you
did
; it’s what you’re
not
doing.
”
    â€œOkay, I’ll bite. What am I not doing?”
    â€œYou’re not supporting my intention to rehearse my pregnancy. You’re what is known in the industry as a non-supportress. A
non-supportress,
Abs.”
    â€œI’m a non-supportress,” I said to Marco.
    â€œSounds like a bad mattress,” he said.
    â€œDo you know what having a non-supportress around a pregnant woman can result in?” Jillian asked.
    â€œNo, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
    â€œGastric distress and depression.
Depression,
Abs! Does that ring a bell?”
    More like the scrape of nails down a blackboard.
    â€œWhat Dr. Baybee is saying is that it’s not hormones causing my problems, Abby Knight. It’s you.”
    â€œSo what can I do to help you, Jillian?”
    â€œEmbrace the ball. That’s what Dr. Baybee says.”
    â€œWhat does that even mean?”
    â€œPretend that the ball is a real baby growing in my womb. That’s all. See how simple that is?”
    I had no choice but to say yes or those nails would just keep on scraping that blackboard. “Fine, Jillian. I’ll embrace the ball. Does that make me a supportress?”
    â€œWait.”
    I could hear pages turning; then she said, “Now you’re an embracer.”
    â€œI’m relieved.”
    â€œOkay, that’s all I wanted,” Jillian said happily, and hung up.
    â€œWhat was that about?” Marco asked, as he pulled up in front of Bloomers.
    â€œJillian thinks that I’m the cause of her depression because I wasn’t supporting her pregnancy rehearsal, and do you really want to hear this story? If you do, I’ll fill you in at dinner. We are having dinner together, aren’t we?”
    â€œUm,” he said, “let me get back to you on that.”
    I hadn’t imagined
that
pause.
    Gripping the door handle, I stopped to glance over at him. He’d get
back
to me? I felt like one of his beer reps. But Marco was checking his cell phone for messages and didn’t even notice, so I got out of the car and shut the door. “See you,” I said through the open window, leaving off the word
later.
    â€œOkay, babe,” he replied without looking up.
    I waited on the sidewalk outside the flower shop until he pulled away, hoping for a wave. He never even looked over.

C HAPTER S EVEN

    B ack inside Bloomers, the coffee-and-tea parlor was filled with customers, which was great to see, since the front shop was empty. Lottie was using the time to dust the shelves while Grace handled the parlor with her usual aplomb.
    â€œHey, sweetie. How’d it go at the shelter? Did you have time to get everyone interviewed? And why is there a wrinkle between your eyebrows?”
    â€œBecause I inherited this stupid wrinkle from my mom, and I’m not happy about it.”
    â€œSeriously, Abby,” Lottie said, coming toward me. “Did something happen? You look concerned.”
    â€œNothing happened, per se, but I think Marco might be”—I shrugged a shoulder to show that it wasn’t a big deal, which was a bald-faced lie—“keeping things from me.”
    â€œWhat kind of things?”
    â€œBusiness problems maybe? Or personal? I don’t know, but whatever problems he’s having, he’s not sharing, Lottie, and that hurts. Doesn’t he trust me?”
    Lottie guffawed, just the kind of reaction I was hoping for. “Sweetie, that man is crazy about you. What’s he doing that makes you think he’s keeping things from you?”
    â€œLately he seems