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some twenty years ago, pledging to protect me from the truth that my mother was still alive. “She’s fine,” I responded. “Trying to decide whether she wants to settle near San Francisco or maybe down by Los Angeles.”
    “Well, it’s a little odd that we finally get your uncle back from California only to turn around and lose your sister to the same state.”
    “Savannah’s city charter only allows so many Taylors at a time,” I joked.
    Her lips turned up in a near smile. “Well, you aren’t going to be a Taylor much longer, are you? You’re going to be one of us. A Tierney.”
    I squirmed a little. Aunt Iris and Peter’s mom had been openly colluding to pressure me and Peter to marry. They wanted the baby to be born into a married family, but the thought of organizing a wedding on top of everything else was overwhelming. “Mrs. Tierney . . .” I started.
    “You don’t have to call me Mrs. Tierney anymore. You’re a full-grown woman, not a twelve-year-old girl. You don’t have to call me ‘Mom,’ but I do wish you would call me by my given name.” My own mother’s face rose to mind as she said the word Mom . Would she be there for the birth of my son? I ached to see her again. I felt certain that if I could just convince her to come home and meet with my aunts, we’d be able to sort things out. Get to the bottom of whatever Ginny had done to trick or coerce them into going along with her twisted scheme.
    I pushed the thoughts of my mother aside and focused on the current awkward moment. “All right, Claire,” I said, tentatively trying the name out. It felt odd, but I committed myself to it.
    “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
    “No, it’s just that I . . .”
    “It’s just that you don’t want your future mother-in-law sticking her nose into your wedding plans. I get it. Don’t worry. I don’t care where you hold the wedding. I don’t care who officiates. I don’t care about the dress, the flowers, or the cake. I only care that it happens soon. Your pregnancy will start to show before long.”
    “I don’t see why that should matter.”
    “Well, for the photos,” she said, as if she were explaining the obvious. “It may not matter to you. It may not matter to Peter. But in a few years it may matter to little Colin.” I said nothing, but she read my reaction. “You do want to marry my son, don’t you?”
    “Of course I do.” I hesitated. “But I feel a bit out of control of my own life right now. I wish I could slow things down. Take things more at my own pace.”
    “Sorry, dear, but welcome to the world of being a parent. Your time no longer belongs to you. I won’t push you, though. At least for another week or two,” she said and winked at me.
    I took a sip of my tea and then regretted it. The smell was what bothered me more than the taste. I fought a surge of nausea. Mrs. Tierney, Claire, reached out and pulled the cup away. “It’s all right. When I was pregnant I couldn’t abide cinnamon.” She took the cups and moved them over to the bar, returning to her seat with a much more serious look. “The baby. It’s healthy, right? Nothing unusual?”
    “No, the doctor says everything looks really good,” I said in the most reassuring tone I could muster.
    “I don’t care what the doctor thinks. What does Ellen have to say?”
    I took her hand. “Ellen says the baby is fine. She swears that she can hear him singing.”
    I thought this tidbit would entertain her, but her brow furrowed. “Takes after his father, he does,” she said. “Well, good. So tell me then,” she said, changing gears, “this tall fellow who has been staying with your family of late. The dark one who glowers all the time.”
    “Emmet?” I asked, even though I knew full well that he was the only one who could possibly fit that description.
    “Yes, Emmet. Is he a relative?”
    “No,” I replied. “He’s more of a friend of the family.” I felt good about the level of