Page 11 of Postmarked December

Heather leaned forward. “What’s going on?”

Marion shook her head. “He and I are at an impasse. I want to start a family, but he isn’t sure he wants one at all.” She stared into the flickering fire as patrons chattered around them. “We had a pretty big blowup over it. I told him he should’ve mentioned that before we got married, and he snapped back and said, ‘So you’re saying you wouldn’t have married me if you’d known?’ I didn’t have an answer.” Her face fell, her eyes full of thoughts.

Having a family was something Heather and Toby had always talked about with excitement. And when he’d gotten sick, they’d cried together over the loss of their plans. She couldn’t imagine the pressure Anthony’s opposing view put on Marion.

Heather shifted in her chair to face her friend. “I’m sorry.”

“I’d never asked him outright if he wanted kids, but when I talked about the future I included family, and he didn’t protest, so I’d assumed he’d want to start one. I feel like his silence was deception.”

“Did he say why he never said anything?”

Marion shook her head.

“He didn’t elaborate on why he doesn’t want kids?”

Marion toyed with the breakfast in her lap. “He didn’t have a great childhood. His dad could be a nightmare, and he wasn’t very supportive of Anthony when he was growing up. I’m guessing it turned him off the idea of having kids.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“I truly don’t know. I love him. But I don’t know where to go from here. Scarlett has helped a little, but he always says, ‘A cat isn’t quite the same as bringing a child into the world. They don’t talk back, and you can leave them alone without worrying.’ He told me I can have all the cats I want, but he’s right, that’s not the same.”

“I suppose, to use your wise words, ‘Let things unfold. You never know what could happen.’ Maybe he’ll change his mind now he truly knows what you want.”

“I hope so.”

Chapter Five

After breakfast, they walked back to Bottle and Barrel. As they approached the door, Heather’s phone rang. She checked the screen. “This number’s called a few times now.” She rolled her eyes, sure it was a journalist or someone similar.

“Answer it,” Marion urged.

“If it were someone I knew, I’d have their name in my contacts.”

It rang again.

“If they’ve called more than once, you might want to answer, given the Christmas card. Maybe it’s someone calling to explain. Just hang up if it isn’t.”

Against her better judgment, Heather answered. “Hello?”

“Oh, hi…” said a man’s voice. “I tried to call before about Toby’s album and an award it’s up for. My name is⁠—”

“You’re a reporter?” she cut him off. The vague memory of his voicemail came back immediately, and she tensed.

“Uh…not really.”

“Well, I’m not doing any interviews.”

“I wasn’t asking for an interview. Are you planning on attending the country music awards in May?”

She didn’t listen, focusing on Marion, who mimed, Who is it?

Heather offered Marion a flat expression, pulled the phone away from her mouth, and whispered, “Toby’s up for an award.” Then she turned her focus back to the caller. “I won’t be attending.”

Marion looked on, curious, clearly trying to make sense of the call with half the information.

“I’m not interested.”

“I’d love to just have a few minutes of your time…”