really belong to any of them. But you probably can’t understand what it’s like to feel so detached. You grew up in a family with three older sisters—”
“Who I want to choke most the time,” she interrupted, stirring her gin and tonic with one long fingernail.
“Still, you’re connected. You’re blood. You get together for holidays and stuff that wouldn’t be the same if any of you weren’t there. My mother died shortly after we moved here. I don’t know who my father is—even my mother didn’t know that. And I was raised by Dundee’s own Mother Teresa. Aunt Millie would’ve taken in and loved any child.” She sighed wearily. “I’ve been wanting a family of my own since forever, but it looks like I’m going to die an old maid.”
Rebecca licked her wet finger and leaned back to light a cigarette. “Then, do something about it,” she said on a long exhalation. “Get artificially inseminated.”
“Not so loud,” Delaney whispered. “We live in a small town, for heaven’s sake. This isn’t New York or L.A. And we grew up here. Everyone knows us. I don’t want word getting out that I’m considering something so…radical. It could embarrass Aunt Millie and Uncle Ralph, make them regret they ever took me in.”
“I knew it!” Rebecca clapped her hands, although she did it carefully so she wouldn’t crush her cigarette.
“What?” Delaney asked, exasperated.
“That you’ve been thinking about having a baby on your own!”
“And how did you know that?”
“I’ve seen you stare at the parenting magazines we pass in the grocery store. I’ve seen how you admire every child you come across.”
“Maybe I have been thinking about it,” she said. “But I don’t believe that doing things the artificial way will work.”
“Why not?” Rebecca squinted at her through the thin stream of smoke curling toward the ceiling.
“First of all, it’s expensive and my insurance won’t cover it. Librarians in a town of fifteen hundred people only make so much. And now that you’re going to be moving out, my house payment will double. Aunt Millie needs a few things, too, like another coat of paint on her place. Second, I wouldn’t even know where to find the right doctor. We only have a general practitioner around here, and I’m sure it would take some sort of specialist. Finally, I probably wouldn’t qualify. Don’t you have to be married? Or at least infertile?”
Delaney cast another furtive glance at the Honky Tonk’s fellow patrons. The divorced Mary Thornton, who’d been captain of the cheer squad in high school, sat with her crowd in the corner, but the place hadn’t filled up yet. Elton John was singing “Rocket Man” on the jukebox. He competed with the clack of balls coming from the direction of the pool tables, a television droning in the corner and Rusty Schultz at the bar, loudly detailing his frustration with a car engine he was trying to rebuild. “In any case,” she finished, sitting back to avoid Rebecca’s secondhand smoke. “I’m sure they don’t give sperm away to just any woman who happens to want it.”
“They might not, but I know a lot of men who would.” A devilish smile curled Rebecca’s lips as she tapped the end of her cigarette on a small tin ashtray. “Why not get yourself laid and be done with it?”
“Rebecca!”
Her friend held up the hand with the cigarette, fake red nails gleaming even in the dim light. “Come on, what about all those assertiveness training classes you’ve been taking online? You’re always telling me your instructor says to take charge of your life, decide what you want and make it happen.”
“I don’t think my instructor had something like this in mind.”
“Well, it applies, and getting pregnant wouldn’t be that difficult. First of all, a willing partner would be free,” she said, ticking the points off on her fingers as Delaney had just done. “So you can afford the mortgage and still get Aunt Millie’s house painted this spring. Second, you wouldn’t have as much trouble finding a donor as you would the right doctor. Can you imagine approaching Dr. Hatcher for a recommendation?” She took a long drag on her cigarette, then set it aside to smolder. “And three, if you’re picking up some guy at a bar, it’s better if you’re not married.”
Delaney tried to appear scandalized, but immediately gave up the charade. This was Rebecca; knowing her was the closest she’d ever come to having a sister. And as low as Delaney thought tricking a man would be, she was actually getting desperate enough to consider it. “It just seems so…dishonest. Almost like stealing.”
“It’s not stealing if he gives you what you want,” Rebecca said, reclaiming her cigarette.
“Maybe, but I keep coming back to—”
“Your morals. I know.” Rebecca angled her head so she wouldn’t exhale in Delaney’s face. “You’ve always had a few too many.”
Delaney propped her chin in her hand and stared glumly at the glassy-eyed elk head hanging on the opposite wall. “I’ve had a lot of people to answer to. And not only Aunt Millie and Uncle Ralph. What about old Mrs. Shipley? She taught me everything I know about the library, groomed me to take her place. And Mr. Isaacs on the city council put in a good word for me last review, which helped me get a raise. Mrs. Minike volunteers countless hours at the library—”
“And you’ve hired her daughter to help out part-time.”
“Shelving books for minimum wage.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying it isn’t easy feeling obligated to a whole town. And with gossips being what they are—”
“Don’t worry about gossip. I don’t.”
“Much to your parents’ mortification, I might add. Your father is mayor of this town. I’m sure he’d appreciate a little more discretion.”
Rebecca shrugged. “He’s been in office so long, it would take a crowbar to get him out. No one even bothers to run against him anymore. Besides, ever since I took off with that motorcycle gang, the old ladies in this town sort of lost interest in me. Now when people mention my name, the most they get is a halfhearted response like, ‘Oh, yeah? What’s that Wells girl up to now? She always was a handful.’ I guess I’ve already provided my share of the town’s entertainment. They’re eager for someone else to relieve the tedium, and I think it’s your turn.”
“My turn?” Delaney asked wryly.
“Yeah, the only controversial thing about you is your strange name. That raised a few eyebrows when you first came to town. I still remember old Mrs. Hitchcock shaking her head and wanting to know what your mama could’ve been thinking. But you moved here when you were six, so we’ve had twenty-four years to get used to it, and it’s time for something new. I mean, look at you. You were a quiet, obedient child. You always got good grades. When we were teenagers, you won the baking contest at the county fair four years running, and you placed in the barrel racing, too. And now everyone stops by the house on Sundays to buy your pies, and when they walk away they say, ‘That Delaney’s just about the sweetest thing. I wonder when she’s gonna get married.’ Only there’s no one here to marry.”
“Most people would say there’s always Josh Hill,” Delaney said. “Or his brother.”
Rebecca stubbed out her cigarette. “You know how I feel about Josh Hill.”
“He’s not that bad. I don’t understand why you hate him so much.”
“I know him better than you do. Anyway, he’s seeing Mary Thornton, and his brother’s met someone from out of town. The Hill brothers aren’t exactly available. Which leaves Billy Joe or Bobby West or Perry Paris.”
Delaney made a face. “Marrying one of them would be like marrying my brother.”
“Exactly the reason I’m marrying someone who lives in Nebraska.” She folded her arms and leaned