by Jill G. Hall
“You won’t need to poop-scoop or anything. We’ll only be gone two nights.”
That was good, because Anne had heard somewhere that cat litter was unhealthy for pregnant women. She nodded.
“Really?” Mrs. Landenheim pushed open her door. “Come on in, and I’ll show you what to do.”
Having never been inside, Anne had always been curious, and followed her neighbor. The apartment smelled of cat. A forest of philodendrons hung from macramé baskets. The sofa and love seat were covered with plush purple and pink pillows. And on every flat surface were Siamese-cat ceramics that would be great in mosaics.
“Here’s the kibble.” Mrs. Landenheim opened a cupboard and filled two bowls. “You have to use separate bowls, or Thai goes nuts. Tap the water bowls too.”
“What’ve you got in the bag? Let me see.” Mrs. Landenheim held out her hand, fingers polished pearl pink.
Oh, well, I’ll have to tell her sometime. Anne sighed, pulled out the velour top, and handed it to her landlady.
“It’s a little big, isn’t it?” Mrs. Landenheim had a confused look on her face.
“Not in my condition.” Anne stared at her flip-flops. She didn’t want to see Mrs. Landenheim’s reaction.
“You’re having a baby?” She put a hand on Anne’s stomach. “That’s sure gonna change things around here.”
Anne wasn’t sure what her landlady meant and didn’t want to ask.
43
The next evening, all the way to the restaurant, Sergio tried to convince Anne of all the reasons she should move to New York: his place was bigger, better private schools, near Central Park.
Jam-packed Jardinière was filled with tony patrons. Even though Sergio had made a reservation, they still had to wait for a table in the noisy, boiling bar. Anne tugged off her black velvet coat. Underneath, her Modern Family shirt and black pants seemed to be okay, but she could only get her feet into the Uggs she’d bought in a size bigger than what she usually wore. Sergio was probably mortified, but he hadn’t said anything.
After twenty minutes, they followed the hostess up the stairs to a lovely loft table overlooking the downstairs bar. Once they were seated, Anne told Sergio about the odd happenings at the museum. “Fay wouldn’t say on the phone what she’s found out. After you leave for the airport tomorrow, I’m meeting her for coffee so she can tell me all about it.”
“Can’t wait to hear. Why don’t you come to New York and stay for a while?”
Anne blurted out, “Won’t it be crowded with your gorgeous, dark-haired woman?” She’d promised not to say anything but couldn’t hold it back.
“Who?”
“You know who I’m talking about. Dottie saw you with a girl at an art show, and she wouldn’t make something like that up.” Anne kept her voice calm, like she’d been practicing with the students.
“Probably Bella. She came for a visit.”
“Your sister?”
“Yes. Short, dark hair.”
“But she has long hair.”
“She cut it.”
Anne remembered another time Bella had visited Sergio. At first, she’d thought he had a new girlfriend.
“I’m sorry.” She hung her head.
He took her hands in his. “Cara mia. There’s no need. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get out here to see you. Work has been crazy busy.” He glanced down at her stomach for the twentieth time. “I’m sorry about the way I acted when you first told me about the baby.”
“I know. You’ve said that before. All’s forgiven.”
“I’m estatico now.”
Hearing him say he was happy about the baby made her feel like he’d spewed a mouthful of diamonds at her, or the twinkle lights strung across the restaurant’s ceiling.
Anne paused, took the collage from the silver tote he’d sent her, and slid it across the table to him. “It’s a girl.”
“Meraviglioso.”
“Isn’t it meravigliosa if it’s a girl?”
Sergio laughed. “Pink champagne’s in order here.” He glanced at the wine list and waved at the waiter. “Do you have the pink Veuve Clicquot?”
“I’ll send over the sommelier.”
The sommelier came by with a draped cloth over her arm. “What may I get you?”
“None for me, thanks.”
“What’s wrong?” Sergio asked.
“It’s not good for the baby.”
“But it’s a special occasion. Pregnant women drink wine all the time in Italy.”
“My midwife did say an occasional sip was fine.”
“I’ll get it right away.” The sommelier left.
Sergio sat back with a smile. “What shall we name her? How about Patricia Parmeggianno? I like the alliteration.”
She squinted. “I’m not sure.” She hadn’t told him yet she’d decided not to give the baby his last name. It would take forever for her to learn how to spell it. McFarland had been hard enough when she was young.
He took a roll from the basket, buttered it, and placed it on Anne’s bread plate. “Madison?”
“That’s a helicopter parent’s name. I’m going to raise her to be an independent woman. If you want a city name, how about San Francisco or Nob Hill, near where she was conceived?”
They laughed loudly. The couple at the next table turned around and glared at them. The sommelier brought the ice bucket, popped the cork with a flourish, and poured champagne into each flute.
Sergio clinked his glass with Anne’s. “To her.”
They each took a sip. The bubbles popped in Anne’s nose.
“How about Bella, after your sister?” Anne ate a roll.
Sergio studied the menu. “Maybe.”
“How about Prudence, after my cousin Pootie, or Trudy, after Aunt Tootie?”
“Oh, sure.” He kept studying the menu.
“Princess Genevieve Labrador?” Anne offered.
“We’re naming a girl, not a dog.”
Their waiter came over.
Sergio began, “We’ll each have a gem salad. She’ll have the halibut, and I’ll have short ribs.” He tilted down the menu. “Do you want oysters?”
“They’re off-limits for pregnant women.”
“Really?” He raised his eyebrows at her. “Chocolate panna cotta?”
She smiled seductively. A pregnant woman’s libido was supposed to increase in the third trimester. She wasn’t quite there yet, but still . . .
“Okay. Chocolate it is. That’ll be all,” he told the waiter. “How about a chef’s name? Wolfgang?”
“Like you said, we’re naming a girl. Julia?”
“Musicians: Beyoncé, Madonna, Fergie. Cher?” He drank more of the champagne.
Anne started singing, “Love child . . .” She thought about Cher’s wild costumes. The Native American one was Anne’s favorite.
“Would you like another glass?” Sergio reached for the bottle.
“I shouldn’t.” She picked up her water goblet and tilted it toward him. “To the baby.”
“Hey, I’ve got it. Since we met in a gallery and you’re an artist, how about an artist’s name?”
Anne squinted, thinking. “Frida, Georgia, Cindy.”
“Who’s Cindy?”
“You know, Cindy Sherman. That cool photographer who dresses up in different personas and does self-portraits.”
“Hmm.”
“Let’s noodle on it for a while.” In her heart, Anne had a secret name that she wasn’t ready to share yet.
Their salads arrived, and they both dug in.
“So, what’s the plan?” Sergio asked.
“I’m going to work at the museum and do my art.”
“Please come to New York, and let’s be a family.”
What a broken record. She wished that were possible. “We’ll still be a family, but, as I’ve said, New York didn’t work before.”
He looked deeply into her eyes. “But now everything’s changed.”
“I’ll co
nsider it.” He was probably right. A big condominium with a nanny was tempting. She still wasn’t sure. She’d never thought she’d consider living in New York again. Plus, she didn’t want to get her heart broken like before. For the baby’s sake, though, she should probably give it a try. Even though she had grown up without a father, she’d always wished she’d had one.
He leaned toward her and took her hands again. “Let me make an honest woman of you.”
“Are you saying I’m not honest?”
“Well? There was some confusion at the beginning of all this. But let’s get married.”
“What? When?” Here we go again.
“Now. Let’s fly to Vegas. Tonight.”
Oh, and maybe we’ll run into Ray Ray and Mrs. Landenheim at the Elvis chapel. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why so fast?”
“To get you settled. You need to decorate the nursery, hire a nanny.”
“If I were to move, it wouldn’t be until after the baby was born.”
“How come?”
“I like my midwife, and Fay is going to be my coach.”
He got a sad puppy-dog look on his face. “Don’t you want me to be?”
“You don’t even live here.”
“I’ll stay with you, and Fay can be backup if I’m traveling for work.”
That wasn’t a practical situation. “Remember when I cut my finger being your sous chef and you had to take me to urgent care?”
“That’s a night I’ll never forget.”
She recalled how queasy he’d become at the sight of all that blood—he had practically fainted when the wound was being stitched.
“Okay. I’ll think about all these options.”
“Magnifico.” He paused. “How about Portia Parmeggianno?”
If they couldn’t even agree on a name, how would they raise their daughter together?
44
After Sergio left for his flight the next morning, Anne tried to go back to sleep, but her stomach felt like it had fish swimming around in it. Could it have been all that rich food at dinner? She put her hand where she had experienced the movement and felt one again. She waited and felt another one. The baby was doing the bossa nova. She wished Sergio were still here with her.
Anne’s phone buzzed. “Hi, Fay. I had the best time last night.”
“That’s good. So did I.”
“You did?”
“Diana’s here!”
“What?”
“Yes. I went into labor in the middle of the night.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes. Don’t worry.”
“Why didn’t you call me? I wanted to be there.”
“I know. It was the middle of the night, though. You were having your reunion with Sergio, and I didn’t want to interrupt. She’s so beautiful.”
“I can’t wait to see her. I’m on my way.”
“No, no! Please wait. They’re releasing me soon. I’ll call you when I get home.”
The next day, George called and told her Mother and Baby were doing fine but needed some time to recuperate.
“Are you sure they’re okay?”
“Yes. Fay will call you later.”
“Send me photos.”
Anne didn’t make it over to Bay Breeze for another week.
“Blimey! Look at you!” Fay gave Anne a kiss as Anne bent down to see the baby.
“Yeah, look at Shamu. I can’t believe I still have ten weeks to blow.” Anne sat on the step stool in the kitchen.
“Here. I just finished feeding her.” Fay passed Diana to Anne.
“What a cutie-patootie!” She ran her hand over the baby’s peach-fuzz head and her adorable floral onesie.
“She’ll be here before you know it. Coffee or tea?”
“Herbal tea. I’ve already had my two hundred milligrams of caffeine for the day.”
Fay put the kettle on to boil.
Diana was so tiny and fragile. Anne couldn’t wait to hold her own daughter. “Are you feeling okay now?”
“Almost fit as a fiddle.” Fay yawned.
“Okay! What’ve you found out?”
Fay chopped mushrooms on the island. “Let me fix brunch, and then I’ll tell you all I know.”
“Come on.” Anne groaned.
“I can’t cook and talk at the same time. Besides, I want to see your face when I tell you.”
“Can I help?”
“You are, by holding Diana.”
Diana whined. Anne cradled Diana in her arms and rocked her until she quieted and fell back to sleep.
“Thanks for being my coach.”
“I’m honored. I love you, and I’m up on just what to do.”
Paul ambled in, pushing his walker, and kissed Anne on the cheek. “You look stunning.”
“Yeah, right. Isn’t Diana adorable?”
“That she is.” He leaned over and kissed the baby’s forehead.
“Remember when you showed me how to toss pasta on the ceiling to make sure it was finished?”
He chuckled. “I sure do.”
George came in the back door and let Lucky off his leash. The dog scurried around the kitchen, yapping.
Diana woke again, with a wail.
“Naptime for you, princess.” George reached for Diana.
“Bye, cutie.” Anne handed her to him. “I’ll see you again before I go.”
Paul scooted toward his room. “Naptime for me too. See you soon.”
Fay whispered, “He’s doing pretty well, just sleeps a lot.”
Anne frowned. She should visit more often. “Okay, spill it about Karl!”
“Hold your knickers. Let me get the omelet going. Gather some mint in the garden.”
Tottering down the stairs reminded Anne of the times she’d picked basil, tomatoes, peppers, and other fresh produce from Sylvia’s garden to make spaghetti. What an overgrown mess now. Worse than her own. Sylvia would be so disappointed. The herbs had all gone to seed. Anne tugged out a few sprigs of mint and carried them back inside.
“Fay, the garden’s a mess.” Anne rinsed the mint in the sink. “Don’t the gardeners still come?”
“They come weekly, but all they do is mow and blow.” Fay put a fruit salad in front of Anne and flipped over the omelet.
Anne cut up the mint with scissors and sprinkled it over the salad. “Maybe after my little one’s born, I’ll come help rejuvenate it.”
Anne put the salad bowl on the table and opened her napkin on her lap.
Fay joined her, carrying over omelet-filled Haviland plates. “What’s your plan?”
“My head’s spinning with the options. I feel like a hamster on a treadmill. I just want to stay in my studio apartment.” Anne bit into her salad.
“That’s not realistic. It’s too small. Don’t you think? What do Sergio and your mom say?”
“They both say I should be with family and claim they’re the best option. Sergio even proposed again to me last night. But I really want to stay in San Francisco.”
“Move in here with us. The place is huge, and we’re family also.”
“You’ve already got your hands full.”
“You wouldn’t be in our hands. Your hands would be another set to help.”
“Let me think about it.” Anne loved the idea, but she couldn’t impose. “Okay—Karl and Priscilla!”
“Ready? It’s as juicy as that salad.”
“Who did you talk to?”
“Fredricka. But I didn’t hear it from her, and you didn’t hear it from me. Word is, Priscilla and Karl were caught together at the Ritz-Carlton in Palm Springs.”
“What do you mean, ‘caught together’?”
“Caught, as in caught with their pants down.” Fay paused and raised her eyebrows. “By his wife.”
Anne had a hard time holding back a smile. “Go on.”
“I don’t have all the nitty-gritty, but she does know that Wifey is a big-time attorney.”
“She is? When I was seeing him, he told
me he couldn’t leave her because she didn’t have any job skills.”
“She suspected something was going on. He told her the museum was paying for a business trip.”
“He’s not the brightest bulb in the chandelier.”
“Let’s hope she won’t need to give him anything. He might even be able to get alimony from her.”
“How did Fredricka get so much detailed information?”
“From a mutual friend. Apparently, Priscilla had been using the museum’s credit card for hotels, expensive dinners, et cetera. So, bye-bye, Priscilla and Karl.”
Anne couldn’t believe it.
45
A week later, on a warm evening, pink shadowed the mountains and the sun began its slow descent over the hill. Sally Sue ran out into the meadow with relief as Cliff rode down the slope toward her on Roan. His shoulders slumped, but when he saw her, he sat up straight and gave her an enthusiastic wave.
“I’ve been so worried.” Sally Sue couldn’t help herself. “Wherever have you been?”
“On the range.” Cliff gave her a weary smile within his unshaven face. His clothes were filthy, saddlebags jam-packed. He struggled to get down off Roan. “I’m a bit light-headed.” He limped toward her and started to fall.
“Careful.” She caught him in her arms and guided him inside, where she helped him to sit on a kitchen chair.
Socks scurried over. Sally Sue lifted her up into Cliff’s lap. He stroked the kitten’s back.
“What’s wrong with you?” Sally Sue asked him.
He removed his hat and pushed back his hair, revealing a deep gash on his forehead. One of his eyes was black and blue, bloodied, and swollen shut.
“Oh, my stars and garters. What happened to you?” she gasped.
“It’s nothing.”
“Have you been at the saloon, fighting over a girl?” Sally Sue tried to tease.
“Maybe.”
She felt another sprig of jealousy. It wilted when he didn’t laugh at her joke.
Had he been in a fight? Robbed another bank? Shot and killed another man? She glanced at the gun in his holster. “What happened?” She doubted he’d tell her the truth.
“Got into a scuffle with a grizzly bear.”
She was right he wasn’t going to tell her the truth. If it had been a grizzly, he would be dead, or at least have more lacerations.