December Wishes (A Year in Paradise Book 12)

by Hildred Billings

  Although she always had that tinge of panic whenever she realized how… exposed she was.

  It was the city girl inside of her. What if someone chose that moment to rob them? Hardly worth traumatizing a few minimum wage employees. Jail time? Skylar wanted to believe it was possible, but after living in Portland, she wasn’t sure how seriously the PNW took armed robbery.

  That was anxiety talking. Skylar didn’t like being alone, did she? Every time she faced the crushing reality that was loneliness, she froze up a little and thought of every bad thing that could possibly happen to her.

  Wasn’t that normal, though? She couldn’t be the only one who had nightmares of waking up every day for the rest of her life, utterly alone.

  Standing at the front counter with only the hum of appliances to keep her company, Skylar took out her phone and opened her notetaking app again.

  “Get a therapist to deal with loneliness issues.”

  Talk about demons that followed a girl wherever she went. In a small town? She might as well dance with the devil and court the king of madness.

  Chapter 11

  JOAN & LORRI

  “I can walk, you know.” Joan drummed her fingers atop her stomach, which now protruded as if she hid a cantaloupe beneath her maternity dress. “In fact, my legs are really cramped, Lor. I could really stretch them out right now.” That was the worst part of this pregnancy. How much her doctor didn’t like her standing so much. Or walking. Or climbing stairs. Or living, really.

  “Hell no.” Lorri put the brakes on Joan’s wheelchair and grabbed something off the shelf. “We’re not taking any chances. Think of all the running around you’ll have to do when we have a toddler. You’ll be wishing for the days when you got to scoot around in a wheelchair.”

  Joan rolled her eyes. Sure, wheeling through the aisles of a big-box discount store sure beat walking up and down endless aisles while the fluorescent lights beat down on a woman, but Joan reached a point where she needed to exercise. Real exercise. Not only the preapproved moves her doctor gave her, or the weekly appointments she had with a local yoga studio that had pregnancy specific classes. My doctor threw a minor fit about those, too! I told him, if it really made such a difference, I shouldn’t stand to get into the shower.

  Hard to believe that so early in her pregnancy Joan had taken every precaution possible. After two heartbreaking miscarriages, she was determined to see this one through, or never again. My last chance. Not only because they had completely run out of IVF funds, but because Joan was tired. She was getting up there in age and the window of opportunity was slipping away. This baby was her very last shot at traditional motherhood.

  Now, however? A little over eight months since her egg probably implanted? Oh, she wanted to run a whole lap around the store. She hadn’t moved from the moment her doctor took a look at her pregnancy history and expressed concern that the slightest movement might make her miscarry. Joan didn’t need that energy in her laugh. Sure, she would “take it easy,” but a woman could only lay in bed so much. She was going on indefinite bed rest right before Christmas, anyway, right when the stars moved in the sky and Sagittarius became Capricorn.

  The only reason she knew that was because riding around in a wheelchair meant she was always at eye level with the astrology tracts for sale in the checkout aisle. “Did you know?” Joan once asked her partner. “That most billionaires are Capricorns? Apparently, Capricorns are known for their intense work ethic.”

  Lorri reminded her that “most” billionaires were born with tons of money already, but Joan honestly didn’t know anything about that, so said nothing. Instead, she promised to not take stock in astrology, out of fear she might project the expectation to succeed upon her child.

  “Oh, oh! Get the Double Stuf Oreos!” Joan pointed to the cookies as they went down the junk food aisle. “Yesss! Those ones!”

  Lorri gave her an exasperated look. Probably because the basket was already filled with crackers, cookies, and candies. Joan’s sweet tooth had gone into overdrive since entering her third trimester. And my other teeth… God, after eating that anchovy and pineapple pizza two nights ago, she had gone onto social media to share the secret to pregnancy cravings.

  Why did all the emoji reactions have to be little yellow heads puking?

  “You don’t need more sugar. You’ve already got licorice and sugar cookies in there.”

  “Yeah, and now I want Oreos! You want our baby being born without a love for chocolate? They wouldn’t last two weeks in our house.” She knew how Lorri got right before her period. Snarfs down every lick of sugar in the house. “Furthermore, do you want me craving sugar at two in the morning when we don’t have any in the house? I’d send your ass to the Grab ‘n’ Go since it’s the only place open at that time of night.”

  “Bold of you to assume I would actually get up at two in the morning to do that. I love you, Joanie, but I don’t love nobody that much. Hell, I don’t love myself that much!”

  Joan snorted in absolute derision. She lightly knocked on her stomach and said, “You want me to eat Oreos, don’t you, baby?”

  A mighty sigh erupted. Soon, a pack of Double Stuf Oreos landed in the basket.

  “You’re running a racket, you know that?” Lorri asked her.

  “This is what happens when I turn into a total couch potato. I sit around and eat.”

  “I know you pregnant women can be really special, but you’re ridiculous.”

  “My mama used to tell me about eating ice cream and ketchup when she was pregnant.”

  “Ice cream and ketchup?” They rounded the endcap, which advertised every flavor of Gatorade available. Joan extended both hands and grabbed a blue bottle when Lorri wasn’t looking. “I’ve heard of pickles and ice cream, but that’s a new one.”

  “It’s basically ice cream and vinegar, either way.”

  “Ugh. Gross. Ick.”

  Joan didn’t need her partner’s opinions. You ain’t the one pregnant right now, Lor. Lorri would never understand what it was like to wake up at eight in the morning wanting to throw up. Or what it was like to lie in bed all day until you were in the “safe” zone, whatever that meant. I’ve been in the safe zone before, and still lost a baby. Lorri would never know what that was like, either. Didn’t mean she couldn’t be sad, angry, or confused, but at the end of the day, Joan Sheffield was the one who dealt with every physical side effect.

  If only she could get the hell out of this wheelchair for two minutes!

  “Lorri,” she whined, as they bypassed the pet section and went straight for babies and toddlers. “I really gotta pee.”

  “Yeah. Okay. Hang on, we gotta double-back to the restroom.

  Joan had to fight back the urge to pee in the wheelchair. Damn bladder. Always filling up, and as soon as I think about it, I gotta pee right now or risk the consequences. Another layer of joy to pregnancy.

  Lorri parked her partner by the water fountain. They couldn’t take the wheelchair into the restroom with a basket full of product. What a happy coincidence. The only way I’m going in there is if I get up and use my own two feet. Was her stomach big enough to open the hands-free door by itself? Had any woman been as happy as Joan to step into a supermarket restroom?

  “Ooooh!” squealed a stranger, as she turned around from the sinks and wiped her hands with a paper towel. “Look at you! You’re about ready to pop!”

  “Oh, my God,” Lorri muttered. “Come on, Joanie, handicap stall is open.”

  But Joan always loved a little attention. After all, she worked hard to get pregnant. Why shouldn’t people notice and tell her how great she looked? Okay, so some people are a little fetishy about it, including the women, but I take what I can get. Joan would never be pregnant again. This was her chance to be the center of maternal attention. You know, before I give birth and everyone judges me for how I parent.

  “How far along are you, hon?” the stranger asked.

  “Hit eight months about a week bac
k.”

  “You’re entering the home stretch! Trust me, I’ve had four kids, and they all came at different times! Even had a preemie in there. You’d never guess though. He grew up taller than all his siblings and now plays wide receiver at school.”

  “It truly is something these, days, isn’t it?” Lady, don’t give me that energy. Joan was terrified of a premature birth. Every day, every week that went by and she was still pregnant was a small blessing. Not that it feels like it when this baby is pressing on my bladder. Oh. Oh, God, I’m gonna start peeing myself in T-minus… “Excuse me. I really gotta go.”

  Lorri was already ahead of her, holding the stall door open. The stranger cooed at Joan’s stomach for two more seconds and helped herself out.

  “Outta my way, Lor!” Joan cried, huffing down the short aisle of stalls to get to the handicap one. “I’m about to burst!”

  She hated that she needed her partner’s help to pee, but they were well beyond the point of humiliation between one another. Lorri had seen things. Joan had seen things. They were about to see more things with childbirth and dirty diapers on the way.

  “Oof.” Joan sat down with a pang in her lower back. “Didn’t realize I had to go that bad.”

  “You okay?” Lorri asked from the other side of the stall.

  “Dunno. Think so?”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  A wave of nausea came over Joan like a tsunami of back pain and a bad, ominous feeling. “Oh. Oh, man, Lor…”

  “Don’t do that to me, Joanie. I need you to tell me that you’re feeling okay.”

  “I haven’t felt okay since I first had morning sickness and my tits felt like two heavy sandbags on my chest.”

  “Okay, I need you to tell me you’re not gonna be sick or have another problem!”

  “Can’t say that if I’m not sure I’m lying!”

  “Doooon’t do that, Joanie.”

  Joan attempted to fold over her lap, but her bulging stomach was the first thing in the way. Something shifted within her. Only one thing came to mind.

  If I give birth in a Wal-Mart bathroom…

  “Hey, Lor?”

  “What?”

  “Remember that movie ‘Where the Heart Is?’”

  “Huh?”

  “The one with that one who was in the Thor movie… Nat… Natalie Portman.”

  “What about it?”

  “You don’t remember? The Wal-Mart Baby movie?”

  Lorri’s eyes widened to astronomical proportions. “Don’t you dare!”

  “I ain’t the one doing anything! It’s the baby!” Joan grabbed the handrail. “Anyway, if you don’t want our kid to be a real-life Wal-Mart Baby, I’m thinking we better get our asses over to the hospital. Whatever the nearest one is…”

  She almost couldn’t finish her sentence. The awkward pain crawling up her body and about to explode out of her mouth was too much to bear. Where the hell did this come from, and why does it gotta happen now?

  How far along was she again? Was her baby still premature?

  “Lorri!”

  “Yeah, yeah! Got it! Getting the wheelchair!”

  There was, of course, a commotion to do with all the product in the wheelchair basket and Lorri attempting to take it into the bathroom. Yet as soon as she screamed, “My partner’s going into labor, you numb nuts!” Joan was flanked by employees in blinding blue and one woman with a thick accent yelling into a phone, “Yeah hun I think we gots us a code three in the ladies’ john! Yeah! Uh huh! Gotcha!”

  Joan didn’t know what was worse. Was it going into labor in a freakin’ store bathroom? Or having a ton of strangers in polyester vests and hair held up with chemicals watching her as she lifted from a toilet and left behind one helluva mess for somebody to clean up?

  Better here than at home, I guess. That was the only time she thought that for the next twenty-four hours. Unlike Lorri, who spent that same amount of time running around in circles and making panicked phone calls to her friends.

  One day, their kid would ask Joan how labor went. “Well, you know,” Joan would say, whether cooking dinner, driving to the library, or shopping for school clothes. “It wasn’t that special, I guess. Was out shopping for Oreos when suddenly you came shooting down the tunnel like you were a puppy seeing snow for the first time.”

  Thank God it wasn’t snowing that cold December day. Not even the ambulance drivers were used to it in that town. Bad enough they had one pregnant woman screaming bloody murder and another woman praying to God for the first time in her life.

  Chapter 12

  KRYS & SIOBHAN

  It was the same argument every week.

  “I changed it last time!” Quimby shouted from the couch in the lounge. “Last Thursday! Check the chore wheel!”

  You are literally full of crap. Krys was looking at the wall of chores right now, which was a glorified white board with a grid and magnets. Between “clean the kitchen” and “scrub the toilets” was “change the litterbox.” By some miracle, the magnet representing any of Paradise Valley’s fine firefighters was always under “Done!” or some other task that wasn’t as gross as changing out the litterboxes shared by four rambunctious kittens.

  Here came little Miss Meg right now.

  “Oh, my God,” Krys could hardly believe what she saw. There went Meg, the kitten with the hairiest bottom. She walked with the curious pride of a juvenile cat who had plenty to check out around the firehouse, but that dingleberry hanging from her haunches did not do much for her image. “Young!”

  The biggest guy in the firehouse poked his head around the kitchen wall. “What?”

  “Grab Meg while I get the scissors!”

  “Don’t tell me…”

  Trimming the gross out of Meg’s fur was a common enough occurrence in the firehouse that they had a routine. Young, who was impervious to cat bites and scratches, scooped her into his arms and held her in place while the lucky winner of that day’s Butt Roulette trimmed the gunk out of the cat’s fur. It was either that or let the girl run around the fire station with poop bouncing in the wind or, worse, scooting from one end of the station to the other.

  Really the graceful one, aren’t you? Krys forever regretted naming her after Megan Rapinoe. She liked to think Meg’s namesake was way more hygienic than this.

  “You know,” came a voice behind Krys, as she attempted the delicate extraction of poop from cat fur, “there’s a way better way to do that.”

  Krys didn’t let that voice distract her as she stared at Meg’s butt. “Keep a good hold on her, buddy,” she said to Young.

  “Oh, she’s an absolute darling. My cat would have ripped off my arm by now. Maybe she knows you’re trying to help her.” Here came the kissy noises. “Who’s a good girl? Meg’s a good girl. I would die for you, Meg. You know that, right?”

  Krys had to refrain from groaning, lest she slip up with the scissors.

  “There.” What a strange thing to proudly proclaim as she tossed the towel containing Meg’s triumph in the trash. “All done. Let her Majesty go.”

  Meg trotted halfway across the room before doubling-back toward to the entrance, where she sniffed the shoes of the firehouse’s only human guest. “For real, though,” Siobhan, who stopped by with a bag of groceries, said. “Better way to do that. I’d start with giving her a sanitary trim. Will severely cut back on the number of times you need to do that, anyway.”

  Krys opened her arms to wrap her girlfriend up in a big hug, but Siobhan recoiled, her bag nearly dropping from her hand. “Wash your hands!” she cried. “You are not touching me until you wash those nasty poop hands.”

  “I didn’t touch it!”

  “Wash your hands!”

  If Siobhan demanded it, Krys must follow. Not like her girlfriend wasn’t well-acquainted with everyone on duty, anyway. Krys could pop into the kitchen and wash her hands, knowing that Siobhan was only a few yards away, chatting about cat care with Young. And Quimby, who always paid
attention. He usually had another cat on his lap, anyway.

  “Can I hug you now?” Krys asked, reemerging from the kitchen. “Or should I go get a manicure, first?”

  “Very funny.” Siobhan pushed her red hair away from her chest before opening her arms for a hug. Do I detect a faint smile as I come in for a hug? “I brought some fresh vegetables for you guys, by the way.” She said that when they pulled away from one another’s cuddly bodies. Cuddliest body in town. I’m just saying. Krys may have actually been referring to herself. “Last time I peeked into your guys’ fridge, I nearly gagged. So. Many. Eggs. At least put some vegetables in those omelets.”

  “Veggies? Sweet!” Young sniffed through the bag on his way back to the kitchen. “This beats pizza again any day.”

  “Don’t mind him. He’s on a health food kick before New Year’s starts,” Krys said.

  “To be fair, isn’t part of your job staying fit and healthy? I mean, if my house is gonna be on fire, I’d prefer for my local firefighters to not run out of breath by the time they get the hose off the truck.”

  Krys could no longer hold back the eyeroll.

  This was the usual banter they shared whenever Siobhan stopped by the firehouse on a slow day. Things were a bit different if the crew had returned from a rough call, but on a day like that one, cajoling with biting sarcasm was the only way to entertain one’s self, with or without the girlfriend present.

  What a girl I’ve got…

  Siobhan would smack her to be called a girl, but that’s what Krys always thought. She called everyone a girl if she could get away with it. I like to remind them that they still have that little girl inside of them that wants to believe in fairy-tales and people being good. Siobhan had a few rough lessons like that recently. They had only been officially together for about four months, but they had been a slow four months that gradually saw Siobhan opening up sides of herself that had remained shut off for years. Krys was patient, sure, but her girlfriend allowing more giggles on her lips and big smiles on her face was always cause for celebration.