The Plan
Page 34
“Mama, can we go riding tomorrow?” Bronte asked, stealing a quick spoonful of mashed potatoes from the huge bowl at the center of the table.
“Only if you don’t do that again.” Lysette pointed a playful finger at her.
“Well,” Jim said, clapping his hands from his seat mid-table next to his new wife. “Time to carve that gorgeous turkey.”
Eleanor grabbed the carving knife she’d set next to her plate and stood, noting Jim was, as well. The two stood there looking at each other, the most awkward Wild West standoff in history before he grinned, laughing at himself before he reclaimed his seat.
“Uh, I think that’s your job,” he said.
“Okay, gang,” Eleanor said, running the carving knife over the sharpening stone a few times. “Who wants what?”
“Uh…”
Eleanor’s attention was drawn to Fran, who sat there looking a bit shell-shocked. “Fran? Did you say something? You like dark meat, right?”
“Uh…”
“White?”
“Honey?” Jim reached down to lift the tablecloth as he glanced at her belly. “Are you okay?”
She looked at him, hazel eyes large. “My water just broke.”
The room went deathly silent for a moment until there was an explosion of sound and flurry of movement. Jim was helping Fran to her feet while Emma and Lysette hopped up from the table, barking out orders to each other and to Jim. Eleanor, Josie, Bronte, and Jimmy remained at the table, the kids looking as baffled and frightened as Eleanor did. Josie, on the other hand, nibbled on a dinner roll as she watched the hectic activity.
“What do we do?” Eleanor asked, feeling utterly helpless.
“Nothing,” Josie said, meeting her gaze. “Stay out of their way until it’s time to leave, honestly.”
Eleanor pushed back from the table and walked to the front door, which stood open after Jim had helped Fran through it. They were down the stairs at his car. She hurried down to them, unnecessarily holding the front passenger-side door open for him just to feel useful.
“Here’s your newspaper, Jim,” Emma said, tossing the folded post to the backseat of the car. “You’ve probably got some time to kill.”
He looked at her but said nothing as he got Fran seated. “You okay?” he asked. At Fran’s nod, he closed the door, trotting around the front of the sedan he’d traded the Corvette in for. He glanced back at the crowd that had gathered at the bottom of the stairs. “Well, uh, Happy Thanksgiving, all,” he said, panic in his voice before he climbed into the car and roared away from the house, red taillights disappearing into the darkness.
“Well,” Jimmy said. “That was interesting.”
“What do we do?” Bronte asked. “Do we go to the hospital to meet them?”
“Nah,” Josie said, placing an arm over her shoulders. “That kid ain’t comin’ out until tomorrow sometime.”
Eleanor glanced at Lysette, who stood next to her. “What do we do?” she asked. “Are we terrible for not going, too?”
Lysette chuckled and shook her head. “Let’s eat, everyone. They’ll call when he’s ready to come out.”
“I get the wishbone!” Jimmy called, turning and taking the stairs two at a time toward the porch.
“Do not!” Bronte hollered after him.
Josie and Emma grabbed hands and climbed the stairs together, disappearing inside the house. Left alone in the cold, late November night, Eleanor looked at Lysette again, and their gazes met.
Lysette snaked her arms around Eleanor’s neck, clasping her hands behind her neck, their bodies pressed together. She studied her for so long, Eleanor began to feel like a bug scrutinized under a microscope. Finally, Lysette smiled. “My whole life,” she said softly.
Eleanor wrapped her arms around Lysette’s waist, letting out a contented sigh as she felt the love coming off the woman in her arms. “What about it?” she asked.
“My whole life I’ve waited for you.”
Eleanor chuckled. “Hey, now, I know I stood you up when we were sixteen, but I showed up.”
Lysette let out a soft laugh, absolute music to Eleanor’s ears. “Yes, yes, you did.” She leaned in, leaving a lingering kiss on Eleanor’s lips. “Thank you,” she whispered against them.
“Certainly my pleasure. I love you,” she whispered back.
“And I love you, with all my heart.”
Eleanor felt those words to her very soul. She let out another contented sigh before asking, “Hungry?”
“Starving,” Lysette announced, trailing a fingernail from the nape of Eleanor’s neck down along the side of her neck before her hand dropped away. “Worked all damn day on that dinner,” she muttered, grabbing Eleanor’s hand and tugging her back toward the house. She glanced over her shoulder and gave Eleanor that look that had first melted a fifteen-year-old girl’s heart. “By the way, you’re dessert.” With a giggle, Lysette scurried through the front door, squealing at the pinch to her behind.
About the Author
Kim has spent her life in Colorado and can’t imagine living anywhere else. She’s been writing since she was 9 and stumbled into her first book being published in her mid-20s. She’s worked in the film industry as a writer, director and producer, but now enjoys the quiet, happy life of a professional author. She can be reached on Facebook and on her website at, www.kimpritekel.com
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