Wishes and Stitches

by Rachael Herron

  Rather than addressing her sister’s back, Naomi went to the window and pulled the curtains over the already-shut blinds. Where was she supposed to start? She didn’t have a textbook for this, no class had ever prepared her for it. She should ask about the baby’s father. How it had happened. Was her sister in love? Had she been left by someone? Had she done the leaving? Was Anna hurting?

  Instead, she asked, “How far along are you?”

  Anna said nothing.

  Naomi tugged the last curtain closed impatiently, and was rewarded for her distractedness by having the curtain rod jump its hooks, the curtain slithering to the floor as she tried to grab it. She always forgot this rod was tricky. Dang it.

  “Anna, you have to talk to me. I’m letting you stay—”

  “Big of you,” her sister muttered.

  “Excuse me?” Naomi felt heat in her forehead as she fought with her temper. “The least you can do is answer a couple of questions before you fall asleep.”

  “Fine.” With a thunk, Anna rolled over onto her back again, and folded her arms over her stomach.

  “Seven months, I’m guessing?”

  “Twenty-nine weeks, actually,” said Anna.

  “Wow. How do you feel?”

  “About being pregnant?”

  “No, physically.” Shoot, she should have said yes. That would have been good. Naomi kicked herself.

  “Physically, great. I’m an ideal pregnant person. I haven’t had a second of morning sickness, I don’t get overly tired, unless I cross the country on a bus, and my back doesn’t even hurt. My feet are getting swollen, that’s the only thing that’s bothering me lately. That and I’m getting to the point where I can’t see them.”

  “You’re carrying well,” said Naomi. She brushed some nonexistent dust from the bureau.

  “If by that you mean I’m not a fat cow, I beg to differ. I’ve put on thirty pounds.”

  “You were underweight before.”

  “Thanks,” said Anna in a sour voice. “Didn’t take you long to start criticizing. Should I tell you where the dad and I met? Would you believe a pool hall? Or should I tell you we met in the can? Or better, in jail?”

  With a tone sharper than she intended it to be Naomi said, “Quit it. This is exactly what I expected from you.”

  Faster than Naomi would have thought she’d be able to, Anna sat up, swinging her legs wide over the edge of the bed. “What? Knocked up? Broke? Begging for help?”

  Naomi didn’t answer her. Besides, the answer was obvious.

  Anna got the same sad, stubborn look she used to get when they were kids, the one she got when things weren’t going her way. Her mouth turned down, and her eyelids dropped over her blue eyes. When they were young, their mother would fall for it, caving in to her demands for chocolate and new toys.

  “I’m keeping the baby,” Anna said.

  “Okay,” said Naomi, feeling proud of herself that she didn’t utter the first thing that came to her: What the fuck are you thinking?

  “You don’t mean that.”

  Naomi shrugged. “It’s a pretty innocuous word. Okay.”

  “You’re going to want me to give it away, I know you will. You don’t think I can do this, but I can. I’ve changed.”

  Naomi had heard this before, most recently the last time Anna had come to visit, which had been when Naomi was still in San Diego. She’d had a plan that involved something with a friend’s hydroponics start-up and had needed a loan. The business was supposed to be completely legal, and the reassurances that a check would come the first of every month, paying Naomi back in installments, had sounded heartfelt, and Naomi had actually believed her.

  She’d never received one check.

  “No, I’ve really changed.”

  Naomi pulled open a bureau drawer. She patted the T-shirts that she’d left inside it—she should really sort them and get rid of the old ones. If Anna stayed, she’d need room . . . What was she thinking? Anna couldn’t stay. No, make that Anna wouldn’t stay.

  “Have you found religion?” asked Naomi, slamming the drawer shut.

  “No.”

  “Addicted to any substances, herbal or otherwise?”

  “I don’t even eat chocolate because I don’t want the caffeine buzz for the baby.”

  Naomi frowned. “You can eat chocolate. There’s no problem with that. Are you employed full-time? Or even part-time?”

  “No.” Anna’s voice was small.

  Leaning on the bureau’s sharp edge, Naomi said, “Tell me how you’ve changed.”

  Anna’s eyes met her own. “I’m a mother.”

  “Oh, please. You have a fetus inside you,” said Naomi. “You’re not a mother until you’ve changed four diapers between midnight and three A.M.”

  Anna’s hands curved protectively around her belly. “I have a baby inside me. My baby. And I don’t know how, but it’s all going to be okay.” A pause. “For once.”

  Naomi turned to the side and readjusted the position of the alarm clock on top of the bureau. Owl shaped, it hadn’t worked since the batteries died six months ago. It reminded her that she should call their mother. But God, she didn’t want to be the one to break the news that Maybelle was going to be a grandmother, and that she wasn’t even getting a son-in-law in the bargain. To her mother, Anna, even with all her faults, was perfect. It would be too painful to be the one to knock her off the pedestal. Anna should call her herself, when she was ready.

  The owl clock was kind of cute. It worked for a nursery-cum-bedroom. She should put new batteries in.

  Maybe this would be okay.

  She spoke slowly. “You didn’t get to see the living room floor after Dad’s ashes were scattered all over the room.”

  Anna covered her mouth with her hand. Muffled, she said, “Your dad’s ashes? You’re kidding me.”

  “Rig knocked over the urn.”

  A snort was heard under the hand. “That’s awful.”

  Naomi nodded. “They were in an owl vase until he broke it.”

  A small, delighted scream. “You’re kidding. Mom would plotz. I can’t believe I missed that. That’s even more awful than me simply not knowing Jake was widowed.”

  “Way worse,” Naomi agreed.

  A giggle escaped from Anna. “Did you pick him back up?”

  “Rig helped. He felt awful.” Naomi didn’t think the smile she was trying to subdue would be respectful to her father. But really, it was funny, seen from the outside.

  “I bet he did,” said Anna. “What’s the story on him? He’s hot.”

  Naomi fiddled with the green lamp that she always had trouble with. “If you can’t get this to shut off, then just unplug it here at the base. I’ll get another one that works so you can have a night-light. You always liked reading in bed.”

  She knew what her words meant. And she knew that her sister might not even stay the whole night, let alone more than a few days. Naomi didn’t want to get burned again. Hurt. She was done with all that. When she’d washed her hands of rescuing her sister that last time, when the hydroponics business turned out to be nothing more than a large grow operation that left Anna busted and sitting in jail for four months, she’d felt good, if sad, about the decision to avoid her sister as much as possible in the future.

  This, right now, wasn’t avoiding. This, probably, wouldn’t be smart. But Naomi met Anna’s hopeful eyes and, for once, didn’t look away first. “I have some of your old books in the garage. I’ll get them out tomorrow. And I have a gift certificate a patient gave me for the Book Spire. It’s a nice store. I’ll dig that up and you can have it.” Naomi pulled her hair back from her face. “If you want it.”

  Anna’s smile was like sunrise. “Yeah. I want it. Thank you, Naomi.”

  “Right.” Naomi was out the door in the space of a breath. “Watch the toilet, jiggle the handle if it runs.”

  She escaped into her own room, and drew a breath that shook in her chest. “Oh, wow,” she whispered.

>   Family. Living under her roof. In Cypress Hollow.

  Suddenly, in what felt like the space of a heartbeat, Naomi knew she wanted this to work. There was nothing she could do about Anna freaking out and running off. She knew that from too much past experience. But God, she wanted her sister here.

  Now, to just keep from blowing it herself.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Do your best. No one can demand a master sweater from a novice knitter, and tell those who do that I said so.

  —E.C.

  The weekend was a quiet one. Naomi took Anna shopping for maternity clothes after she realized her sister was sleeping in one stretched-out shirt while the other one hung in the bathroom drying.

  She had to admit that it was nice spending time with her sister. Since Anna was ten years younger than she was, born when Naomi was living with her father, she’d never seen that much of her sister growing up. And the one year she’d lived with them, after Naomi’s father died, Anna had been only seven. But even then, her sister was like unexpected sunshine on a dark day. Everyone wanted to be around Anna. Naomi hadn’t been jealous, really. She’d just wondered how Anna did it.

  In the dressing room of the only local clothing store, Marzies, Anna charmed the clothing retailer over the changing-room door, flattering Mrs. Gonzales’s taste in clothing, and when Mrs. G.’s husband tromped through the store, she flattered her taste in men. She ended up earning Naomi a discount on the pile of clothes she paid for, and Naomi learned that not much had changed in her sister’s methods. She distributed radiance as if it was talcum powder.

  And she was still the opposite of Naomi, at whom Mrs. Gonzales only glanced when she took her credit card.

  They’d gone into the Book Spire, but Naomi hadn’t gotten to introduce Anna to Lucy Bancroft, as she’d been looking forward to. Instead, Anna walked right up to the counter and asked Lucy what she recommended. Lucy lit up and spent the next half hour discussing the newest fiction, the best romances, the scariest romantic suspense.

  Abigail MacArthur came in while they were there, and Naomi only realized she was hiding from her when she found herself in the kids’ section. She had no kids to buy books for—although she would, she supposed, soon enough.

  This was stupid. The three women stood at the counter chatting. She could hold her own in a polite, cheery conversation, right?

  She walked over, her hands stuck in her pockets so she didn’t ball them into nervous fists.

  “Hi,” she said to Abigail.

  “Naomi, I thought that was you. And your sister, just look at her! Are you excited?”

  What a strange thing to ask, Naomi thought. Apprehensive, yes. Worried, sure. “I’m . . . hoping for the best.”

  Anna rolled her eyes and went on talking to Lucy about the newest Sophie Littlefield and Juliet Blackwell books.

  Abigail said, “Oh, there’s nothing to worry about. She’ll be a great mom, and you’re going to love being an aunt.”

  Naomi bit the inside of her lip. How could Abigail say that? She didn’t know either of them, especially not Anna.

  “I’m sure you’re . . .” Naomi had no idea how to finish the sentence without offending anyone and was grateful when Abigail went on.

  “I have to tell you that from the first moment I saw you in town, I’ve thought you looked familiar.” Abigail’s smile was so friendly. So open. “We’ve never had a real chance to talk. You moved here from San Diego, isn’t that right? I used to live there, too. Did we know each other there? Is that possible?”

  Now was the time to tell Abigail she’d been the doctor to witness her grief at Eliza’s bedside. How did she do that gracefully? “Um . . . Actually, I was—”

  Abigail waved a hand. “Isn’t that silly? It’s a big city. Of course we would have remembered before this. It’s just those gorgeous green eyes you have, I feel like I remember them. Funny, huh?” She winked at Lucy. “I’m a sucker for green, though. My husband, Cade, has green eyes, and both our kids got that from him. Hey, how’s your new friend? Rig, right?”

  Naomi choked and tried to turn it into a cough. “Oh, he’s not a friend. He’s a coworker. At the office.”

  “Right,” said Abigail. “The new doctor. But you sure looked good together the other day at the party . . .”

  “No.” The word came out too loud, but it was too late, she’d said it, and as usual, she couldn’t retract it. Had they really looked good together? She blushed so hard her skin hurt.

  Abigail nodded, clearly thrown. “Well, it was nice seeing you. Lucy, I’m going to go. Thanks for the book—I’ll let you know what I think.”

  With a flurry of hugs all around—Naomi was startled into stiffness by the quick, tight squeeze she received unexpectedly—Abigail was gone.

  And while Lucy and Anna went over to the maternity section of the bookstore, Naomi leaned against the end cap of the self-help section. Well, she’d blown that one, but good. That had been her opening. It had been what she hadn’t even known she was waiting for. She’d almost said, Yes, I was a friend of Eliza’s. I was her doctor. Isn’t it a small world?

  Wouldn’t they have a laugh about it?

  Or, and she thought this was more likely, Abigail would just be pissed. It had gone too far—Naomi had taken too long to tell her. It was too late. She’d missed the window now for sure. She’d swallowed the words again and closed the door on that revelation. It couldn’t happen now, not after she’d basically denied by her silence any connection at all. Damn it all to hell. It wasn’t like it should even be a secret. An accidental one, yet another example of how normal human interaction got confusing, how everyone else seemed to know the correct way to barrel through. Now, even though it wasn’t, shouldn’t be, a big deal, she’d have to continue keeping her silence. At least she knew how to do that.

  Back in the car, Naomi asked, “So. What are you going to do next?” Her voice sounded too loud.

  Anna sat straighter in the passenger seat. “What do you mean? About the baby?” Her right hand rested over her newly outtie navel.

  “You should probably eventually tell Mom you’re here.”

  “I’ll call her.”

  “When?”

  “Soon.”

  Naomi shook her head. How could she put this delicately? “You need to get a job.”

  Anna wrapped both arms around her belly protectively. She scowled. “I’m huge. I can’t work.”

  “You’re the healthiest pregnant woman I’ve ever seen. You could probably work in the fields picking strawberries if you wanted to.”

  “You want me to pick fruit?”

  “No, of course not.” Naomi came to a stop too quickly at the light, and the car rocked. “But you can do something to occupy yourself and make some money at the same time until the baby comes.”

  Anna folded her arms as much as she could and slumped farther in the seat.

  “What about a receptionist position? You’ve worked in offices before.”

  “I hated offices. Women are so political and none of them ever liked me. They’d talk behind my back, make things up. You work alone. You can’t even imagine how awful it is.”

  “Okay, so what about dog walking? It would be good exercise, and there’s a woman in town who does it, maybe she needs help.”

  “I’m allergic to dogs.” Anna pulled a tissue awkwardly out of her pocket and wiped her nose.

  “Since when?”

  “Since . . . the idea of dog walking came up. Too stressful.”

  Anna thought dog walking was too stressful? Naomi wished she could be paid for hauling a pack of mutts around a dog park, instead of treating people for illnesses they didn’t always recover from. She clicked her ring against the steering wheel.

  “Where did you get that ring? I’ve never seen it before,” said Anna.

  “A friend.”

  “Oooh!” Anna bounced in her seat, happy to change the subject. “A tall friend? A friend with benefits?”

  “A woman friend
.” Naomi paused. “A good one. She’s dead.” The words hurt. “Back to the job. Really, we have to think of something.”

  Anna deflated. “Do you even like having me here?”

  Naomi did, but she didn’t know how to say it. The loving, fiercely protective feeling she got when she looked at her baby sister seemed impossible to speak about out loud. She held it inside and only allowed herself a nod.

  “Did Mom put you up to this?” Anna looked sad. Even when she was at her lowest, Anna retained an angelic radiance about her, one that made Naomi want to pick her up and tuck her into bed, soothing her brow until her countenance relaxed again.

  Naomi hit the gas and sped around a small red car that was trundling along the waterfront, obviously a tourist. “Are you kidding me? I haven’t talked to Mom.”

  “You haven’t? Why not? Don’t you two talk all the time? About me?”

  Naomi snorted. “Mom would like that. You’re her favorite topic.”

  “Really?” Did Anna actually look pleased?

  “You know you are. All she does is think about where you are and what you’re doing and how she can change you.”

  “She hasn’t learned yet,” said Anna. “You can’t tame a wild horse.” She gave a comic neigh.

  Naomi disagreed but didn’t say so. She did want her sister to change, but only for the good. To settle down, to figure out her life, to stop being so impulsive. “Mom only wants the best for you.”

  Anna nodded. “Sure. And she wants the best for you, too. It doesn’t mean it has to be the only song in her repertoire. She loves us, Naomi, but she doesn’t know us.”

  The comment felt unfair, but Naomi didn’t have a way to respond. “What about Whitney’s Bakery? I saw a sign that said she was looking for—”

  “What about your office?” asked Anna.

  “Mine? Oh, no.” Naomi let an old woman and her seven tiny dachshunds cross the street, even though there was no crosswalk.

  “Why not? You’re busy, right?”

  “Not that busy. I already have office help.”

  “Maybe if you had more help, you’d be busier.”