by Lynn Shurr
No longer tied, the weight of the massive Dome seemed to press on Rex’s wide shoulders. He lost the ball again on a fumble. Boos rumbled round the stadium like waves bashing against the shore. The Colts began a leisurely progression down the field running time off the clock—but they moved a little too slowly. Adam Malala ran down their receiver, popped the ball that came out high, caught it, and ran for the Sinners goal. He didn’t get very far before being brought down, but Rex knew a reprieve when he saw one. A profound steadiness filled him as the two-minute warning sounded. Finally, he found his rhythm: a short pass to Jones, a run by himself past the fifty, an unspectacular shovel pass to another of his running backs, then to Jones again who took off and scored. The clock ticked down to seconds. Time out!
****
Layla filled the bedroom with her shrieks of joy. Nell screamed again and again, but not for Rex. Her pains let up for a moment. “Something is wrong, Joe. I know it.”
“Jesus God, Shammy, I see feet,” Joe said.
“A footling breach birth, Mother Mary have mercy. We must get the child out as quickly and carefully as possible to prevent cord prolapse.”
“I’ll tear Nell apart if I try to get in there. It’s not like catching a ball, no.” Joe stared at his big hands, so effective on the football field, and wished they were smaller.
Shammy looked at Tricia’s slender fingers as the PA cradled the first baby. “Tricia must do it.”
The time out continued. Layla momentarily lost her focus on Rex. “I can do a C-Section,” she claimed with great confidence. “I played a doctor once.”
“It’s the hydrocodone speaking,” Tricia said.
“Is not!” Layla cried. “Get me a knife.” No one followed her orders.
“Tricia, do you have any lubricants? That might help,” Shammy suggested.
She placed the baby into the crook of nurse’s good arm before delving into her bag. “Hand cream and sun screen—and latex gloves. I’ve had to clean up after Layla’s escapades in some pretty grungy places. Sorry I didn’t offer them sooner, but they are a small size and wouldn’t fit Joe.”
“Go into the bathroom, wash well but quickly and get those gloves on. Hurry!”
Tricia took off her engagement ring, laid it on a curved night table, and went to prepare for delivering Joe’s next child. The Sinners lined up by the goal and diverted Layla from her murderous thoughts.
“Mr. and Mrs. Rex Worthy can do anything.” She snatched up the sapphire, putting it on rather clumsily with the gun clutched in her right hand. Having fingers thicker than Tricia’s, it went only as far as her knuckle. “No worries. We’ll have it sized. Oh, I’m beginning to feel so warm and fuzzy.”
“He’s going for two points, and he’ll run it. The Colts know it, too,” Joe muttered, but turned his head back to his wife’s struggles.
“Listen, Tricia. You must insert your left hand into the vagina and use your middle and index fingers to gently depress the upper jaw to flex the neck. Rest your palm on the baby’s chest. Use your right hand to pull a shoulder down toward its pelvis. Joe, you can help by putting pressure on the uterus from the outside.”
Glad to have something to do, Joe took up his position using his big palms to apply pressure. Tricia inserted her fingers into the distended vagina. She passed the baby’s hips and continued to his surprisingly wide shoulders, making progress every time the contractions ceased.
“No arms in the way?” Shammy asked.
“No, I think they’re crossed on his chest, but his shoulders seem big for a baby.”
“Work past them with your left hand and tuck that chin. Grab a shoulder with your right and do your best to bring him down gradually. Rotate those shoulders if you can. Don’t go too fast. Sudden decompression can injure the brain, but second twins usually do well in a breech birth. We’ll pray for that,” Shammy directed over Nell’s agonized cries.
Rex caught the snap and fake-pumped toward Eric Blixen in the end zone. He tucked the ball and went over the top of the Colt’s line. His team pushed from behind. Extending his arms, Rex broke the plane with the ball and tumbled to the other side with his free hand raised to God. Layla did a victory dance, waving the gun carelessly and firing off a shot. Joe’s infant daughter startled and began to cry. On the bed between his mother’s legs, Joe’s new son joined her with gusto. Shammy stuck out a leg and tripped the wildly celebrating actress. Layla’s arms wheeled to regain balance. The gun pointed now at Shammy, then at Tricia crouched over the newborn.
And Joe went over the top, too, across the end of the bed and crashing into Layla’s side. He took her down, his first full-body tackle in a long pro career. The pistol popped another balloon and sailed through the air before landing on the far side of Nell. Beneath Joe’s weight and muscle, Layla squirmed like a trapped python. Tricia tied off the baby’s cord with slippery fingers and made the cut severing him from his exhausted mother. She laid him on Nell’s warm hip.
“Trish, you got anything in that bag to restrain her?” Joe asked as he used his big left hand to hold Layla’s behind her back because his right shoulder hurt like hell.
With two sticky fingers, Tricia probed the open mouth of her oversized purse and hauled out a pair of plastic restraints. “These should work.”
“You carry handcuffs?”
“Layla is often very difficult. Better mine than a policeman’s.”
“I’ll sue you for treating me this way! Get off! I have to go to Rex and tell him I’m the reason he won the Super Bowl. I’m going to be Mrs. Rex Worthy, not Patsy.” Layla spat at them.
Joe finished cuffing her and rolled the actress over on her back. He picked up the scissors used to cut the cord, snipped off one red yarn braid, stuffed it in her mouth, and hauled her to her feet. He returned Tricia’s ring with a bow. “You are the world’s greatest PA.”
Suddenly, Layla’s one good violet eye widened. She let out several muffled screams and stamped the floor. Nell had the gun pointed directly at her. “Let me kill her, Joe.”
“Now, sugar, you know you get irrational when you’re pregnant,” Joe said soothingly.
“Don’t call me sugar. I’m not pregnant anymore. I’m…”
“Bleeding,” Trish said. “Shammy, she’s bleeding.”
“Could be just a vaginal tear or more seriously a rupture. Are the afterbirths whole?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Trisha and Joe said nearly simultaneously.
“Put pressure on her abdomen. Get an ambulance here at once.”
“Done.” Holding her cell phone rather gingerly, Tricia told the 911 operator exactly what they needed and where while Joe pressed against his wife’s belly and the babies cried.
“Joe,” Nell said. “As soon as the ambulance and police get here, I want you to go back to the Dome and claim your half of the victory.”
“No, Tink, I’m riding with you.”
“The children are there. You tell them I’m going to be fine and they have a new sister and brother, six of one, half a dozen of the other now.”
“Twelve. We’re done. And I’m done as a football player.”
“All the more reason to enjoy your last victory. I promise you I won’t die.”
“You’re a Billodeaux. Remember, you have to keep your word.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Strange to walk into the Dome with no one cheering for him. Joe needed to get used to the idea. The mass of reporters crowded around Rex as black and red confetti rained down on him. All eyes turned to the Sinners’ new quarterback. Then, Joe heard a single voice shout, “It’s Dad! He’s back.” Sounded like Dean who had a grown man’s voice and the height to see over all the people on their feet.
Around the arena, a chant started. “Joe, Joe, Joe.” Signs dropped down from balconies. “We love you Daddy Joe.” “God Bless, Joe.” “We’ll miss you, Joe.” And his favorite, “Good-bye, Joe, We know you gotta go have some fun on the bayo,” a play on the words in the song, Jamb
alaya. All of them love letters from his Sinners’ fans. The spectators on the field made way as he joined Rex on a platform for the trophy presentation. He gave his backup the firm handshake and the manly hug.
“You done good, Rex.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll try to keep up the good work.”
They held the trophy high, one quarterback on each side. Joe thought he spotted Connor Riley’s wife, Stevie, in the throng of photographers. Sports Illustrated cover for sure.
“Joe.” Rex turned away from the mikes. “Where is Tricia? Did she decide to call things off and go back to Iowa?”
“Hell, no. She just delivered my new son. Hang on to her. The woman can do anything as long as she has that damn black bag along.”
Rex winced slightly at the profanity. “I intend to. She’s my one and only, but where is she?”
“Was right behind me. There with my parents and kids. Let’s get them all up here.”
Joe’s family crowded several league bigwigs off the platform. Rex tucked Tricia tight under his arm as if to make sure he wouldn’t fumble this play. “You saw the ending?” he asked.
“Between delivering babies and fighting off a crazed Layla, yes. A big day for all of us.”
“Huh?”
“Later. They want you to say something about your victory.”
Rex stepped close to the mike. “Uh, I couldn’t have achieved this victory without God, the love of my fiancée, Tricia Welles, and Joe’s two touchdowns. If I can be half as good a quarterback as Joe Dean Billodeaux, the Sinners will win a sixth Super Bowl.”
His popularity rose to new heights in that moment, but soon after, the crowd started calling for Joe again. Rex stepped back, giving Joe the stage.
“Y’all know this is my last game with the Sinners. I won’t be signing on with any other teams because I don’t believe they could match the quality of the men I’ve played with over my long career or the fervor of the Sinners fans.”
He paused, waiting for cheers to die down. “See, now, that’s what I mean by fervor. Had to look dat word up, me, but it fits.” Laughter.
“Seriously, this is the best day in my life. I’ll be getting the fifth Super Bowl ring that has slipped through my fingers these last few years thanks to an assist from Rex Worthy. He’ll serve you well. My wife gave birth to our twins today. The babies are doing fine, but Nell had a hard time of it. Your prayers would be appreciated.”
Rex lost no time in bowing his head and moving his lips. Tricia did the same. A reporter shouted from the throng at the base of the platform, “What did you get, Joe?”
“Another beautiful daughter and a broad-shouldered boy. You know my son Dean at age seventeen is showing lots of talent as a quarterback. I figure by the time Dean is ready to retire, this new son will be starting his pro career. The Billodeaux boys are gonna dominate the league for the next forty years.”
The male reporters laughed, but one of the female commentators called out, “Names and weights of the babies?” Women always asked that.
“Not sure about the weights, but Nell carried them full term. They’re pretty hefty for twins. Considering how and when they came into the world, I think we will be naming the girl Edith Patricia for the two women who helped in her delivery.”
“Edith, really?” he heard his ever particular niece, Anastasia Marya Polasky, better known as Stacy, say.
“Yes, Edie in honor of our family nurse.”
Joe glanced to the side of the stage where Shammy’s husband, Brinsley, stood beaming beside Corazon and Knox Polk who had helped hike Teddy’s wheelchair onto the platform. The butler had no idea his wife laid injured in the hospital. That knowledge would come soon enough when Joe could get down there and tell him.
“As for the boy, only one name will do—Rex Worthy Billodeaux. T-Rex the Cajuns are likely to call him.”
Behind his father, short, bespectacled Trinity said, “Cool. Wish I had a nickname like that.”
“Does Mom know about this?” Jude Emily questioned.
Joe smiled. Now came the hard part. “No more questions. I want to get over to the hospital. Just let me say…” He choked on his final words. Tears he’d meant to hold back ran into the grooves at the sides of his mouth. He tasted salt and sorrow over the end of his football career. “Just let me say good-bye. Hey, I think I need me a champagne shower before I go.”
Unexpectedly, a second rain of confetti drifted down above the stage. Each red piece carried his lucky number seven in black. His kids scrambled to grab the souvenirs of their father’s last game. Fans did the same. Joe left the platform under a confetti cloud.
He stopped by Brinsley. “Your wife is in the hospital with Nell.”
“You do mean at the hospital, sir.”
“No, Layla Devlin shot her when she tried to defend Nell. I think she’ll be fine, but get yourself over there. Let Knox and Corazon handle the kids. Tell Nell I’ll be right along as soon as I do the champagne thing with the team. They’ll be let down if I don’t.”
Of course, sir. I am—what do you always say?—the gone pecan.”
****
By the time Joe showered and changed, having bathed in much more of the champagne than he drank, too much time had passed. Although reporters still waited, he pushed through with help from Rex and Adam, Howdy, and even Brian Lightfoot who disliked getting his street clothes rumpled. He clutched a bag he’d been keeping in his locker, something to show Nell. They piled into a waiting limo and steered for the hospital to see the babies, join their wives who waited there, and head out for other parties Joe had no intention of attending.
He left his friends standing at the window that allowed the viewing of the babies. Full term and weighing in at six pounds, seven ounces for the girl and six pounds, nine ounces for the boy, neither twin needed an incubator. While Tricia, Cassie, and Winnie cooed over them, Joe moved down the hall to find his wife’s whereabouts. Brinsley, looking deadly serious, intercepted him.
“Shammy okay?”
A small smile tweaked Brinsley’s stern demeanor. “Oh, yes, the old girl is sturdy as London during the Blitz. It’s Miss Nell. She had to have surgery to stop the bleeding, rather serious I am afraid.”
“Where?”
“She is awake and aware but somewhat weak. They used an epidural.”
“Where, Brinsley?” Joe wanted to take his butler by his very proper lapels and shake him until his buttons popped.
“Only trying to prepare you, sir,” his butler said, pointing out a room.
Prepare him for what? Joe didn’t stick around to find out. He ran to Nell’s bedside quicker than he’d ever covered ten yards in his life. A No Visitors sign hung on the door. Hell, he wasn’t a visitor. He was a husband, a lover. Joe slammed the door open and felt the pain in his shoulder. Should have that looked at while he was here, but later.
“Tink, you okay?”
“Good as can be expected right now.”
She did sound weak. A couple of bags of fluid fed into her arm. Could one of them be blood? Beneath the covers, Nell appeared small and frail except for the deflated hump of her belly. The tears he’d left behind in the Dome returned, pushing to get out like flood waters against a levee.
“Remember, you promised not to leave me. Especially with twelve kids.”
“I wouldn’t do that to you. Sit down. I have to tell you something.”
Not liking where this was going, he sat and tried to postpone the bad news by holding up the bag and opening it for her. He laid out one small pink afghan and a slightly larger one in blue, both edged in white. “From Madame Leleux’s chest. I tell you that old lady always got it right.”
“Joe, there won’t be any more children.”
“Cher, we got enough. Twelve, this way, that way, all ways, like she said. We can take the twins home in these. Can be chilly on the bayou in February.” He shivered a little himself, dreading what might come next.
“I had a rupture. They needed to do a hysterectomy,
just the uterus. I still have all my other parts.”
“That’s—that’s good, I guess.” He said what always preyed on his mind. “No cancer?”
“None.”
Joe exhaled, his big shoulders heaving. A couple of those damned, humiliating tears escaped. “Can we still—you know?”
“Have sex? Absolutely. The doctor says you won’t be able to tell the difference.”
“Then, Tink, I can’t wait to try it out. You say when. I’m still your man, your one and only as Rex would say.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Tricia believed Iowa put its best foot forward for her wedding. The rows of young corn and small clumps of soybeans danced in a light breeze under a sky the color of her sapphire ring. Wildflowers edged the fields along the roads the limo took transporting her and the family to the church where Reverend Worthy would preside over the service. Meadowlarks sprang upward in the pastures as the large vehicle passed raising dust.
All of her men looked so handsome in tuxedos today despite their insistence that if Rex could have stubble so could they. Colt’s grew in rather light, but her father had the start of a short beard. At the steps of the simple red brick church with its white spire, Letty Welch fussed with the arrangement of Tricia’s gown and veil. She’d added two inches of lace to the bottom because Trish stood taller than her mother and had taken in the bust a bit to account for smaller size, probably because her mother had been pregnant, though Tricia didn’t mention the fact. Letty made a new veil very similar to the one worn by Kate Middleton in the royal wedding and now held in place by its own small diamond and sapphire tiara, a wedding gift from Rex after many consulting phone calls back and forth to Iowa. Marty’s pearls circled Tricia’s neck.
Rex asked Joe to be his best man and of course, all her brothers had to be groomsmen. That left Tricia with a bridesmaid shortage. During her years as Layla’s PA in Hollywood, she’d formed no female friendships, always too busy for that. She’d long parted ways with high school acquaintances. Needing four, she’d asked Becky, naturally, and Nell seemed a good choice for matron of honor after the ordeal they’d shared. A woman who could handle that and deal with twelve children nothing would upset. Finally, she’d included Letty and Heidi since it seemed likely they’d be family in the future. Nell would pair with Joe, Heidi with Colt, and after some jockeying for position, Carson agreed to take Letty and leave the Honeybee to Cody who appeared intrigued by rumors of her tattoo. Their heads, crowned with circlets of baby’s breath and blue statice, the ladies wore sapphire to match the bride’s ring and carried bouquets of white peonies spiked with blue delphiniums and a few pink roses.