“Good job,” I told Keith, whom I could tell didn’t like having to lay down the law.
“I hate telling her to go change her clothes. It makes me feel old.”
“Well, my daddy had to do it when Marta and I were kids. Girls want to stretch their wings and push their limits. They want to impress the boys. Marta and I were the same way.”
“And look how old it made your dad.” His hand encircled my rounded waist, pulling me close to his hard chest. My heart fluttered.
“If you tried wearing short shorts,” he said. “It must have been hard for him, fending off the boys.”
“Worse,” I said. “Try miniskirts!”
“Scandalous.” He had pressed a kiss against my neck in that little place between my shoulder and ear that always shivered when he whispered to me. “Of course, they do make miniskirts for grownups, you know.”
“Hmmmm.” We kissed. “I’m afraid that with my expanding waist line, my mini skirt days are over.”
He’d hugged me gently, my rounded belly pressing between us, and offered to make me a cup of chamomile tea.
“No,” I said. “I’d prefer decaf coffee. I’ve heard it still has a teeny-weeny bit of caffeine.”
“Like you need caffeine,” he teased.
“How do you think Marta and I keep up with each other? It takes lots of coffee.”
He turned and popped a decaf coffee pod into the coffee dispenser. “I’m pretty sure it’s not with coffee. I think you two were just born that way.” He set the blue cup carefully in front of me and lay his hands on my stomach. “And I won’t be surprised if this one doesn’t turn out the same way.”
He had kissed my tummy then, donned his hat, and left me to have a moment of peace in the kitchen. Of course, as soon as I saw the taillights exit the driveway, I downed my decaf and started cleaning the house. I probably shouldn’t have done that.
The harvest celebration was in full swing and even though moving around the kitchen was like maneuvering with a bowling ball tied around my waist, I was keeping up pretty well with Marta. At some point, I finally had enough and had to sit in the rocking chair in the corner. Marta brought sweet iced tea and I didn’t even ask if it was decaf. I was beat, but everything seemed okay. It was normal, everyone said, to be tired this far into the pregnancy.
The contractions started just before lunch, right about the time Daddy walked in for a break. He looked exhausted from all the interactions during the family day, but he knew something was off as soon as he saw me. If he was scared, too, he didn’t show it. Daddy was always calm, always knowing what to do.
Even though Keith wasn’t there, having left to take the horses back to the ranch, Daddy was as capable as anyone who could have gone through that moment with me. He ordered Marta to stay with the kids because they would be scared. I knew it was torture for her not to be with me, her twin, but our dad wasn’t going to let even a doctor near his daughter without his being there with me. Later, someone would comment about how noble he was to take care of me for Keith until he could get to back to me, but Marta and I both knew that he hadn’t done it for Keith. He’d done it for himself. He was our father.
Daddy had been there the last time it had been too early, and I’d held my living, breathing, short-lived baby in my arms, while my then husband was off doing who knew what with his mistress. Daddy would be there for me now, and it gave me courage to get through whatever might come next.
“Daddy,” I said. “It’s just like always.”
“No,” he said. “Not this time.” A storm raged in his eyes even as he calmly walked over to the old-fashioned, red rotary phone on the kitchen wall, dialed 9-1-1. For a moment, I felt I saw Momma’s image holding the phone, overlapping Daddy’s, like two pieces of film on top of each other, but then Daddy hung up, blurring the image, and sat down beside me on the couch. I didn’t tell him about Momma, but I felt comforted, and I absorbed the strength of Daddy’s grip when he took my hand. Without asking my permission, he prayed, his words choked, halting, and powerful. Very powerful.
Please don’t take this one away.
It was all I could add to his prayer, and that not even out loud right in the middle of my cramping physical pain and my searing emotional ache, but my dad filled in, his voice not shy at all, not doubting, but full of trust and conviction.
When the paramedics burst through the door, they stopped for a split second, possibly moved by the sight of Daddy’s hand resting softly on my stomach as he prayed—who wouldn’t be moved by that—and then they’d rushed forward. One of the EMTs, a woman who reminded me of the receptionist at Cottonwood Manor, worked busily around me and said, “Amen, and amen.” It made me think of Judy, and if she would ever get to meet Keith’s and my baby, the sibling of her own children; the children she hadn’t even seen since we discovered her living in Pillar Bluff. And did I want Judy to meet Keith’s and my baby? I was startled to realize that I did.
Chapter Seventeen
Everyone waited on me hand and foot after that, scared and worried, but happy the contractions had stopped and the baby was okay. For the next few weeks I was supposed to rest, so I took up knitting. Keith thought it was a hoot watching the blankets and booties pile up, but I think the fact that I was knitting baby things excited him more than my actual knitting talent.
“Knitting,” Marta teased. “I thought you hated knitting.”
“That’s because I didn’t really know how to do it right,” I said. “This time, Peyton hooked me up to one of those video sites on the Internet. It’s the neatest thing. I learned how to knit baby booties just by watching videos. You should try it.”
“I don’t have time for that,” Marta said. “I have my work and yours to do, too.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I miss the shop so much!”
“Well don’t. I’d rather have you knitting and the baby safe.”
I smiled at her. “The baby is going to be fine. The doctor only said get extra rest as a precaution. I have a good feeling, sis.”
She smiled back, but no joy reached her eyes. I wanted to take her worry away, but there was no way I could. I’m not saying I wasn’t worried myself. Of course I was, but I’d reached a point, during that terrifying moment when Daddy was bowed before me with his hand on my stomach, that brought me peace. I figured that being relaxed might be good for the baby, so I chose to surround myself with happiness instead of worrying about what I couldn’t control. Besides, everybody else was doing the worrying for me, everyone except for little Stevie who didn’t know any better than to feel joy about a coming baby.
“I even taught Stephen how to knit on one of those little looms.” I showed her a baby hat I’d helped him make.
“Nice,” Marta said. “What’s Keith going to think of you teaching his little cowboy how to knit?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Stevie taught Keith how to do it, too. The little blue hat is his.”
Marta laughed. “Y’all are about as crazy as, well, I don’t know what, but I like it.”
“How’s the Peyton and Estefan friendship going? She gets all shy and defensive when I ask her about it.”
“They’re as cute as two split peas who found each other.”
“Well, keep an eye on them.”
“Don’t you know it,” she said. “I remember all the tricks.”
“Well, you should.”
She playfully pretended to slap me with a piece of yarn. “I had a partner in crime, you know. And do you remember the time we got into trouble with the Jackson twins?”
“Girl, do I. That was awful, but fun.”
“It was your fault.”
“How did I know they wanted to break into the city pool?”
We laughed at the memory. The Jackson twins had been grounded for twice as long as us.
“Now scooch over here and let me do your hair,” Marta said.
“What are you trying to say about my hair?” I asked. “I like my ponytail just fine, thank you.”
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br /> “You do?”
I leaned until I could see into the living room mirror. “Okay, I do look a little dowdy, don’t I? So, fix me up.” I set my knitting aside.
I loved when she came over and fretted with my hair. She even did my nails, using the peel off gel kind of polish so that it wouldn’t hurt the baby. I didn’t know if there was anything to beauty product chemicals being dangerous, but why push it when I’d already had such bad luck with pregnancies?
“Speaking of boys, what’s up with Quentin?” I asked. “I’ve been so obsessed with this baby, I haven’t asked. I’m sorry.”
“I’m obsessed about your baby, too, so no apology necessary. And who knows? Maybe someday I’ll be having one of those.”
“Oh, really?”
“Well, I don’t want to get my hopes up, but if Quentin asks me to marry him, I’ll say yes.”
I squealed; the baby did a somersault.
“Oh!” Marta pressed her hand into my tummy and we cried.
Those jabbing little legs unleashed emotions I’d been hiding beneath all those knitted baby things.
“Oh, honey.” Marta grabbed a tissue out of the box. She patted my shoulder. “There, there, sissy. You just cry. You have every reason. Your baby is kicking!”
Every kick was so precious. I couldn’t even speak without sniffling more.
Marta laughed. “Now, get to work on those baby booties, you hear? Make pink and blue, and some green and yellow. Since you refuse to find out the gender, we need to be prepared.”
The phone rang and a country song blared into the room. “Excuse me,” she said. “Hot cowboy calling.”
“You mean Quentin?” I asked.
“Same thing,” she said, and sashayed out of my room with the phone pressed to her ear.
Once she was outside, I called my own hot cowboy.
“Hey, cowgirl. Everything okay?”
“The baby kicked, hard.”
I heard a little gasp.
“Not just flutters, like before, but really hard kicks. You’ll be able to feel it, too, now.”
Silence. Then, “That’s great, cowgirl. I’m coming home right now.”
“He or she might not kick again right away,” I said. “So you don’t need to rush.”
That night, that little rascal kicked so much neither Keith nor I got any sleep.
“Dear Lord,” I said, out loud so Keith could hear. “Please don’t let it be a bronc rider.”
This made Keith laugh out loud.
“Sh-sh,” I said. “The baby will never calm down if you are so noisy.”
“You mean it can hear me?” he asked.
“You’ve had a baby before.” I reminded him. “You know they can hear noise.”
“It’s been a long time,” he said. “I’d forgotten about all this.” He bent over my stomach, kissed it, and began to whisper.
“Well, you probably need to talk louder than that.” I teased. “If you’re going to keep the poor baby awake anyway.”
“Okay,” he said, and to my surprise broke out in a country sounding rendition of rock-a-by-baby. Somehow, as he sang, I managed to fall asleep, and I guess so did the baby, because it didn’t kick again until morning.
I took Marta’s advice about the colors, but a baby can only wear so many booties, sweaters, and caps. Eventually I started knitting other things out of boredom. That’s how I started knitting scarves, hats, and even small lap blankets for Adri to hand out during her volunteer adventures in Nashville.
“I could use some extra scarves and hats for the home in Pillar Bluff,” she told me during a visit as she sat on the opposite end of the couch. We were going through stacks of things I’d already made. “Before we know it, there’ll be snow.”
“How about this one,” Stevie said, handing Adri a bright purple scarf. “It would look good on a snow man.”
Adri wrapped it loosely around Stevie’s neck. “Yes, I agree. Let’s have some more purple, and some pink, and then some blue for the boys. I’ll take them to Cottonwood Manor.”
“My mom and dad always talk about Cottonwood Manor,” Stevie said. “What’s it like? They never let me go.”
Adri glanced at me. Did she know something? I fished out one with different shades of purple striped through it.
“What do you think of this one for Judy?” I asked.
Adri smiled. “Perfect.”
“Who’s Judy?” Stevie helped Adri stuff the scarves into her bag.
“A friend of mine,” Adri said. “And she’ll love it.”
If she knew anything about Violet and Judy being the same person, I couldn’t tell because of her downcast eyes. Of course, there were the photos on her bedside table, so she had to have figured it out. I’d thought of putting them away the last time I was there, but couldn’t take away the special things that kept Judy’s memories somewhere in the periphery.
“A sweet friend,” I said. “Maybe I’ll take you to meet her sometime.”
“Hooray!” he said, his voice so sweet at the prospect of making a new friend. My heart swelled at his innocence.
“Oh, by the way,” Adri said. “The public service messages Keith did for Cottonwood Manor were so good that their sister home over in Nashville asked him to do the same thing. What do you think? Would he do it?”
“Of course. I’m sure he will,” I said. “He’s so good at that kind of thing.” And he had a new personal stake in it, now.
“They want you to do it with him this time. You know, a couple thing.”
“Me? You do it. You’re the queen.”
“Oh, come on, Manda. You know that if you could ride a horse, you would have been a great queen yourself.”
I shrugged. I wasn’t sure what she said was true, never mind my fear of riding horses. Besides, the queen thing belonged to Judy. While it was nice that Peyton had tried to teach me to ride on our slowest, and oldest horse, I would leave the fancy barrel riding to Peyton. I was more than happy for the rodeo queen memories to be reserved for her mom.
I had to tell Peyton. It was no use waiting for Keith. He wanted us to wait until Peyton was ready, but I’d come to realize that what he was really trying to do was wait until he was ready.
“If I am in that commercial with Keith, can I dress up in something blingy? Or would that be inappropriate?”
“You can dress blingy. How can you not? You’re a blingy girl.”
“I am,” I said. “Even though I don’t feel blingy lately.”
Stevie picked up a knitted scarf that had tiny threads of shiny red woven throughout and wrapped it around my belly. “That’s blingy!”
He started laughing and pointed at my tummy. “Look, Adri. Now my Mommy’s got a blingy baby bump.”
She leaned over and picked up some shiny jewelry on the night stand and placed it in the center of the blingy baby bump scarf. “There, now it’s really blingy.”
“Mommy. Mommy!” Stevie pointed at my belly. “Look what Adri and I did.”
He never called me Mandy anymore. Just plain Mommy.
“It’s a little bigger than a bump,” I said “But it is blingy!”
I gave him a hug and wished Peyton could think of me the same way. I didn’t expect the poor girl to call me Mom, ever. That would just be too much; especially when Judy sat unawares at Cottonwood Manor, both of them unaware of each other, but it would be enough to just be thought of as some kind of mom by her.
Of course, I also wished she would turn sweet like frosting and that all my advice would stick as easy as sprinkles on a cupcake, and also that I could have a baby without gaining fifty pounds. Looking down at my blingy baby bump that was really more like a mountain, I was pretty sure that the granting of all the above wishes was doubtful.
Chapter Eighteen
Keith’s idea to have Judy come visit seemed like a good one at the time. I was feeling much better, but the closer I got to my due date, the more I looked for distractions to keep me from worrying about my little bundle. Ha
ving Judy come would definitely keep me occupied. There was a program that helped connect people with disabilities with horses, so we planned the trip in conjunction with that program. Judy was a perfect candidate, and so was the ranch.
Judy barely resembled the old Violet anymore, but there was little doubt that Peyton would recognize her. I was happy that Keith couldn’t avoid the introduction anymore, and before Judy’s trip to see us, we sat Peyton down.
“Honey,” her dad said. “We found your mom.”
Peyton’s jaw dropped and she began to sob. Not exactly what I was expecting at all, but, soon enough, I realized the sobbing was just a release for all the emotion that must have been attached to the longing she’d felt since she was just a little girl.
Keith drew her into his arms and the picture of the two of them was so much like my dad with me and Marta that I had to grab a tissue for myself, too.
She sniffled. “When can I see her?”
“Soon,” Keith said.
That girl’s face lit up with joy. She turned to me then. “You don’t mind?”
“Of course I don’t, sweetie.” She threw her arms around my neck.
“Thank you, Mandy.”
I smiled, but Keith needed to tell her the rest himself. I waited for him to say something, but his face was white. I knew right then that my big, tough cowboy wouldn’t be able to find the words to break his daughter’s heart.
I took a deep breath. This would probably not be as hard for me as when Daddy had to tell Marta and me about momma’s suicide, but it would be close.
“Honey…” I began. “We have something really important you need to know about your mom.”
Her face fell. “She’s not—”
“No.” I finished, grasping her hand. She didn’t pull back, so I inched closer to her on the couch. “But it’s not good news.”
Hours later, after we’d gone through tears, hot chocolate, more tears, some ranting and yelling, and even a prayer, taking a cue from my own daddy, we tucked her in. It felt more like we were tucking in a tiny little girl than our blooming, teenaged Peyton as we turned off her light and shut her door.
The Real Thing Page 15