As I approached the beach, the smell of saltwater was almost intoxicating. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the sunshine. I hustled onto the sand, searching frantically for Gracie and Livvy.
I saw the pair of them close to the water, both leaning over to peer at something on the sand. Livvy touched it, and even from the distance, I heard her shriek with delight. Gracie followed suit. It was amazing to watch the two of them together: Gracie with her candy-flossed white hair ruffled gently by the breeze next to Livvy’s little soft locks, which were caught by the sunlight like a golden halo upon her head.
I relaxed a little. There was nothing to be worried about on the beach.
All at once, as if the gods wanted to prove me wrong, I caught sight of a golden retriever jumping through the frothy surf, barking and bouncing over the waves as they broke. Livvy spotted him immediately and started squealing, running toward the dog with great excitement. Gracie, a little slower, followed along on her tiptoes, her tiny birdlike voice reaching my ears across the wind: “Dotty dear, don’t go . . . Dotty dear, come back.” She skipped along after Livvy. I picked up my pace.
Suddenly, the dog turned and bounded toward its new playmate, barking and coaxing Livvy to play. Livvy obliged by racing straight toward the surf. I saw what was going to happen in slow motion.
A large wave.
A flash of movement.
Gracie arrived at Livvy’s side just as a huge wave broke at their knees, knocking both of them off their feet.
I sprinted and reached them just as the wave receded back. They were giggling hard, completely drenched from head to foot.
I raced straight for Livvy and picked her up as the retriever bounced up to greet me, too. He was overexcited, and I was already off balance. As I stretched forward to help Gracie up, he pounced, and his wet, sandy paws caught me in the small of my back. I went down, too, and we all collapsed in a mangled wet sandy heap. I felt my weak wrist, the one I had injured on our road trip, give way beneath me.
Livvy squealed again as the dog used the opportunity to cover us all in wet doggy kisses. His owner arrived to help, giving us her apologies while explaining he was still a puppy.
“So are these two,” I said wryly as we all managed to get to our feet. I looked down at the three of us. In the space of two minutes, we’d gone from clean to a soggy, freezing, sandy mess. I squelched to the shore, and my arm ached terribly.
We arrived at Doris’s fifteen minutes later. Ethel opened the door and looked me up and down. She started to shut the door on me when Doris shouted from the kitchen, “Who is it, Ethel?”
“That homeless woman you took pity on went out and got everyone dirty. That’s who it is. And if I were you, I wouldn’t let them drip all over your carpet.”
Doris arrived at the door, pink sugar icing decorating her hair, face, and apron. We were all huddled in a blanket I kept in the car, three refugees hoping she would take pity on us.
Doris eyed us critically as Gracie’s face lit up. “We all went to the beach and had so much fun!”
Doris shook her head. “Get some newspaper, Ethel. We’ll have them brush off as much as we can out here, and then we can drop their clothes onto the newspaper.”
“It was an accident,” I said, avoiding Doris’s admonishing gaze. “They ended up on the beach, and a dog knocked them into the water.”
As if on cue, one of Doris’s own dogs arrived at the door and pushed past us. Livvy, who was already balanced precariously on my hip, slipped to the floor, shouting, “Doggie!” and chased him through the house, almost knocking Ethel from her feet as she placed newspaper sheets on the floor. Livvy sprayed clumps of sand and water everywhere as she went. I ran after her, realizing halfway down the hall that she still had on her sandy shoes, and so did I. I slipped mine off and finally caught up with her, but it was too late. She had caused the most amount of damage a child could do in two minutes flat.
Carrying the wriggling toddler, I arrived back at the door. Gracie was twirling on the paper and had taken off her clothes, right down to her slip. She asked me, “Are we going dancing?”
I hung my head desperately.
Thirty minutes later, a newly washed Livvy and I emerged into the kitchen after taking a shower in Doris’s bathroom. The room was now a hive of activity. Gracie was high on a stool, mixing a batch of cake batter, and when I came in, she said to Livvy, “I’m making dish cakes!”
“You mean cupcakes,” replied Doris.
“You can help, if you like,” added Gracie.
About thirty minutes later and with sprinkles everywhere—even down my bra—I felt exhaustion taking over. “I’m going to take Livvy home,” I said. “I only have one more diaper, as she managed to get the last one soaking wet.”
Doris nodded. “Call me later. I’ll see where we are with the preparations.”
When I got home, my aching arm had started to swell quite badly, but there were still the twins to deal with. So I iced it the best I could. When Martin arrived home after having to go into work for a few hours, he found a frosted-faced Livvy curled up on her grandmother’s lap and an eggy-faced James lying across his mother. The children and Stacy were all out cold. He looked around the house. It was as if someone had been through it with a hurricane. I waved meekly at him.
“The front door was open,” he whispered.
I shrugged.
I watched him as he surveyed the scene. There was a trail of dry cat food all the way up the hall. The rest of the packet had been tipped into the cat water and was floating in there like little brown-and-orange fish. A whole roll of bathroom tissue had been creatively wound around the banister. In the front room, the TV was blaring children’s programs, and every cushion we weren’t sitting on had been taken off the sofa. He walked straight back out the front door and returned twenty minutes later with Chinese food. Stacy opened one eye. “Hey, Dad,” she said as she rubbed her eyes.
“Looks like you guys had fun,” he said as he rewound the toilet paper.
“Doris gave us too much sugar,” I stated. “Livvy was making cupcakes.”
“Making or eating?” inquired Martin, noticing Livvy’s pink buttercream mustache.
Martin kissed Stacy and me on the head. Taking Livvy from me, he carefully laid her on the sofa and then did the same with James. As I got up, I winced with pain. He looked down at me, and I looked down at my hand, which had doubled in size. “What did you do to your arm?” he asked.
“I fell on the beach. I don’t fall well.”
“The beach?” he asked quizzically. “You should probably have it checked out,” he added with concern as he dished up Chinese food for us all. We sat at the breakfast bar, eating, enjoying the rare moment of quiet. It was just after we finished that James came running in from the living room, his eggy face smiling and his trousers obviously wet, his last diaper not holding out.
“I should get the twins in the bath,” Stacy said.
I reached toward James to help her, and I winced again.
“OK, Grandma,” said Martin, taking James from me. “I’m going to help Stacy with these babies and bath time, and we’re going to the hospital as soon as I’m finished.”
I started to object, but Martin shook his head.
“Just to be on the safe side,” he said. “Besides, I can’t remember the last time I got to play in the bath with the kids.” He smiled as Livvy arrived from her nap and kissed him on the nose. “See how cute they are? How come we didn’t have more?” he asked, smiling.
I panned the room with my hand.
Stacy moved toward the bathroom, and I hugged her.
“What was that for?” she asked.
“Because I’m so proud of you. You’re an amazing mother, and you’re doing such a great job.”
Tears sprang to Stacy’s eyes. “Thank you, Mom. I had a good role model.” Then, as if she’d been too vulnerable, she looked at the floor. “I’d better get them in the bath. Are you sure you’re OK?” she asked,
looking at my arm.
I nodded and shooed her toward the bathroom.
After she left the room, I heard James squeal with delight, and then something crashed to the floor, and our cat, Raccoon, bolted out of the bathroom and disappeared. Oh, the joys of raising small children, I thought. I’d forgotten how bone tiring it was. I sipped a glass of wine Martin had poured for me and grinned through my pain. This was family in all of its glory.
An hour later, with two scrubbed-cheeked angels lying in bed together while Stacy read them a book, Martin and I slipped off to the hospital. I looked down at my arm. It didn’t seem to be going down at all.
“Do you hear that?” asked Martin as we headed off into the dark, cold night.
“What?” I said. “I can’t hear anything.”
“Exactly,” he said. “Isn’t it amazing?”
“They sure are a lot of noise and energy, but I think they’ve been good for Stacy. She actually told me tonight she thought I’d been a good mother.”
Martin looked at me with his eyebrows raised. “Wow! Who knew what eighteen months of no sleep could do?”
An hour later, I was seated on the plastic examining table at the doctor’s, who stared at my X-rays, which he had put up on the light box next to him. Martin was fascinated by all the technology.
“You have a hairline fracture right across your radial” said the doctor. “We should probably set it, give it a chance to heal itself.”
Martin pointed to the X-ray. “Is that here? Is that it?” he asked, like a kid finding the right puzzle piece of a jigsaw.
The doctor nodded and went into full-explanation mode on how the bones in the arms work together. I coughed after about ten minutes of Bone Fractures 101.
“OK,” said the doctor, “let’s get this set and get you home.”
We finally arrived home about half past eleven, and I found Stacy actually sitting alert on the sofa, looking through one of our old photo albums. Martin, tired from driving, excused himself.
“Oh no,” said Stacy, noticing my arm. “I’m so sorry, Mom.”
Yes, this is a very different Stacy, I thought. She never used to be able to see anyone else’s pain but her own.
“Oh, I’m fine,” I said. “It’s just a hairline fracture, but I’ll have to keep this on for about six weeks. I can’t believe I’m wearing another cast—the second in just a couple of years.” Before that, I’d never even had a tooth out. “I thought you’d be in bed, darling.” I sat down and poured myself another glass of wine.
“No,” she said, “I like to have just five minutes to think without the twins late at night. Sometimes that is the only time for myself.”
I paused. I thought this might be the best time to bring it up. “What’s going on, Stacy?”
Stacy looked up, confused.
“You and Chris?” I added.
The pain on Stacy’s face was obvious. She tried to find the right words. “It’s all my fault.”
Was she just admitting responsibility? That was growth, for sure.
“I’ve been so resentful because he still gets to go to work and I have to stay home, which in one way I love and another, I hate. My loss of my individuality, all my single friends, all the things that made me who I am have gone. I’ve been pushing him away for months, and finally, last week, he left.”
Stacy started to cry, large tears sliding down her face. I looked for the right words.
“Having babies is a major change for anyone,” I said. “Having two is like a double stress. Is there any way you think you could work it out?”
“I have no idea,” she said. “I’m not sure how he feels right now. I haven’t spoken to him for a week. He’s tried to call, but I just haven’t had the heart to pick it up or call him back.” She sniffed, saying hurriedly, “I need to go to bed.”
This was her way of closing down. She’d never been good at exposing her underbelly. She downed the last of her wine, kissed me on the head, and exited, saying over her shoulder, “Better get some sleep, Mom. We’ve got the same thing all over again, tomorrow.”
I sipped my wine and looked at the photo album Stacy had abandoned. I probably hadn’t opened it in over five years—not since we had come to Southlea Bay. I smiled as I looked at all the pictures of young Stacy growing up, and it stung me to see her with both a mom and a dad. I wanted that for her children. I shut the book and went upstairs. Martin was snoring softly. I hesitated but made a decision.
“Martin,” I whispered as I shook him gently. He was dead to the world, so I shook a little harder. “Martin,” I said. He turned over, looking discombobulated. “Are you OK? Do you need something for your arm?”
“No, I’m fine,” I said. “I’ve had a couple of painkillers, and now that it’s in a cast, it feels much better.”
“Well,” he said, “what is it?”
“I’ve been thinking we should invite Chris up for a couple of days. He and Stacy could have a mini vacation, just the two of them.”
Martin rubbed his face, trying to understand what I was saying. “And have us look after the two holy terrors, Poopy and Dribble?”
I smiled and raised my eyebrows.
“Oh no,” he said. “I’m not sure I could do a whole two days.”
“Do you know what those children need?”
“Jail?” he offered sarcastically.
“A father and a mother,” I responded dryly. “That’s the best thing we can make happen, even if it means taking care of them for one weekend so their parents can reconnect. I’m willing to sacrifice a couple of days.”
Martin sighed. How could he argue with that?
“What makes you think he’ll come up here?” he asked, obviously hoping for another way out.
“I know he loves Stacy, and I know she loves him. We just need to give them some time where their whole emotional space is not taken up with those two little spitfires. I need you to be on board because I can’t drive anywhere at the moment,” I said, flashing my cast.
As if to punctuate our conversation, James started to cry and shout out in his sleep, “Daddy, I want my daddy.”
Martin looked up at me. “How did you pull that one off?”
“It’s meant to be.” I said, raising my eyebrows in an all-knowing fashion.
“OK,” he said. “When are you planning this fabulous vacation for us?”
“I’m going to call Chris in the morning,” I said, trying to undress with one arm.
He watched for a second, enjoying the crazy show before he finally got out of bed, lifted my nightgown over my head, and kissed me on the cheek, saying, “As I always say, things are never boring around here with you.”
Chapter 14
A Blue Cadillac & a Car for Clowns
The Labette sisters both had another sleepless night. They tossed and turned, and when “Angels We Have Heard on High” rang out through the house at five thirty in the morning, both of them bolted upright in their beds.
The sisters met each other on the landing in their night attire. Lottie reached out to Lavinia, saying one word: “Flora.”
“Robes,” responded Lavinia as they raced to their combined closet.
They put on their slippers. Lavinia grabbed a pink robe, and Lottie the pale-blue one.
“I like the pink,” Lavinia said. “It’s friendlier.”
“Flora loves pink, but I’m already in blue,” said Lottie.
“But the pink looks better,” said Lavinia.
The angels chimed away again.
“Hell, who cares about the robes? We need to go down and let that poor girl in.”
Lavinia raced down the stairs and pressed the “Open” button on the gate keypad without even looking to see who it was, but when she opened the door, it wasn’t Flora.
“It’s Dan,” Lavinia said as Lottie joined her at the doorway, now wearing the pink robe.
“Did you find her?” they asked in unison.
“No,” he said. “But I think I know where she
’s gone.”
Lavinia pulled him inside, and they all moved into the kitchen. He was animated; he started to pace. He was unshaven, and he looked like he was wearing the clothes from two days before. He spoke in a long, jumbled monologue. “I kept trying to recall if she had mentioned a relative or a friend, but you know Flora’s whole life revolves around Southlea Bay. She only ever left once, when she went to Canada to study art for college one summer. Apart from that, she’s always been here, especially since her parents died. I know she has some distant relatives on the East Coast, but she hardly knows them, and I can’t see her getting on a plane with Mr. Darcy and flying to New York City.”
Lottie shivered with the morning chill as he continued to speak.
“Then, in the middle of the night, I suddenly remembered she’d told me about a place in Leavenworth. A place she went with her family. A place where she felt safe and visited after her mother and father died. I Googled the name of the cabin but nothing came up, and her phone seems to be off. I’m pretty sure that’s where she is, and I can’t just sit around here. So I was wondering—as you ladies know her so well, and the rejection group is the closest she has to a family—whether you would be available to come with me?”
Lottie lifted her hands and her face glowed. “God has answered my prayers,” she said. “I’ll put on some coffee so we can discuss the very idea.”
“So we can plan the rescue,” Lavinia added.
Lavinia and Dan moved into the living room, but Dan found it hard to settle. He was antsy as he paced around the room. He was describing the place in Leavenworth to Lavinia when Lottie arrived with a cup of coffee and put it in his hands. “You’re freezing,” she said to him.
He gulped down a mouthful. “The only thing I wish I knew was what made her do it. Why didn’t she talk to me about whatever it was that was bothering her?”
Lavinia and Lottie exchanged a brief glance but Dan didn’t catch it.
Deep in thought, he continued, “I have to admit, I had a bad feeling about John. I went over last night to the place where he stays, but they said he took off with all his stuff that afternoon, and no one has seen him since. Probably a good thing, I’m not sure what I’d have done if I’d found him.”
The Rejected Writers' Christmas Wedding (The Southlea Bay Series Book 3) Page 14