by Tamara Leigh
Beau confirms that they’re at the hospital where Clive works, gives me the room number, then hangs up.
The confrontation with Michael forgotten, I meet his concerned gaze as I grab my purse. “Belle’s in labor. I’ve got to go to her.”
“Sure.” He rises. “Would you like me to drive you?”
I’m tempted to accept; however, as I came directly from the burn unit to dinner, it would mean leaving my car—and having Michael feel obligated to wait around at the hospital.
“Thank you, but I can drive myself.”
“All right.” He guides me toward the front of the restaurant and halts at the cashier’s stand to settle our bill.
Though I have every intention of beelining it to the parking lot, he pulls me back and gives me a quick kiss in spite of …
In spite of whatever set me off before Beau’s call. For all its necessary brevity, the kiss is comforting.
“Call me.”
I nod, then hurry to my car.
“Please, God.” I beseech as I slide into the seat, and my throat tightens.
“Please, God.” I implore as I fumble the key into the ignition, and my nose tingles.
“Please, God.” I beg as the engine springs to life, and my eyes moisten.
“Oh, please, God.” All the way to the hospital.
“Thank You, God,” I whisper as dawn creeps through the blinds to touch Belle’s restful face. Lifting my head from the arm of the chair I curled into hours ago, I look to where Beau sits opposite me. Hard asleep, he rests his head on the mattress near his wife’s shoulder, his right hand entwined with Belle’s. The doctors stopped her labor shortly after midnight, and all is well. Beau encouraged me to go home, but I wanted to be here for Belle as she’s always been here for me.
I rub the Believe medallion on the bracelet she gave me. I believe. I really do. Though she’ll be bedridden until she delivers—for however long baby holds off—her child is safe. And even if he had been born last night and spent weeks in NICU, chances are he’d have been fine. Of course, each day he lingers in the womb increases those chances.
The chair’s springs creak as I rise, causing Belle to lift her lids. “Kate.”
I step to her side and claim her left hand. “Sorry I woke you.”
“Glad you did. You okay?”
“Of course. How about you?”
“Tired.”
I brush the hair back from her brow. “I’m going to leave you now so you can get some more sleep, but I’ll be back.”
She begins to lower her lids, but as I release her hand she recaptures mine. “My mom?”
I was hoping she wouldn’t ask. Her mother doesn’t like Beau. With his homosexual past, she thinks he simply isn’t good enough for Belle. And even now that he’s the father of her grandchild, she’s holding out.
“I left her a message. I’m sure as soon as she picks it up she’ll be on her way.”
Belle sighs. “Maybe.”
And maybe not. I prayed about it in the dark hours of morning—that her mother would come through for her—but will God answer another prayer as I hope He will?
As much as I hate to give Belle false hope, I smile. “She’ll be here.” Even if I’m arrested for making harassing phone calls. And it’s a possibility, as she hasn’t forgiven me for the role I played in bringing Belle and Beau together.
“ ‘Night, Kate.” Belle closes her eyes and her hand relaxes in mine.
I glance at Beau where he continues to breathe deeply, then shrug my shoulders up and down to ease the ache. Worse, however, is the ache in my back.
Rubbing at it, I slip out of the room and head for the hospital garage—first home to change clothes and grab a bite to eat, then back to the burn unit and a day of painting interspersed with visits to Belle. As I enter the elevator, I send thanks heavenward that she was admitted to this hospital. True, her room is in a building separate from the children’s hospital and entails a bit of a walk, but it’s convenient. And the exercise will do me good.
Shortly, I pull into light traffic and dig my cell phone from my purse. Time to make another call … or two … or three … or however many it takes to reach Belle’s mom.
Saturday, May 12
Dear Lord,
Thank You for prayers answered as my heart longed for them to be. Thank You for the extra time You’ve given Belle and Beau’s baby to develop. Thank You for Belle’s mom finally answering my call and for having a good reason for not answering the half dozen calls before. Amazing that a woman of sixty-odd years would suddenly take up spelunking. For goodness’ sake, she’s about to be a grandmother! Anyway, thank You for softening her heart enough to make her crawl out of whatever dark, slimy cave she was in so she could be here for her daughter. And for her not completely ignoring Beau. Of course, I’m grateful she didn’t give me the evil eye. (I hate it when she does that!)
Thank you for Jessica’s reaction to the domed room. Her squeal, smile, dancing eyes, embrace of the symbols of your love—all music to my ears and eyes. You really know what you’re doing, don’t you? Well, duh …
Okay. I hesitate to ask this after all the prayers you’ve answered—the really important stuff!—but could you help me out with Michael? As much as he likes who I am on the inside, I know it will never be enough for him. Give me the courage and the words to break it off so he can pursue Maia if that’s what he wants. Oh, and help me stop worrying about my thighs. They’re not that bad. Certainly not bad enough to seriously consider liposuction (still trying to figure out how that business card ended up in my purse). Liposuction—ha! Only when I sit wrong are the dimples in evidence. Obviously, the sooner I break it off with Michael, the better …
Good night!
Kate
PS: Thank you for near kisses. Even though Clive’s didn’t pan out, it was a boost to know that he was tempted oops … interested.
PPS: Pulling out my Bible. See? And I will be at church tomorrow—even if it kills me!
’m dying. Whatever possessed me to take on the burn unit? Oh yeah, that would be my breasts. Greedy little—
BIG! With a resentful glance at the offenders, I pull into Belle’s driveway, switch off the headlights, and drop my head to the steering wheel. Though only three days into juggling two jobs, I feel as if I’ve been put through the spin cycle. Monday through Saturday, seven until one at the new job, then two until eight-thirty at the burn unit. And forget Pilates! Not that I liked it much anyway, but according to the fit of my clothes and a few less pounds on the scale, it was helping.
I open the car door and, a few moments later, press the doorbell of Belle and Beau’s house.
Of course it’s Beau who opens the door, as Belle isn’t allowed much beyond their bedroom.
“You look awful, Kate.”
I shrug. “It’s called truth in advertising.”
“Ah.” He lowers his gaze. “I thought you were going to toss out those baggy old jeans.”
I was, especially after all the positive feedback over my hip-huggers; however, after subjecting a second pair to paint splatters, I couldn’t bring myself to risk a third.
I step past Beau. “Just trying to get a few more wears out of these old ones.”
“Toss them out, Kate.” He closes the door. “If not for your sake, then mine.”
“I will.” Eventually.
He sighs and consults his watch. “Almost nine.”
“She isn’t asleep, is she?”
“Nah. You know Belle—night owl to the max, especially now that she has nothing to do all day but lie around.”
As she’s done for the past two weeks, poor thing. “I’ll go up, then.”
Beau follows me upstairs. As we start down the hall, I falter when I see the nursery door open and the light on.
“Want to take a peek? I hung new blinds today.”
I’m sensitive about that room, but not as sensitive as Belle and Beau were following the miscarriages that left it so empty. It’s been years
since the door stood wide.
“Come on.” Beau steers me inside.
I halt at the center of the room and stare at the wall behind the crib, upon which a detailed Noah’s ark rocks atop the water. It’s some of my best work. Despite the heartache inherent in preparing a room for someone else’s newborn, it was my gift to Belle and Beau. I’ve done a few nurseries since, but I pass when possible. Children’s rooms I can handle, but there’s something about a nursery …
“Looks as good as the day you finished it.”
I survey the other walls, then pause on one of several Scriptures painted in an elegant hand. “It does.”
My eyes meet his. “Ready to be a daddy?”
“I’ve been ready a long time.”
Of course he has. “And you’re going to be great.”
He breaks into a grin. “You’re telling me!”
I thump his arm. “Well, aren’t you modest?”
“Just stating the obvious.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Let’s go. Belle will be wondering what’s keeping us.”
As I follow him to the door, I glance around at the empty crib that their baby will soon fill. Despite the dull ache at my center, I’m happy for them.
“Hurry!” Belle calls as we start down the hall. “He’s on the move!”
We run to the bedroom, where Belle is propped on oodles of pillows in the middle of the bed. She motions me forward. “Come on!”
I drop to the mattress, and she grabs my hand and guides it to her belly. “Feel him?”
She never tires of tracking her baby’s movement. Even before she was on bed rest, she would stop midstep … midsentence … midwhatever to savor the miracle.
“I feel him.” I return her smile. “Think he’ll be a rock climber?”
“Could be.”
“I’ll leave you to your girl talk,” Beau says.
Once the baby stills, I lightly put my arms around Belle and give her a hug. “How are you feeling?”
“Bored, but otherwise great.” She nods at a teetering stack of magazines atop the nightstand. “As you can see, Mom has added to my collection.”
Mom, who still doesn’t like Beau, though she is making an effort to tolerate him.
“Of course, Changes magazine is still my favorite.” Belle eyes the solitary magazine that features my makeover.
I groan. Since its appearance on the newsstands, the magazine has generated more interest in my work, and I’ve scheduled two new projects, but it hasn’t been without a price. A couple times too often, potential clients have shown up at the burn unit unannounced to consult on projects. The first time was flattering, the second unsettling, the third annoying. And it goes downhill from there, especially as I don’t have time for interruptions if I’m to make my deadline. Fortunately, Clive hasn’t shown up since he nearly kissed me two weeks ago. Unfortunately, I miss him.
“So, Kate, what do you think of the new blinds?”
I blink at Belle. “Blinds? Oh—the nursery. They look great.”
She’s watching me. Though previous to her miscarriages she was tuned in to my feelings, experience with her own losses has made her more sensitive.
“Really,” I say.
She pats my hand. “How are you doing?”
“I’m tired. Nothing but work, work, work.”
“Nothing?” She raises an eyebrow.
I know what she’s asking. “As soon as I get the time to sit down with Michael, I’ll break it off for good.” Not since the night she went into labor have he and I been on a date. But it’s not as if I don’t have a good excuse for putting off the inevitable. I have several. First, the little spare time I have is devoted to Belle; second, when I make it home at night, I have to deal with a brooding and moody Maia; third, the new project is draining me.
Still, Michael keeps inviting and I keep avoiding. And he’s not happy. The message on my answering machine yesterday was that if I didn’t fit him into my schedule to discuss our “misunderstanding,” he’d camp out on my doorstep. Thankfully, he wasn’t there last night. Hopefully, he won’t be there tonight.
“Get it over with, Kate.” Belle squeezes my hand. “It’s not fair to him.”
“I know. I’ll do it soon.”
“How soon?”
I hate it when she holds me accountable. “The next time the opportunity arises.”
She screws up her face. “Make the opportunity. In fact, don’t visit me again until you’ve taken care of Michael.”
“But—”
“I mean it. Until you stop stringing him along, I’m telling Beau to bar the door.”
There’s no arguing with her, especially when she’s right. “If it’s not too late when I get home, I’ll call him.” As her lids narrow, I cross my heart. “Promise.”
“And then?”
I frown. “Then what?”
“You move on.”
I snort. “What? Afraid I’ll sink into some deep, dark depression?”
“No, but you’re going to miss the attention, the companionship.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll get over it. Always do.” Sort of. Of course, this latest letdown could have been avoided had I not reneged on swearing off men. Should have stuck to my resolu—
That’s it! I slap a hand to my thigh. “This time I mean it, Belle—really mean it.”
She groans. “Not again.”
“No more dating. No more men.”
She sighs back into her pillows. “Okay, but remember, it is only May.”
I make a face at her and turn toward the door. “I’ll let you get your rest. ’Night.”
“Kate.”
“Hmm?”
“How are the migraines?”
I shrug. “Still dodging the bullet.”
“And still too stubborn to give the patch a try.”
“Well, if it ain’t broke—”
“If it’s cracked, it’s broken, Kate.”
I smile. “I’m fine. Really.”
“All right, your call. Speaking of which …” She raises an imaginary phone to her ear.
Ten-fifteen is too late to call, isn’t it? Of course, according to Michael, he’s usually up until at least eleven.
I scowl at the phone.
You promised, Kate.
I reach for the handset only to draw back when the doorbell rings. Michael? Surely not this late.
I hear Maia open the door. From the muffled pitch of the voice that slips beneath my door, it’s a male visitor. But is it Michael? I hope it is; otherwise it’s likely Maia’s married man. A few moments later, I have the disheartening answer when the voices drift away into other parts of the house. Not Michael, then.
Once more, I consider the phone but feel my mouth go dry. First hot tea, then the call.
In the event that I happen upon Maia and her night visitor, I pull a robe over my pajamas. It’s hardly flattering, thick and worn as it is, but it’s modest.
I’m halfway down the stairs when Maia’s voice rises from the living room. Tempted as I am to turn back—my mouth is really dry—I continue my descent until I hear Maia laugh. And then Michael.
The one stair that creaks loud enough to be heard above laughter protests beneath my foot, causing the two in the living room to fall silent. I’m had, but if I take the stairs two at a time—
“Kate,” Maia calls in that indifferent voice she adopts when she deigns to acknowledge my presence, “Michael’s here to see you.”
Oh yeah? Then why are you only now informing me? The jealous thought springs to mind before I reason that the oversight is cause to rejoice. Despite Maia’s anger at me for throwing my “used” boyfriend her way, she has feelings for him.
“Great,” I call back. “I’ll grab a cup of tea and be right in.”
I take another step down only to pause at the sight of my robe. What will Michael think if he sees me, especially after visiting with the beauteous Maia? Doubtless, his mind will race with referrals … wallet hand will tremble … fingers will it
ch to pinch a business card. That, or he’ll break it off with me.
Oh! This could be good. Maybe I won’t have to be the bad guy. No explanations. No apologies. No hurt feelings. This is good.
I descend the last of the stairs and glance into the living room. “Back in a few minutes.”
Maia makes no attempt to hide her dismay at the sight of my robe-clad figure, but Michael does. And fails. As I sweep past, I grin at the startle that preceded his forced smile.
What I don’t expect is for them to follow me into the kitchen, thus denying me the time to prepare for the showdown.
I retrieve a tea bag and dangle it before them. “Tea, anyone?”
Michael shakes his head.
Maia tightens the belt of her form-fitting silk kimono. “Uh-uh.”
Gosh, they’re an attractive couple! What was Michael thinking when he passed over Maia for me?
She smiles at Michael. “I’ll leave you two alone. Good night.”
Michael smiles. “Good night, Maia.”
Then she’s gone.
After a long, uncomfortable moment, Michael says, “I apologize for dropping by at this hour, but I knew you’d still be up.”
I blow a breath up my face. “Oh, yeah.”
He crosses to the eat-in counter and pulls out a stool. “We need to talk.”
“I know.”
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I have.”
He clasps his hands on the counter. “I’ve thought a lot about what happened at the restaurant and what you said about me wanting to perfect you.”
Wondering in which cabinet I stowed the teapot, I prompt, “And?”
“And you’re right. All I can say is that I never meant to make you feel that all I cared about was your appearance. I’m sorry, Kate.”
This isn’t going the way I hoped. Fearful that the ball is back in my court, I open a lower cabinet. Where, oh where, is that teapot? And how, oh how, am I to say what needs to be said?
“So, Kate …”
I sink to my haunches before the cabinet, rummage through the pots and pans, then stop. What caused Michael to leave his sentence dangling? I look over my shoulder and find him frowning at my backside. Not a good view, as I’m hunkered down and the thick robe is flared over my hind parts. I nearly jump to my feet, but it occurs to me that perhaps we’re back on track.