Almost unburdened.
“Your ring’s in here.” Cora Anne held it out, nestled in her palm.
Lou adjusted a strap. “I might need to take this in just a bit. Mama was taller than me.”
“Right on top, like you just took it off.”
She tugged at the strap again. She’d have to buy a new bra. Inconveniences of formal dresses.
“Mama?”
“I just wondered if it still fit.” She turned, slid the ring from her daughter’s palm and tucked it back into the corner of the box where it belonged. “Unzip me, please?”
Cora Anne eased the zipper down so Lou could slip the dress off her shoulders and pull back on her button-down. She fumbled with the shirt, finally stepping from the gown and back into her jeans, feeling as though she’d shed another persona.
Her daughter perched on the bed, cross-legged, her skirt a confection of tulle. She twisted the ring on her finger. “Do you want to talk about anything?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” She reached for Cora Anne’s hand, ran her thumb over the simple antique setting. “I’m happy for you and Tennessee.”
Downstairs the screen door slammed, and David’s voice floated up the stairs. “I brought dinner.”
Heat swept her chest, and Cora Anne giggled. “Mom, you’re blushing.”
“I am not.” Lou flipped her hair—maybe it was getting too long if she could do that. Snagging an elastic band from her dresser, she pulled it back. “Dr. Whiting agreed to accompany me to your party.”
Cora Anne stood, tugging the side zipper of her dress. “Hope he doesn’t get jealous when Dad can’t stop staring at you.”
Chapter 38
Lou appeared in the kitchen as David loaded plastic containers into the sink. Her cheeks were pink, and she’d buttoned her blouse crooked.
Maybe he could still fluster her after all. “Hey, I picked up she crab soup at King’s.”
“That’s not cooking.”
“Sure it is. Last time, I burned a layer into the bottom of my favorite pot.”
She rolled her eyes. “You have to keep the heat low.”
“I know. Let it simmer.” He crossed the kitchen to tug her off-kilter collar, enjoying how he could see her pulse jumping along her throat. “You get dressed in the dark or what?”
His mouth dried with the look in her eyes. One he remembered from years past and embraces stolen in quiet moments, like when they would get caught at the Dawhoo Bridge coming home. He moved his hand to cup her chin.
She stepped back and turned, tugging at her shirt. “Liam’s coming over tonight, too.”
He tamped down his irritation. “I didn’t know that.”
“You didn’t ask.”
Outside, Hank’s playful bark changed to a shrilling whine accompanied by shouts from the boys. Lou flew toward the door. David beat her and held open the screen. They stepped out on the porch as Hank streaked up from the riverbank, howling, the triplets in a rush behind. The dog paused to duck his head and claw at something near his ear. Then he rolled, yowling and thrashing his head in the muddy yard.
David looked at Lou. “What the heck is wrong with him?”
She stepped off the porch, and he followed. “I think he’s got a crab on his ear. Used to happen to Mama’s dog, Beau, all the time. Told them to be careful around the creek.”
The triplets formed a circle around the dog. “C’mere, boy.” J.D. coaxed. Hank continued to paw at the ground, rubbing his head. As David and Lou neared, he could see, indeed, a fiddler crab attached to one of the dog’s floppy ears.
“Shh … Hank.” Lou knelt in the mud and held out her palm. She crooned, “It’s okay …” The dog stopped thrashing and nudged his nose into her hand. With her other she reached and squeezed the claw of the crab, flinging the creature away in one fluid motion.
Hank howled again and barreled into Lou, licking and gasping. She fell into a seated position and rubbed his head while peering at his ear. “I think you’ll be okay. Boys, take him up to the house and get him a treat, okay?”
Grabbing the dog’s collar, J.D. led the pack to the porch. David crossed his arms and stared down at this woman who never failed to surprise him. She was now as mud-covered as their boys. A streak of muck lashed across her cheek, and the crooked buttons mattered no more. He’d truly never seen her look more appealing.
“Are you going to stand there and stare or help me up?” Lou wiggled her fingers in his direction.
“Oh, no.” He knew that impish grin playing at the corners of her mouth. Even if it had been years since he’d seen it. “I think I’ll stay over here, high and dry.”
She screwed up her face. “C’mon. We’re not young and silly anymore. Just help me up.”
Sighing, he stretched out his fingers. She grasped them, and with more force than he’d imagined she could muster, jerked him right into the muddy yard beside her.
Mud caked itself to his entire right side and obscured the logo of his new Colleton High School t-shirt. “You—” He lunged for her, but she rolled out of the way and scrambled to her feet, laughing.
“Gotcha.” She offered him her hand. “Truce?”
“No way.” And he pulled her back down with him, wrapping his arms around her waist as she fell, relishing how even under the sulfur smell of the Lowcountry, the scent of Dove soap lingered on her skin.
“You two are worse than the boys.” Cora Anne called from the porch. “I’m locking the door until everyone uses the water hose, Mama.”
Lou braced her hands against his shoulders and struggled to her feet, mirth and mischief still dancing in her eyes. “I can’t believe I did that.”
“I can’t either.” David hauled himself up and flung his mud-drenched arm around her shoulder. She slipped hers around his waist and leaned into him. His heartbeat stuttered.
“Let’s go get some old towels out of the barn.” She pulled him with her and they crossed the yard. Inside the old barn, she let him go and lifted the lid off a plastic container full of ratty beach towels.
Through the open door, the late afternoon sunlight lent a hazy yellow glow to the air. Dust swirled around the old farm belongings. Canvases draped tables, protecting the research equipment beneath. One of the sheets had slipped from an easel, and he moved to put it back, but stilled seeing the pictures.
“What are you doing?” Lou’s voice took on a hint of trepidation.
He pulled the cloth away.
Beneath was a display board of pictures and graphs, charts and data of research collected from the river. He reached out, one finger gently caressing a photo of the sun rising over the creek, its blend of yellows and oranges lighting the buffer of vegetation like a wildfire. In all of it, he could see her mark. The careful attention to detail, the meticulous calculation of the water’s quality as the tides ebbed and flowed.
He felt her beside him, could hear her breathing, ragged and scared. “Lou, this is amazing.”
She reached for the sheet and flung it back over the research. “I’m good at documentation is all.”
He caught her elbow. “You see what others don’t.”
But she shrank from him. “No, I’m just a good assistant because I take good notes. Liam is the lead professor.”
“You’ll get there someday soon.”
“Not soon enough.” She strode away, but he caught her again before she exited the barn—and their moment.
“What’s the matter? You were always good with taking things slow.”
“Can we get out of here, please?” She handed him a towel. “Clean off as best you can. I bet you have a change of clothes in the car.”
He did because long ago he’d gotten in the habit of keeping one in the trunk for days when practice was especially hot. But he wasn’t done with this conversation. “What is it, Lou? I thought you liked the research project.”
She snapped her towel open and rubbed it vigorously over her arms. “I do, but it’s not medical. It’s environme
ntal. That’s not what I do.”
“So change what you do.”
Her movement stopped and she turned, staring at him with such hurt in her eyes he knew he’d treaded somewhere sacred. And when she blinked and swallowed, her throat contracting as she fought back tears, he remembered the last time he’d seen her look at him like that.
It wasn’t the night she’d told him to leave. It was the night she showed him an ultrasound image with three tiny heartbeats.
Chapter 39
Marietta, Georgia, April 1992
David, the one who wanted a family bigger than the three of them, couldn’t be bothered with changing his practice schedule to accommodate her first doctor’s appointment. Last she’d checked, this was why he had an assistant.
Lou chewed her lip and rearranged the crinkly paper gown. Playoffs started next week. Not entirely his fault all this happened at once.
They’d given up hoping, for her part at least. Fertility, one more thing she couldn’t quite get right. Instead, she applied for a doctoral program. Biochemistry, perhaps, had fewer variables than her chances of getting pregnant post-thirty-five.
But one round of a drug to stimulate ovulation—“Let’s just see if it works. One time.” David had coaxed—and the stick came up with two bold lines.
Lou leaned back, trying in vain to get comfortable. Already this pregnancy drained her energy more than the first time. Doctors weren’t joking about advanced maternal age being a thing.
But nausea aside, David wasn’t the only one who wanted this baby. Though how in the world could she manage everything? At least she was due in January, that dead time of year before baseball took over their life again.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Halloway.” The technician beamed as she came in, scrubs garishly bright. “Looking forward to seeing this little one in action?”
Right now baby was the size of a ripe raspberry. “Doubt there will be much action.”
The woman, her tag said Cindy, chuckled. “Well … probably not. But let’s find a nice, strong heartbeat, all right?”
Lou held her breath. Cindy spread the cool gel across her belly and moved the wand in slow circles. No reason to worry, and yet, all day she’d had a sense of trepidation.
A furrow started between the tech’s brows as she probed. Lou glanced at the screen, grainy and gray.
Cindy lifted the wand. “You’re Ruth’s patient, correct?”
She nodded. Ruth had been her midwife with Cora Anne, too, ten years and a lifetime ago.
“I’m just going to pop out and ask her to come take a look at something. No reason to worry.”
They only said that when something wasn’t right.
Ruth came in a moment later and took the tech’s stool, pulling it close. “Hey, Lou. How are you feeling?”
“Most of the time, like I’ve been run over by a Mack truck.”
“Morning sickness?” Ruth started the scan again.
“All day. A lot worse this time. David figures that must mean it’s a boy.”
“Well …” Ruth’s tongue poked between her teeth as she studied the screen. “I’d say you’ve got a one in three chance.”
Lou’s throat prickled. She must’ve heard her wrong. “What?”
Ruth tapped the screen. “I’m guessing the fertility drugs kicked your body into high gear. You’ve got three embryos, Lou. Triplets.”
Cold and nausea swept over her like a fog rising up off the tidal creeks. She turned, swung her legs over, and tried to stand. “I’m going to—”
The words strangled as she retched, the last of her resolve coming up with her lunch.
~~~
David jogged up the front porch steps. Lou sat in the swing, one foot tucked beneath her, the other pushing with slow, methodical pumps. One hand splayed over her abdomen.
Through the window, Cora Anne had her homework sprawled across the dining room table. A science project. He couldn’t remember what it was about but knew Lou had it under control.
He went to his wife, dropped to his knees, and laid his arms across her lap to stop the swing’s rhythm. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
Her tone made him wince. He always apologized, but he didn’t always correct the mistake. She pointed that out on more than one occasion. Still, he tried. She knew the pressure he was under as head coach. “Clint pulled a muscle. Bad enough he might be out for the season. We had to figure out a plan for playoffs.”
She nodded. “It’s always about the boys. What makes you a good coach.”
He rocked back on his heels, studying her. In the dusky evening, her pallor looked gray. “Have you been sick again?”
Her eyes drifted across their yard and neighborhood. Comfortable middle-class suburban Atlanta. Well-maintained yards, painted mailboxes, the laughter of children not yet called in for bed drifting across the streets. Stability was a provision he’d worked hard to achieve.
Easing into the swing beside her, he slid an arm around her shoulders. “Lou? Did something happen?”
She turned over her hand. The other cradled her stomach. A glossy black-and-white image he recognized but couldn’t interpret. There were three x’s where there should only be one.
Right?
He pulled the picture from her and held it closer. “I don’t understand.”
“We’re having triplets, David.” She turned back to him, those blue eyes that had captured him from the first moment awash in tears. “I don’t understand either.”
“Oh, honey …” He tucked her head against his chest, letting her tears mingle with the sweat of his afternoon. She never cried. “Everything will be all right. We can do this.”
“How?” she whispered. “I’m barely enough for one child, let alone three more.”
“You’re an amazing mother, thoughtful and dedicated.” He pushed hair away from her damp face.
She tugged a piece of paper from where she’d had it hidden beneath her leg. “I can’t be dedicated to them and this.”
He took it and skimmed the contents. Her acceptance into the doctorate program at Emory University. Even as she lifted her head and sat back, he felt the weight of all he was asking her to give up press against his ribs. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
She didn’t say everything would be okay, but Lou had never been an optimist. She leaned on him for that. Instead, she shook her head. “Some things aren’t meant to be, I guess.”
He grasped her hand, holding tight to the woman he knew wanted to believe in hope, but struggled with formulas she couldn’t see. “I’ll help you get your doctorate someday, Lou. I promise.”
Finally, a small smile edged her lips. “I’ll hold you to that, Coach Halloway. Just you wait and see.”
Chapter 40
While she wouldn’t exactly say she missed the nine-hour drive between Edisto and Nashville, Grace did find the airplane experience jarred her senses. Once she’d thought the sun might rise and set on Music City. Now she knew better.
They took a cab straight over to the nursing home because Grace wanted to make as much of these forty-eight hours as possible—and because she knew her mother would need multiple visits before she clued in to who Tennessee and she were.
If she did at all.
Under the whiffs of antiseptic and urine, the home smelled of memories. Sense of smell had a powerful effect on a person’s mind, so she’d read. There’d been a time she tried to shake her mother out of herself by bringing in a box of Krispy Kremes, hot and fresh, like they used to eat on Saturday mornings.
Mother had flung the donuts at the wall and screamed about how Grace tried to poison her. In the end, the nurses gave her a shot, and she wilted like an old carrot, thin and limp.
Grace had gone back home, driving the whole nine hours with only one stop, coming onto the island in tar-thick black midnight. She’d kicked off her shoes and climbed into bed with Patrick, curling into his side and finally weeping so hard she’d been an old carrot herself when it was over.<
br />
Tennessee took her hand, squeezing her fingers gently, and she gave him a thin smile. He’d been nine when the donuts happened. After that, he and Patrick accompanied her on every visit.
Divinity flung her hands to heaven when Grace and Tennessee paused outside the door. This nurse sent Grace monthly updates long as her swinging braids. “Well, I’ll be. If it ain’t the Firecracker’s matchbook. And her young piece of dynamite.” Her toothy grin pulled a chuckle from Tennessee.
“How are you, ma’am?” He offered his hand, but she pulled him down for a hug.
“No complaints from me, young man. Now, how’s your mama?” Divinity turned and squeezed Grace, tighter than anyone had in far too long.
A lump lodged in her throat, pressed against the ample shoulder. “We’re well. How’s she?”
“Ah, you know your mother. Every little thing sets her off.” Divinity scrunched up her nose. “Just don’t get your feelings hurt, all right? She’s a mean one, but that’s the damage those drugs did for so long when she tried to fix herself. Ticker’s going strong, and she likes the new aerobics class.” Divinity winked. “The teacher plays that head-banging music, says it’s therapeutic. Seems to work for your mama.”
In the small room, its walls covered with pictures cut from magazines and newspapers, taped haphazardly in a way that made sense only to her, Mother sat in bed, head lolling against her shoulder, her vacant gaze fixed on a point out the small, cloudy window. Her chin snapped up when the door caught. She jerked the sheet up and screeched, “Who are you? Get out of my room.”
“It’s me, Mother. Grace. And my son, Tennessee.”
The grip didn’t relax but her eyes darted back and forth, as though in time with the synapses surely firing in her brain, trying to make sense of names she thought she ought to know.
“I don’t remember you.” A blunt statement, but not laced with malice.
Grace took the worn chair and pulled it beside the bed. For a state-run facility, the home was more than adequate. “That’s all right, Mother. We remember you.”
“What do you want?”
The Bridge Between Page 15