Charlotte's Revenge
Page 13
“Yeah ...”
“Well, alright ...” He wasn’t certain if she was okay with this idea or not. She had made four trips to the bathroom in the last half hour, plus the stop at the pharmacy so she could buy “lady stuff” on the way to the Justice of the Peace. She shed a couple tears during the marriage ceremony. It was only a formality but well done. Probably time to buckle up and prepare for the incoming tsunami of emotions for this month. He decided to table the subject for a few more weeks. There was plenty of time to decide on something this sensitive. He lifted out the paint sample strips from the stack of mail.
“So, this “Country Mist” color, is that what we're going with?”
“It’s Country Bliss, Randall.”
“Okay, Bliss. Are you sure that’s what you want? Tell me now, Traci. Don't wait ‘til I've got all the walls painted and then change your mind.”
Traci shrugged, absently staring at her food. He shook his head. Where was she tonight?
“Why do I think that's a strong possibility. Like that's definitely what's going to happen. God help me.” He chuckled and again, no response.
Traci lifted the tongs and added a helping of spicy mesclun greens to Randall's plate. He picked them up and put them on her plate. Then blocked her tongs with his steak knife and looked up at her with one raised eyebrow. She ended the stand-off and added croutons to her salad. He smiled and started sorting through the mail again.
“So, your father's name was Remy?” she asked flipping the lettuce around with her fork.
“Yes, Remy James Wells. His father was James Randall Wells. And, his father was Randall James Wells. And now, here I am three generations later, Randall James Remy Wells, ta-da!”
“Yes, full circle.”
“Just proves that my people are not very creative.”
“I like it ... the name, Randall.”
“Well, I'm glad you do,” he said with a little smile and glanced up at her. “So, she’s obsessed about names tonight. Okay.”
“It's a good name for a boy.”
“I'm rather partial to it.” He ripped up a stack of advertisements. “Why do you get so much junk mail? Must be all that online shopping you do.” He found a notice from Simon, Kinsey and Co. and added it to the “Later” stack. There was a Lady Alexis Spa coupon and a pink envelope from Myra Rogers, Tallahassee, Florida, he added to the “Maybe” stack. “I'm buying a paper shredder. Remind me the next time we're in a real store, okay?”
Traci stood up, walked over to the counter and put lids on all the food containers. Then took them off again and sat back down at the table.
“I like the name Remy James, too. It would be nice to bring it back down the line. Don't you think?”
“Umm ... sure.” He scanned through another advertisement for soybean cover crops and ripped it in half. “Oh, I guess so. My Pops was a tough old man. I wish you could've met him. He had plenty of faults, for sure. We butted heads a lot. And, I mean a lot, but looking back over my life ... he was one of a kind. I don't think I gave him enough credit. But, like Reverend Mac said, if I can be half the man he was ... Alright, so this tan paint for the walls ...”
“It’s not tan. It’s called Country Bliss. Bliss, Randall... bliss.” She burst into tears and walked over to the kitchen counter.
“Okay, angel. Bliss.” He walked over to her and touched her gently on the shoulder. “What’s happening? Tracinda, talk to me.”
She rushed out of the room and left Randall standing alone with his hands on his head. Just because she wasn’t showing signs of PTSD this morning didn’t mean they couldn’t show up at any moment. The day was probably too much, her emotions were all over the place. Why did he take her to meet his brother and mother especially in their condition? That was way too much. What was he thinking? Too much, too soon. Should he alert the grief counselor?
“Randall ...” Traci returned carrying her purse. She pulled out a stick and handed it to him.
He glanced at it for a second. It looked like an insta-read thermometer “Do you have a ... fever?” He placed his hand on her forehead.
She took it from him and dropped it on the table along with two more. “It’s not a thermometer, Randall. Look at it. I got a DNA blood test, too. It's a boy ... we're having ...” She was sobbing uncontrollably.
“Wait ... what? A boy? A son.” The word struck him in his gut. He reached for her, then stepped back and gently touched her shoulders. “Keep calm, it’s her body. Ask her what she wants to do ... and listen. A son, though. Wow, wait ...” He looked deeply into her eyes overflowing with tears, her face red and puffy. Was that fear in her eyes? Was something wrong?
“Are you okay?” He rested his fingertips gently on her stomach. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, I guess. Yes, I’m fine, I guess. Yes ...” More tears, her hands covering her face.
“Well, are you ... happy about this?” He took a breath and squinted, trying to read her expression.
“Yes.” She tore off a paper towel and blew her nose. “Of course, I’m happy!”
“Good God, woman. You cry when you’re happy too?”
“Yes, I guess ...” There was an eruption of laughter and tears. “What about you? How do you feel about ... a baby?”
“Are you kidding me?”
Randall dropped into the chair in front of her and wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted her blouse and put his head against her belly.
“Remy James, listen up. This is your father speaking. Let's get a couple things straight, right from the start. We're Yankee fans in this family. We drive Ford or Chevy because it don't matter, we can fix anything. You can pick any college you want, as long as it's an HBCU. Full stop. And, one more thing. Your mother's going to try to feed you a bunch of crappy vegetables.” He stood up and embraced her. “Sorry son, there's nothing I can do about that.”
“I thought you were going to faint,” she laughed. The anguish was gone, and her eyes were filled with joy.
“I still might.” He sat down again and pulled her onto his lap.
Traci picked up a letter from the table and playfully swatted him on the head. “What’s this?” She read the return address on the envelope. “The Law Office of Nelson Crawford, Esquire.”
“Don’t bother with that now,” he said dismissively and kissed her shoulder.
She picked up a butter knife and slit open the envelope.
“Josh left some money for Milo,” she said scanning quickly through the notice. When she reached the end of the document, the pages slipped through her fingers onto the floor. She sat staring at him.
“Hey, great! That's good news, right?” He kissed her cheek and gently stroked her back. “Why are you so ...”
“Wyman's Campground, and the marina, and the twenty-five acres ...” she turned and looked at him, “it all belongs to me now.”
THE END
Author Bio
BARBARA HOWARD IS A first-generation tech geek turned master gardener with a passion for fresh air, vegan cuisine, and tracing her roots. A big city girl with a small town heart, she spends most of her time treasure hunting, spoiling her fur-babies, growing veggies and raising chickens.
Read more at http://www.barbarahowardmedia.com
Milo’s Journey
Finding Home Mystery Series
Book Three