“Absolutely perfect.” I tried to smile reassuringly. “It will be.”
♥
“The heartbeat’s nice and strong,” Dr. Adams said.
Once an hourglass shape with a little blob inside, the current image looked exactly like a real baby—okay, an alien baby, but still.
Dr. Adams continued running the wand over my gooey stomach. His eyes scrutinized every millimeter of the large screen. Occasionally, he frowned and moved the probe around a specific area again, applying pressure. Then he would freeze the screen and capture the image. We were up to file number fifty-two.
The frown finally fled his features. “Mr. and Mrs. Walsh, your baby’s skeletal structure looks great.” Pete let out the breath he’d been holding since we entered the exam room. Mine was in concert. Our eyes met. His had misted.
Pete cleared his throat. “So, everything’s fine?”
The doctor switched the monitor off and removed his gloves. “Everything’s just perfect.”
“And the sex?” I asked.
Pete stiffened but said nothing.
“That’s the only problem.”
Our heads snapped up.
“Problem? I thought you said the baby was perfect?” I had spent far too much time on the Internet. My imagination being what it was, I had explored sites I probably shouldn’t have, such as worldsweirdestdeformities.com. I mentally flipped through those images.
“Your baby’s structure is perfect, Mrs. Walsh. I just can’t tell the gender.”
“I don’t understand. I thought this 3-D imaging thingy was supposed to be state of the art.”
“It absolutely is. But your child’s position is obscuring its genitalia.” He smiled brightly. “Evidently, your baby is being rather…modest today.”
Pete snorted loudly, and the doctor offered him a healthy smirk. “If your child turns out to be a girl, modesty isn’t such a bad attribute.”
Pete’s eyes bugged, and he looked like he’d just been socked in the stomach. “If the Lord gives us a girl, and she’s anything like her mamma, I’ll be serving twenty-five to life behind bars.” He jumped back as I swung at him.
I jiggled my stomach like a crazy eight-ball. “Get the wand back out. I need to know.”
Dr. Adams shook Pete’s hand and then patted my shoulder. “We can try again at your next appointment if you’d like.”
♥
Yellow and green. Everything thus far had been either yellow or flippin’ green—all with gift receipts, so I could exchange the lot for the proper color. When I knew what that was.
The women of Eastern North Carolina were none too pleased that my baby had been uncooperative in the striptease department and, of course, they hadn’t hesitated to tell me so.
“Those shower invitations were like somethin’ out of a magazine. I don’t think the Princess of England or Wales, or whatever she is, had any prettier! Nearly as nice as Susan’s weddin’ ones.”
“Why, thank yew, Dottie,” Anita replied. “Since I didn’t know the sex and all, I had to go neutral. I sure would’ve loved it if I could’ve done ’em up right in pink.” She then shot me a scathing look as if this was somehow my fault.
“Open mine next,” Hilda demanded. Hilda was Pete’s second cousin, once removed. She was as gruff and opinionated as ever, and I’m still sure it had something to do with her hair’s chemically tightened curls.
“Two baby blankets. How lovely,” I exclaimed, though dying inside. I couldn’t wait until this whole spectacle was over. My cheeks literally ached from forcing so many smiles.
“Made ’em myself,” she boasted. “’Course I had to sew a blue and pink one, so it took twice as long. I barely got ’em done in time.” Then she eyed my rotund abdomen. “You’re not havin’ twins, are you?” Seriously?
“No, Hilda. Just the one.”
“Well, I guess you can save the other for your next baby. That way, I won’t have to go to all that trouble again.”
Punch spewed out of my nose as I sputtered, “My next baby? Oh, that’s not happening!”
A hush fell over the room, followed by a whole lot of tutting. Charlotte, Jimbo’s mother, spoke softly, yet firmly. “Susan, right now a second child scares you, but if the Lord gives you another, I know you’ll be grateful for it.” That was not a comment, but rather an order. Charlotte and God were tight.
Further, that woman could lay down guilt nearly as well as my mother. Charlotte and her sister, Maggie, had been blessed with only one child each: beautiful boys who grew to be stunning men. Pete’s mother’s childbearing years had been cut short by the death of her husband, while Charlotte’s by a husband who should have been put to death. After Pete told me the story, I prayed Jimbo didn’t one day hunt his daddy down and slit his throat with that wicked military knife he used for hacking bait. I’m positive a North Carolina jury would simply look the other way.
After a moment of awkward silence, the room exploded with well-meaning—snort—advice.
“Susan, ya ought to have another one soon as you can. You don’t want your baby to be lonely. Just ’cause you grew up that way, don’t make it right,” Hilda snarked.
Oh no she didn’t!
My mother doled out a glare cold enough to cause frostbite. “As Charlotte said, you take the gifts you’re given. My daughter turned out as perfect as they come. Not only is she beautiful, she graduated with honors from one of the finest schools in the country, and she’s become a very successful businesswoman. You have a son and a daughter, isn’t that right?”
Hilda nodded uncomfortably.
“Well, how have they fared?”
Mona, who sat to my left, playing gift stenographer, hid a smile as she scribbled.
Hilda’s son, Dale, had left—aka failed out of—technical school after one semester, and her daughter, now twenty-five, was on her third marriage. Bam!
Wearing a scowl that fit her face like a glove, she stood and said, “I need some more punch. Anybody else?”
“I’d love some,” I said with a toothy smile.
Mona squealed when I opened her gift, and the gaggle erupted in zealous oohs and ahhs. “It’s got about everything you can imagine on it, includin’ cup and insulated bottle holders. It’s a car seat and a carrier that’ll convert to a regular stroller when the baby’s ready to sit up. There’re even compartments underneath for your purse and all your things. We got the nice thick wheels, so it’ll roll smooth as glass. Jimbo and I tried out every one. I sure hope you like it!”
“It’s a thing of beauty,” I replied. “I’ll use it every single day.” That I’m not using one of the five Pete had already purchased.
“Open this one next,” Anita, who had claimed the coveted job of package chooser, ordered, placing the study square box in my lap. While Dottie ran any show she could get backstage access to, this shower had been scrupulously organized by Anita. Mona’s only real contribution had been to supply the date and compile the registry list. It’s not that she wouldn’t have done it all, it was more she was overtaken by a whole pride of alpha females.
“That wrappin’ sure is fancy,” Sarah, bank teller extraordinaire and Mona’s second best friend, remarked. Her baby boy was cuddled in a blanket, sleeping like…well, a baby. He’d barely moved all afternoon, and I was beginning to wonder if she’d slipped some sort of sedative into his bottle.
I pulled off the bow and tore through the wrapping paper to the indignant gasp of Pete’s Aunt Amelia, Anita’s mother, who had labored to meticulously refold every gift bag and scrap of paper for future use. Lifting the lid, I removed the card.
Susan, you are an embarrassment to womankind.
x
L
I broke the florid Saks seal and dug through the tissue paper. Who else would send me the most expensive diaper bag on the planet? After my laughing fit subsided, I held up the black Prada masterpiece for all to see and then handed it to Mona. Horrified gasps erupted from the large circle.
“Black?
Who on earth gives somethin’ black to a baby?” Dottie sneered.
I passed the card to Mona with a smile. She gave me an odd look. Holding Lexi’s actual name sacred, I whispered her nom de plume.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, suddenly awestruck. She traced the note with her fingers as if the sentiment had been printed in platinum. “Y’all, it’s from her.”
Gasps of a wholly different kind rose towards the rafters. Mona looked lovingly at the gift, and then carefully handed it to Sarah, who wiped her fingers on her dress before touching it.
“Hurry up and pass it on,” Dottie snapped. After thoroughly scrutinizing it, she said, “Now, I don’t remember seein’ this one at Belk’s.”
Jayne met my eyes and burst out laughing.
“Everybody knows Belk’s don’t have any stores in New York City,” Hilda hissed, jerking it from Dottie’s grasp.
“Daphne Fontaine lives in Washington, and probably not,” I said.
“Who knows what kind of selection those stores up north have. Poor thing probably didn’t even have a color choice.” Hilda rooted through the bag’s cavity, and her face fell. “Guess her people forgot to send you her latest novel. I’ve been on the library’s waitin’ list for weeks. I’m gonna die if I don’t read it soon.”
“Oh, it’s good,” Mona said. “Real good.” The proud recipient of an advanced signed copy, she beamed at me.
Hilda passed the bag over her mother-in-law’s sleeping form. While I had only vague suspicions about Sarah’s child, I had none whatever about Miss Vera. I know Hilda had slipped her sedatives. She snored contently as the leather strap grazed her nose before landing in Ginger’s hands.
“This is nice, Susan. I’d like to buy one for my niece—in pink, of course. How much do you think a bag like this’d cost?”
Though I was thinking, three of The Beast’s car payments, I simply shrugged.
“If it’s from her, plenty,” Dottie answered for me.
After opening the last of the presents, Anita announced, “Cake time!”
The ladies hopped up and then fidgeted in line as Mona doled out slices. Only one woman other than me remained seated. Belva Sue scooted beside me and whispered, “I’m sure you’ll have cake left over, but you can freeze it.” She waved a hand as though the two-tiered white chocolate masterpiece she’d created meant nothing. Then her eyes lit. “I baked a bourbon pecan pie for you and Pete. Shelled the pecans myself.”
“That was very kind. I hope I get at least one slice before he eats it all.”
Belva Sue laughed. “Your husband’s my favorite customer.”
“If you weren’t already married, I’m afraid my husband would have proposed to you instead of me.”
The rotund woman smacked my hand. “Susan Walsh!”
After the last of the party guests had departed, my mother appraised me. “You look awful tired, Susie. Why don’t you go lie down while I’ll fix you some supper.”
Though Pete loved cooking for company—or anybody, really, the Intercoastal Waterway had seemed the perfect place for Jimbo and him to hide from the estrogen cloud, and I didn’t expect either of them to return before dark.
“Thanks, Mom.” I had been especially tired and achy the last few days. I suppose it was normal, but the irregular twinges of pain were wreaking havoc on my concentration at work, and that bothered me greatly. “A little nap sounds great.”
♥
I have no idea what Mom made for supper, as I’d slept right through it. I only woke when Pete crawled into bed and began stroking our baby’s bulge. He couldn’t keep his hands off my belly. He rubbed it, sang to it—which was rather painful to endure, kissed it, and talked to it incessantly. And when it kicked, his personal earth moved. He was so struck with sheer wonder and pride, it was impossible not to get caught up in his excitement.
“Did they wear ya out today?”
“It was a bit overwhelming,” I replied, stifling a yawn. “Did you catch anything?”
Seafood and I remained on poor terms, but Pete was storing it up in our large garage freezer in hopes that this too would pass. I know he ate fish for breakfast, lunch, and supper when I was out of town.
His soft chuckle sent a slight tremor across the mattress. “Jimbo did. My luck’s all used up on the baby right now.” I placed my hand over his. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he whispered, gently kissing my shoulder. “Are ya hungry?”
I snorted. “When am I not?”
“I’ve got just the thing.” Pete disappeared down the stairs and returned with a piece of pecan pie.
“How much is left?” I asked as he fed me a forkful.
“A little. Your mamma got into it.”
“Uh huh.”
38
Peace Summit
I laboriously climbed the stairs Monday evening, vaguely wondering if Pete could install an elevator. Nursing yet another splitting headache, the bold evening light hurt my eyes. Though the air had cooled, I was certain I’d spontaneously combust at any moment.
“Does it feel hot in here to you?” I asked Pete, collapsing in the recliner I’d fully hijacked.
“Sweetheart, I’m wearin’ a sweater. I think your oven’s just baking on high.”
“Speaking of, what smells so wonderful?”
“Zucchini-carrot bread,” he replied, grinning.
“Yum,” I exclaimed, making a face. Though my former self was notorious for skipping meals, in my current state I was neither able nor, thanks to Pete’s meddling, allowed to do so. He was on a mission to infuse me with every nutrient known to man, and by any means necessary. He’d become a prenatal vitamin Nazi, and any dessert he made now was either fruit or vegetable-based.
“I’ll make you a smoothie. That’ll cool ya off.”
“Could you please make it not green?”
“But kale’s a superfood, darlin’!”
After supper, I wilted into bed. My dreams were all over the board, from zombies to triplets, to zombie triplets. Sweat-drenched, I staggered downstairs for a tall glass of ice water. One glance at my phone told me my night had ended. I pulled out my laptop and began pounding out emails. When my vision blurred, perhaps two hours later, I logged out. I noticed the light had changed.
Watching sunsets had always been a religious thing for us. It was a rare evening when we missed one, and if the weather conditions promised something spectacular, we exchanged our deck chairs for the boat. But sunrises over the sound were equally stunning: a startlingly unique daily gift of color and mood. This morning’s sky was already flirting with magnificence. A lewd pink draped the firmament like lacy lingerie, and in a few short moments, the fierce and fiery orb would breach the horizon and lustfully shred the delicate material into jagged streaks of an even richer color. I threw on Pete’s sweater and grabbed my camera.
The October breeze was crisp and quite refreshing. Gulls chasing fishing boats squawked in raucous banter, their silhouettes tiny tears in the sky’s tapestry. Though my eyes stung from the light, I raised my lens and began shooting.
Pete was slowly transforming our home into an art gallery; every wall was now graced with at least one of my photos. The first I’d given him would forever remain in his office, but I imagined soon enough, colorful skies and reclusive herons would be replaced by the ever-changing expressions on our child’s face.
After pouring a cup of coffee, I popped the chip into my computer, excited to see the results. Somewhere around the fifteenth image, I realized there had been a very long stretch of silence in these early hours—or rather, a lack of movement. Morning was an especially active time for my baby. It would begin its daily workout by tap-dancing on my bladder, then it moved to field goal practice during breakfast, followed at last by Olympic high-diving while I showered. Today? Nothing.
Pete’s sunny, life is beautiful! morning smile disappeared instantly when our eyes met.
“Something’s wrong. I can feel it! Something’s very not right.”
“Tel
l me, sweetheart.”
“The baby hasn’t moved in hours,” I said, pacing in worried circles, clutching my stomach. “It’s probably nothing, right? Tell me it’s nothing.”
He hopped on his laptop and began typing. “Could be nothin’.” He skimmed several articles in rapid succession. “I’ll be workin’ from home this morning,” he announced super casually. “Why don’t you do the same, and we’ll have a nice leisurely breakfast.”
Just then my phone pinged; another flippin’ email. I glanced at it and shook my head. “I’m slammed today.” I took several steps toward the stairs and the quick shower that awaited me, and then looked back at Pete, tears welling in my eyes. “Why won’t it move?”
Pete steered me to the kitchen table and replaced my lukewarm coffee with juice. “Eggs and bacon. This is not a request.”
“I don’t want to eat. I just want it to move!” I rubbed circles on my stomach, and then jostled it.
“I’ll be right back.” Pete flew upstairs. Returning moments later, a phone pressed to his ear, his smile had returned. “Thanks again. No, I will.” He chuckled and tossed his phone on the counter. “Anita says this is absolutely common.”
Anita says this, Anita says that. Anita had given birth exactly once. She barely knew more than me. And with her questionable words of wisdom, all was right again in Pete’s world. Well, not mine. “Anita is not a friggin’ doctor!” I hissed, slamming the powder room door in his face. I plunked down on the commode with force. As soon as I finished peeing, Google and I were going to have one of our heart-to-hearts.
After wiping off, I glanced at the wad of vibrant, ruby-colored toilet paper and screamed in horror. Pete ripped open the door.
“What’s wrong?!” I held up the evidence, and his face paled. “We’re goin’ to the doctor. Now!”
After gingerly buckling me in, he pressed the speaker button on the steering wheel and said, “Call Dr. Adams.”
Back Where I Belong: A Wonderfully Witty and Completely Absorbing Love Story (Susan Wade Series Book 3) Page 27
