“Good point.” I settled into a chair next to Brady, my thoughts in a whirl.
I’d just started to say, “Pray for Lori-Lou and the baby,” when Brady’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the screen and then rose and took the call. With all of the chaos from the kids, I couldn’t quite tell who he was talking to, but from the look on his face, it involved me. Sure enough, a few minutes later he ended the call, shoved the phone in his pocket, and headed my way.
“Well, she did it.”
“Who? Did what?”
“Mom.” Brady took a seat. “She contacted a travel agent to talk about booking our honeymoon. To Bali. She wanted to know if we’d settled on a date.”
“Did you tell her we’re still talking about that?”
“Yep. Just told her late summer.”
“Ooh, Bali!” My aunt let out a squeal. “Just like in that song from South Pacific!” She started to sing “Bali Hai” in a rather off-key voice. Eduardo joined her, his pitch near perfect. At the end of the song, they received applause from others in the waiting area.
This proved to be the perfect distraction. I turned my full attention to Brady, my voice lowered to a whisper. “Are you serious?”
“Yep,” he responded in low tones. “I hope you’re okay with the tropics, because we’re going to have ten days in a luxury suite over the water. I can’t even imagine what that’ll cost her. Probably ten or twelve wedding dresses. Or more.”
“Wow. Just . . . wow.”
I had to wonder about the cost too. But I wondered something else as well. Now that she’d made this decision, did we owe her? Would I end up paying in ways other than financial? Did this solidify my attachment to her plans for my wedding? Ugh.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Brady reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze. “And the answer is no.”
“Really?”
“You aren’t stuck with her ideas for the wedding just because she’s doing this for us. That’s not how it works.”
“Wow, you’re good.”
“Well, it’s a logical conclusion to draw. She does something amazing for us and we feel like there are strings attached.”
“But there aren’t. Right?”
“Right.” He paused. “I think. I mean, I know. She’s my mom. She wouldn’t do that. I really believe she wants to bless us, no matter where we end up having our wedding.”
“That’s great, Brady, because Bali sounds amazing. I looked it up online and couldn’t believe it. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.” In that moment reality hit. Soon we would be together, just the two of us, in the tropics. On our honeymoon. Alone. Away from the chaos. Away from the customers at the store. Away from people trying to tell us what to do and when to do it. Away from—
“She’s at ten centimeters and pushing!” Josh’s excited cry pulled me from my ponderings. I looked up to see him standing next to my aunt, his eyes wide.
“Well, for the love of all that’s holy, what are you doing out here in the lobby?” Alva asked. “Get in there to your wife.”
Josh nodded. “I am, but since her mom’s not here yet, she’s asking for Katie.”
“K-K-Katie?” I managed.
“That’s you, honey.” Alva gave me a little wink. “Now, get in there and help her birth this baby.”
Oh. Help.
Josh gestured for me to join him. “The nurse says it’s okay. But we have to hurry.”
“M-m-me?” I’d never witnessed a birth before and wasn’t sure this was the day to start. Still, how could I say no?
To my right, Alva startled as her phone rang. She glanced at it, then back up at me. “Queenie. Probably checking in to see how Lori-Lou is doing. You go on back there, Katie, and text me if you can, so I can keep her updated.”
“O-okay.”
As I took a few steps away, Alva took the call from my grandmother. Unfortunately the volume was turned up so high on my aunt’s phone that everyone in the place could hear their conversation. Typical.
I did my best to keep up with Josh as he sprinted down the hallway toward Lori-Lou’s room, then followed his lead as he used the hand sanitizer before entering. We pressed our way inside, and my eyes grew wide as I saw Lori-Lou, feet in stirrups, already pushing. Turned out she didn’t just want me there for social purposes.
“You . . . pray!” She pointed at me and then started huffing and puffing again.
“Her blood pressure is still up,” the nurse explained. “Way too high, in spite of the medications I’ve given her by IV. I’ve called the doctor but she’s running behind. I might have to deliver this baby myself.”
“Aye-aye-aye. I’ll pray!” And I did just that, the last traces of my resistance vanishing as I entered a world I’d never known until this very moment.
I prayed for exactly two minutes and thirteen seconds, which was how long it took the doctor to arrive. Then I prayed another forty-seven seconds, which was exactly how long it took baby Isabel to make her entrance into the world. She arrived with high-pitched wails, ten fingers, ten toes, and a face pink as a strawberry and as wrinkled as Aunt Alva’s.
Having never seen a newborn before—at least not one just minutes old—I hardly knew what to make of the little scrunched-up features. I wanted to say, “Sweetest thing ever!” but could only manage, “Whoa, she’s small!”
The doctor continued to work on Lori-Lou, whose gaze was now permanently fixed on the baby in the incubator. A teary-eyed Josh and I watched as the nurses cleaned Izzy up. At this point, she started to look a lot more like I would’ve imagined a newborn to look. Not so slippery, anyway.
“Take pictures, Katie.” Lori-Lou pointed to her phone on the bedside table. “Please?”
“Of course.” I fidgeted with her phone to find the camera app, then snapped at least a dozen photos of Izzy as she received her first bath. Then a few more as the nurse measured her head and her height. I got a really cute one as the nurse diapered her for the first time and a great one as Izzy was swaddled in a pink and white receiving blanket.
The best picture, by far, was the one of the contented newborn curled up in Lori-Lou’s arms. Josh took a seat on the bed, and the nurse turned down the lights in the room to give them some privacy. I couldn’t help myself. I had to snag a photo of the three of them all looking so blissful. So . . . content.
I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.
The words to the familiar Scripture wove their way through my memory once again. In that moment, as the babe quieted in my cousin’s arms, I forgot about the chaos of Lori-Lou’s life with the older kids. All negative memories disappeared.
The only thing that remained? The picturesque image of the precious new life in front of me and the realization that perhaps, someday, the one holding a newborn baby in her arms . . . might just be me.
8
Wrong Again
You can tell more about a person by what he says about others than you can by what others say about him.
Audrey Hepburn
The next couple of days were spent going back and forth to the hospital. I could read the weariness in Lori-Lou’s eyes whenever I visited. The fact that she’d developed an infection didn’t help. It did buy her an extra day in the hospital on IV antibiotics, though, and she desperately needed the peace and quiet. Not that hospitals were really peaceful. Or quiet. I’d never seen so many people coming and going from one room before.
Aunt Alva looked pretty peaked too. She needed a break from the kids, no doubt. Eduardo did his best to help out, but his ever-growing workload at the shop wouldn’t allow him to do much.
Nadia, God bless her, gave me a couple of days off to help my cousin and Aunt Alva deal with the chaos of bringing a new baby home. By Tuesday night, I’d worn myself to a frazzle, fixing meals for the kids, picking up toys, and changing dirty diaper
s. By Wednesday morning, exhaustion had firmly rooted itself in every joint, every muscle of my body. Still, I had no choice. I had to go back to work. I had promotional pieces to write, ads to place, calls to make.
After two cups of coffee, a breakfast sandwich from a drive-through, and a couple of vitamin tablets, I finally made it to Cosmopolitan Bridal. Madge took one look at me and sent me straight to my office, probably to keep me from frightening the others. A short time later our morning customers started arriving, but I did my best to stay put at my desk, working on promotional materials for the new Audrey Hepburn line. Around ten o’clock, though, I had to cry uncle. I dropped my head down onto the desk and dozed off. How long I slept, I could not say, but Madge’s voice roused me from my slumber.
“Hey, sleepyhead. Yes, you, Katie Sue Fisher.” I lifted my head and dried the dribble of drool from my lip.
“Hmm?”
“Earth to Katie. Come in, Katie. Can you hear me?”
“I hear you.” A yawn followed. “But it sounds like ‘Wa-wa-wa-wa-wa.’” I rubbed my ears to see if I could get the echo to go away. No such luck. I gave up and dropped my head back down on the desk, mumbling, “Postpartum blues are real.”
“Wait, are you saying you’ve got them?” Madge sounded concerned. “Because if you are . . .” Her words trailed off.
“No.” I lifted my head and glared at her. “Lori-Lou has them. She’s home from the hospital, and she’s done nothing but cry. None of us can figure out why. Poor Aunt Alva has done everything in her power to cheer her up, but every word she speaks only seems to make things worse. Josh finally sent us home last night because Lori-Lou was a mess.”
“Wow. How long will it take to get over this?”
“Eighteen years? Until the baby graduates from high school? I don’t know. I really don’t. I’ve never been a mother. But I’ve had just about all the drama and emotion I can possibly take.” I dropped my head down onto the desk again and muttered, “Calgon, take me away!”
“Well, don’t go too far away,” Madge said, her voice now carrying a familiar stern, motherly tone. “That new bride from Houston is set to arrive in fifteen minutes. You’re the one who arranged her meeting with Nadia, right? Bridget Pennington? She called a little while ago and said she could hardly wait to meet you. So pack your postpartum hormones away and put on your smiley face for her, okay? Up ’n’ at ’em, sunshine!”
“O-okay.” I lifted my head, albeit slightly, and tried to nod. “Just let me sleep for twelve minutes, okay? That’ll give me three minutes to freshen up before she walks in.”
“Whatever. Just don’t be late.” Madge turned and walked away, closing my door behind her. If I dozed off, I couldn’t remember it. I just remember hearing the buzzer on my office phone and Madge’s cheerful, “Katie, you’re needed up front!” over the store’s intercom.
I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and straightened to relieve the aches in my neck and shoulders. Then I staggered to my office door, things still not coming into complete focus. I somehow made it out into the hall, my eyes still sticky from sleep. I swiped at them with the back of my hand, but my vision didn’t seem to improve much. Still, I needed to keep plowing forward. The new customer wouldn’t wait forever.
Before I reached the register, I stumbled into Twiggy. Literally. She looked at me, eyes wide in obvious horror, and clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Um, Katie?”
“Yeah?” I yawned.
She pointed me toward the full-length mirror. I gasped when I saw my hair standing on end. I worked like the dickens to smooth it out, then turned my attention to my face.
“What’s up with the mascara on your cheeks?” Twiggy asked. “Trying to make a fashion statement?”
“I rubbed my eyes. They were bothering me. I guess I rubbed off my mascara in the process. I don’t know.”
She handed me a tissue. I leaned into the mirror to get a closer look and then started scrubbing at the mascara spots. Before long the spots under my eyes looked more like heavy bruises. Lovely. I looked like I’d just come out of the boxing ring.
“Do you need to borrow some lipstick?” she asked. “Maybe darkening your lips will balance the other colors out. I hope.”
“If you have some handy.” I yawned again.
“I have Pollyanna Pink. It’s my favorite.”
A couple of minutes later I made my way to the front of the store, doing my best to put the concerns about my appearance out of my mind.
Until Madge saw me. She gave me a wide-eyed stare. I didn’t have a chance to check my appearance again because our customer—aka the bride from Houston—greeted me with a squeal.
“Are you Katie?”
“I am.” I extended my hand. “Please forgive my appearance, I dozed off for a few minutes. You see, I . . .” I couldn’t remember what to say next. In fact, I couldn’t even remember my own name. “I . . . I . . .” I slapped myself on the forehead, ready to admit defeat.
“It’s a postpartum thing.” Madge patted me on the back. “We’re hoping it’ll pass soon.”
“Oh, I had no idea you were a new mommy!” The young woman clasped her hands together. “I can’t wait to start having babies. But first I have to get married.”
“Wait . . . who’s having babies?” Twiggy looked back and forth between the customer and me, clearly confused.
I couldn’t put two words together to explain. I tried. I really tried. “No, I’m not . . . I mean, I never said I . . .” Another yawn escaped.
“Poor thing.” Our bride from Houston offered a sympathetic smile. “I know just what you’re going through. My best friend had a baby a few months ago. She hasn’t slept since. I hardly recognize her anymore. But the baby’s adorable. He’s a boy, by the way.”
“Ah. Well, this one’s a girl. Izzy. Short for Isabel.” I rubbed at my eyes with the back of my hand and for the first time found myself coherent enough to take in the gorgeous young woman standing before me. I’d picked up on her Southern drawl already. She and Crystal could have a Southern drawl duel. But what really stood out to me was the young woman’s physical appearance. She was breathtaking, from her tall, slender physique to her expensive shoes and Gucci handbag. Wow. All of that stuff must’ve cost a pretty penny.
Her high-end clothes caught my eye—I’d have to be blind not to notice them, actually—but what really snagged my attention was her hair. Long, dark curls fell within inches of her slender waist. She’d pinned the top of her hair up with the tiniest bit of a poof—not eighties style, but a fashionable woman of the twenty-first century.
I could almost read Madge’s mind. I know this type. Daddy’s got deep pockets. We’re going to make a pretty penny off this gal. She gave me a little nudge with her elbow. Not that making a sale was my job. I would leave that to Twiggy, who stood next to me with an inviting smile on her face.
Brady joined us a couple of minutes later, and the young woman glanced his way and waved as if she knew him. Did she know him? I looked up at Brady’s face and saw no hint of recognition there. Still, she continued to stare at him. Her face lit into the most delightful smile, revealing perfectly placed dimples. Really? Could this girl get any more perfect?
“Brady? It’s me, Bridget Pennington. Remember?”
“Pennington.” He shook his head. “Sorry, it’s not coming to me.”
“My dad is Bradley Pennington from Pennington Oil and Gas. We lived down the street from you when we were kids, remember? On Wilson Street? Our parents were friends. We used to do everything together. Bingo night at the country club. Dinners on the lake. Our parents even took a vacation to Galveston together once. We ended up covered in tar because of an oil spill in the Gulf.”
“Bridget Pennington.” He nodded. “I think I remember now.” Brady’s lips curled up. “Seems like you looked a little different back then. Did you used to have shorter hair?”
“Yes. My mother cut it in a little bob when I was a kid. She couldn’t keep up with it because I was
always into something. I was the kid with the scraped knees and broken arms from climbing in trees. My parents thought they’d never drive the tomboy out of me, but they gave it the old college try.”
“It’s all coming back to me now.” A warm smile lit his face. “Do you still live on Wilson Street?”
She shook her head. “Not even close. Daddy moved his business to Houston about ten years ago. He bought the penthouse at Williams Tower in the Galleria area. He’s done very well for himself. Houston’s the place to be for oil and gas, and I’m in the thick of it now myself. I guess you could say I’m his right-hand gal.”
Brady gave her a thoughtful look. “Good for him. And good for you.”
“Yes.” She gave a little shrug. “Hard to picture me dressed in business attire every day, right? I couldn’t even get my socks to match when I was a kid. And my stinky tennis shoes have been replaced with heels.” She waggled her ankle, and Brady’s gaze traveled downward to the expensive pumps.
“Nice shoes.”
Watch it, buddy. No point in examining the woman’s ankles just because you two used to climb trees as kids.
“So, you’re in the oil and gas business now.” The admiration in Brady’s expression was more than evident as he spoke. “Who would’ve guessed the little tomboy would end up in a penthouse suite.”
“All those years of climbing trees got me over my fear of heights.” Bridget’s laugh was contagious. “I’m second in command to Daddy, if you must know.”
“I see. I understand how that feels,” Brady said. “Working for my mom isn’t always easy either.”
Bridget released a sigh. “Daddy puts a lot of demands on me.” She grew silent for a moment, and I thought I saw a hint of pain in her eyes. Just as quickly she snapped back to attention. “Anyway, I didn’t drive all the way to Dallas to talk about all of that. I’m here for a dress. And that’s the funny thing. I was looking through a bridal magazine awhile back—one with the cutest Loretta Lynn–style gown on the cover. When I saw the designer’s name was Nadia James, I couldn’t believe it. I just knew it had to be the same Ms. Nadia who used to sew those cute little Halloween costumes for all the neighborhood kids. Remember that one year when you wanted to go as a robot? I think I still have a picture of that in my scrapbook. Priceless.”
Every Bride Has Her Day Page 8
