by Jess Bentley
“Really? That would be great!”
“Yeah, let's take a walk.”
Margie leads me back through the orchard and down a path I've never been on before. It circles behind the Geller house, leading through some impressive stacks of firewood and a large burn pile. I had wondered where the guys took all the grass clippings to be burned. Now I know.
I follow behind her, listening to the birds and the far-off sound of one of the boys in the tractor.
It's a long, pleasant walk. The trail is narrow but well-defined and we circle around the back of her house. I see that it’s similar to the cabin, but not made of logs. It's frame with wooden shingles and a low, pitched roof.
The back porch is spacious and newer. A long picnic table sits in the center with a bright blue umbrella and an assortment of candles. Dozens of small statues litter the edges of the walkway and the railing of the porch. There are dogs, children, garden gnomes, and an assortment of mythical creatures.
“Oh, don't mind my menagerie,” Margie chuckles. “I like to have lots of characters around me, you know? Keep things lively.”
I smile to myself, understanding exactly what she means. I never realized how nice it is to have a lot of characters around. That certainly has made my life a lot more enriched.
“Why don’t you just have a seat at the table? I'll go get to the box and you can take a peek through what I've got.”
“Yes, thank you,” I nod gratefully.
As I settle into the homely, comfortable kitchen chair, I take a look around. I don't want to be to nosy, but this is a really nice place. Not fancy, not wealthy, but clean and neat as a pin, for all the stuff that's in here.
Every wall is covered with an abundance of objects. There are decorative plates, small paintings, and innumerable pictures. Almost every square inch of wall space is covered with a memento or a decorative object of some kind. I get the feeling that all of these things mean something to Margie and if we had time, she could tell me a story about each and every one.
Emotion rushes through me, and though I know it's just the hormones hijacking my body again, it takes me by surprise. I'm not sad, but I want to cry anyway. This seems so settled, so different than the life I've led so far. I mean, I don't regret being the sort of person who likes to go on adventures, but I've never had a chance to collect objects like this. Let alone have a place to display them.
You have to live somewhere a long, long time to be a collector like this. You have to really settle in.
I realize suddenly how much I want that. How that idea fills a void in me I never fully realized that I have. I want to be settled. I want to be so comfortable in one place that I want to decorate and embellish it. To celebrate it.
Not just accumulate stuff, but accumulate emotion. I want to collect good feelings and artifacts to represent those feelings. Keep myself snug and warm in an emotional blanket of sorts.
“Oh, sweetie, are you okay?”
Margie comes forward with the box in her hands, her face a mask of alarm.
“Oh, I'm fine!” I insist, fanning myself with my hand. “I just… I really like your house. It's really beautiful.”
“Hormones, huh?” she nods wisely as she sits down. She flips the top off the box and pushes it toward me.
My jaw falls open.
“Well, I, um…”
“Oh, sweetie!” she exclaims sweetly. “Don't even worry about it. I could see it on you when you were out in the garden. You glow. You really do! When are you due?”
“I don't know yet… I haven't been to the doctor. I've got an appointment on Wednesday.”
She squints at me, leaning back in her chair and tilting her head. “Well, I'm going to say that you’re about… eight weeks or so? Give or take?”
“Wow, you're good!” I laugh. “Do you know what I'm having? Girl or boy?”
“Well, one of each if you’re lucky!”
My breath catches in my throat. “I'm sorry, what?”
“Oh, didn't you know? Twins run in that family. Not just Tim and Tom! Their dad was a twin. And their aunts too. They lived right here on the property, did they tell you?”
Suddenly I feel woozy. Twins?
“Oh… or maybe it was triplets?” she muses, her eyes far away. She taps her wrinkly jowls with her fingertips thoughtfully. “Yeah… somebody had triplets. I can't remember who it was right now…”
“No… please don't say that! I cannot handle triplets!”
“Oh, we all handle what's handed to us,” she shrugs. “I could tell by looking at you that you're a strong one, Vanessa. You'll handle everything okay!”
I flip through the little envelopes in the box, noting how each one is neatly marked with the name of the plant, quantity and dates of the seeds, and small instructions about what kind of water and sunlight the plants prefer. It's just another artifact of Margie's wonderful life, that she took all the care to put this all together.
“Do you have a recommendation? What do you think would go good in the garden?”
“Oh, you know… it doesn’t really matter. Seeds are meant to be spread. Lots of people want to make a nice, orderly garden… something predictable and boring with plants and rows. But I find that seeds will grow wherever you put them. They want to be alive. So you don't have to be too fussy!”
“So, these? The sweet peas?”
I hold up an envelope, shaking it to listen to the rustling seeds inside.
“Sure… These too. White pumpkins. They're really lovely! You could just toss the seeds anywhere and they'll find a way to bear fruit!”
I stare at her, smiling, and accept the envelopes gratefully. I'm not sure if she's giving me some kind of secret code, but I think that we definitely understand each other.
We hang out for a little while longer, just chatting about boring stuff about the weather and how soon winter is going to get here. The kitchen is so pleasant, I hardly want to leave, but I do still have work to do.
“You know, before you go, I was wondering if I could give you something else?” she asks kindly.
“Oh, Margie… I feel like you've done too much already!”
“Pish tosh,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. She stands up from the table and walks over to the cozy dining room, taking a embroidery hoop off the wall. Holding it out to me, she gives me a warm, motherly smile.
“I know you were admiring the other one like this,” she says. “I thought that wherever you end up, you can take this with you. Something to remember me by?”
I stare at the embroidery, tracing the outline of the golden retriever with the edge of my thumb. It's very similar to the one I sold just a little while ago, but even more special because it's been in Margie's home for a long time.
I flash forward to a time where this is one of the thousand things on my walls, part of my collection of mementos of the life that I'm going to make with my five beautiful farmers. Emotion floods me again and I realize I have to leave before I burst into tears in front of this nice, yet unsuspecting woman.
“Margie, it's perfect,” I breathe, fighting back the tears. “More perfect than you even know.”
22 - Charlie
“Charlie, I can do that myself,” she insists, tapping her foot impatiently.
“Not while I'm around,” I inform her. “As a matter of fact, not while any of us are around, princess. We don't want you doing anything to endanger our little bundle of joy, okay?”
“I'm not going to spend the next nine months just sitting around!” she sighs, clearly frustrated. Her hands rise and then fall against her beautiful thighs, jiggling them.
“You probably don't have nine months left anyway,” I say reasonably. “Just hang in there, and we will find out for sure. Today, right?”
Finally, she plunks down in a chair by the window, clearly sulking. Her lower lip juts out beautifully. I want to go over there and suck on it, but I'm afraid to get too excited. Apparently, going to the doctor means that I have to wait all day for my t
urn. Kinda stupid, if you ask me.
I guess there's going to be a lot of things we all have to adjust to.
“So, you just sit there, and I'll get all this done,” I say reasonably, turning back to the dresser.
I open the top drawer and scoop out an armful of her underthings. The scent of her fresh, neatly folded laundry almost overwhelms me and I find my hard on getting more urgent, threatening to rise up out of the top of my jeans.
But instead I just tuck her panties and bras into the box on the floor, shifting to stuff my erection somewhere less threatening.
“You don't have a lot of stuff,” I observe.
“No, never really had a chance to accumulate more than I need,” she smiles from her seat. “We've always been light travelers.”
“Well, that'll help when get everything moved to the new farmstead,” I nod, opening the next drawer. “Now, we just need to get you into the big house. Just a short trip across the orchard. Nothing too dramatic.”
“Yep,” she says curtly. I watch her fingertips drum against the arm of the chair.
As I pack up the items from her kitchen, I keep an eye on her out of the corner of my eye. She shifts in the chair frequently, but doesn't try to get up again. I can't tell if she's irritated or just antsy. I hope she's not mad at me, because I really do plan on sexing her up when the day is over. It's hard enough waiting for my turn on the calendar, and I don't want to miss it.
“Listen,” I say reasonably. “When I get these things in the truck, we will run them back to the house, and then head on over to the doctor’s office. It's a little early, but we can stop and get a coffee or something?”
“You mean it?” she gasps, leaping up immediately. “Yes! Let's do that!”
She shadows me nervously as I haul boxes to the back of the pickup truck, neatly stacking them until the cabin is pretty much emptied back out. I had planned on getting her all set up in the big house before the doctor’s appointment, but this change in the schedule seems to be for the best. At least now she is smiling at me again, looking excited, instead of glowering at me from her seat like she wants to yell at me or something. We've never had a fight, and I don't want to start today.
“All right, princess!” I call out when the last boxes are in the bed of the truck. “Hop on in and we can get going.”
She stands on the front porch, shading her eyes with her hand. Even though she's not that far along, I feel like I see her swelling around the middle. Is that even possible? Her tits are certainly bigger. Her hair seems thicker and shinier. But I thought that it took a while for women to show in the belly on their first pregnancy.
Not like I know. But I might've googled it just a little bit.
“I think I want to walk,” she smiles.
I pull the parking brake and get back out of the truck and just stand there and stare at her. She thinks she wants to walk? Is she serious with this?
She tries to stare me down for a few seconds, then her shoulders slump.
“Fine!” she huffs. “You can drive me across the damn orchard!”
It's not a long drive, but it feels like a long drive because she seething in the passenger seat, and I can tell she's about to start spouting off. Stan is next to the back porch with a tool belt around his middle when we arrive. He walks over to greet us.
“Is this it?” he asks.
“Why is everybody always saying that?” she snaps at him, climbing down. “And don't tell me not to get out of the truck, either. I'll do what I want to do!”
Stan’s eyes go wide and he holds his hands up like he's afraid she's going to throw something at him.
“Charlie! What did you do to her?”
“I didn’t do anything to her!” I insist as I haul a box out of the back of the truck and stack it on the porch next to the others. “She doesn't like being bossed around, apparently. But I told her she needs to take it easy. Right? Don't you agree?”
“Well I —” he starts, then flinches and shuts up when he catches the look that Vanessa shoots him. “You know what? I have no opinion on this. You can be mad at Charlie.”
“Oh, nice,” I grumble, realizing he's more than happy to let me take the heat.
“Let's just hurry up, okay?” she huffs. “I'd like to get on the road. You said we can have coffee, right?”
“No coffee, the caff —” Stan starts and then stops abruptly. “Never mind, never mind. I'm just going to shut up now.”
Stan hurries away with boxes, then returns with Tim and Tom a few moments later. They rush back and forth, averting their eyes carefully. Apparently Stan let them know that Vanessa was not to be messed with today. We all silently agree to give her a wide berth, although I suppose we’re all silently hoping that this is not going to be her attitude for the rest of the pregnancy.
But you know what? Even if it is? We’re going to deal with it. It'll be fine. It's just a new facet of Vanessa's beautiful personality.
But, seriously, I hope it's just temporary.
Finally, all the boxes are out and moved to her new room in the house. She paces around the porch until she can get back in the passenger seat. I watch the window as she buckles the seatbelt over herself and stares stubbornly out the front window.
“Well, I guess I better drive her,” I say to Stan. “Unless you'd rather? I mean, I don't mind. You could.”
“No way!” he laughs, tipping his head back as though this is the funniest thing in the world. “Wasn't that what you said first thing this morning? How it is your day and everything, Charlie? She's all yours, brother!”
“Yeah, fine, fine…”
With a sigh, I walk back around to the driver’s side and get in, giving Vanessa an indulgent smile before cranking the engine. The truck suddenly shifts and jiggles and she turns around, alarmed. Through the small window behind us, she can see my brothers all pile into the bed of the truck. Tim and Tom wave, smiling. Stan and Hank just grin.
“They're coming with us?” she asks nervously.
“Well, sure,” I answer reasonably. “You wouldn’t want them to miss the first doctor's appointment, would you?”
“But, but… I mean, you can't all come!” she insists, clearly alarmed. "I mean, what are people going to think?”
“Who cares what they think,” I shrug. “I have never cared much what people thought about us before, so why would I start now? Do you care, Vanessa?”
She stares out the back window as my brothers make faces at her like a bunch of idiots. Finally she breaks, chuckling softly to herself.
“No, I guess I don't really care,” she sighs, turning back around. “Let's get going!”
As I drive through the country roads, Vanessa opens her window slightly. If she weren't here, I would gun the engine and see if I could knock any of them out of the bed of the truck. But since she is here I suppose I have to behave myself. It's just a brother thing. What can I say?
Finally we head into the middle of the small town, near those old buildings that cluster around the county courthouse. It's not much of a town, but it's enough. A grocery store, a hardware store, a hospital and a few schools. About nineteen churches, if I remember correctly. Just the basic stuff that you need to keep a town going, no frills.
But since it's the county seat, we do have a really nice hospital. That's a relief. We never needed it for much except for the occasional broken bone, and that time Hank gave Stan a concussion by dropping him on his head, like boys do. But now it seems like a hospital gives us a little peace of mind. Now that we have so much more to protect, that is.
I drive us to the top of the parking garage and stop, yanking the parking brake. Turning to Vanessa, I'm happy to see that she is at least halfway smiling.
“You ready?”
“You bet I am,” she sighs.
Chapter 22
Vanessa
I fill out the paperwork, my hands shaking as I hold the pen I borrowed from the receptionist. It's got a big fluffy troll head on the end of it, and the p
ink hair waves back and forth every time I write.
“Geez, I don't have any of this," I mutter. “I can guess what my weight used to be, but my own doctor? I mean, last time I went to the doctor it was just to the college health clinic for a regular exam.”
“Just fill in what you know,” Charlie says reassuringly.
“But insurance?” I whisper, alarmed. “I don't have any of that. I mean… I guess I sort of forgot?”
“We will pay for it,” he says like it's no big deal.
“No, seriously,” I insist. “It's a lot. It's probably thousands and thousands of dollars. Like a whole lot.”
He glances over at Stan and the other guys. I have to bite back a giggle, seeing how ridiculous they look taking up half the chairs in this tiny waiting room, sitting there like a bunch of giant farmers, spilling over the sides of the dainty chairs. Another mother and her newborn sit way on the other side of the room, sending us confused and startled glances, pretending not to stare.
“What's the problem?” Stan asks with his voice low, leaning forward.
“Vanessa thinks were poor,” Charlie chuckles. “She wants to know how we’re going to pay for this.”
Stan pauses for a second, tipping his head as though confused.
“Is that true? Do you think we’re poor?”
“Well, I mean… you’re farmers, right? I mean I wouldn't want to presume…”
I look at each of them as they glance at each other, rolling their eyes. Hank starts chuckling first, trying to bury his chin in his chest. His shoulders shake as he laughs.
And then it becomes infectious. Tim and Tom start, then Stan, then Charlie too.
“What is so funny?” I pout. “Hey! Are you guys laughing at me? What is so damn funny?”
They seem to laugh for long time, long enough that the other mother in the waiting room and the receptionist both shoot us dirty looks.
“Knock it off!” I huff. “Will somebody please tell me what's going on?”
Charlie takes the pen from me and the clipboard. Under insurance he writes his own name, and phone number. Then he hands me the clipboard back.
