Baby Girl

by Bette Lee Crosby

  “Wine?” I chuckled. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “No bullshavicky?” Nicole said with a laugh. “But now that you’ve got your own house, I thought you’d be doing some male entertaining.”

  Although I doubted it, I smiled at the thought.

  Ophelia was the last to hand me her gift. It was a crystal bowl filled with potpourri.

  “This is my special mix,” she said. “You’ll always know what someone is thinking because the potpourri reflects their thoughts in the fragrance.”

  I liked that idea. “Will it work for kids also?”

  She gave a clever little smile and nodded.

  That evening we gathered around my newly-refinished dining room table and ate the homemade lasagna I’d pulled from the oven. We talked, laughed and told stories. For the first time ever, I could see the rest of my life stretched out in front me: years of happiness sitting here at this table, sharing pieces of life with my little family and our friends.

  As I set out a pot of coffee and a plate of chocolate chip cookies, I knew nothing would ever be more perfect than what I had right now.

  “The kids and I all love this house,” I said. “We’re planning to live here forever.”

  “Forever is a very long time,” Ophelia replied. “You never know what changes life will bring.”

  There is a saying that goes something like this: People come into your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime. It was my belief that I had already passed through all of those who were there for a reason or season. I had the family and friends who were there for a lifetime, and I needed nothing more.

  I remember how I chuckled at the thought of changes and said I was certain that this was my forever.

  The Favor

  Over the course of our first winter in the house I didn’t give a thought to differing possibilities of forever. I was too busy being happy with the here and now. In the fall Violet started kindergarten, Felix went into pre-K and the Tribune promoted me to district manager, which increased my income considerably and gave us money for a few added luxuries. From time to time we could now have a night out with dinner, a movie and hot chocolate afterward.

  The days fairly flew by that winter. It was Thanksgiving then Christmas, and for the first time ever we had a real Christmas tree. The house was filled with the fragrance of pine and cookies fresh from the oven. The kids and I baked hundreds of Christmas cookies, topped them with red sugar sprinkles and boxed them to give to friends and neighbors. It was a season of good will such as I’d never known.

  On Christmas Eve Violet and Felix napped in the afternoon, so they got to stay up and go to evening church service with me. The three of us sat in the first pew and sang in voices that resonated with happiness. That evening I gave both Violet and Felix a present to open. These were the two gifts I’d worked on in the evenings when the house was quiet and the children sleeping. They were hand painted nameplates for their bedroom door. Violet’s name was written out in swirling script and decorated with flowers. Felix’s was done in block letters shaped to resemble a train.

  Santa would bring the toys while they slept, but I wanted them to understand this gift was from me. It was my way of telling each of them they deserved and now had a place of their own.

  ~ ~ ~

  To me, Ophelia was a mother, sister and best friend all rolled into one. Ever since that first day when I walked into the apothecary looking to buy a box of dandelion tea, she was there for me. In good times she laughed with me, in bad times she let me lean on her shoulder. In the darkest days when I knew I would have to give up Baby Girl, Ophelia was there. She encouraged me to move from one day to the next, held my hand and told me somewhere beyond my sorrow I would find happiness.

  Until my dying day there is nothing Ophelia could ask of me that I would not do for her. But this time I was sorely tempted to say no. I alluded to it, but the bottom line was I simply couldn’t flat out refuse.

  She began by telling me about the young man who for the past three years came every spring and turned the soil for her garden.

  “It’s a big job,” she said, “and I could never do it myself.” She explained he dug up the weeds, cleared the overgrowth and plowed the ground into furrows.

  “All that work, and he won’t take a nickel in payment; claims it’s just a neighborly kindness,” she added.

  “That certainly is nice of him,” I said and moved on to try to talk of what she’d be growing this season.

  Ophelia apparently wasn’t ready to talk about the garden; instead she wanted to talk about William McLeod.

  “A nice young man like him ought to have a girlfriend or wife maybe.” She sat back in her chair, took a sip of her tea, then said, “Someone like you would be perfect for him.”

  “Oh, I don’t think—”

  “He might be a year or so older than you, but nice looking.”

  “I haven’t had very good experiences with men, and I really don’t—”

  “Those weren’t men,” she said sharply. “They were overgrown boys with no sense of responsibility. Now William, he’s different.”

  “He sounds like a lovely person, but I’m happy with the way my life is and—”

  Ignoring my objections, she continued. “I mentioned you to William, and he said he’d like to give you a call if you wouldn’t mind.”

  Although the thought of a gentleman caller did have a certain amount of appeal, the kids were my main concern and we didn’t need a man complicating our now peaceful existence. “I’d rather—”

  I think Ophelia knew what I was about to say, and she interrupted before I could get there.

  “I’d consider it a personal favor,” she said.

  That request trumped any further objections I had. I sighed. “Okay.”

  The next day I received a text from William. “Hi Cheryl Ann. Ophelia Browne gave me your number and suggested I call. Would you mind if I did?”

  His message was not the least bit flowery; it was just straightforward and sincere. I liked that. I texted him back and said I would enjoy hearing from him. The thought of a dinner date in a place that didn’t have a clown or a person making animals out of balloons suddenly had some appeal.

  He sent another text asking if eight o’clock the next evening would be a good time to call. I texted back that it would be.

  He sent a third text saying he’d look forward to it.

  He called at exactly eight, and for a minute or two there was a touch of that “blind date” awkwardness. He started off by reminding me that he was William McLeod, Ophelia’s friend.

  “Yes, she speaks very highly of you,” I said.

  His voice was warm and friendly, but he sounded a bit nervous.

  “I’ve looked forward to talking to you,” he said.

  Once the conversation got going, I found he was extremely interesting. He told me about the farm he’d bought three years earlier.

  “I was an accountant before that,” he explained, “but my heart wasn’t in it. My grandparents lived on a farm for most of their life, and I spent summers with them. Dairy farming is what I’ve always wanted to do, so when this place came up for sale I grabbed it. ’Course there’s more than cows here,” he said and told me of the crops he grew.

  Instead of him just coming out and asking for a date, we chatted like two old friends catching up after years apart. We talked about how long each of us had known Ophelia, what music we liked, what movies we’d seen.

  Given my previous experiences, I figured it was better to warn him up front.

  “I have two children,” I said.

  “That’s wonderful,” he replied and asked how old they were.

  I liked that he didn’t just gloss over their existence but wanted to know more about them. When I told him a few stories about Violet and Felix, he listened attentively and gave a chuckle in all the right places. After we’d talked for almost forty minutes he said if I had no objection, he’d like to call again.

  I had no
objection.

  Starting Date

  William and I spoke three times before the Tuesday when he asked if he could take me to dinner.

  “Saturday evening?” he said.

  “I’d like that,” I answered.

  By then we had already crossed two hurdles. I knew he was an interesting conversationalist, and he had no problem with my having children. It was a good start, but it had been more than five years since I’d last been out on a date and a new kind of insecurity began to pick at me.

  I started to worry about my appearance, silly stuff I normally didn’t give a second thought: my hair, my weight, what to wear, what not to wear. The actual problem was none of those things. The real problem was I had lost whatever dating confidence I once had.

  What if he saw me and decided I wasn’t his type? What then? Would he whip out a cell phone and say he had to rush off because of a sudden emergency?

  Now I can laugh at how foolish all of this sounds, but back then it was very real and very intimidating.

  Rather than face the prospect of rejection, I tapped out another text. This time I attached my picture.

  “Just so you know what to expect,” I wrote. “Hope you are not disappointed.” I hesitated a moment, took a deep breath and then clicked Send.

  Thirty seconds later I got my answer.

  “Wow! Now I am REALLY looking forward to meeting you.”

  When I saw “really” in capital letters, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  As I got dressed that Saturday you could have easily believed I was dining with Brad Pitt or George Clooney. I tried on a dozen different outfits. First it was a red dress with high-heeled pumps—wrong on both counts. Too much cleavage and the shoes felt wobbly. Then I tried on a few of the suits I’d worn for business. Too severe looking. Three of the four pant outfits I tried made me feel fat. Finally I settled on a pair of black pants and an aqua sweater that brought out the blue-green color of my eyes.

  Our date was set for seven-thirty but by seven I was dressed, had the kids in their jammies and had given the babysitter her last-minute instructions. At seven-fifteen the doorbell rang.

  He’s as anxious as I am, I thought.

  I opened the door, and for a moment we stood there just looking at one another.

  He spoke first.

  “Hi, Cheryl Ann,” he said and stuck out his hand to shake mine. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” The crooked little turned-up smile he gave me said I’d chosen the right outfit.

  I turned, called back that I was leaving and scooted out the door. It was much too soon for him to meet Violet and Felix.

  Sometimes magic happens. Not because a guy is the handsomest man in the room or because the girl is the most beautiful, but because when they look into each other’s eyes they see what’s inside and realize this is the person they’ve been waiting for.

  That’s how it was that night. William wasn’t the kind of guy a woman turns to look at, but he was by far the most interesting man I’d ever dated. That evening we drank red wine and talked just as we had on the telephone. Our conversation was both intimate and open. Whatever blind-date anxiety we initially had was long gone.

  When I mentioned the children, he leaned in with his eyes fixed on my face.

  “Do they have your beautiful blue eyes?” he asked.

  “Well, their eyes are blue,” I answered, but I felt the color rising in my cheeks.

  Once when I was going through a rough time and questioning whether I would ever again love or be loved, I asked Ophelia what made her fall in love with Edward.

  “How can you not love a man who looks at you so adoringly?” she answered.

  That’s exactly how I felt on my first date with William. When he leaned across the table, I looked into the soft brown of his eyes and saw something I had never before seen. It was a look that promised sincerity.

  After that first date, we saw each other regularly; two, three, sometimes four times a week. Often we spent the evening in my living room with the kids. Felix and Violet were both enthralled with William’s stories of living on a farm.

  The third time he came to spend the evening with us, William brought both kids a book about farm life.

  Felix’s book was titled Daddy Drives A Tractor. He leafed through the pages then handed the book to William and asked him to read it.

  “Sure.” William tugged Felix up onto the sofa beside him. “I live on a farm,” he began, “and my daddy drives a tractor. A big red tractor…” Page by page he went through the book, raising and lowering his voice in all the right places. After he’d closed the book, he asked Felix if he’d ever ridden on a tractor.

  Felix answered with a wide-eyed shake of his head. “I never even saw a real tractor.”

  For a few moments William sat there rubbing his chin as if he was giving the situation some serious thought; then he said, “If your mama says it’s okay, maybe I could arrange for you to take a ride on my tractor.”

  Felix looked across to me. “Please, Mama,” he begged, “say it’s okay for me to ride on the tractor.”

  I laughed and said yes, when the weather got a bit warmer we would visit the farm and he could go for a ride on the tractor.

  Felix and William both grinned; then Violet asked if she could go too.

  William nodded. “As long as it’s okay with your mama.” He turned back to Felix. “Now, are you really, really sure you can hold on tight enough so you won’t bounce off when we go up and down hills?”

  Felix nodded in wide-eyed wonder. “I’m really sure.”

  “Well, then, I suppose…”

  The funny thing is we were acting like a family long before there was any mention of being one. During the week, when William visited, we stayed in and he spent as much time talking to the kids as he did me. At eight-thirty I’d shuffle them off to bed, and by nine he’d be getting ready to leave.

  “Farming is an early-morning business,” he’d say and then take me in his arms and kiss me goodnight.

  It was that way for almost three months. Then one night he stayed long after the kids had said their prayers and gone to sleep. We sat on the sofa and laughed our way through Two and a Half Men then did the same with Mike and Molly. When Hawaii Five-O came on, William suggested we turn the TV off.

  I could tell by the edginess in his voice something was troubling his mind. I clicked the remote and waited. With the sound of the television now gone, he took me in his arms and kissed me more passionately than ever before.

  “I can’t continue doing this, Cheryl Ann,” he said. “It’s too painful to come here, be with you and the kids, and then go home to an empty house. I need more.”

  He again covered my mouth with his. I could feel the strength of his hand against my back as he pulled me closer and held me. The feel of his body against mine aroused passions I wanted to believe forgotten.

  Being with William was satisfying and wholesome. I didn’t want it to turn into the kind of relationships I’d had before.

  “Don’t…,” I mumbled without any conviction.

  “It’s too late for that,” he said. “I’m already in love with you.”

  “That doesn’t mean—” I can’t swear to what I intended to say, but whatever it was he didn’t give me time to finish it.

  He slid his hand into his pocket, pulled out a small velvet box, thumbed it open and offered it to me. Inside was a diamond solitaire.

  “Marry me,” he said. “I realize you and the kids are happy living here in this house, but I’ll make you happier. I swear I will. I love you with all my heart. I knew from the start we were meant to be together; it’s right for me, for you and for the kids.”

  My heart was screaming, “Yes, yes, yes!”, but my brain reminded me of all the mistakes that had come before William.

  “I need time,” I said.

  “Time? For what?” he stammered. “I love you, and I can tell you feel the same about me.”

  “I do,” I said, “but marriage
is a big step. I have this house and the kids to think about.” I gave feeble reasons instead of telling him why I was so frightened at the thought of marriage.

  “Don’t use the kids as an excuse,” he said. “They’d love living on the farm, and you know it. They’d have room to run and play, have all the pets they want…”

  He had a million reasons for why I should marry him, and I had only one reason not to. We talked about it until after midnight, and when he finally started home he handed me the box with the ring.

  “I want you to hold on to this while you’re thinking things over,” he said. “Let it be a reminder of how much I love you.”

  That was the only time he ever walked away without giving me one last kiss.

  No Mistakes

  There are moments in life you want to hold on to forever. There are also times you’d like to forget, push to the back of your thoughts and pretend they never happened. The problem is you don’t get to make the choice. Your mind takes you back to wherever it wants to go, good or bad. There are weeks, months, years even that I’d like to forget, but they continue to haunt me. They remind me of my mistakes and make me fearful of stumbling down that road again.

  It was one thing to have my poor choices bring heartache upon me, but as a mother I couldn’t allow it to affect my children. As much as I wanted to be with William I kept asking myself, What if a year or two from now he tires of us? What if like Ryan he finds someone else more pleasing, or like Nick decides he doesn’t want the responsibility of children? What then?

  Having the house had given me the kind of security I never thought possible. Yes, I loved William, and had it been only me I would have thrown caution to the wind in a heartbeat, but it wasn’t only me. I had two kids to think about. Was it fair to risk their security and tender little hearts when another disastrous ending could be just around the corner?