Saturday Morning

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Yes, it is the biggest news that’s ever happened to our family. Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s good news, and I don’t see how you can.” She had to make Bria understand why she felt the way she did. She hated to think that Martin would use Bria’s opinion against her, but she knew he would.

  “But wouldn’t it be great to get out from under all that work on the farm and … ”

  “All that work is work I love doing, or are you not aware of that? And have you forgotten that Lavender Meadows is supporting your grandparents, and that they would have to give up their home if we sold this place?” She had done her best to raise her children to think about things before they jumped in with both feet. Right now Bria was up to her waist in mental muck.

  Bria’s voice went from wildly enthusiastic to embarrassed. “Um, I guess I forgot about that.”

  “Did you also forget that this farm has been in our family for three generations and that you and your brother and sister stand to inherit it and the business?”

  “Okay, you’re right. I really wouldn’t want to see you sell it,” she admitted. “How does Daddy feel about all of this?”

  “He wants me to sell out, move to San Francisco, and be a fulltime wife that he can take to corporate parties.”

  “Gag me with a spoon.”

  “Exactly.” Andy rubbed her forehead. “Bria, would you call your father a workaholic?”

  A slight chuckle came through the wires. “That would be an understatement.”

  “Takes one to know one, right?”

  “I take after him, but Mom, don’t you have a few of those tendencies yourself?”

  “I never let things keep me from the three of you. I was always there when you needed me, and your activities came first.”

  “That’s true, but you weren’t the breadwinner. Daddy did all he could with us when he was home.”

  Interesting how age had given her oldest daughter a different perspective on things. When Bria was ten and in the Christmas play, she cried her eyes out because Martin couldn’t be there to see her put the star on top of the Christmas tree. And the day before she was to graduate from junior high, she called him in New York and told him he’d better be in that audience or she would go back to seventh grade. By the time she finished high school, she’d given up and had stopped asking him to come home for anything extra.

  A sound clicked on the line. “Hold on, let me see who that is.” Andy pushed a button. “Hello?”

  Bria’s voice answered. “It’s still me, Mom. Whoever that is can call back.” The slight impatience in Bria’s voice spoke of an oft-repeated lesson on how to work Call Waiting. When was Mom going to come up to speed on the technologies that were supposed to make her life easier? “So what are you going to do?”

  “Pray. Can you think of something better?”

  “Nope. I’ll pray too. Okay?”

  “You’d better. Love you. Bye.”

  Andy spent the next few days harvesting the last of the lavender crop. By the end of the week, her drying racks as well as her bins were full. Now she and her mother would begin making the sachets and potpourri for the Internet sales.

  Andy didn’t tell her mother what had happened in San Francisco. She glossed over the house-hunting expedition and pretended that everything was fine between her and Martin. If her mother got wind of what was really happening, she would feel guilty and insist on selling the house, the farm, and the business.

  Saturday morning Andy went over the quarterly sales report that her mother had generated on QuickBooks. The good news was that they were well into the black and had money to spend on new equipment. Lavender Meadows was growing at a rate that would require either more planting or buying from another grower. In the spring, she would start selling her field starts after transplanting them to gallon containers. She could also sell far more rooted plugs than she had.

  So much to do.

  She called up her database and entered the names and addresses of new people who had signed her Web-site guest book. A mailing list of nearly a thousand wasn’t bad for three years’ time.

  When the phone rang, she picked it up without taking her eyes from the computer screen.

  “Lavender Meadows.”

  “Hi, Andy, this is Suzanne, your Realtor from San Francisco.” “Oh, hi.”

  “I think I found you a place.”

  “Oh?” Andy fumbled for politeness. “Really?”

  “I’m going to send you the pictures I have. I snapped them yesterday when I took the listing. I have to tell you this property won’t last long. It’s one of those once-in-a-lifetime chances, if you know what I mean.”

  “So tell me about it.” Andy minimized her database and opened her e-mail.

  “It’s a house, not a condo or loft, and it borders a garden. Grace Marchant’s Garden. Have you heard of it? It surrounds a series of stairs going down the north side of Telegraph Hill. I’ll be up front. The house needs some work, but it has everything your husband said he wanted.” She rattled off, “It’s twenty-four hundred square feet, three stories, but the top floor is a loft, sixty years old, with the kitchen, dining room, and living room on the main floor. Three bedrooms and two bathrooms are downstairs on the same level as the main entry. The main floor is open, so it has a surprisingly big area for entertaining, which your husband stressed was really important.”

  Entertaining? Oh, goody. I can’t wait to make a tray of hors d’oeuvres and put out the cocktail napkins. “How much?”

  “Four hundred seventy-five thousand, with conditions.”

  “What kind of conditions?”

  “First of all, it’s ‘as is.’ The woman who owns the house is quite elderly and incapable of making any repairs.”

  “Okay, that’s understandable.”

  “There’s more. She wants to pick the new owners. And she wants the new owners to adopt her cat. She’s moving to a retirement home and can’t take it with her. She also wants the new owners to promise to feed the parrots.”

  “Parrots? I would have to adopt her parrots, too?”

  “They are a wild flock of parrots that frequent the area.”

  Andy thought fast. The price was right, and the size sounded right. Maybe if she flew down and took a look, she could get Martin to come around to her way of thinking. She flipped through her datebook. Bible study tomorrow morning and then—nothing. Could she catch an afternoon flight? “Let me see if I can get a flight. If I can, I’ll e-mail you my arrival time. If I can’t, call me again when you have something else.” She said good-bye and hung up, then went to Outlook Express to check www.expedia.com.

  She typed in her dates and destination and within a few minutes had a flight to SFO for the next afternoon. Not particularly wanting to talk with her husband, she sent him an e-mail.

 

  She stared at the words she had typed and knew that he would know by the words second home that she was still wanting him to compromise. Was that throwing down the gauntlet or what? Adding she hit Send.

  Never had she taken such a stand, but then never had she been forced to.

  Chai Lai jumped into her lap as soon as she pushed the chair back from the computer desk. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what happens.” Chai Lai stood up, put her front paws on Andy’s shoulders, and licked her face.

  “Your tongue scratches.” Stroking the cat always calmed both of them. Andy leaned back in her chair, eyes closed, and called herself several highly uncomplimentary names for letting Suzanne’s call change her resolve to wait for Martin to miss her enough to give in to compromising.

  Since coming home from San Francisco, she’d spent hours reading her Bible and praying.

  Maybe Suzanne’s call was God’s answer to her prayers. Maybe
He wanted her to swallow her pride and make the first move. And maybe the elderly woman selling the house had been praying too. Praying for an animal lover to buy her home and adopt her cat.

  So many maybes.

  Andy glanced at the computer screen. The little dog icon was telling her she had an e-mail. She clicked her mouse and found Martin’s name on the screen. “Here we go.”

  He gave her the address,

  Andy studied his reply. Why couldn’t he have said something like, “I’m sorry, honey. I was a real jerk, but I promise I’ll make it up to you”? Because Martin never said anything like that. He never admitted to being wrong. She clicked the New Mail icon and typed a message to Suzanne to give her flight details and when she would be available. She was about to turn off the computer when she remembered the pictures Suzanne said she’d sent. “Please, please, please make it be what we need.”

  She clicked on the little paperclip in the corner of the e-mail, caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and waited for the attachment to come up. The first picture showed the exterior. It reminded her of a stack of boxes. The second one was of the living room, which looked bleak but roomy. The others showed the bedrooms, baths, kitchen, and last but not least, the view. A truly magnificent view of the Golden Gate Bridge, across to Sausalito and even the Bay Bridge.

  Andy turned off the computer and went outside, Chai Lai walking behind her. Fall was definitely in the air. She inhaled the sweet smell of lavender and wondered how she could survive the smell of smog and gas fumes. Then she reminded herself, You will only be there five days out of a month.

  “Blue! You mean … ?” Hope felt her jaw drop. She shook her head in utter disbelief. “No, it can’t be. You said I couldn’t … ”

  Dr. Cheong nodded. “I know what I said, but this is pretty conclusive.” She handed Hope the stick. “The only explanation I have is that I think God wants you to have a child of your own.” She shared a smile with Hope.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I can run it again, but your body shows all the symptoms. When did you have your last period?”

  “I don’t know. You know how it’s been. Sometimes I have them, sometimes they are terrible, and sometimes I don’t.”

  “No problem. We’ll go on fetal development. Another month or so, and we’ll do a sonogram, especially since this is your first.”

  “Oh, my.” Hope stared at the stick. “I-I’m going to have a baby.” Softly, reverently, she repeated the words. “I’m going to have a baby.” Still lying on the table, she smoothed a hand over her nearly concave belly, then looked up into her doctor’s dark eyes. “There really is a baby growing in there?” A tear leaked out and rolled down her temple.

  Dr. Cheong stood and retrieved her prescription pad from the counter. “You need to get on some good prenatal vitamins.” She scribbled down a couple of brands, then ripped off the page and handed it to Hope as she was sitting up. “And cut out the caffeine.”

  “Wait a minute.” No caffeine. How will I function with no caffeine?

  “No smoking, no drinking, not that you do, but just so you know. You’re going to need plenty of rest. Your power walking is fine, but no marathons, and tell Roger I want to see him.”

  “Why? Is something wrong?”

  “No, but I’m sure you aren’t going to tell him all this, so I will do it for you. Remember, you are up in years for a first baby. We’ll need to be a bit more cautious.”

  “A baby,” Hope whispered again, still in a state of shock, then stared at her doctor. “I sure wasn’t prepared for this. I thought I had something wrong, gall bladder or acid reflux or—” She stroked her middle with a gentle hand. “You’ll deliver him or her, won’t you? I don’t want to have to switch to an ob-gyn.”

  “There’s no reason for you to switch unless you need a specialist. Get dressed now, and I suggest you and Roger make a list of all your questions after you have time to absorb this.” She patted Hope’s shoulder. “Make an appointment for next month on your way out. And make sure you keep it. Monthly exams are very important.”

  “Yes ma’am.” Hope all but saluted.

  Dr. Cheong picked up Hope’s chart. “Remember, I know where you live, and I’ll come looking for you if you don’t show up.” She handed Hope a packet of information and some sample vitamins.

  “Doctor who makes house calls?” Hope raised an eyebrow, and the two shared a comfortable smile. Over the years, Dr. Cheong had often come to the shelter when Hope had called her, but never for herself, always for one of the shelter’s women or children.

  As soon as the door closed, Hope got off the examining table, stuffed the packet and vitamins into her purse, and started to get dressed. Her thoughts were so consumed with the news that she put her panties on backward and had to take them off and start over. I’m going to have a baby. We’re going to have a baby. She left the building in a virtual daze.

  Outside the clinic, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and lifted her face to the sun. She recalled one of her favorite lines by an early Catholic saint, Dame Julian of Norwich: “All will be well, all will be well, all manner of things will be well.” For years after she and Roger were married, she’d asked God nightly to heal her so she could become pregnant. Eventually, she’d given up. She felt ashamed of herself now. She knew God’s promises, at least most of them. She should have had more faith.

  She started for home, her thoughts flitting as fast as hummingbird wings. A baby. A little baby to love and cherish. She would need a crib and bottles and diapers. They would have to clean out the storage room and turn it into a nursery. If it was a girl, she would want to name her after her mother, and if it was a boy, she would want to name him after Roger’s father.

  Roger!

  Her thoughts came to a bone-jarring halt. What would Roger think? She grabbed the bench at the bus stop and tried to get control of her thoughts. In her excitement, she had momentarily forgotten about Roger. She smiled when she thought about how he would react to the news. Long before they even talked about getting married, she had told him she was incapable of having children. He’d been disappointed at first, but he accepted it and said that God had a reason for everything. When they’d begun their work with the shelter, both of them had known without question what the reason was.

  She picked up her pace, eager to get home. How would she tell him? Should she find some knitting needles and yarn and start knitting baby booties, like in the old movies? Or maybe she should buy a book on baby names and leave it on his pillow. Or maybe she could play twenty questions and see if he could guess the answer.

  Back at J House, Hope fought to keep her feelings under control. He would never guess.

  “So what did she say? Do you need more tests?” Roger studied his wife’s face, his expression telling her he was worried.

  “No, not right now, but I have to go back next month and the month after that until … ” She saw his brows furrow and felt guilty for prolonging his agony.

  “Hope, for Pete’s sake … ” Roger took a step toward her. “You look like the cat who killed the cream and licked the bird, and yet it sounds like you’re telling me something is really wrong.”

  Hope beckoned him with a head motion, then walked toward their apartment, begging off the calls for her attention from Celia and one of the other girls with a wave of her hand. She didn’t care what they wanted; they could wait a few minutes while she told her husband their news.

  Roger, darling this will be the shock of your life.

  Preceding Roger by seconds, she quickly dug the packet of information Dr. Cheong had given her out of her purse, scanned it, found a drawing of an embryo at two months, and clutched it to her chest.

  “Okay, what is it?” Roger closed the door behind him.

  “What is something we’ve wanted and couldn’t have?” Hope tried to act calm, but she couldn�
�t still the tremor in her voice.

  “All the bills paid?” He rolled his eyes when she shook her head. “Hope, you know how I hate guessing games.”

  “This something takes nine months and … ” Hand trembling, she handed him the booklet. “Right there, that’s what’s been making me feel sick.”

  Roger’s eyes widened, and he stared from the cover of a booklet tided So You Are Pregnant to his wife, and back to the booklet in his hand. “Oh, my … ” He choked and swallowed. With a whoop, he tossed the pamphlet over his shoulder and gathered Hope into his arms. “We’re pregnant?”

  She nodded. “We—you and me—were going to be parents. A real mom and dad.” She rubbed her belly. “And here I was afraid it was a malady of some kind.” She leaned her forehead against his chest. “Can you believe it? I hardly can, and I’ve been the one with my head over the commode.”

  He stroked up and down her back and kissed the side of her face. “How is this possible? Dr. Cheong said you would never get pregnant.”

  “When I mentioned that to her, she said the only answer she could think of was that God wanted us to have a child of our own.”

  Roger rocked her back and forth in his arms. “I’ve never been this close to a pregnant woman before. I’ve never been around babies either. What if I—we—don’t know what to do?”

  “Well, I guess we’re going to learn.” She pulled back and offered her mouth to his.

  “Phone for Hope,” Celia called from beyond the closed door.

  Hope sighed and stepped out of Rogers arms. “I’ll take it in here,” she said, opening the door a crack. She kissed her husband one more time and picked up the phone. “Hope speaking.” How she loved to answer that way, corny or not. “Sure, just a minute.” She covered the mouthpiece. “How about gathering the troops? Meeting in my office in fifteen minutes.”

  Roger nodded and left the room with a wink while she returned to her phone call. “Sorry. Now, how can I help you?” She grabbed a pen and pad. “With kids or without? When would she be coming?” She shook her head. “She has to come on her own and be willing to accept help, you know that, Charles. Court mandates don’t count unless she is willing. There are no bars here.” Yes, they had a high success rate, she knew that. But it was because she was careful about who could come. Even then, some of the young women had left, like Kiss the week before, or gone back to their old life when clean and sober and a regular job got too hard.