by Sarra Cannon
“I'm in labor, what do you think?” she says.
“How far apart are the contractions?”
“About a minute apart, so you've got approximately forty seconds to talk to me before I turn into a raging bitch,” she says.
Preston laughs. “And how is that different from any other day?”
Penny laughs and playfully hits him on the shoulder. She squeezes his arm. “I'm so glad you're here,” she says. She glances at me over her shoulder. “Hi, Jenna. I thought I heard mom giving you crap when you walked in.”
“Penny, don't talk like that,” her mother says, crossing her arms in front of her.
“I don't think the baby can hear me, Mom. And even if she can, she's going to have to get used to the word crap. It's a staple of my vocabulary.”
Her mother sighs and turns around. She starts fussing with Penny's overnight bag, folding and refolding the same nightgowns.
“Jenna, come over here,” Penny says. “Tell me a story to take my mind off this pain.”
I step over and hover near the bed. I don't feel like I belong here in this intimate family moment, but no one else—besides their mother—seems to think I'm out of place.
I try to think of something that will keep her mind occupied when the next contraction hits.
She moans and leans over again, pressing her head to a wet towel clasped in her hands.
“Okay, so here's a story,” I say, edging closer to the bed and sitting next to Preston. “This one time when I was younger, probably about thirteen, I heard about a party a few high school girls were throwing. I wasn't invited, of course, young pipsqueak that I was, but I was also a rebel and didn't like to be told no. So I waited until my parents were asleep and crawled out the window of my bedroom, which let me tell you, was quite the task since it wasn't much bigger than I was at the time.
“I walked about three miles down this dirt and gravel road wearing nothing but a pair of worn flip-flops and my best sundress. I had managed to snag a tube of my mother's red lipstick, and I remember slathering it all over my lips like I was Marilyn Monroe or something. The whole way there, I thought about how I was going to walk up to that party and own the place. Like those seventeen year old girls were going to realize I was cool all of a sudden and invite me in to drink a beer.”
Mrs. Wright clears her throat loudly, but I don't even look at her. I guess beer is another word she doesn't want her precious grandchild to learn on her first day in the world. But Mason motions for me to keep talking.
I glance at the monitor and see the contraction reaching its peak.
“So I walk all this way and by the time I get there, my legs are covered in dust. One of my flip-flops is completely broken, so I'm walking barefoot in the gravel, working on some blisters that are going to hurt like hell come morning.
“I stroll up to this big house with cars parked all down the street,” I say. “There's music blasting from the open windows and inside, I can see all the cool older kids dancing and drinking, having a good time. But then I catch my reflection in the window of an old truck parked beside me. The lipstick is smeared around my lips and my hair is slicked back way too tight. Compared to the other girls, I realize my pretty red sundress with the daisies on it looks like a child's dress. At that point, I had no boobs to hold it up, so it hung down in front because it was probably a good full size too big on me. My legs were dirty and there were scratches down one leg where I'd had to climb through a stretch of blackberry bushes to get to the main highway. I looked completely ridiculous, and let me tell you, there were plenty of times since I wish I had a picture of how I looked that night, to remind me just how silly we can be when we're trying to please other people instead of just being ourselves.”
Penny lifts her head. There's moisture beaded on her cheeks and she's flushed pink, but she smiles at me.
“What happened?” she asks. “Did you go to the party and show them all how cool you were?”
I shake my head and lean across the bed to take her hand. “Nah. They would have just laughed at me. I ended up hiding behind that truck for another few hours, just watching them,” I say. “Wishing I could figure out a way to be popular.”
I take the wet cloth from her hands and dip it in the cool basin of water on the tRob behind me. I wring it out and lean back on the bed, dabbing the coolness across her cheeks and forehead.
“Did you ever figure it out?” she asks, resting her cheek against the bed.
I look around the room, thinking how I'm one of the few private citizens lucky enough to be at the bedside of the richest twenty-something in Georgia. “Yeah,” I say. “Turns out, all along I just needed to learn to be myself.”
Penny smiles and grips my hand as her eyelids flutter closed.
I stay by her side for the next six hours as her contractions become more intense. Mason and Preston take turns getting her ice chips and rubbing her back. She changes positions, sometimes walking around until a contraction hits, and sometimes back on the ball.
“Penny, this is enough of this nonsense,” her mother says around eight in the morning. “There's no reason for you to be in so much pain. I could have the anesthesiologist in here in fifteen minutes and you wouldn't feel a thing.”
Penny lifts her head and she and Preston share a meaningful look.
“Mom,” Preston says, putting his arm around his mother's shoulder. “Why don't we take a break? Let me take you down to the cafeteria for some breakfast and a cup of coffee?”
“I don't need a break,” she says, lifting her chin.
“Yes, you do,” he says. He glances at me and I nod. “I'll be back in half an hour or so.”
Mason is in the waiting room talking to his mother, which leaves Penny and me alone in the room.
“I'm so glad you're here, Jenna,” she says. “I was about to go insane with the two of them fussing over me like I was some invalid. You've made the hours go by with your stories.”
“Glad my most embarrassing moments can help you laugh through the pain,” I say, smiling. “I almost didn't come. I didn't want to intrude on your privacy.”
Penny holds her hand out to me, and I help her to stand. Her huge belly leads the way as she stands, her entire body off balance. She wraps her hands protectively around her stomach and smiles.
“You're not intruding,” she says. “Besides, from the way Preston talks about you, I wouldn't be surprised if you became a part of this family someday.”
I nearly choke on my own surprise. My body goes cold and rigid, and I suddenly feel like I can't catch my breath. Has it been this hot in here all morning?
Penny laughs as she walks around the room, leaning on me for balance. “You look like I just punched you in the gut,” she says. “Is that really such a horrifying idea?”
I don't even know what to say. “I guess I just haven't gotten that far,” I say. What exactly has Preston told her? We've only been together a month.
“I didn't mean to scare you,” she says. “Later you can just chalk it up to the ramblings of a woman in distress, but I've never seen him so happy or so in love.”
I suck in a breath. “In love?”
“Don't tell me he hasn't said those three little words, yet?” she asks. She winces and grips my hand tighter.
I wrap my arms around her and let her lean her weight against me as the contraction ramps up. She's squeezing my hand so hard my knuckles turn white, and I start to lose feeling in my fingers.
“Keep breathing,” I remind her. “Open your mouth and take deep breaths, in and out.”
I feel her release the tension in her jaw and take a breath into her lungs. Her body relaxes slightly and the contraction passes. She begins to walk again.
“No,” I say. “We haven't crossed that milestone yet. We're not even really a couple.” But even as I say the words, I know it's ridiculous.
“Do you love him?” she asks.
The question catches me so off-guard I have to remind myself to keep putting one
foot in front of the other as we pace around the room.
“Never mind,” she says. “You don't have to answer that. I already know you do.”
Another contraction seizes her and I am glad her eyes are closed so she can't see the tear that rolls down my cheek.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Preston
Rachel Marie Trent arrives at noon, a healthy eight pound baby girl with a mop of dark brown hair and her mother's nose. I am the proudest uncle alive.
We give the small family of three some quiet time alone before we sneak back into Penny's hospital room. The baby is so tiny and pink, and when Penny hands her to me, I can't even describe the joy that flows through me. And the terror that I'll drop her or break her somehow.
She's so delicate and small. When I touch my index finger to her hand, she reaches up and wraps her tiny hand around it. I rock her back and forth in my arms.
I have never held a baby before in my life, but I love her instantly.
“Hello, little one,” I whisper. I look up at Penny and there are tears in her eyes. “You did good,” I say with a smile.
“I'm just so happy she's healthy,” she says. A sob escapes from her throat, and she lifts her hand to her mouth. Mason puts his arm around her and sits close to her on the bed where she's propped up with half a dozen pillows behind her back.
“She's our little warrior,” I say. I think back to the night Penny found out she was pregnant. She'd been so worried she had done something to hurt the baby in that accident, but like a miracle, she couldn't be more perfect.
I look around for Jenna to see if she wants to hold the baby, but she's not here.
“She left,” my mom says, watching me closely.
“Left?” I ask. “When?”
“A few minutes ago, when you took the baby,” she says.
“Is she coming back?”
“I don't know,” Mom says. “Why you brought her here in the first place is beyond me. I realize you're going through a phase right now, but this should have been our time together.”
Penny and I exchange looks.
“I was so glad to have her here,” Penny says. “I don't know if I could have made it through this without her.”
“Well, that's just rich,” Mom says. “What were the rest of us doing here, then? Twiddling our thumbs?”
“Mother, if you think I'm going to let you steal one ounce of happiness from this day, you are delusional,” Penny says. “Get it together, or get out.”
Mom sucks in a breath and lifts her chin, but before she can say another word, Dad appears at her side, his hand on her shoulder
“Let's not bicker,” he says. “If Preston and Penny want their friend here, I'm glad she was able to come.”
“I just don't understand why she was even with you at two in the morning,” Mom begins.
Dad's hand on her shoulder tightens and she takes in a long breath.
“No matter,” she says, waving a hand in the air as if brushing away the thoughts in her head. “Now, let me hold that precious grandbaby.”
She gently scoops the newborn into her arms and bounces her up and down.
Penny looks at me and shrugs. Our family has been through a lot of transition in the past seven months or so, since Penny first found out she was pregnant. She would never have been able to stand up to our mother like this before she left Fairhope with Mason and found her independence. I'm proud of her, but also a little disappointed in myself for not being able to shrug off my mother's negative words.
It's no secret she doesn't like Jenna. Her first strike was helping Penny pawn a diamond tennis bracelet, that Dad gave Mom for their ten-year wedding anniversary, in order to pay for a sick child's surgery. Her second strike was agreeing to go out with me.
Of course, Mom thinks Jenna surely cast some kind of voodoo magic spell on me to get me to go out with her, but she has no idea of the truth. She's going to completely lose her shit when she finds out how hard I'm falling for Jenna.
And worse, Dad probably will too.
They are careful around the subject, because they are terrified I'll make a repeat of Penny's disappearing act. But I know the moment they begin to sense how serious things really are between us, they'll start pushing me to break things off.
I excuse myself and go to look for Jenna. Why would she have left without telling me where she was going?
I check the cafeteria on the first floor to make sure she didn't go down to grab some lunch. She'd been at Penny's side through most of her labor and had barely eaten anything since we got here.
But she's not in the dining hall.
I step outside and ask the valet if he's seen her. He nods and points to an out-of-the-way spot between two columns at the end of the driveway.
“Thanks,” I say, relieved she's only stepped outside for a few minutes.
But all my relief vanishes when I step closer and see her tear-streaked face.
I sit down beside her and wrap my arms around her shaking shoulders. She's holding her cell phone in one trembling hand, and I look over to see her brother's name on the display.
“Jenna, what's wrong?” I ask, fear heavy like a stone in my stomach.
She looks up, her blue eyes bloodshot and red from crying. She can barely catch her breath, so I wait patiently, rubbing her back until she calms.
“What happened?” I ask again.
She takes a breath and releases it in jagged bursts. “I came out here to give you guys some family time alone,” she says. “I turned my phone on to check my email and there were sixteen missed calls from my brother back home. I've been avoiding him for so long, I figured I better call him to tell him to stop calling because I don't want to talk to him, but—”
She begins to cry again, and I hold her close. Something is terribly wrong, and my heart is aching for her.
“Did something happen back home?” I ask softly, not wanting to push her.
She nods and pulls away, wipes her face on her sleeve. She shakes her head and closes her eyes. More tears roll down her cheeks.
“He said it was my fault for running away. For not staying and making sure she was taken care of. He said he's been trying to get in touch with me for months so I could come home and try to talk some sense into her,” she says. She's talking so fast, and I still don't understand what's happened that's so bad.
“What did he say was your fault, Jenna? Tell me what's going on.”
She sniffs and looks up at me, her blue eyes full of thick, heavy tears.
“Preston, my mom died last night.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Jenna
I'm numb as Preston drives me back to my apartment. I focus on the rumble of my truck's engine, the laughter of a child blowing bubbles in her front yard, a flock of black birds flying overhead. Anything but the words my brother shouted at me through the phone as he blamed me for our mother's death.
But they creep in anyway. I hear them over and over, drinking his words down into my stomach like poison.
The sun is shining and the heat in the truck is suffocating. I roll the window down as we ride, but find I still can't breathe.
Preston holds my hand, talks to me in low, soothing tones, but I can't hear what he's saying. I have descended into a void of loneliness and sorrow so deep it feels like I'm no longer part of this bright world around me.
He parks and opens the door for me, takes my hand, and leads me slowly up the stairs. My thoughts have focused down to a single phrase chanting in my brain.
My mother is dead.
My mother is dead.
My mother is dead.
Every footfall brings it around again, and I'm surprised when I look up to see I'm standing in the bedroom of my apartment, my bag already open and half-packed. I don't even know what I've put in it.
Preston is in the living room, and I can hear the soft tones of his voice as he talks to someone on the phone. I step around the corner and listen to him telling someone he'll be gone
for a few days for the funeral.
My stomach knots, and I think I'm going to be violently ill.
When he sees me, he ends his conversation and walks toward me. “I can drive you,” he says. “I've already made arrangements at a hotel where we can stay, unless you want to stay with your family.”
I shake my head, my jaw tensing.
“You can't come with me,” I say. “I don't want you there.”
He places his hands on my shoulders. “I want to be there for you,” he says. “You're in no shape to drive all that way alone.”
“Don't push me on this.” There's more anger in my voice than he deserves, but the thought of Preston meeting my father and seeing the life I lived with his own eyes makes me insane with anger.
“Jenna, you don't have to go through this by yourself.”
I push his arms away and walk back to the bedroom. I pull a random handful of clothes from my closet and stuff them into my duffel bag. “You can't fix everything, Preston,” I say. “I know you think going will help, but I don't want you there, okay?”
“No, it's not okay,” he says. “You're in shock, and I don't want you driving when you can barely pack a bag.”
I stare down at the heaping mess overflowing from my bag, and the tears threaten to spill again.
He's right. I'm in no shape to drive. No shape to bury my mother. No shape to face my father and brother, who have decided to put this all on me.
But I cannot let him come with me. It's one thing to hear stories of my childhood, but it's something else entirely to actually witness the horror with your own eyes.
I cannot handle my father's drunken form of abuse with Preston watching it all go down.
I can't bear to let him watch me fall apart.
I dump the contents of my bag on the bed and start over.
“When is the funeral?” he asks.
“I don't know yet,” I say, almost mumbling. I don't want to talk about it. I just want to pack my things and get on the road. I don't want to be still. Movement keeps the truth from sinking in, and I don't want to believe it. Not yet.
