A Wild Red Rose

by Lynn Shurr

  Clint shouted, “Where the hell is my wife going!”

  Lena Beck, who knew her husband well, said shrilly, “Gunter, what have you done?” She followed that up with a string of Spanish words, some of them not too nice.

  “The patient’s blood pressure is spiking! Sedate him.” The nurses ordered everyone from the room. Renee stopped in her tracks. Should she return and explain, try to calm Clint with the icy logic of her decision? No, he remained in the best of hands with excellent medical care, family, and good friends by his side. She wasn’t part of all that. Never had been, never would be. Her past could not be erased by love, but perhaps by selfless acts, letting Clint raise the children who would not have a mother that shamed them. He’d find someone else, someone better to help raise them, someone he trusted enough to marry without a draconian prenup worse than any of her others.

  Snuffy and Norma Jean and the justice started after her, calling her name, but by that time, the elevator doors were closing, shutting out the uproar. Renee stood in a void without sound thanking heaven no cheery elevator music played. If she could only maintain this same stillness for the next six months, she would survive yet another devastating crisis in her life. The wild red rose must spring from its roots after being chopped to the ground again.

  ****

  Snuffy returned puffing. He’d taken the stairs down and come back in the elevator. Clint had already been stripped of his wedding finery by a nurse, the tubes he’d torn out trying to leave the bed put back into place, and wore a hospital gown once more. Whatever the staff had given the patient to calm him down went into effect. His eyelids fluttered. He stayed awake by sheer force of will.

  “Where’s Renee?”

  “Norma Jean caught up with her. She got those long legs, you know. She moved pretty fast considering the tight dress. They were talking it out when I started back. I figured it’s a woman thing, hormones or something. Your parents left?”

  Clint nodded, sank farther into the pillows. “Arguing. Some mess.”

  Norma Jean slunk in, two wilting bouquets still in her hands, and threw herself into a bedside chair.

  “Renee?”

  “Hell, Clint, when I heard what your father made her sign, I let her go. You’d better mend real fast, bullfighter, because you got one mean situation to handle.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mrs. Renee Beck drove directly to the modest motel she had checked into that morning to be closer to the hospital. She hadn’t mentioned the shift from her plush digs to anyone. Changing into her jeans, one of Clint’s bullfighting jerseys with an advertising slogan splaying across her belly, and her scuffed boots, she gathered up the rest of her Walmart clothes in a bag and laid the wedding dress out on the bed, a gift for some lucky maid to find.

  Then, she hesitated. The fabric was so beautiful, the lace wonderfully lavish. If one of the babies should be a girl, she might want the dress some day. Renee put the gown back on its padded hanger and slipped it inside the zippered bag. Even with this extra baggage hanging from a loop in the back seat, she traveled light. Renee stuck her straw hat on her head and put the toy tiger on the dashboard. Grateful she had the rental car with the big engine and wide leather seats Clint had leased upon their arrival and would not have to fight the gears of the Belly Nelle, Renee slipped the luxury vehicle into drive, set the cruise control at eighty, and began the three day drive back to Rainbow.

  ****

  Just her luck that Rusty’s goody-goody wife, who had never slept with anyone but her own husband, was the only person available to come get Renee at the airport after she’d turned in the rental car. Renee got into the mom-mobile with three-year-old Katie of the coppery curls strapped into a car seat in the back, slouched down in the front seat, and hoping to avoid conversation, stared out the window. No luck with that either.

  “So, how is Clint? We all saw him get hit by that bull. Everyone has prayed for him, even Bodey.”

  “Must be working. He got out of ICU and was mending three days ago.”

  “You and he are expecting twins. That’s wonderful.”

  Renee closed her eyes and compressed her lips. She kept her eyes on the scenery. “How did you know?”

  “Well, Eve and I thought you looked a little plump at the funeral, and we sort of guessed you might be expecting because you never let yourself go that way—unlike me. When Bodey got in touch with Snuffy to see how Clint was doing, we heard the news. He said you two were going to get married in the hospital.”

  “We did—for the sake of the babies. It was a marriage of—what do they call it in those old novels? You’re the history major.”

  “A marriage of convenience? I don’t believe that, not after the way Clint beat on Dewey for doing—you know.”

  “Look, Noreen, you believe in soul mates and all that crap, and hell, Eve believes in miracles, but it’s not like that. I had to sign papers saying I’d give up the babies to the Becks. It’s the best for all of us. What kind of mother would I be anyhow?”

  “A good one if you tried. Rusty and I will vouch for you, Eve and Bodey, too, if you want to fight for custody.”

  Noreen had that pitying stare on her face, Renee knew without looking. “What would your testimony be—that I helped you sneak around with your boyfriend until you got pregnant—that I slept with Bodey at the age of seventeen and a few times after that.”

  “You helped bring about a reconciliation between the Niles and Courville families.”

  “I made trouble. That’s all I ever do. I’m no good. Stop praying for me. I cannot be redeemed.”

  A small voice came from the backseat. “Auntie Renee, don’t cry. We can get some ice cream to make you feel better.”

  “Thanks, Katie-bug, but ice cream won’t help this time.” Renee regarded her belly pushing against the fabric of Clint’s bullfighting shirt. “It will only make me bigger sooner.

  ****

  The terrible drive over at last Renee refused any help with her scanty bags and let herself into her house. If Noreen got in the door, she’d insist on staying and talking. First thing she did was turn the thermostat down to seventy from its setting of eighty. Louisiana—still hot as Hades in September. She threw open the living room curtains hiding the view the garden. Le Grand Pisseur still tinkled mightily with his oversized dick into the birdbath, not as amusing as he used to be.

  She straggled back to the bedroom past the parade of partially nude male portraits she’d done mostly of former lovers and into her lair. Instead of finding comfort in her home, all seemed wrong, unsuitable, out of joint. Renee jerked off her boots and stretched out on the tiger-striped comforter. She couldn’t rest. She’d had her own bedroom suite when married to the heart surgeon who came and went at odd hours. Dear, sweet Gerry had taken himself off to a snoring room after he completed his business. Except for Clint, men rarely spent the night with Renee. She missed his warmth, the steady sound of his breathing, the arm always ready to enfold her if she had one of those wretched dreams of Uncle Dewey entering her room.

  Renee tossed, finally found a comfortable spot, and let her mind drift. Maybe if she got rid of the erotica, Clint would allow the children to visit sometimes. She closed her eyes. A short nap might help to banish such ridiculous sentimentality from her mind.

  The doorbell rang. Someone persistent outside laid on the bell. She wished they would go away. Close to eight o’clock, darkness fell. Her stomach rumbled and her bladder ached. Pregnancy was a real pain in the—belly.

  The visitor couldn’t be the one person she wanted to see. She’d seen him last tied to a hospital bed by tubes and wires a thousand miles away. A scowl on her face, Renee stalked down the hall and flung open the front door. There stood Eve Landrum, tall, pale and pure, the mother goddess holding a hot covered dish by its handles.

  “If you’ve come to save me, you’re too late,” Renee snarled, ever ungrateful for pity and comfort.

  “I believe you have to save yourself, Renee. I’ve only c
ome to feed you because I know you rarely cook. Let me put this down. I have groceries in the car.”

  Oh, how she wanted to slam the door in Eve’s face, but steam escaped from under the lid of the covered dish. A rich, cheesy aroma filled the air. Renee’s stomach betrayed her with a loud growl.

  “Come in if you must. I have to pee.” She stalked away and let Eve do as she wanted.

  By the time Renee returned to the kitchen, Eve had filled a dish with a generous portion of shrimp fettuccini, the kind made with cream cheese and Velveeta and featured at every church social. She had shaken salad from a bag and added a tall glass of milk poured from a gallon container for a beverage.

  As Renee sucked up tiny pink shrimp embedded in noodles, Eve put away the contents of a dozen plastic bags from Rainbow Liquor and Groceries. She filled a bowl with fresh fruit: grapes, bananas, apples. She stocked the empty vegetable drawer with tomatoes, green peppers, carrots, and celery, and threw away a sealed bag of moldy cheese cubes.

  Holding up a loaf of seven-grain bread from the Herbarium, Eve asked, “Should I leave this out, or do you want to refrigerate it? No preservatives. It goes bad fairly fast but makes great toast. I put a dozen eggs in the rack, and there’s sliced low-fat ham in the meat keeper. Say, your answering machine is blinking. Should I turn it on for you?”

  “No! I’ll get to that later. Look, Eve, I appreciate this. I really do. But, don’t you have a baby to nurse or something?”

  “I pump breast milk and put it into bottles so Bodey can help out at night.”

  “Too much information!”

  “Don’t you plan to nurse?”

  A lump formed in Renee’s throat. “Implants, remember? I don’t think I can even if …” For a moment all she could recall was Clint doing his yokel cowboy routine about her not being able to feed his babies with those breasts.

  Eve watched her face and changed the subject. “Why don’t you come over and go for a swim with me tomorrow? Afterward, we could paint together in my new studio.”

  Renee licked cheese sauce from the corner of her mouth. “My bikinis won’t fit anymore.”

  “There wasn’t much to them in the first place. Just let it all hang out. Bodey won’t mind.”

  “Okay, after all that driving I could use some exercise, but I’m not sure what I’m allowed to do.”

  “Swimming is great for pregnant women. I swam in the pool the day before I had Shea. But, we need get you set up with Dr. Maddox in Opelousas. He is wonderful. And we must shop for some really stylish maternity clothes. Does that cheer you up?”

  “Oh, I don’t need them yet. Besides, my cards are maxed out.” Renee glanced down at her full stomach and realized she still wore Clint’s bullfighting shirt, stretched out over her breasts and belly and defaced by a fettuccini noodle, along with an unzipped pair of jeans. She wanted to cry about losing her figure, but mostly about losing him.

  “Hey, finish your salad, and there’s frozen yogurt for dessert,” Eve said a little too brightly.

  “Maybe later. I think I want to lie down again.”

  “You will come over tomorrow. Promise me. You need good food and exercise for the sake of the babies. Your figure will recover faster if you stay in shape, too.”

  “Fine, I promise. Go home to your husband and son.”

  As soon as she got Eve Landrum out the door, Renee turned on the answering machine clogged with messages—Clint in a slurred voice asking her to come back—Mama Lena, no, that would be Mrs. Beck, telling her she would make Gunter fix everything—Snuffy saying he sure thought Clint might heal faster with her at his side—Norma Jean claiming other women, those damned nurses, would cut into Renee’s territory if she didn’t get her ass back to Washington now that she’d showed ’em she couldn’t be pushed around—Sr. Helen telling their former student that she and Sr. Nessy prayed for both her and Clint—and Clint again and again and again. She erased all but the ones with Clint’s recorded voice and played those over and over until she got to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The phone rang in Bodey Landrum’s house, interrupting Daddy time. Bodey switched off an old CD of his bull riding triumphs and settling Shea firmly in the crook of his arm, got out of his leather recliner and glanced at the caller I.D. Clint again.

  “Howdy, Clinton. She’s fine. Can’t go out on my own damned patio, but Renee is fine.”

  The baby smiled and waved his arms at the sound of his father’s voice, and Bodey grinned right back. Shea’s eyes seemed to get bluer with each passing month, and judging by the way women doted on him, he had the Landrum charm. Yessir-re!

  “So what’s wrong with your patio?” Clint Beck’s voice asked from far away.

  “Not a thing. Eve and Renee are swimming laps, and Renee doesn’t want me to see her that way.” The baby made a grab for the phone. Bodey raised the receiver higher.

  “What way?”

  “Wearin’ a maternity swimsuit and all swollen up with your babies. Hell, I saw Eve swimming all the time while she was expecting Shea and there is no prettier sight than a wet woman carrying your child. If you ever tell another man I said that, you’re bull bait.”

  Clint laughed as Bodey hoped he would, then got serious. “Put Renee on the phone.”

  “Now you know I can’t do that. Eve says if I trick her into talking to you, Renee won’t trust us anymore and we won’t be able to help her. My wife did get her to cash the check you sent—for food and medical expenses only. Renee sold that obscene statue she had out in the yard to those two gay guys, Archie and Roger. Got a bundle for it, too, so she’s okay financially for now. Eve and Noreen make sure she gets to the doctor and eats right. That’s about all I can tell you—except I wish you’d come for your woman because me and Rusty had to spend all last weekend strippin’ wallpaper over at her place. Seems she wants to redecorate half her house before she gets too big and is doing it herself to save money. She did order in ribs from the Rainbow Café for us, though.”

  “Bodey, I’d be there if I could. I’m still locked up in San Antonio. Hacienda Hidalgo might as well be San Quentin. They won’t let me drive, limit my exercise, watch my every move. I have to get in shape for the Dickies National Championship Bullfighting competition at the end of October.”

  Bodey could tell he had one frustrated man on the end of the line. “Maybe you should think twice about that, Clint. Doesn’t do to come back too quick from an injury and hurt yourself again.”

  Clint snorted. “You should talk. I know you rode with a bad back and a bum knee. I need to get Renee’s attention. She won’t answer my calls or my e-mail messages.”

  “Been there—know the despair,” Bodey said. “Those old nuns say time and prayer takes care of everything, but in my experience, the good Lord moves mighty slow. Still, Sr. Helen and Sr. Inez have been on their knees prayin’ for you two so much both of them will soon need knee replacements, and I guess I’ll be stuck with the bill.”

  He got another chuckle out of Clint. “You praying for me, too, Bodey?”

  “Sure, every time Eve drags me to church and I got nothin’ else to take up my spare time. Get well, good buddy.”

  “I need to get out of here to do that. My dad is sleeping in a guestroom. I guess I know now how Mama got him to let me keep on with bullfighting. My sisters are over here constantly trying to ‘affect reconciliation’, they say. Everyone yells, half the time in Spanish. So many candles are being lit to the saints they could burn this place down. I’m telling you, Bodey, I’d be better off in the bullring. Just get Renee to watch the championship competition, would you?”

  “I’ll do my best. Take care now, you hear? Shea wants to say bye-bye.”

  The baby grappled for the phone again. Bodey let him have it. The receiver went directly into Shea’s mouth and was immediately covered in slobber. Bodey wiped it off against his shirt and hung up. Imagine having two of these little dudes to contend with. Now that would be a handful.

  The door to the p
atio opened. Eve entered toweling her long, fair hair. Renee followed wrapped up in one of the thick terry robes Bodey kept for guests. She was way shorter than Eve, and much bigger at five months. Guess twins did that to a woman. Eve, now, she had gotten her figure back quickly, and her breasts stayed even bigger than before.

  “Have a good Daddy time?” Eve asked.

  “Sure did. I showed Shea, here, how to stay on a bull. What’s for lunch?”

  “Chicken salad with mandarin oranges and pecans in a light dressing. Pumpkin bread. Iced tea.”

  “Girl food.”

  “Yes, take it or leave it. Renee and I plan to paint after lunch, but we’ll keep Shea, so you are free to roam, cowboy.”

  Bodey sighed internally. He knew better than to let it out. Since Renee returned home, his sex life had been seriously impacted. No more afternoon romps while Shea took his nap.

  “I think I’ll mosey on over to Rusty’s place and get a burger on the way. We have some things we need to discuss, a few plans to make. You girls have a good ole time.” Because I won’t.

  ****

  Rusty Niles sat settled in front of the television to watch a World Series playoff game when Bodey walked in and stretched out on the sofa next to his recliner. Russ held up his bottle of beer. “Want a brew?”

  “No, thanks. Just had lunch at the café.”

  Bodey could hear Noreen tapping away on the computer in the kitchen alcove. Noreen and Bodey had never gotten along that well because Bodey tried to break up her and Rusty on more than one occasion before their marriage. Still, Noreen was now Eve’s best friend and the wife of the man he regarded as a brother, so both of them made an effort to get along.

  “Noreen still workin’ on her book?” Bodey asked, taking an interest.

  “You bet. Once she got that mini-grant for DNA testing to prove that the Niles family and her branch of the Courvilles were descended from the same man, she got a contract from the university press to write Sundered Hearts—the True Story of the Niles-Courville Feud. She still had all her research from the high school project she did at Mt. Carmel that won the state social science fair. The nuns wouldn’t let her use the adultery angle, just the star-crossed lovers stuff because we found those letters. The university nixed a last chapter on reincarnation. Not scholarly, they said. She was pissed, but really wants her book published so she had to go along.”