“You pushed me, remember? We tried to publish that book of affirmations, remember? Nobody wanted it. Ryan did a great job on the edits but that’s probably about the only thing that I’d be able to give Ryan to read.” She nodded finally as Rob stared at the notebook. “Go ahead.”
Rob turned a page. “I don’t know. There’s a lot of stuff here. That poem you wrote this morning was pretty good. I’ve been looking forward to tonight. Thought about buying some ribbon so that you could unwrap our love….”
Karol’s mouth opened wide. She’d been half-asleep when she’d written that poem. Her notebook and pen had been closed and put away when she awoke. She hadn’t considered that Rob might have read it. The thought of him reading that poem freaked her out, but she had to laugh as he pretended to tie a bow around his neck.
“Stop it.”
“I will for now, but only because Ryan is still up. I really think you should do a book for Ryan’s birthday. I’m going to read it all anyway so I can help you choose if you want—don’t look at me like that. I am going to read it. All of it. Unless you don’t want me to.”
“It’s not that. But sometimes the stories just come like they come, you know? I don’t want you to know how strange I really am. I’m weird enough already.”
“Strange but beautiful. I believe that’s a quote from our first date.”
She nodded. “I’m not sure how you got a second date with a line like that, but yes, that sounds about right.”
He put down the notebook and took her hand. “You can do this, honey. Even the poems would be great. I know you still have that novel, too, the one you wrote in college.”
At the mention of the novel she’d written but assumed Rob had forgotten about, Karol sat up straighter in the bed.
“Yes, I remember it. You read me some of it. Liked it, too. It was a good choice. I think your words, whichever ones you choose, will be a good choice.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
She settled back in his arms. “I love you.”
He pretended to tie a ribbon around his neck again. “Prove it.”
It was all there.
In the stacks of notebooks, bound together by rubber bands, were all Karol’s words, her hopes, her dreams. Even in high school, she’d rambled on about love, even though she hadn’t known for sure then what it really was. Her college work turned dark and unexpected in places, like a rush of English rain. There were other pieces that stole Karol’s breath, like the novel she’d written as her senior thesis. A novel she’d written and forgotten.
At the first line, it all came rushing back:
When a person is born, there’s supposed to be room; sometimes there isn’t and the baby has to push, too, screaming into the world spent and aware that there will always be work to do.
Breath caught in Karol’s throat. How had she forgotten this? It had taken her two years to write. At the suggestion of her professor, she’d spent another year editing it. She’d met Rob around the time she finished and never submitted it. And yet, as she turned the yellowed pages of her final handwritten draft, something bright and afraid leaped within her.
She read on, marking through words and changing them as she went:
That’s how they say I was born, making my own way even then, pulling myself from death into life as Mama went away and I entered in. Some folks here are still scared of me for that, they say it ain’t natural for a baby to come out alive with the mama dead like that. I don’t remember any of it except for when it rains. When it storms hard, the thunder pushes through my sleep, squeezing me like contractions. Most nights like that, I wake up on the floor. Sometimes, like tonight, I wake up in places I don’t recognize. This time, though, there is blood.
Karol stopped writing, again wondering what Rob—or anyone else—would think of her if and when they read this story. Like so many of the others in her secret box, it was a mystery, a tale that unwound between her fingers no matter how hard she tried to hold it still. It wasn’t a bright book of Christian affirmations or the mothering manual Hope might have penned, but it was what Karol had.
Who she was.
One of her afternoons had been spent cleaning out the attic, which was still hot and cramped, but without the scrap-booking supplies she’d never used—tried that on day three—the broken sewing machines Rob would never fix—gave them to Goodwill during week two—and makeup she would never sell—after she finished laughing, Karol just threw it away—there was room for her to think. The treadmill had been covered in clothes. It was here beneath the years and shadows that she’d found an old box, the one that contained her novel, the one that might change everything.
With the story hot upon her, pouring out and refusing to be quiet, Karol grabbed the notebooks—there were three, bound together with a purple hair scrunchie—and headed downstairs for the computer. Ryan passed her in the hall wearing an outfit she’d never seen and reeking of cologne that smelled a lot like his father’s.
Karol didn’t even break her stride.
She threw up a hand and kept moving, praying a quick prayer for the neighbors she’d so disliked just a few months ago. The computer blinked on and she rested the first notebook against something and began to type. The thought of writing had been so far away before, abstract and cloudy, a dream. But now, as the words tapped through her fingers, it seemed solid. Finite. And it held her to the chair as if it would never let go.
“You’re a mother,” Hope had once said. “You can’t spend all your time scribbling in notebooks, daydreaming while your kids are running wild. There are other people to do that sort of thing.” And maybe she’d been right. There would always be other writers, better writers. Karol sat down in the only chair and took a deep breath, thinking of all the affirmations and prayers she’d written down and shared with others over the years. A new one came, for her alone, whispered hurriedly at the computer screen.
“I am a writer. I give myself permission to create without guilt, to laugh when it’s inappropriate, to dance when there’s no music playing. I give my children permission to be who God has called them to be, even if I don’t understand it. I am a word warrior: inspiring, powerful, vulnerable and honest. My battle is with myself. Jesus is my victory.”
With that, Karol reached for her pen and set her timer. Her days were almost up, but she would make the most of the time that remained. After that, she wasn’t sure how she’d find the time to continue writing, but she knew that somehow it would work. It had to.
She was a writer.
To-Do
Buy organic spinach
Order mangoes—10
Fax first chapter to Steve Chaise
Send thank-you card to church for welcome basket
Try new vitamins doctor recommended
Pick up Neal’s whey protein
Read over Ryan’s press releases
Make dinner reservations for Dad, Fallon, Neal and I
Spa Day!!!
—Dyanne
Chapter Fifteen
“Morning, Dad.” Though she’d been mortified when her father first arrived, Dyanne had to admit it was nice having him around. The two of them usually clashed like crazy, but for some reason things didn’t seem as bad as usual. Or at least not yet. Usually by the end of three days, Neal started packing someone’s bag—once he’d packed his own—and sending someone on his or her merry way.
“Morning yourself, sweetheart,” her father said as he passed her on the stairs.
This morning, four days since her father’s arrival, started with Dyanne and Neal running into the reverend at the bottom of the steps. It didn’t take long for them to see what had stopped him cold—Fallon.
Her back was turned to them, but Dyanne knew the headphones in Fallon’s ears led the MP3 player so often in the pocket of her friend’s silk robe. The song must have been a good one because Fallon shimmied and shook from the stove to the sink and back again several times before she turned and saw that she
had company. For the first time, Dyanne had a chance to see the illustrious Dr. Gray look shaken.
Fallon put a hand to her throat before slipping the headphones off of her ears. “Sorry,” she said slowly. “I thought you all would be sleeping for a while yet.” She looked at Dyanne’s father with a pained expression. “Hope I didn’t embarrass you, Reverend. Just trying to get my praise on this morning.”
“And you did just that,” Reverend Kelvin said with a big smile. “I was just wishing that you would have shared the song with the rest of us. We definitely need a big dose of whatever you’re having for breakfast.”
Neal shook his head as Fallon’s eyes sparkled. She waved Dyanne’s father over to the blender and retrieved another goblet from the cabinet. “I thought you’d never ask,” she said, pouring the spinach-mango juice with precision. “Drink it right down and be ready to run to the bathroom, if you know what I mean….”
Dyanne’s father looked a little worried, but he did as he was told. Another wide smile replaced his apprehension. “Oh, that’s good! I feel that.”
“You feel it, baby—I mean, Reverend?” Fallon looked horrified again. Dyanne started to think that maybe she should have stayed in bed a little longer. Watching the two of them was torture. Her dad had only dated a few times that she knew of in the years since the divorce, but it was obvious to everyone but her father that he was quite taken with Fallon. And she with him.
“Just call me Kelvin,” he said, raising his glass again. “Tell me more about this stuff. Oh, and let me hear that song…”
Dyanne and Neal watched as the two of them retreated into the dining room.
“They’re sickening,” Dyanne said, scanning the fridge for an English muffin or bagel to settle her stomach.
Neal started a protein shake for himself and handed Dyanne a banana. “They’re cute. I didn’t think any man could have that kind of effect on Fallon except me.”
“You’re pitiful, you know that?”
“I do know that. And you’re beautiful, even in the morning. Sorry I fell asleep before you came to bed. Did you and your dad get a lot done last night?”
“Tons.” For the second night in a row, Dyanne and her father had reviewed the new line of Christian books from every aspect. He’d explained why a couple of the titles wouldn’t work, given suggestions for the covers that Ryan had identified as “busy” and even given input on Fallon’s book tour.
“She needs a nonprofit. A service arm of some kind. I read her book last night, the one that’s out now. I watched her with those children yesterday. While she’s been primarily doing relationships and women’s issues speaking, she is the common sense grandmother that many churches are missing today. You can add to her brand by giving her passion another dimension. She’s not a person only motivated by money. Give her something big enough to fit her life into. You’re trying to brand pieces of her.”
Dyanne had scribbled notes so fast that she’d broken a nail. She’d talked to Fallon about the suggestions the reverend had made a little bit before heading to bed.
The author shouted so loud that Dyanne worried for the neighbors. “It’s just what I want to do!” Fallon had squealed. “I’ve been thinking this same thing for a while. I was going to wait until the tour was over to tell you. I know how you get all worried about these things, but I need to do this. I really do.”
Eating a banana for breakfast was a bad idea. A really bad idea. Dyanne forced it down as she recounted everything from the night before.
“It makes perfect sense,” Neal said as yet another blender whirred on their kitchen counter. “I understand exactly what Fallon means. We’ve done so much, you know? Been so blessed. And yet sometimes, in the day or two before the next goal is formed, the next plan set in motion, it feels sort of empty, like I need to do something bigger than myself. Like I need to be giving myself away.”
Give yourself away. The pastor had said the same thing in his sermon on Sunday. Dyanne had been meaning to attend services—for market research if nothing else—but her father’s appearance had pretty much forced her to go. If there was one rule her father had, it was that all able bodies were to be in the house of the Lord come Sunday morning. Even when they were out of town, he’d pull over at some church in the middle of nowhere and go right in. As a result, he knew pastors and parishioners in every denomination in near every city in the country.
Dyanne hadn’t thought much of the small church Karol and Rob attended before her visit. A few days later, phrases and ideas from the simple sermon were still showing in every conversation she and Neal had. The really strange part had been at the end of service when they walked out the door and shook the pastor’s hand. Though he’d given the people in front and in back of them a quick handshake and genuine smile, Pastor Newton had lingered over Neal and Dyanne, pulling them both into a hug. With the same simplicity and grace that he’d preached his sermon, he’d said only one thing to them as he let them go. “We want to see more of you.”
From the firm nod that Neal had given in return to the pastor’s request, Dyanne was sure that they would be back the next Sunday. She’d thought her father would gloat on the way home from service about his prayers being answered and how great it was that they’d gone to church, but he was too busy playing Name that Hymn with Fallon in the backseat.
Dyanne clutched her stomach at the memory. “Neal? I don’t feel so good.”
He put down his smoothie and lifted Dyanne into his arms. “What’s the matter, babe? You don’t look right. You’ve been working pretty hard. Let me take you up to bed. I’ll work with Fallon on the book this morning. I’m free except for a call at eleven.”
She let herself relax in her husband’s arms. “Can you stop at the bathroom, please?”
Neal picked up his pace. “Don’t throw up on me, girl.” He laughed but his voice sounded worried. No matter how hard Dyanne worked, she was rarely sick and when she did fall ill, it was usually with a cold.
He got her to the bathroom just in time and raced upstairs for her toothbrush and a washcloth. “Are you still having the headaches?”
She mopped her forehead with the washcloth. “Not anymore. I’m just sort of dizzy. The heat down here…”
“You don’t think—”
“What?” Dyanne’s voice was sharp as she jerked her head up out of the sink.
“I’m just saying. Could you be pregnant?”
“No.” She pushed around him and out of the bathroom, but not before seeing the fear in her eyes as she looked in the mirror. The doctor did routine tests when she’d gone in for her headaches, including a pregnancy test. Hers had been negative, but the doctor had mentioned testing her again at the appointment and recommended that she start taking prenatal vitamins.
“Not to say that you’ll get pregnant anytime soon. It’s just best to have the nutrition levels high during the reproductive years. And the prenatals usually have the best quality nutrients. Good for the skin and nails. Don’t worry.”
She had worried. She was worried now.
Neal was, too. He didn’t pick her up this time, but followed behind as Dyanne started back upstairs. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“Please.”
Fallon and Dyanne’s father came back into the kitchen.
“Dee Dee? Are you okay?” Fallon said, cutting off the funny story she’d been telling.
“Yes,” Dyanne said, not waiting for Neal as she headed upstairs.
“No,” Neal said, lifting his foot onto the next step. All of a sudden, he wasn’t feeling so great, either.
Two lines. And not faint ones, either. Neal and Dyanne watched their home pregnancy test with wide eyes as the blue spread from end of the stick to the other in two fat grooves.
“We should have got the plus or minus one. I never pay attention to those commercials. What is that—an equal sign? Are you pregnant or not?” Neal was pacing the floor in circles. Dyanne was amazed he hadn’t burned a hole in the rug from all the
friction.
“The test is defective. I can’t be pregnant. Go get another one.”
Forty bucks and a lot of empty boxes later, Neal was sure of one thing—the tests were not defective.
Dyanne was just as sure of another thing—she was not pregnant.
It took the doctor that she’d visited a few weeks before to make her face the truth: two lines still mean what they’ve always meant.
“You’re pregnant. Very early, but definitely pregnant.”
Dyanne stared at the doctor and at the paper in his hand. “That’s impossible. The prescription you gave me…I was taking them.”
The doctor smiled. “So was my mother when she conceived me. I’m a little screwy, but I turned out okay. We will have to keep an eye out on the baby’s development…”
Neal looked afraid to be happy but Dyanne could tell that he was. She was not happy. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. This wasn’t what she’d planned. She’d changed her mind, only her body hadn’t come along for the ride.
Trust Me.
At the thought of trusting God, she became angry. Hadn’t she been trying to trust Him? Hadn’t she been trying to surrender? She’d wanted a baby more than anything, but she’d been willing to push it away to give it up. Work was really becoming interesting again. She had a new house. She was actually forming a relationship with her father. Fallon was blooming like a hothouse flower. And the tour…How would she make it around the country puking at every place they went to? The thought of an airplane ride made Dyanne want to head for the bathroom right now.
“I can’t see much of anything on the ultrasound because it’s too early, but the blood test is positive and your hormone level is sky-high. You are definitely pregnant.”
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