We are in the bathroom trying to determine whether Leah is pregnant or not. “One of us is going to have to look.” I look down to watch her. She is still on the toilet, holding another pee stick.
She says, “If it’s one blue line, I’m peeing again and I’ll keep on peeing until we get two blue lines.”
I laugh as I get a visual of my wife peeing on a stick until it alerts us that she is, in fact, pregnant.
I say, “On the count of three…”
“You’ll look,” she interrupts.
“No, I was thinking on the count of three, we’ll both look.”
“That’s what I meant to say,” she lies.
“Sure you did. Are you ready?”
She smiles with her eyes closed and says, “One…”
I say, “Two…”
And we both say, “Three…”
I look at the stick, and then I look at Leah, who still has her eyes pinched shut. “I thought we were looking at it together?”
“Robert, I can’t look. What is it? Is it two blue lines or do I need to pee on another one of these things?”
“You better drink some more water,” I say as I kneel down beside her and wait for her to open her eyes.
“I was hoping we were pregnant.” She looks sad as she looks at the pregnancy stick. “Robert?”
“Yes, Leah?”
“Is that two blue lines on that stick?”
“It is.” I smile, and I just want to pick up my wife and swing her around the room in excitement.
“We’re pregnant?”
“We are.”
“We’re really pregnant,” she says in disbelief.
“I know.” I lean over and kiss her. Her cheeks are wet from tears, and I can feel her shaking beneath my hug. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” She picks up the used stick and holds it close to her heart. “We’re really pregnant.”
“We are, and I couldn’t be happier.”
After my return home, Leah and I decided that we wanted to try right away to have another baby. We aren’t attempting to replace Jamie, but we always wanted a big family. I think we gave up that idea, but we do want another child. We loved Jamie so much, and we miss her terribly. I know we both have unspoken fears that we’ll always carry with us, but we also have so much love to give a child, our child. Our home is quiet and lonely; I would love to fill the rooms with laughter and love again.
“Leave so I can get up. I want to see how far along we are,” Leah says, sternly.
I laugh at my wife's modesty. “Leah, we’re married and I have seen you naked.”
“I know, but I need to wipe so I can get up, so go — now.”
“Okay, I’m leaving.”
I wait for her in the bedroom where her laptop is. I am excited and scared at the same time. I loved being a father more than anything. My demons haunt me, but I don’t share them with Leah. She doesn’t need to know what they are. I still blame myself for Jamie’s death although it wasn’t my fault. I was her father, and I should have been able to protect her, to keep her safe. I didn’t, and I failed my daughter and I failed my wife. She stops at her dresser and pulls out her pocket planner, then sits beside me on the bed with her laptop in hand.
I watch her as she checks the date on the calendar with the date on the laptop. She checks it again and smiles. “If this is right, we are due on November 30th. That makes us about eight weeks pregnant.” I watch my beautiful wife smiles, and I can’t remember the last time she was smiling so big. She says, “It’s still too soon to announce it. I think it’s best we keep quiet for another month.”
My wife is the brilliant one in the family. If she thinks we should wait, there is a reason for this.
“May I take my beautiful and pregnant wife out for dinner to celebrate?” I ask as I kiss her sweetly.
“I think that sounds like an excellent idea.”
During the dinner, we discuss the pregnancy and what a blessing this child will be. “What room should we use as the nursery?” she asks, and I know what she is asking. Is it wrong to use Jamie’s room? We still haven’t been in Jamie’s room since her death. It is just as she left it that dreadful morning. I think about this, and I have to make sure I word it perfectly.
I smile because I don’t want to sadden the mood. “We could use the room across the hall from Jamie’s for the nursery.” I don’t say anything else; I give her time to think about what I said.
“You don’t want to use Jamie’s room?” She looks saddened.
I take her hand from across the table and stroke my thumb across her knuckles.
“I was thinking and remember, it’s only a thought,” I say. “What if we had another daughter? Wouldn’t it be nice to leave Jamie’s room as it is, and maybe our next child would be able to play with Jamie’s things? A son could also play there.” Now that I think about this maybe it’s not such a good idea. “We don’t have to decide anything today; we have plenty of time to figure it out later,” I say. I look at Leah, and I can’t tell what she is thinking.
She asks, “Do you mean have Jamie’s room as a playroom?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Jamie loved her room.”
“Yes, Leah, Jamie loved it very much.” I don’t have the heart to pack away Jamie’s things. I can’t put her things in storage. Not yet.
“Robert, I like that idea.” She doesn’t smile, but she isn’t crying either. “I like the idea of Jamie’s sibling using her things. Jamie is gone, but she is still alive in our hearts.”
“Yes, Leah, she is.”
The next morning, I drive Leah to work and help her open up the shop. Before we found out she was pregnant, she would drive by herself and set out the bistro tables and get everything ready herself. Now, I don’t want her moving the tables and chairs by herself. Jo is already here and the shop smells like a bakery. I inhale and smile when I see Jo. She walks out of the back room wearing a floral dress and a white apron that says, “Never trust a skinny chef.” I smile to try to hide my laugh. “Good morning, Sunshine,” I say as I walk over to help her with the tray of cinnamon buns.
“Good morning, Bobby and Leah. How lovely to see you here this morning.”
I bend over to kiss Jo and say, “Let me help you with those.”
“Good morning, Jo. While you do that, I’m going to get the cash drawer ready,” Leah says.
“All right, Sweets.”
I put the cinnamon buns in the glass display case and follow Jo into the back room to get more. Once the glass display case is filled with Jo’s delicious sweets, I start to put the bistro tables and chairs out on the sidewalk. Jo and I make the coffee and get the decanters filled with different varieties of coffee that Leah offers her patrons. As soon as everything is done, Jo and I sit down and have coffee. Jo has a cinnamon bun, but not me — I am on the wagon.
Leah exits her office, carrying the cash drawer, and pretends like she is looking at a nonexistent watch on her wrist, and asks, “Break time already, Ace?”
I smile and ask, “Would you like one?” The bell over the door rings and when I look up I see Jo’s husband, Carl, walking in. I stand and extend my hand to his and say, “Good morning, Carl.”
“Bobby, how are you?” he asks, shaking my hand.
“I’m good, thank you.”
Leah walks over with a big smile. “Carl, it’s been forever.”
He smiles and bends down to hug her. “Leah, you look wonderful.”
“Thank you, are you staying? Do you want a coffee or something?”
“No, no, I’m fine. I just came by to get Josephine. There’s an auction this morning we want to go to. We best be gettin’ if we want to make it on time.”
Jo stands up, removes her apron, and folds it carefully before taking it into the back room. She returns, carrying a white sweater.
“Are you ready, Josephine?” he asks.
“I am.”
He smiles and leans down to kiss her. “We’ll see y
ou kids later,” he says, taking her by the hand and walking towards the door.
“It’s good seeing you both.” Leah and I walk them to the door and I say, “Be careful and have fun.”
“Thank you, we will. I’ll see you in the morning, Leah.”
We stand there and watch them drive off. Bethany pulls into the parking lot and a few other cars follow behind her. “Looks like your morning rush is here.”
“I know, it’s crazy, right?”
“A bookstore, bakery, and coffee shop. I never imagined it would be such a big deal.”
Leah laughs and says, “Me, either.”
“I better go. No heavy lifting and I’ll be here at 6:00 to help you close up.”
“Okay, I love you, Robert.”
I place my hand on her flat belly. “I love you both, too.”
Leah
I watch as Robert greets Bethany at the door and holds the door open for the patrons coming in behind her. When the last girl walks in, Robert nods to her and leaves. Standing at the large picture window overlooking the sidewalk and parking lot, I watch as she turns around to get another look at him. I smile as she watches him and his cluelessness about his incredible good looks. He waves goodbye to me before getting into his black Hummer and driving off.
“Wow, he’s hot,” the woman says as she walks further into the shop. “Does he belong to you?” she asks.
I laugh and nod, “He does.”
“Good Lord, all that yumminess rolled up into one. I’d keep a leash on him if he were mine. Where’s your erotica section?” she asks.
“In the far back.”
I straighten up the pillows on the couches and remove Jo’s and Robert’s coffee cups. Bethany is already wiping down the coffee station when I get to the counter. “How was your night?” I ask.
“Good, I spent a quiet evening with Dante, who is pretty hot.” She smiles and nods to the display table holding Brooke’s romance books.
“Aww, I heard about him.”
“Yeah, and the girl is right when she says that he’s pretty hot, too,” she says and I know she is referring to the girl in the back talking about Robert.
“Yumminess rolled into one?” I ask.
“And then some,” she laughs.
We work steadily when Brooke walks in with a tote full of books. “Hey, I hope this is a good time?”
“Yes, it’s perfect timing.”
“I can’t believe my books sold so quickly.”
“You’re a hot commodity.”
She sighs, “It’s because of Dante; he’s quite the gentleman.”
I say, “I heard. I’m taking him home with me tonight.” We both laugh at the thought of me taking another man home with me.
“Good, let me know what you think about the books,” Brooke says.
“I will.”
“Don’t blow smoke up my… well, you know. I want only honest opinions. I can take constructive criticism. Start by telling me I’m brilliant and then honestly tell me the strong and the weak points of my books.”
“Absolutely, I wouldn’t dream of blowing smoke.” We both laugh and I don’t need to finish the sentence. “But seriously, I wanted to talk to you about doing a book signing.”
“Where? Here?”
“Yeah, I was thinking maybe on a Saturday. We could set up a table for you over there, so the line flows along the wall and out the door. We can display your banner on a tall stand behind you; the banner would have your book info, your author’s page website, and about-the-author information. We can also display your books nicely on the table you’ll be signing at. We could also call the local television news station, radio and newspaper for a story.”
“It sounds great, but I think you may be expecting too much. Remember, I’m a self-published author, and I don’t really have a massive fan base. I have read a lot of biographies and autobiographies of authors who attended book signings. Erma Bombeck became a best-selling author, but at her first book signing, she signed exactly one book. And R. L. Stein, author of the multi-million-copy bestselling Goosebumps and Fear Street books, started out as a funny author who sold zero copies of his book How to be Funny at a book signing even though he wore bunny ears to attract people’s attention.”
Bethany comes over and helps to display the books. “People ask for your books daily. Word is spreading about you quickly.”
“I told all my friends my books are here and I also promoted it on every social media group I belong to for publicity. It’s free and very effective,” Brooke says.
“I see your sales in here and the locals love you. I think we should set it up for next month, get the buzz going now.”
I can see the excitement grow in her eyes. “Okay, sounds good. Let’s do it. But don’t be disappointed if this is a flop.”
“And don’t be surprised if this is a huge success.”
Later that night, Robert comes and helps me to close up the shop. He kisses me and asks, “How was your day?”
“It was great. Business is actually picking up.”
“That’s great. Pastries and books, who knew?” he teases.
“Obviously, I knew.”
We decide to dine out at a local small, quaint Italian restaurant. I tell him about the book signing I am planning on having at the shop for Brooke. He tells me Gus’ wife, Dove, is a reporter at the newspaper and maybe she’ll do an exclusive interview with Brooke. I know Gus better than I know Dove. I am excited and can’t wait to start promoting the signing at the shop.
“I need to get some signs posted and start promoting it, soon.”
Robert asks, “When is it?”
“I don’t have a date yet. I think a month should be enough time to promote it.”
“I would say a month is good. Maybe you can have a contest at the shop for the kids to make posters. Offer a free child’s book or two to the winner or winners,” he suggests.
“That is a great idea. Get the kids involved and their parents automatically become involved.”
“Exactly.”
“And who doesn’t like free books? I could also offer a free signed set of Brooke’s trilogy to the mother of the child,” I say, a little more excited than I intended. “I’ll need some poster boards and art supplies.”
“Tonight you need to rest. We’ll get the items you need later this week,” he insists.
“I am a little tired,” I admit.
Once we are home, I soak in a hot tub and Robert brings me up some hot tea. I look at him and he says, “Decaf.”
“You went to the store?”
“I did. I just picked up some things for you and…,” he cuts off mid-sentence.
“For me and… the baby?” I ask while stirring the tea.
“Mostly for you, but I did get something for the baby. I wasn’t going to tell you. I was afraid you would think it was bad luck.”
I smile at him and ask, “May I see it?”
“It’s really nothing.”
“Please, I would really like to see it.”
He walks out of the room and comes back in, carrying a small sack. He lifts up two pairs of baby booties: a pink pair and a blue pair. “It’s not much, but I wanted to get something.” He holds them in his large hands.
“Oh, Robert,” I say in a quivering voice.
“Baby, don’t cry.” He sets the booties down on the edge of the tub and kneels down to hug me. “Don’t cry. Baby.”
I cry softly into his shirt. “I don’t know why I’m crying. That is such a sweet gesture.” Robert doesn’t say anything; he just strokes my hair with his hand. I sniffle and let out a small chuckle. He backs up and looks down at me.
“Are you all right now?”
“I am, thank you.” I lean up and place the small baby booties on the palm of my hand. “Jamie had this same pair, didn’t she?”
“I think she did.”
“Is it wrong that I want another girl?” I slowly look up at him.
“No, Leah, I don’t think
it’s wrong.”
Robert
I didn’t have the heart to tell Leah that I want another girl, too — but a boy is fine, also. This pregnancy is a blessing and I pray it goes well. Leah and I have so much love to give a child. We always wanted a large family, but now, all we want is a child.
I stand up from the edge of the bathtub and say, “Take your time, I’ll wait for you in here.” I pick up the small baby booties and place them back in the sack, walking towards the door.
“Okay, I’ll be a few more minutes.”
“Take your time,” I say, closing the door slightly behind me. I put the sack back in my top dresser drawer. I walk over to my nightstand and pick up the framed picture of Leah, Jamie, and me. It was taken on the front porch of the house the morning Jamie died. I was holding Jamie, and Leah was standing close with her arms wrapped around the both of us. Jamie was holding Jack with a big smile on her face. I smile and run my fingers over Jamie’s face, tracing her face, neck, and her arms. Her long brown hair was in pigtails with yellow ribbons tied to them. Leah and I have black hair, but Jamie’s hair was light brown. Leah comes out of the bathroom, and I place the picture back on the nightstand.
“I love that picture,” she says sadly.
“Me, too. She was so happy that day. If only we had stayed home and not gone to the zoo.”
“Robert, don’t.”
“I can’t help but think she would still be alive and that she would still be with us today.”
Leah grabs her stomach and bends over in pain. I run over to her and ask, “What is it?” I don’t wait for her to answer before I walk her over to the bench at the foot of our bed.
“Ouch,” she says as she squeezes her eyes shut.
I kneel down beside her and say, “Breathe through it.”
After a minute, she looks up at me. “It’s gone. It was a sharp pain, but it’s gone now.”
“Are you sure?”
She smiles and says, “Yes, it’s over.”
“Stay here.” I walk over to her side of the bed and pull back the covers. She is still wrapped in a towel so I get a white eyelet nightgown from her dresser drawer. Holding it out for her so I can slip it over her head, I say, “Arms up.”
She laughs and says, “Robert, I’m fine.”
A Life Worth Fighting Page 5
