by Stuart, Amie
"Okay. Feel better and I’ll call you back later."
I curled up in a ball and napped, waking up in a panic hours later and scrambling for the phone. According to the bedside clock, noon had come and gone, and I’d slept the day away. I was a sweaty mess, my hair stuck to my head in curly clumps.
"Why didn’t you call me?" I scolded before Tara had even finished her greeting.
"You’re sick. Cassi and I took a vote and decided to let you sleep."
"My customers," I wailed, flopping back on the pillows.
"Rescheduled."
"Tara!"
Despite my initial protests, I stayed home, rested and sipped soup all afternoon. Feeling worlds better, I headed in to work early the next morning, donuts in hand ready to catch up on some paperwork. I ended up pulling over halfway there.
Nothing like puking your guts out on the side of the interstate as semi’s blew by to get your day off to a crappy start.
Sitting there in the Mustang, it hit me like a stinky diaper. Weight gain, binge eating, cravings and crying jags all pointed to more than a broken heart.
I was pregnant.
I walked around in denial for another week, but it wasn’t as if no one would eventually notice. Finally, I caved and bought a pregnancy test. Okay, I confess, I bought two twin packs. I’m sure the clerk at the drug store thought I was crazy. I did the first two at home the next morning, and the next two the following day at work.
Then called Cassi into my office. I needed her words of wisdom—or at least a shoulder to cry on. Bad Betti finally got caught. And by the mysterious, lawn mowing Ty Boudreaux, no less. Hell!
"You look awful serious there, girl."
Seated at my desk, aching, bare feet propped up, I stalled, unsure I could even get the words out of my mouth. Could you choke on your own words? "How are the kids?"
"They’re fine. The twins are at band camp this week, George’s visiting with Mom, and Casey’s at sports camp."
"That’s good. Sit," I said with a sigh.
Cassi settled in the chair beside my desk and waited, her creased brow revealing her concern.
"I think I’m pregnant." The words came out in a rush, ending on a huge sigh of relief. I was so relieved to finally share my news with someone and felt as if a ton of bricks had been lifted from my back.
"Oh my God, Bet! Are you sure?" Cassi sat forward, wide eyed with shock.
"My pants barely fit. I’ve been queasy and my boobs hurt, but it’s been just over three months. I go to the clinic next week. I did some of those home pregnancy tests, but I just don’t trust them."
"How many is ‘some’?" Despite her twitching lips, I knew her too well to be angry at her amusement.
"Four."
"Did they all come out positive?" she asked, giving into her laughter.
Rule Number Eleven: Your Best Girlfriend is Worth Her Weight In Ice Cream. Even if she laughed at you for taking four pregnancy tests. In lieu of an answer, I sighed and reached in the trashcan under my desk, pulling out an empty box. Waving it at her, I chanted, "Pink, pink, pink ... pink."
"Home pregnancy tests are pretty reliable." Cassi sat patiently waiting. She knew me well enough to know I needed someone to vent to, not solve my problems for me.
"I have to be sure," I wailed, tears filling my eyes.
"Aw, honey! Then why don’t you go tomorrow?" She reached out and patted my hand.
"It’s Saturday." I sniffled and grabbed a tissue off the box on my desk. "I can’t just take off."
"So, take a half hour, and go first thing in the morning! You’ll feel better if you know, but I seriously doubt four home pregnancy tests are wrong. Do you have any early appointments?"
"Not until nine. I’ve been so blah and yucky lately, I haven’t scheduled any in a while."
"That’s perfect! Stop on your way in. Just one thing...Do you know whose it is?"
"Well, thanks at lot, Cassi," I grumbled, slumping lower in my chair.
"I didn’t mean it like that. Do you know what you’re gonna do? Are you gonna tell him? Will he be excited? Happy?"
"Have a baby, I suppose. I can set up a mini-nursery in here." I waved my hands, indicating the oversized office.
"But what about the father? Raising a kid alone isn’t a picnic, Betti."
"You think I don’t know that!" I sighed, unsure what to say next. If I could raise my sister, I could certainly raise one from scratch. "Last time we talked, I got the distinct impression Ty was still very much in love with his ex-wife."
"But you’re having his baby. That must count for something. I’m not talking marriage, Bet, but he has a right to know about his kid."
"And his brother told him it was a hook-up."
"A hook-up?"
"Yeah."
"How y’all made that baby doesn’t matter!" Scowling, she reached out and poked me with the toe of her shoe for emphasis.
"I want to, but he’s only been divorced a few months—" Talk about a souvenir. This had to be some sort of cosmic payback for popping Rhea in the grocery store. I honestly wasn’t sure how he’d react to the news of a baby after our last confrontation.
"This is the Sixth Grade guy, isn’t it?" she asked, eyes wide.
I nodded, drying the last of my tears. "You know what’s weird? I think he’s been cutting my grass."
Cassi’s snort of laughter got my attention. "Your grass?!"
"Someone has been cutting my grass, Cassi! And Ty has been seen in the neighborhood." I slumped in my chair with a sigh. "Maybe it was leprechauns. At least I have an excuse to go see him."
"How long’s it been since your grass was cut?" she asked, arching one dark brow.
I looked at her and she looked at me, and we both ended up with a pants-wetting case of the giggles.
"Not since August," I finally worked out, my face sore from laughing. "Do you know, last night I cried at a stupid-ass Campbell’s commercial?"
That set Cassi to howling again, but not me. "You’re definitely pregnant, girl."
"Well, I figured you’d be an expert on that," I quipped back, poking her with my toe this time.
* * *
Early the next morning the clinic confirmed my pregnancy, and after consulting with Cassi and a bevy of experts—in other words, moms—I’d decided to be brave and go the natural route. Two weeks later, I walked in the office of my new midwife, Marilyn Carstairs.
Just my luck, I saw Ty’s sister-in-law, Jessa of the Cher-hair, coming and going. As I sat in the waiting room filling out paperwork, I crossed my fingers, hoping she didn’t recognize me three months after the fact.
After having my blood drawn, my blood pressure taken and peeing in a cup, Marilyn jotted down notes in my file. Pausing, she looked at me expectantly over her half-glasses. "You don’t have a partner?"
"Not right now." I cringed with guilt—the completely self-inflicted kind. "I...I haven’t told him yet."
"I see. A healthy diet and exercise are important for a successful pregnancy, Bettina, but so is support of your loved ones," she gently scolded. "Lie back, and relax. Let’s see what we have here."
Loved ones. That was a joke. I still hadn’t worked up the nerve to set foot on the Boudreaux’s ranch and share my good news with Ty. Feeling chastised by the motherly old blonde, I laid back on the table, promising myself I’d go see him ASAP.
Raising my shirt, she tucked my pants down to my pubic bone. "I’m going to palpitate your abdomen, Bettina."
"What’s that?"
"I’m checking the size of your uterus." She chuckled as her fingers probed my belly, and she measured me. "Relax, by the time we’re done you’ll feel like a pro. I’ll also give you a list of recommended reading material before you leave." She chuckled again and continued, "This’ll feel cold."
I looked down and saw her squirt goo on my abdomen. "Ew."
"This is a Doppler." She held up what looked like a portable miniature microphone. "We’re going to use it to hear the baby’s he
artbeat."
I held my breath, waiting until she found a swoosh-swooshing tattoo that was the baby.
"One-hundred-forty beats per minute." She beamed.
"Oh my God." I stared at the ceiling, laughing while tears pricked my eyes. There was a real little life in there, not just some intangible thing. "Put it back, put it back!" I hollered as she lifted the little microphone off my belly. "Is that good?"
"That’s perfect, Bettina," she reassured me, placing the Doppler back on my belly.
Chapter Six
LOVE STRUCK BABY
Every Wednesday at ten o’clock Ty spent fifty minutes spilling his guts at a cost of two dollars a minute.
He was in the wrong business.
He didn’t really whine. He couldn’t be more thankful his brother had found Dr. Ritter. The sessions had helped him learn to deal with and began to move past Rhea, but some days he just hated going.
Hated looking at himself. Maybe it was a guy thing.
Before he left, he looked up Bettina’s home phone number and stopped to call her. No one answered. He jotted down the number given on the recorded message, then stopped at Tim’s and snagged his cell phone.
Now that the affects of last night’s Xanax had worn off, he was taking Zack’s visit, and the news that Jessa had seen Bettina at her midwife’s much more seriously.
A part of him had hoped some neighbor would tell her they’d seen him cutting her grass, and she’d call or come by. That’s why he’d gone back a second time. But he hadn’t heard from her. How he’d managed to pull it off without the whole town talking about it, he had no clue.
And now Bettina might be having his baby.
Which wasn’t exactly something he could keep from his family.
But before he could deal with Bettina, he had to get through another session with Dr. Ritter. Thirty minutes later he sat in his regular chair. The nubby blue one with uneven back legs that sat on the right side of her desk.
"How was your week?"
After last night’s especially vicious dreams, he felt ornery, and like a toddler, chose to ignore her.
And like a mother, she seemed to read him right. "Have a bad night, Ty?"
"Yeah. Real bad and I’m tired of it."
"What do you think will make them stop?"
"I don’t know! Why don’t you tell me?" He leaned over and rubbed his tired eyes. If anything, his fatigue had gotten worse the last couple of months, and he didn’t feel like thinking today. Not about Rhea or Bettina, he just felt angry and cranky. And he’d much rather take his frustrations out on the back of a horse than be confined and forced to think.
She leaned forward, eyebrows arched, pencil and paper ready. "Bad week? Taking your meds?"
"Yes! And they’re not helping! Why can’t you wave a wand and make the damn things go away?" He stood and crossed to the window, unwilling to look to his left where Dr. Ritter sat.
"If the Xanax isn’t working, we can try something else."
"But what about—"
"Quit taking them at night. Just keep some on hand in case you have a panic attack," she said calmly. Her voice was supposed to soothe him—bring him off the ceiling—but it didn’t. Her chair squeaked as she turned in his direction. "What’s really wrong, Ty? Besides the nightmares?"
Oh, not a damn thing. He’d been divorced three months. His ex-wife had gone to hell in a handbasket and there was a real good chance he was maybe about to become a daddy. He leaned his head against the thick, tinted glass, looking down on the asphalt roof of the building below, then up at the slate grey sky. "Half the town stares at me while my wife smears my family name. The other half is just waitin’ on me to lose it and ram one of my drumsticks though Billy Green’s ear."
"Ex-wife."
"Whatever—she knows I won't do shit." The window felt cold against his fingers and forehead. His quip got no reply, and he let his mind wander. He blinked and watched the pigeon on the cement ledge, wishing for a minute he was one. He was sick of the talk floating around town and the huge tangled knot of a mess his life had become. "I just want one good night’s sleep."
"You called Rhea your wife."
Here we go. The doc wanted to pick at his scabs again.
"Do you miss her? Do you want her back?"
"You mean after everything she put me through? No."
"Then what exactly do you miss?"
"I don’t...I don’t know. I miss her but I don’t miss her." With a sigh, he propped one thigh on the window ledge and looked at her.
"You know the difference. That’s good. So what do you miss, Ty?"
"Being married?" he replied with a shrug.
She nodded and smiled, drumming her pencil on the legal pad. "Are you lonely?"
He released a heavy sigh, his eyes on the carpet now. "Yeah, I suppose. I’ve been with Rhea for so long, she’s like a habit. A bad one, I guess. Hmmpf."
"Good analogy. Maybe it’s the companionship you miss. Having that other person around. Someone special?"
"I always...I never thought I’d be divorced."
"Well, we can’t always predict what life has in store for us. Have you dated? Gone out at all?"
Did sex with Bettina count? "No."
"Ty, I’m going to make a very bold suggestion. Go on a date, get laid! You’ve been divorced for nearly four months. Maybe it’s time to get your feet wet and remind yourself that not all women are like Rhea."
"With who?"
"Don’t you know any single women?"
"No, not really. My wife...my ex-wife said I was a terrible husband and a lousy lay. That doesn’t really leave a man feeling sociable." Despite the fact he’d given her anything and everything she’d ever asked for and demanded nothing in return. He circled around the desk and sat back down. "I’m sure Momma knows some girls from church, but you ever get that creepy feeling you’re being watched? That’s how I feel when I go into town for anything. Even the old men playing checkers at the feed store snicker at me! And the dancehall, I feel like everyone’s just waiting...A man’s got his pride, doc!"
"Who says you have to go out with a woman from Bluebonnet? You have all of San Antonio and South Central Texas to pick and choose from. Or better yet, sleep with a woman from Bluebonnet just to set the tongues to waggin’ in another direction," she added with a conspiratorial grin. "Ty, you’ve got to realize in the grand scheme of things, what the folks of Bluebonnet, Texas think of you doesn’t matter."
Yeah right. Tell that to his mother who switched grocery stores after shopping at the same one forever. "Alright, fine. But what if I am a bad lay?" He felt a twinge of shock at his own boldness, but hell, that’s what he paid her for. What if Rhea was right?
‘Bettina didn’t complain,’ a little voice whispered. It wasn’t like he could ask Betti if he was good in bed. Could he? Betti didn’t hang around Bluebonnet. Wanted the hell out of Bluebonnet. And had only had sex with him because of Tim, so he wasn’t sure it counted.
"I mean, how do I know I’m not bad in bed?"
Dr. Ritter smiled at him as if he were a child. "Ty, do you think you’re the only man who’s ever worried about that? All men worry about their performance. It’s the equivalent of women worrying about the size of their behind."
"Dr. Ritter," a disjoined voice said.
"Times up, Phyllis?"
"Yes, ma’am."
"We’ll be right out," she said, standing. "Consider it, Ty. A lover or just some sweet thing to spend time with. I’ll see you next week."
"See you, doc." Ty stood also, shrugging on his jacket, his anxiety over Betti returned full force. He’d have to try and call her again once he reached the truck.
He confirmed next week’s appointment, took the elevator downstairs and exited the hospital annex into the late morning chill.
Back in the truck, he sat on the edge of the seat with the door swung wide open, ticking off the rings. Looking up, he briefly wondered whether Dr. Ritter could see him from ten floors up.
"It’s a great day at The Blue Moon!" a cheerful voice sang out, startling him.
Blue Moon? "Is Bettina there?" he barked. Then forced himself to pull it together.
"She’s with a customer. May I take a message?"
"Tell her it’s...never mind. Where ya’ll at?"
"Come again?" Cheerful asked.
"Where are ya’ll at?" He enunciated each word.
"We’re on Wurzbach, sir. Right off of I-10."
That was right on his way home. "Fine. I’ll just come by."
"But sir—"
Hanging up on Cheerful, Ty headed for The Blue Moon while trying to figure out what the hell The Blue Moon was.
And what the hell he was supposed to say to Bettina? What if she was pregnant with his baby? A child was something Rhea had never wanted, so he’d never dreamed—but if Bettina were pregnant, he’d happily do the right thing. His dad would expect nothing less, and neither would he. It’s just how he was raised. And besides that was his flesh and blood. Maybe.
He parked in the nearly full lot, killed the engine and sat frowning at his trembling hands. He’d be fine. He could do this. Ty slowly counted to ten, climbed out of the truck, and headed for the entrance. It didn’t hit him until he reached the doors that his was the only pickup in the lot except for a couple of high-end SUV’s, and those weren’t really trucks anyway. Breathing deeply, he pulled the door open to discover a hair salon.
A very fancy hair salon.
Ty had been getting his hair cut by the same ancient barber in downtown Bluebonnet since he was old enough for haircuts. So entering The Blue Moon was like stepping into another world. He felt like Richard Dean Anderson in that sci-fi series, "Stargate", and his mouth hung open a bit as he took it all in.
Framed posters of women with impossible hairdos hung on walls painted pale turquoise and trimmed in a blue so dark it looked black. The smell of chemicals was unmistakable but not overwhelming. The blue and green floor looked like the bottom of a fish tank. Two dark blue velvet couches and half a dozen chairs were scattered in the waiting room and music played. It sounded like...whales.
