For No Reason (The Camdyn Series Book 4)

by Christina Coryell

  Locating a shopping mall almost immediately, I intended to fulfill my first mission of coming into possession of Trina’s birthday gift. That turned out to be a relatively easy task – I found an adorable bracelet with personalized charms, and I even had the sales girl gift wrap it for me. After that, I meandered through the corridors, window-shopping while I walked rather slowly. I made my way into one baby store, and they had loads of cute things, but since I had no way of knowing whether our baby was a girl or a boy, I wasn’t dumb enough to actually buy anything.

  Besides, I felt Belly Scene calling my name, and the draw was too persistent to ignore. Even had I not had directions programmed into my phone, I’m pretty sure my car would have found its way to that darling little boutique on its own.

  Belly Scene.

  Just to have a quick look, of course.

  It’s not like I’m going to actually buy anything.

  The signs out front were so completely perfect: Expectant Mothers’ Parking.

  That’s me!

  It’s like our own little handicapped section, only without a handicap.

  I know what your handicap is, I suddenly heard Cole’s voice in my head.

  No, Cole, I am not mentally unstable. Very funny.

  There were a few strollers sitting outside in front of the store, and I stopped to consider whether they were jogging strollers. I probably would need one of those, after all. Some of them looked like they were designed for rugged terrain, which would be just what our running trails required. Without even having to use my imagination, I just knew I would look completely awesome running behind that stroller. If I got tired of our wooded trails, I could take the baby to a park and jog around a paved trail for a change.

  “Great stroller,” one of the other moms would say.

  “Thanks! I got it at Belly Scene. Junior just loves going for a jog in the park.”

  Then, of course we would hit it off and become great friends. We might meet every day to jog together, and naturally spend some time together after, so the kids could play. Maybe Gwen Stefani would move into the general vicinity, and we would casually run into one another, because naturally she exercises, right? We would definitely be friends, I was sure of it.

  It occurred to me that I might want to check the prices on those jogging strollers, if I intended to purchase one that was capable of catching Gwen’s attention.

  Four hundred fifty!? Yikes. Sorry, Gwen, but I better just concentrate on watching my weight now instead of later.

  Moving to the door, I cautiously shoved it open, enjoying the raspberry-vanilla scent that floated through the door. Overhead, a little chime tinkled a very familiar lullaby.

  Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

  How I wonder what you are.

  Instantly, I let out a deep, relaxing sigh.

  How charming! I love this place already!

  There was a section with baby clothes, decorated like a little nursery with a moon wallpaper border and stars scattered on the wall. Near the front, though, were the trendy maternity clothes. They were set up like any ritzy clothing boutique, and they didn’t look like blousy “I ate a house” dresses. They were stylish, and sophisticated, and so very me. Well, outwardly me, anyway.

  “May I help you?” Toward the back of the store, a fashionable young woman began walking my way. She looked to be roughly my age, with her brown hair impeccably groomed and glistening under the light. Momentarily I wondered if there were some sort of miraculous light bulbs in that joint, but once I caught sight of the enormous diamond on her hand, I forgot all about the hair. Had it been just a smidge bigger, it probably would have ripped off her arm.

  “I’m just browsing, but thank you,” I told her politely.

  “Are you looking for a gift?”

  “No, for myself,” I stated confidently. “I’m pregnant.” It felt really weird blurting that when I had been so adamant about Cole keeping it a secret, but Mrs. Belly Scene wasn’t going to tell anyone. Besides, I had parked in one of those special expectant mother spots, and I didn’t want her evicting me from the premises.

  “Oh, congratulations! When are you due?”

  Due? Yeah, that seems like something I should have thought about before now.

  “I don’t know yet,” I replied a bit too hastily. “I haven’t been to the doctor – I’m just about six weeks.” Which means I don’t need maternity clothes, so my presence here is bizarre, and naturally Mrs. Belly Scene should be judging me for my ridiculousness.

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place,” she said, gesturing widely to her right. “On this side we have casual clothing. On the other side, we have business attire. You’re welcome to try on anything you please – I’ll just open a fitting room for you. And don’t worry – we have special gear so you can see exactly how the clothes will look on you once you start to show.”

  I knew intrinsically that I shouldn’t have been so excited at the mention of special gear, but it seemed that I couldn’t help myself. I envisioned those special suits people sometimes wore on television to simulate the way it would feel to be pregnant, and I myself was very curious about that. Honestly – extremely curious. In fact, the special gear alone could have made the entire trip worthwhile.

  “Thank you,” I expressed as I began to take in my surroundings, wondering what to inspect first. Jeans? I would definitely need some jeans. Moving to a rack bursting with skinny jeans of nearly every color, I rifled through them, glancing them over. It didn’t take very long at all to realize that these jeans did not contain numbers – XS, S, M, L. I might not have been an expert in expectant mother clothing, but it certainly seemed to me that, through the course of my life experiences, I had seen pregnant women in more than four sizes. When I decided to pick up one of those pairs of jeans to inspect the waist, which looked more like a built-in parachute, I must have had a visual reaction, because Mrs. Belly Scene was suddenly upon me.

  “Are you familiar with the different types of waistbands?”

  “I guess I’m not quite an expert,” I replied. She pulled a pair of jeans from the front of the rack and held them out to me, pointing at the navy blue fabric.

  “These have an all-around band. They fit below the stomach and are comfortable throughout the entire pregnancy.” I nodded as though I already knew what she was going to say, and then she picked up the parachute pants. “These have a front panel. They’re especially comfortable towards the latter part of the pregnancy. Perhaps you would like to try one of each? I would guess you’re a size small.”

  Before I could open my mouth, she was carrying the jeans toward the fitting room. I hastily decided there was nothing wrong with trying things on. Besides, I was really anxious to see the special gear she mentioned, so I followed her into the room. It was rather large, with a couple pale blue overstuffed chairs and a mirror that ran the length of one wall. She placed the jeans on a peg and asked if I would like her to find any more suitable garments.

  “Sure,” I breezily answered. What could it hurt? It wasn’t like I had to buy them, right? She started to shut the door… “Wait, what about the special gear?”

  “Oh, yes, I almost forgot.” She reached on top of a shelf and handed me a black canvas bag. “If you need any help, just call. My name is Marcia.”

  “Thank you!”

  Oh boy, oh boy. This is awesome. I have always wanted to try on one of those suits. I wish I could wear it home, so Cole could see what I will look like in a few months. I wonder if they let you borrow these things for a day or two, so you can get the feel of being an expectant mother? Maybe I’ll ask Marcia about that when I’m finished. She will probably make me buy something in order to take it home, but I guess one or two things wouldn’t hurt in exchange for the experience. Besides, I would have to take home some clothing to fit over the suit, after all. It would be a good investment.

  Opening the black bag, I pulled out the special gear and studied it to see how it worked. Frustratingly, all I saw was a littl
e bump with a long cord. Peering into the bag again, I let a grimace flash across my face when I came up empty. This was the special gear? A round pillow with a strap? Was she kidding?

  “Um, Marcia, I think there’s something wrong with the special gear!” I swung open the door to find her standing there, and I handed it to her expectantly.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Let me take a look.” She carefully studied the bump, turning it around and running her fingers over it, flashing that gigantic diamond again. “I think it looks okay. Let me show you how it works.”

  I stood helplessly as Marcia positioned the pillow over my stomach and connected the strap behind my back. When she was finished, she patted me on the shoulder and stepped back out the door.

  Great. Now she thinks I’m mentally challenged, too.

  In hindsight, I should have just strapped on that silly pillow and not made a fuss, but it was unbelievably disappointing. I could have stuffed a pillow in my pants at home and saved myself the embarrassment, yet there I was in the cushy fitting room trying on clothes that I had no intention of buying.

  And no pregnant suit!

  Rolling my eyes, I decided to slip quickly into the jeans and try them before I was on my way, simply so I wouldn’t be lying when I went back out to face Marcia. The parachute looked a little scary, so I decided to try the others. Wow, were they ever comfortable, with the elastic around the waist. It was almost like wearing denim sweatpants. Well, not really, because that would look completely absurd, and these didn’t look half bad. Even with the stomach pillow, they looked pretty normal.

  “These tops will look great on you!” Marcia called as she flung two shirts over the door. I reached for the first one – a delicate-looking melon-colored tee with sequins along the neckline and ruching along the sides. It was very pretty. Smirking at myself in the mirror, I slipped the shirt over my head and pulled it across that pillow.

  Wow. I look just like the commercials. I’m a trendy, chic expectant mother ready for a day on the town. I could wear this to the mall, or to a restaurant for a night out. Cole and I will be having dinner somewhere, and people will keep looking our way and whispering. They will imagine how wonderful I will be as a mother, since I’m obviously so terrific at choosing clothes for myself. What a lucky little boy or girl, to have such a trendy mommy!

  “When are you due?” people will ask, and by that time I’ll have an answer.

  “Oh, just one more month to go,” I’ll say.

  “Well, you look great,” they will reply, and I will nod, because there’s no point in arguing.

  Then, Cole will…

  Seriously, how does Cole manage to ridicule me in my daydreams? He is way too far in my head.

  “Are you doing okay in there?” Marcia wondered.

  “Yep, I’m good.”

  “I brought you a dress,” she continued. “When you’re ready for another outfit, please let me know.”

  A pale yellow sundress with a blue satin ribbon around a high waist floated down above the door. If I looked good in those jeans, I was banking on the fact that I would look amazing in that dress. It would look great with some blue pumps, maybe with a tiny ribbon at the toe. I could wear it to church on Sundays, and if it got too cold, I could cover it up with a sweater.

  Yes! I was right! I look like a movie star. I could wear this on Almost Midnight with Jamie Price. Gwen Stefani, eat your heart out. If I had my hair swept back and some sunglasses, I probably couldn’t get out of this fitting room without paparazzi stalking me.

  Ugh, the belly pillow fell off. The sundress has deflated! Poor, pitiful sundress – now you look like a muumuu. I remember you in your former glory! I won’t forget you!

  “Would you like me to bring you anything else?” Marcia asked, causing me to jump.

  “Oh…uh, no thanks. I think I’m good.” I stuffed the belly pillow back into the black bag. It would have been a shame not to buy the sundress – it was so lovely. I figured I might as well get the jeans and the top, too – I would need them soon enough. When I left Belly Scene, I thought I might head over to the shoe store for some blue pumps. No sense in buying the dress if I wasn’t going to complete the look.

  I carried the clothes out to Marcia, and she spread them over the counter. “Beautiful choices,” she said, but I knew what she was really thinking. Poor sad crazy person couldn’t even figure out how to use the belly pillow. I hope she can figure out how to get her wallet open.

  Well, I did manage to get my wallet open, and with my credit card firmly in hand, I smiled warmly at her as she scanned the tags.

  “Your total today comes to…$257.85.”

  Huh?

  “Are you sure?” I squeaked. She looked at the register again, nodding her shining brown hair. I had checked mine in the dressing room mirror, and it definitely wasn’t shining. She had some kind of diamond luster on her tresses or something.

  “Yes, that’s correct. $257.85. Will this be cash or credit?”

  I silently handed my card over, thinking to myself that beauty had its price. Ouch. The shoes were apparently out of the question.

  “We do allow returns for a period of ten days with receipts attached and in new condition,” Marcia continued. “I’ll need you to sign the back of your receipt verifying that you are aware of the policy.”

  I’m signing my life away. How did this happen? I just came in to browse! Two hundred fifty-seven dollars on clothes I can’t even wear. I am mentally incompetent.

  No wonder they have the special parking places. They want you to be able to make it to your car after they break your spirit.

  “Thank you very much. I hope you will shop with us again.”

  I tried to manage a smile as I took my bag, but it seemed so light and empty. In fact, I checked it on my way to the door, just to be sure. Jeans, top, and dress – they were all there.

  Wow. The least they could do is give you a lollipop as you leave to ease the pain.

  “Have a nice afternoon!” Marcia called as I opened the door.

  Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

  Now we know how dumb you are.

  -§-

  I decided to try the clothes on again before Cole got home, because…

  Well, because I’m an idiot, that’s why. A total idiot.

  What’s worse – I couldn’t just throw the clothes on and give myself the once-over like a normal person. No, I had to try to replicate that glowing feeling I possessed in that flashy dressing room, to try to convince myself that I wasn’t completely nuts for buying those clothes.

  Naturally, that had to include special gear, because nothing looked right without the special gear. The only problem was, even though I couldn’t seem to overlook the fact that the special gear wasn’t really special at all, I found myself searching my house for little round pillows. Any idea how many round pillows were in my lovely home?

  Not one.

  So, I resorted to using one of the pillows from the bed, and it was mega-awkward. I bunched it over on top of itself to try to make it smaller, but that didn’t help much. Since I didn’t have a special strap to attach it to my waist, I decided to use a big roll of shiny silver duct tape. Let’s face it – when you’re hoping to replicate a feeling of sheer radiance and imagining yourself a movie star, the best way to accomplish that is with some traditional redneck fix-it under your clothes.

  Adding insult to injury, the clothes really didn’t look good on me at my own house. Oh, they looked passable, but they certainly didn’t look phenomenal. (This could have been partly due to the fact that I was sporting some weird looking lumps under that shirt, but I digress.) I paraded and modeled in front of that bathroom mirror until I was sick of looking at myself. I desperately needed some diamond luster in my hair, or…something.

  Then, the worst possible thing in the world happened: I heard Cole’s voice, calling up to me that he was home, right before the front door banged shut. In a panic of epic proportions, I began whipping the shirt o
ver my head, momentarily caught in the stickiness of the duct tape. My arm dangled precariously above me, and I ripped it free of the silver-beast’s clutches, catching a few strands of my hair in the process. When the shirt was completely removed from my body, I started tugging at the bottom of the jeans, wishing they weren’t quite so skinny after all. Falling back on the bed, I hurriedly shoved them over my hips. Managing to free myself in time, I shoved the clothes in the bag and hurled it under the bed.

  The truth is, Cole had never said anything about me buying things before, and I wasn’t really afraid he would, but I felt ridiculously guilty about the sum total of my purchase, given the fact that the items were useless to me at the moment. Moreover, I felt duped, and I didn’t want him to see the evidence of me being slightly moronic.

  Uh, yeah. Slightly moronic. Right.

  Had I truly been thinking clearly at that moment, I might have realized that emerging into the bedroom and witnessing his wife standing there in her underwear with a puffy white pillow duct taped to her abdomen probably wouldn’t do anything to dissuade that whole moron assumption. I cannot begin to express the sheer mortification that I felt, facing that gorgeous man across the room, my face slightly pink with my curls sticking up wildly. A few strands of hair were tickling my arm, held fast by the tape that had succeeded in ripping them out by the roots. I shut my eyes with a grimace and waited for a scolding, or laughter, or whatever response was to come. Instead, he brushed right past me and shut himself in the bathroom.

  I should have been relieved, because even though the damage was already done, now I could make a worthy attempt at removing the pillow from my body. Strangely, though, something inside made me plop down on the edge of the bed with a huff. Shouldn’t he have cared that his wife was acting crazy? Shouldn’t he have made fun of me, or told me I was weird, or had some kind of reaction? Anything? Was I such a complete imbecile that I could do something so completely bizarre and he would just accept it like it was no big deal?

  He has given up on me being a sane person.