“What are you doing?” she asked quietly. “If you’re looking for a tissue, check my purse.”
“I’m not looking for a tissue,” I whispered, glancing around. “I need something, anything.”
“Are you that hungry?”
I felt my breath rush out in a flurry of exasperation. “No, I’m not hungry – I’ve got a small problem.” Pointing to the drafty spot in my dress, I waited for Trina’s reaction.
“Cammie, what in the world did you do?”
“Don’t ask,” Charlie stated with an eye roll.
“The baby wanted out of the dress,” I said simply. “Please, don’t you have a blanket or something?”
“At the end of August?”
“Anything?” I begged.
“I have a burp rag.”
-§-
Years from now, when the tiny children who attended Grandpa Charlie’s funeral recall the day’s events, they might remember the kind words Father Anthony spoke, or the lovely white roses atop the casket, or the brass plate down the side that bore the word “Grandfather” with pride. More likely, though, they might remember the crazy curly-haired blonde in the black dress who was wearing the St. Louis Cardinals towel/burp rag as a sash like a Bohemian belly dancer. They’ll remember how my four-inch heels sunk into the grass until I wound up taking them off and holding them in my fingers. They’ll remember how I was speaking to my husband and accidentally walked across a grave plot, only to be shoved aside by my brother as he chided me for being disrespectful to the dead.
They’ll also remember the fact that I was dressed almost identically to my mother, who hung a couple steps behind, even at the graveside service. Rita didn’t join her family under the tent, but crept to the back of the crowd alone, as though she didn’t belong. Midway into the beautiful words about life and death, though, the grief had overtaken her. She crumpled onto the ground, deep sobs racking her shoulders. Not knowing how to react, the crowd simply stepped slightly away from her, pretending she didn’t exist.
Even overshadowing all those things, however, might be the memory of what happened directly after the outburst, for right from the front of the casket, under the blue tent, Hannah rose and turned to face the crowd. A solitary tear streaked her face, and she directed her gaze right at that broken woman on the grass, pain flickering across her features.
“How dare you?!” she screamed. “How dare you come back here now? No one wants you!”
“Hannah,” Meg had attempted to calm, placing her hand against her niece’s arm. They both turned back to the casket, and the younger placed her head in her hands in defeat.
As for my parental unit lying broken there in the grass, she remained exactly where she had collapsed until my gorgeous saint of a husband stepped forward, gently helping her rise to her feet. She clung to him as he supported her weight, awkwardly bracing her against her grief, until finally I stepped up to help support Cole in his effort, burp rag and all.
I wasn’t sure at the moment what drew me toward them. At first I thought it was the desire to be strong for Cole, but when I pondered it further, I decided my soul was moved with sympathy for her.
Even though I despised myself a little for that fact, I was heartened by the feeling that Grandpa Charlie was looking down at me with pride in his heart, just as Father Anthony had stated a little earlier.
For her part, Rita responded by wrapping her arms around me and pouring out her tears until she barely had the strength to walk away.
Chapter Fourteen
For three weeks I attempted to reach Hannah, to no avail. Every one of my calls went directly to voice mail, and when I contacted her office, the receptionist informed me that she had taken some personal time. Unwilling to admit defeat, I eventually broke down and called Meg, hoping she could give me some information.
“Hannah’s lost without Dad,” Meg told me simply. “She’s given her whole life to them, and now she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Give her time.”
I didn’t push any further, because I knew how she felt. I had gone through the same feelings when my grandmother passed away, which was part of the reason I wanted to warn Hannah not to fall prey to my mistakes. My knowledge wasn’t likely to be imparted, however, because I was certain she was equating me with Rita, since she had elected to sob against me at the gravesite. It seemed I was destined to spend an entire lifetime paying for Rita’s mistakes.
To be perfectly honest, I had avoided the bed and breakfast those three weeks as well, because I was hesitant to face Rita. We could live in the same town, and I could suffer through seeing her at community functions and such, but witnessing her emotional breakdowns was a little too much. That kind of relationship was something I desired to avoid at all costs.
This particular morning, however, I decided to look in on Rosalie while Rita was likely at the café, slinging hash and talking people into buying the meatloaf.
“Hi,” I stated simply as I stepped out of the car, stepping over to where Rosalie knelt in the corner of the yard, jerking weeds from beneath her rose bushes.
“Hi, honey,” she answered, wiping her forehead with the back of a gloved hand. “You’ve been keeping your distance.”
“Turns out I can only handle so much psycho,” was my sarcastic response, but she grimaced as though my comment hurt her feelings.
“She’s a broken soul, Camdyn. I’m constantly praying for that woman, but I sure don’t know what to do to help her.”
Her eyes met mine as a sad acknowledgement, and I let out a sigh while I allowed my gaze to drift towards the river at the back of the property. “The problem is, she’s made her own mess, Rosalie. You can’t help her. She has to help herself.”
“I know, but if you could just talk to her…”
“No.” The answer came more abruptly and forcefully than I intended, but I winced as I shook my head slowly. “No, not now.” She averted her eyes to stare at the ground, and I suddenly wished to change the subject. “How are things with your new beau?”
“Don’t you go teasing me about that, missy,” she ordered, some of her spunk returning. “Elliott’s a very nice man, and we’re getting to know each other.”
“How well are you getting to know each other?” I wondered with a smile.
“Not nearly as well as whatever you’re implying,” she insisted, rising to place her hands on her hips.
“Has he kissed you yet?”
“Camdyn!”
“Well, has he?”
“That’s none of your business, young lady.”
“Oh my gosh, he has! I knew it. Rosalie has a boyfriend.” I reached out to poke her in the shoulder, and she gave me a solid glare.
“You just hush,” she muttered, but the red tint of her cheeks told me that I had hit a nerve. “How is Cole’s baseball practice going?”
I recognized her blatant attempt to change the direction of our conversation, so I let her off the hook. “He says it’s going well. I haven’t really borne witness to any of the practicing, so I couldn’t affirm or deny his assessment.”
“You should go with him. I bet he’d enjoy that.”
Would he? If so, he probably would have asked me before now.
“I don’t know, I’m an incredibly busy person, and I have really important stuff to do.”
“You’re incredibly silly, is what you are.” Rosalie laughed as she smiled over at me. “I guess you’ve heard Sara’s news.”
“Sara’s news?” I asked incredulously. “What news? Nobody told me anything!”
“She’s having a girl,” Rosalie stated, motioning me to follow her inside. “I ran into her yesterday at the grocery store, and she just found out the day before.”
Wow, a baby girl. So awesome for Tony and Sara.
“And Rachel’s supposed to find out in a couple of days, I think,” Rosalie continued, slowly taking the porch steps. “That’s what Liz told me, anyway.”
“It’s not fair,” I complained. “Everybody knows
everything before me.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not as though they planned it out this way.”
Or maybe they did?
(Okay, I know they didn’t, but still!)
“I don’t understand why they can’t go ahead and do the ultrasound now,” I continued my rant. “I’m seventeen weeks. The baby is the size of a pear. If they can’t see the identifying signs at this point, they might be blind.”
“I’m sure you know best, Dr. Camdyn,” Rosalie shook her head, opening the front door. “Come on – if you stop whining, I’ll let you have a cookie.”
Stepping into the living room, I folded my arms above my slightly protruding abdomen, releasing my breath in a huff. “Honestly, Rosalie, not everything can be solved with baked goods.”
-§-
After Rosalie stuffed me with about half a dozen cookies, I returned home with my mind on a very important mission. In that moment I knew without a doubt what I wanted more than anything, and I was determined to make it happen.
As it turned out, the reputable ultrasound establishments in and around Memphis weren’t very eager to perform a gender reveal ultrasound on a seventeen-week pregnant woman. In fact, the only way I finally managed to score an appointment was by name-dropping myself as Camdyn Taylor and mentioning that I had been on Almost Midnight with Jamie Price. (Even that didn’t work like a charm – I had to mention Jamie’s name three times before the lady on the other end of the phone finally acquiesced.)
When Cole came home that night, he quickly informed me that he had about an hour until he went out to the batting cages. With barely a hasty kiss on his way through, he bound up the stairs and was in the shower in a flash. I sat rather dejectedly at the table next to the fruit salad and baked chicken I had concocted, desperate for him to share in my excitement.
“You should have seen Jake today at lunch,” Cole announced when he finally made his way back downstairs, jerking his yellow t-shirt over his head. “He was reading a book. I swear, I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately.” Stopping in front of the table, he allowed a grin to spread across his face as he stared at me. “What’s all this? You made dinner?”
“Yes, I thought it would be nice.”
“It is,” he said suspiciously.
“And I’d like to watch you at the batting cages tonight, if you don’t mind.” His eyebrows rose under that damp head of disheveled wet hair, and I fought the urge to smile.
“Are you kidding? I would love to have you there. That’s awesome.”
“Okay,” I said simply, spooning some fruit salad onto my plate. To my surprise, he let out a slight laugh. Glancing up at him, I waited for an explanation.
“That’s it? I feel like something else is coming.”
“No, that’s it,” I replied, helping myself to some chicken. “Well, unless you count the appointment I made for tomorrow morning – to find out the gender of the baby.”
“Are you serious?” His eyes were so animated, it was impossible not to laugh at his expression.
“Of course I’m serious.” As he walked around the table, I rose from my chair expecting him to throw his arms around me in celebration, but I wasn’t ready for the lip lock he was preparing. His mouth met mine at the same time I felt my feet sweep out from under me, and by the time he had leaned me almost horizontally, I was breathlessly clinging to him. He wasn’t finished though, and I responded with delight as I shoved my fingers into his damp hair.
“What was that for?” I whispered against his cheek as he slowly straightened me to an upright position.
“You made me dinner, want to watch me swing a bat all night, and then tell me we’re going to find out for sure tomorrow that the baby is a boy,” he chuckled. “How am I supposed to respond? I’ve never been so in love with you.”
“I finally know the way to your heart!” I laughed, staring into his eyes. “Food and sports. It’s not so surprising, really.”
“This is totally awesome,” he assured me, taking his seat at the table. “Things couldn’t have worked out better. I’m stoked.”
Stoked? That’s one I haven’t heard from Cole before.
“I really didn’t expect you to be quite this excited,” I stated, stifling a giggle.
“Oh, yeah,” he laughed, exhibiting a contagious smile. “I’m going to find out about the baby before Jeff finds out about his. This is a beautiful thing.”
-§-
When Cole forced me to stay behind the chain link, I was a little annoyed. It’s not like I was some sissy girl who couldn’t hold her own against a baseball – I had caught that screaming foul ball at Busch Stadium in St. Louis right before it creamed my nephew Cooper a few months ago. I was practically a star outfielder in my own right.
Then, that pitching machine flung a baseball at my husband like a bullet from a machine gun, and I felt myself shrinking away from that fence like there was a rabid dog behind it. The force with which that ball was hurled at him was pretty impressive. He didn’t flinch, though. He squared up and drew the bat through the air with a beautiful follow-through, sending pitch after pitch flying swiftly out in front of him.
“So, you went out to Aunt Rosalie’s today?” he asked, not taking his eye off the ball. I watched a muscle ripple in his forearm as he adjusted the bat.
“Yeah, for a little while,” I admitted. “She fixed me lunch…and cookies.”
Smack. He hit that one even harder, causing him to glance at the bat afterwards. “Did you talk to Rita?”
“No,” I muttered. It was doubtful that he heard me, but I was sick to death of people asking me about Rita.
Staring at his back, I watched as he worked his shoulder blades a little and stepped into the pitch again. For some reason, it dawned on me in that moment that, from my vantage point, I should have been seeing his front, not his back. Not that I minded, because from where I sat it was all good. Still, something didn’t add up.
“Why are you batting left-handed?” I wondered aloud. He peeked over his shoulder at me and gave a slight grin.
“I was just goofing around,” he said, taking his place on the other side of the plate. “I’ll try to straighten up, coach. So, what do you think?”
“About what?” I asked as the bat sliced through the air with a practice swing. Lining up again, he pointed the bat at me and gave me a quick wink.
“My form, my swing…” he began, shrugging his shoulders. “Everything.”
“Your form…” Giving him the once-over, I backed up a couple steps to take a seat at a nearby picnic table. His yellow shirt was sporting a perspiration line right down the middle of his abdomen, and instinctively I lifted my hand to my forehead to ensure that the humidity hadn’t gotten to me as well. “Your form is spectacular, really.”
“I’m talking about my batting stance,” he clarified with a smile.
“Sure, that’s good too.”
“You’re not being very helpful,” he teased as he readied himself for another volley of pitches.
“Maybe I’m having second thoughts. This baseball thing might not really be such a great idea. Do you know how many women are going to be watching you just like this? Daydreaming about you? Fantasizing about you?”
“Are you fantasizing about me right now?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” I remarked, forcing myself to watch the bat instead of meeting his eyes. “In any case, I think it might behoove you to not - you know - look so attractive.”
He grunted as he swung his bat that time – a deep, guttural sound that gave me goose bumps. “Camdyn, it might surprise you to know that I’m not trying to be attractive right now.”
I might have believed him, had he not followed his statement with that eat-your-heart-out grin.
“Number one, I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, okay? Number two, you’re breathtaking, and I’m pretty sure you’re aware of that fact.”
His batting stance suffered momentarily as he bent over slightly in lau
ghter, shaking his head at me. “You are unbelievably distracting.”
“Fight the distraction, player,” I taunted. “What are you going to do when some hormone-crazed, pregnant lady fan is sitting behind home plate?”
“Well now, that depends,” he began, expelling a gust of air as he swung again. “Is this crazy pregnant lady you?”
“Let’s pretend I am the pregnant lady, for the sake of argument.”
“Okay,” he agreed, nodding his head slightly as a ball sped by. He let it pass, focused on me instead. “What is this crazy woman doing, exactly?”
Suppressing a giggle, I tilted my head to the side and gave him a suggestive stare. “Hey, Parker! You’re so hot, you melted my frozen lemonade. Now it’s over here in a big steamy puddle, kind of like me.”
“Oh, good grief,” he muttered, returning his gaze to the ball and sending the bat around forcefully.
“Parker, you are beautiful, you hear me? Beautiful! I want to have your baby.”
Grunting, he smacked the ball hard again and it pinged against the side of the fence.
“Wow, that was some hit, Parker. You’re a stud. I adore you!”
With a heavy sigh, he released his right hand from the wood and held the bat aloft with his left, aimed high and to the right of the pitching machine. When I stopped taunting him momentarily, he looked over at me with a smirk.
“Hey, melted lemonade pregnant lady over there,” he began, unable to stop a smile from spreading across his face. “I’m calling my shot – over the right field wall. When I’m finished, I’m going to round home plate and I’m going to come over there and shut you up real good with some old-fashioned passionate kissing.”
“What?” I huffed, jumping off my seat. “You’re supposed to be bolstering your immunity to the crazed fans, not offering to go home with them. It’s called building your resistance, Mr. Parker.”
Pulling his bat around, he smacked the ball hard and sent it exactly where he said he would seconds before.
For No Reason (The Camdyn Series Book 4) Page 19
