“Who’s here now?” Mama demands.
I have no idea as I’m only expecting Zach. That’s when I see them. He’s brought reinforcements. Jed, Jesse, Amelia, Beau, and Davis all follow him through the front door. When they get into the living room, Amelia demands, “What’s wrong? Why did I have to rush over here so fast?”
Zach says, “Emmie and I have some news for you.” And then he tells them.
“Zach is Faye’s daddy?” Davis asks. “I did not see that coming.”
Sarah Jane is on her feet running into the nursery before she says a thing. She comes out holding Faye and she’s crying her eyes out. “I’m a grandma. This perfect little love is my grandbaby!”
Zach puts his arms around his mom and says, “You’re welcome.”
Sarah Jane smacks him hard and demands, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I answer, “He didn’t know.” Then I explain my tequila intolerance, for what I hope is the last time.
Amelia turns to Zach, “That’s why you kept asking after Emmie.”
He nods his head. “That’s why.” Then he puts his arm around me and holds me tight.
Mama looks so excited I’m afraid she’s going to bust right open. She says, “Davis, I have champagne in the garage refrigerator. Go get it, will you?”
The rest of the afternoon is spent celebrating Zach’s contribution to Faye’s life. Sarah Jane has yet to relinquish hold on the baby for longer than it takes for me to feed her. She wants to know, “Are you two getting married? Are you moving in together?”
Zach answers, “We’ll let you know when we have news.”
We talked about getting married when we were in New York but decided to keep dating and getting to know each other before moving on to that step. We want to build as solid a foundation as possible for our baby. We both feel strongly that we’re destined to be together, but we don’t want to rush things. No more than we already have.
Zach even suggested we don’t do what we did to make Faye until we get engaged. I’m not sure I agree with him as it’s about all I can do not to jump him every time we’re in the same room together, but I love that he wants me to feel that I’m important enough on my own without that side of things.
We spend the afternoon answering the bajillion questions our families have. By the time their curiosity well runs dry, there’s only one thing left to do: decide how we’re going to spin this so Cootie doesn’t rake us over the hot coals of her judgment.
Beau declares, “I’ll take care of it.” He leaves the house to get busy on his plan before we can ask what he has in mind. As he’s currently the closest Frothingham to Cootie’s family, I’m pretty sure it will be a sound one.
All I know is that my life seems to have worked out in a way I could have never imagined, and I’m full to bursting with joy. I’m home with my baby, her daddy, and my whole family. My heart magnet has pulled me to the exact place where I belong, and I’m going to cherish every moment.
Epilogue
My entire family is under the pavilion in Frothingham Park on Monday night. Jesse and Jed are on the bandstand warming up along with the band, and the rest of us are assembled at a picnic table. We’re sipping sweet tea and eating the picnic supper we packed. We’re as nervous as grasshoppers at a bonfire.
Beau hasn’t told anyone what’s going to happen. All we know is that tonight is the night his plan gets executed. It feels like Hulk and Thor are battling it out in my stomach for world domination. Cootie is across the way from us and has not once looked in our direction. Normally, she’d have been over here making snide comments by now.
Shelby gets up and walks across the bandstand before the music can start and taps into the microphone. She says, “I don’t know about you all, but I’m pretty excited about our concert tonight. I feel fortunate to be part of Creek Water, and I’m so proud of our fine citizens who volunteer their time for our listening pleasure.”
Shelby isn’t acting at all like herself. She’s being nice and it scares me. I know she’s been through a lot, and if her actions are to be believed, it’s changed her for the better.
She announces, “We’re about to get underway here, but my mama has a few words she wants to say first.” Shelby motions to Cootie, who looks like she’s been sucking on a cut lemon again.
Cootie still hasn’t made eye contact with any of us Frothinghams, and I fear for what she has to say. Beau leans over and puts my mind at rest. “Don’t worry, Emmie. It’s gonna be fine.”
Cootie taps the microphone and unconvincingly says, “What a nice night this is.” In truth, it looks like she’d rather be climbing a tree stark naked with a spotlight on her bum than standing where she is. She’s quiet for several moments and the townsfolk start to murmur like there might be something wrong with her. She finally mumbles, “I have an apology to make.”
Cootie apologizing for anything is about as surprising as Jesus Himself announcing the Rapture while impersonating Elvis in a white bell-bottomed jumpsuit, thank you very much. The rest of the town seems to agree because the whispering blossoms into a loud rumbling. Cootie looks like she wants to drop to the ground and try to shimmy out of here unnoticed, but Shelby gestures for her to keep going.
She clears her throat loudly. “I want to apologize to Emmeline Frothingham. It has come to my attention that some folks are crediting me with some nasty gossip regarding Emmie’s late boyfriend and I wanted to take a moment to clear the air.”
What in the hell is going on here? I look at Beau in a panic, but he just puts his hand on my arm as if to calm me down.
Cootie continues, “I’m sorry if I made you feel the need to invent a fiancé. Your baby is darling, and it doesn’t matter one whit whether or not you’re married to her daddy.” She says the last bit so quietly, I’m not sure everyone without a hearing aid heard her.
Those who did, turn to stare at me. I should probably respond, but my voice has disappeared. Zach, bless his heart, stands up and speaks for me. “That’s very nice of you, Mrs. Wilcox. In fact, you did cause a bit of trouble for us. Emmie’s Auntie Lee made up a future husband for her because she knew you’d create a stink. She invented Armie to protect Emmie from you.” Cootie looks like she wants to kick Zach in the teeth.
He continues, “The thing is that Emmie’s family didn’t know about our relationship when they told folks about Armie. That’s why Emmie and I have had to keep quiet about the fact that I’m Faye’s real daddy.”
I guess this is one way of making sure everyone hears it straight from the horse’s mouth. But heaven help us, I would not have chosen a scene like this on my own.
Cootie decides to go off script and shout, “You big liar! There’s no way you and Emmie had a baby together.”
Zach replies, “I assure you, Mrs. Wilcox, we have all the right parts to make a baby.” The crowd giggles at his words. Shoot me now.
If this isn’t excruciating enough, Shelby takes the microphone out of her mama’s hand and says, “A lot of us have the right parts to make a baby, Mama.”
Cootie yells, “Shelby Marie, don’t you dare!”
Shelby continues, “I was pregnant myself.” The crowd look like they’re playing that old game “statue maker,” where nobody so much as twitches.
I look at Beau and see that this wasn’t part of his plan. Shelby tears up and continues, “I was pregnant, but I miscarried my baby just last week.” She breaks down and starts to sob her heart out. Beau runs to her and pulls her into his arms and lets her cry on his shoulder.
Cootie grabs the microphone back and says, “Shelby’s just making that up to be nice. My daughter isn’t trash like Emmeline Frothingham.”
Auntie Lee stands up and walks toward the podium with a deliberation that quite frankly scares me. She strides right past Cootie and opens her arms to give Shelby a hug. Then she whispers something into her ear. Once Beau leads Shelby away, Auntie Lee reaches out to take the microphone from Cootie.
Here’s a little something I�
��ve learned over the years that I’ve known Auntie Lee—it’s pointless to try to keep her from getting something if she really wants it. And she really wants that microphone. Once she gets a grip on it, she rips it out of Cootie’s hand in one fell swoop. Cootie nearly topples over trying to hang on to it, but she has to let it go to keep herself from falling off the bandstand.
Auntie Lee addresses the crowd. “I don’t know about y’all, but I’m sick of bullies.” The pavilion is so quiet the sweat trickling down my neck sounds like a waterfall. Okay, no it doesn’t, but you get my meaning.
When no one says anything, Auntie Lee adds, “I don’t mind folks talking about other folks.” She points out into the audience at Winnifred Simpson and says, “Like I didn’t know Winnie won a poetry writing contest until Sally Swathmore told me down at the club. And I thought to myself, that’s a nice bit of information. So, you know what I did? I told everyone else I saw that day about it. Why do you think I did that?”
The crowd stares at her as though she’s wearing a disco ball on her head. They’re positively enthralled. Auntie Lee continues, “I told everyone because I was darn proud of Winnie. To have such talent and a way with words, why, I was breathless at her accomplishment. Now, would you say I was gossiping about Winnie by sharing her news?” Auntie Lee pauses for a moment. “Some might say I was. But I didn’t see it that way because I was sharing happy tidings that were pleasing to hear.”
Cootie screeches from the sidelines, “For God’s sake, Lee, what’s your point?”
“My point,” Auntie Lee turns to her, “is that some of us never bother sharing the good things. Someone us like to flap our gums telling tales to shame or embarrass others. Those people, Cootie, are malicious, no-account gossips.” Then she turns to the crowd and says, “And I don’t know about you, but I don’t listen to those people. I don’t take pleasure in the misfortunes of others, and I sure as heck don’t spend one second of my life making up stories in order to make people feel bad about themselves.”
Mama stands up and confidently makes her way to Auntie Lee. When she gets there, she takes the microphone from her. Then she turns to the crowd and says, “Lee’s right. The only reason gossip has any power is because we give it power by listening to it and by sharing it with others. I pledge that if you come to me with a story that isn’t your business to share, I’m gonna close my ears and walk away.”
Auntie Lee steps up, “I want to hear how my neighbors are doing. I want to know if someone could use my help, but I don’t want to hear unkindness.”
Mama says, “Creek Water is our home and it’s only as good as the hearts of the people in it. Who’s with us? Who’s willing to stand up against the hurtful nonsense that plagues a certain portion of our community?” They both look at Cootie.
Sarah Jane stands up and starts a slow clap. I jump in and so does the rest of the family, and before you know it, every audience member is on their feet, smacking their hands together affirming that they’re tired of the mean-spiritedness, too.
Cootie slinks back as far as she can in the other direction without falling off the bandstand.
Uncle Jed stands up and addresses the band, “I think this calls for our special song. On the count of three, one … two … three …” They bust forth with Queen’s, “We Are the Champions.”
It’s an odd and moving scene to watch our community band tackle such a big number. Let’s face it, the talent isn’t there, but they more than make up for their lack of skill with heart. Uncle Jesse stands up and walks close to the microphone, riffing like he knows what he’s doing. But one thing is for sure, he’s giving us our money’s worth.
Zach takes my hand and squeezes it tightly before leaning down and saying, “I’m glad we’re home.” Then he lays one on me. It’s a kiss so toe-curlingly sweet I cannot imagine myself being anywhere else on this planet.
With Mama and Auntie Lee leading the fight against gossip, I feel sure that Cootie’s reign is at an end. Creek Water, Missouri is my home. It’s the town I’m going to raise my daughter in, and hopefully the town where I give her some siblings someday. I’m proud that we’ve finally made our peace.
Keep reading for a sneak peak of book 2 in The Creek Water series, The Move!
About the Author
Whitney Dineen is an award-winning author of romantic comedies, non-fiction humor, thrillers, and middle reader fiction. She lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest with her husband and two daughters. When not weaving stories, Whitney can be found gardening, wrangling free-range chickens, or eating french fries. Not always in that order. She loves to hear from her fans and can be reached through her website at https://whitneydineen.com/.
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Other Books By Whitney Dineen
Other books by Whitney Dineen — All are available on Kindle
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Romantic Comedies
Relatively Normal
Relatively Sane
Relatively Happy
She Sins at Midnight
The Reinvention of Mimi Finnegan
Mimi Plus Two
Kindred Spirits
Going Up?
Thrillers
See No More
Non-Fiction Humor
Motherhood, Martyrdom & Costco Runs
Middle Reader
Wilhelmina and the Willamette Wig Factory
Who the Heck is Harvey Stingle?
Children’s Books
The Friendship Bench
Prologue
I don’t believe in voodoo as a rule. I’m not superstitious or particularly gullible, and I sure as heck don’t think anyone can predict the future. Why am I telling you this? Because when I was twelve years old, my grandmother took me to see a fortune teller in Harlem, right down the street from where she lived. The old lady with the Rastafarian braids, nose ring, and skunky smelling aura, read my palm and told me the following, “In your thirtieth year of life, right after the dog jumps over you, your whole world will change in the most unexpected ways. Be open to the change or you will always regret it.”
Mimi wrote the message down verbatim and gave me the scrap of paper, making me promise to keep it in my little jewelry box with the dancing ballerina. She said, “Baby girl, that old bat might have been stoned, but she’s given me priceless words of wisdom during my lifetime. I have no idea what’s in store for you, but I know it was important for you to hear that.”
I’ve long since lost the jewelry box, and Mimi died a handful of years after that, but I always remembered the message, just like I promised I’d do. I haven’t thought about in years, but suddenly I’m awash with the memory …
Chapter 1
“Incoming!” I hit the ground as soon as I heard the warning.
One of my all-time favorite pastimes is walking through Central Park in the fall. The air is crisp and the colors mind-blowingly gorgeous. Unfortunately, I have to share this miracle of nature with several million people who inhabit the seven-mile stretch of land with me.
The sheer volume of all those bodies can be dangerous. It can also seriously hinder my enjoyment. I’m currently feeling hindered, laying prone in a pile of damp leaves watching as a German Shepard jumps over me. He’s chasing the frisbee that was destined to decapitate me.
I hear the old Jamaican woman’s words like she’s sitting next to
me, “In your thirtieth year of life, after the dog flies over you, your whole world will change in the most unexpected ways.”
A very attractive doggy daddy comes running toward me calling, “Nice catch, Hanzie!” He whizzes right by me to give his buddy a vigorous rub. I eagerly wait my turn. Just kidding, I don’t really expect Mr. Hotty Pants to rub me down, but offering a hand up would have been nice. Clearly that’s not going to happen as I watch him jog away with his furry friend. There isn’t as much as a backward glance in my direction.
“Loser!” I yell at his retreating back.
Dear New York, I love you like the native I am, but you gotta quit letting the riff raff move in. How do I know he’s riff raff? He was wearing an “I Heart Akron” sweatshirt. No real New Yorker hearts anywhere other than New York.
An authentic New Yorker would have run over to help me up before apologizing profusely for the near miss. He would have probably even offered to buy me a hot dog for my troubles. Stereotypes aside, born and bred locals are nice. Sure, they give you hell when you deserve it, but when something like this happens, they own it.
I lay still for a moment trying to regain my equilibrium, thanks to the jolt of adrenaline that just shot through me. I adore this island with my whole being. It’s the only home I’ve ever known, but suddenly I wonder what life is like for the rest of the world. You know, the people who can enjoy the great outdoors with a modicum of elbow room.
I finally get up and buy my own hot dog to snack on as I walk home. Out of the corner of my eye I see a leaf sticking out of a ringlet of hair. Pulling at it, I realize I’ll be picking bits of nature out of my hair for the next couple of days. My corkscrew curly brown tresses attract and conceal all manner of things, leaves in the fall, flower petals in the spring, probably small rodents if I ever let them near my head, which I don’t.
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