by Frost, Sosie
And then I saw it.
Shining. Shimmering. Splendid.
Snow cones.
A truck was selling wonderfully cold, deliciously fruity snow cones, each whimsically packed with a rainbow of flavors.
Jude was on his own tonight. If I had it my way? I’d curl up inside the ice machine and take a nap, sugary syrup and all. Sticky wasn’t as bad as sweaty, and after circling the entire field to approach the truck, I was lucky I could even talk through my parched throat. I practically bounced to the truck, eyes-wide, smile-broad, begging like an orphan in a Dickens’ novel.
Please, suh, may I have some ice?
But the burly man wiping down the counter wasn’t pleased to see me. Granted, I wasn’t thrilled to be purchasing shaved ice from a man who obviously never used a razor, but the baby wanted a snow cone, and I wasn’t about to let her throw her first temper tantrum while still in my tummy.
I smiled. “Hi—”
“We’re closed.” The man grunted. “Sorry, lady.”
No, no, no. That didn’t work for me.
“Please.” I gripped the truck’s stainless steel counter. The hot metal actually burned my hands. “Just one. You have no idea how badly I want a snow cone.”
“If you want it that bad, come back tomorrow.”
The joke was on him. “My ride forgot to take me home, and I’m stuck. I’ll stand here until tomorrow if I have to. I have nowhere else to go.”
Except the bathroom.
And that was going to be another concern.
“We’re closed.”
I wasn’t above bribing him. “I can get you autographs. Everyone. Jack Carson. Cole Hawthorne. Lachlan Reed?” I pointed at him. “You look like a Jude Owens fan. I’ll get you a signed jersey. Promise.”
“What are you? The Rivets’ fairy god-mother?”
“If it gets me a snow cone, sure.”
“I’m not buying what you’re selling.”
“But I will buy everything you have,” I said. “Please. I’ll pay double, and I’ll have Jude Owens personally deliver the jersey.”
“Yeah?”
“Absolutely.”
“Where is he?”
I blinked. “Who?”
“Jude Owens.” He snorted. “I’m waiting.”
“So am I,” I said. “I…can’t get it for you now.”
“I’ll give you five minutes.”
“If I could get Jude here in five minutes, I wouldn’t need a snow cone.” I tested the lie. It came easily with ice on the line. “He’s my boyfriend.”
“Sure, he is. You’re dating a future Hall of Famer and one of the greatest running backs to play the game.”
“So you do know him!”
“We’re closed.”
“Please.” I didn’t let him walk away. “At this point, I’ll just take a block of ice.”
“Look, lady, I don’t know what your problem is—”
“I’m pregnant.” My temper flared, and the mood swing swung like a fist to his nose. “And the father wants nothing to do with me. The only man who has offered to help me is my brother’s best friend, and I’ve had a crush on him since I was a child. Of course, I never had the courage to say anything because he’s never felt the same way. And I thought, maybe, things had changed and there might have been a chance between us, but apparently, he’s forgotten about me. He’s left me here, stewing in the heat, to reflect on every bad decision I ever made in my life—including falling in love with him even though I’m pregnant with another man’s child!” I slammed a hand on the counter. “Now. All I want is a snow cone before the sun accidentally cooks this kid inside me. Please.”
A woman shouted from the back of the truck. “Jesus, Bob. Just give her a damn snow cone. She’s pregnant for Christ’s sake.”
The man’s wife appeared like the Blessed Mary. She scooped a heaping portion of ice into a paper cone and prattled around the truck, banishing her husband to retrieve the last of their machinery they’d stacked outside.
“Here you go.” She molded the top into a perfect circle. “What flavor, honey?”
Close, but my nickname wasn’t honey, the team decided to call me Doctor Honeybuns. I didn’t correct her.
“Blue?” I asked. “No. Red. No. Green!”
“Coming right up.”
She handed me a dripping snow cone ribboned with every flavor she had available. I pushed my credit card over the counter and took the cone with two hands.
Her face pinched. “I’m sorry, honey. We can’t take a credit card without our computer up.”
And just like that, my world crumbled.
I was a reasonable, independent woman of character, integrity, and class, but in that moment, I cracked like a cheap Tupperware container lodged in the bottom of the dishwasher.
My lip trembled first, but I couldn’t hand the snow cone back before sniffling.
The fat, incriminating tears heralded another mood swing. This one skipped the weepies and crushed me into utter despair—even worse than the paper towel commercial that ran with the puppy and his muddy paws.
I sniffled, apologizing for the card, the inconvenience, and the scene I was making blubbering over some damn ice.
The woman tisked her tongue. “Oh now, honey. You take it. Really.”
“I—I—I couldn’t.”
“Go on. You deserve it.”
“But—”
“It’s hotter than a pig’s backside out here, and twice as filthy. You need to take care of yourself. Take the snow cone and enjoy it.”
“Really?”
“Life’s too short to fight a pregnancy craving. Take it.”
I pocketed my card. She handed me some napkins for my tears and the unpleasant addition to my snow cone that dripped from my nose.
“Now go before they close the fence and lock you in here all night.”
Wouldn’t that be the perfect end to the day? I thanked her again and cuddled with my snow cone as I returned to the front of the practice facility.
Still no Jude, but at least I had a snack.
I sat on the stairs and called him once more. The call went directly to voice mail.
Again.
“Jude, where are you? I’m stuck at practice. You left me here!” My temper flared. I nearly crushed my ice. “I’m going to give you five minutes. You have until I finish this snow cone before I—”
The ice dripped in the sun. A stream of blue syrup cut through the middle, and the rounded top slid as one giant mound. I tilted my wrist to steady the impending slide.
But the avalanche buried me under the ice.
It wasn’t my life passing before my eyes—it was Jude’s.
This was his fault!
The snow cone crumbled on my chest as I juggled phone, paper cup, and my dignity in an unsuccessful fight against the cruelest of fates. The ice splattered onto my white blouse, tie-dying it into every color of the rainbow.
My breast was strawberry. My nipple watermelon. My navel blue raspberry.
And over the baby, a nice patch of pineapple.
I didn’t even like pineapple.
I grabbed the phone. The slippery, syrupy remnants stained the cover, but I didn’t need a good grip to shout into the cell. My mood shifted into a rage that wasn’t anywhere as dangerous to my health as it was Jude’s.
“Get back here now!”
I doubted that I needed the phone. My voice probably carried over all of Ironfield.
I seethed for only five minutes when the flash of an orange Jeep spun into the lot. Jude’s tires squealed as he drove like a maniac to meet me.
If he wasn’t careful, he might have hit someone with his car.
If I didn’t get behind the wheel and run him down first.
Phillip barked from the passenger seat. He sat on a lamp shade. At least the dog hadn’t eaten yet either.
“Rory, I am so sorry.” Jude raced to my side. He frowned. “What happened to—”
“I got iced!” I g
ritted my teeth. “What the hell, Jude? You forgot about me?”
“Rory, I had a long day—”
“Me too!” I held my arms out. Phillip hopped from the car to diligently clean the stickiness from my hands. “I’m tired. I’m hot. I look like I spent the night at Woodstock. How could you forget me?”
Jude panicked. “I’m sorry, Doc. What can I do to make it up to you? This morning you were happy. What did I do then?”
“You gave me a ride!”
“Wait!” He pulled out his wallet. “I also gave you money. You liked lunch. Let me buy you dinner.”
“You can’t buy me off. Jude, I’m a smart, successful…” I gasped. “Hyperventilating neurologist. You owe me more than a stop through the drive-through. I can’t believe you’d be so inconsiderate.”
“I wasn’t. I swear.” He reached for me. I batted his hand away. “Look, Doc, I never take women home.”
He shoved a twenty in my hand as he said it. Great. We’d get arrested for assumed prostitution too.
“Rory,” he said. “I’m always alone. I’ve always been alone. I’ve never been lucky enough to have someone want to come home with me.”
“You have an odd way of making me feel welcome.”
He ruffled his hair, loose and wild. His rushed breath ached my heart. He really was upset.
“I know it’s just a fake relationship,” he said. “But you’re still my friend, and I want to protect you. I blew it. I’m sorry. I promise. I didn’t forget about you—I forgot how lucky I was to have you.”
The anger dissipated as he took my hand. I gave him a slight smile.
Jude frowned. “I left you alone for half an hour. Why do you look like you jacked off a unicorn?”
“I got hungry.”
“And missed your mouth?”
“This is your fault.”
Jude pulled me into a hug. “I know. What can I do to make it up to you?”
He rubbed the soreness from my back. That was a good start. “I need a ride.”
In more ways than one. He grinned.
“Your chariot awaits,” he said. “Once we get home, I’ll make sure you feel like a princess again.”
“Promise?”
“Just call me Prince Charming.”
I wasn’t looking for a fairy-tale, just a way to make sure my ever-after came out happy.
And with Jude? A girl could have her dreams come true.
8
Rory
I couldn’t do this.
I stared at the door to my step-mother’s house armed with only a chicken and broccoli casserole. The dish was the passport I needed to return to this particular, war-torn homeland. Inside, battles weren’t fought with fists and artillery, but pride, criticism, and a healthy dose of denial.
I liked denial. Denial meant I could hide the baby. I’d cross my legs. Pretend I found a child in a box on the sidewalk. It worked for kittens. Why not kids?
What’s this? A baby? Well…I suppose I have room in the house…has she been spayed and microchipped yet?
Jude nudged my side. “Gonna knock?”
“Nope.”
“We’ve stood here for three minutes.”
“So?”
“Come on. The sooner you get this over with—”
“I can’t ask you to do this, Jude. It’s one thing to pretend at the field—”
He interrupted me without hesitation. “I promised I was going to help.”
“We’re lying. To everyone.”
“Do you want to do this alone?”
“Do you want to pretend with my family?”
If I wanted to call it a family. More a trial by fire.
I stared at my step-mother’s door. The fortress’s gate. Regan owned a suburban castle. A perfect, custom built five-bedroom home in the heart of the upper-middle class. The cream base and red siding was a charming, yet distinctive, look for the subdivision. Not too garish but pleasant enough to catch the eye. The white picket fence framed manicured beds of darling shrubs and flowering bushes—no weeds in sight. Not that Regan would have tolerated anything that wasn’t in its rightful place. The flowers weren’t the only thing under her thumb, they were just what made it green.
Regan managed her home the same way she ruled her pediatric ward—ruthlessly efficiently with an expectation of perfection.
Even if I hadn’t come home to finally tell my family about the baby, I still would have disappointed Regan. The casserole would be too salty. My dress wrinkled. My hair an inappropriate length for a professional. We couldn’t all rule the world with poise, class, and pretention. I learned long ago, only Regan set the standard.
“Don’t be afraid of her,” Jude said.
“I’m not afraid.” I lied. “I’m already disappointed in myself. I don’t need her lecture.”
“You have nothing to be ashamed of. So you’re pregnant. You’re doing great, and you’re doing what’s right. She’ll understand that.”
Oh, I did envy his optimism.
Maybe she’d forgive something like this with Eric or his brother, Adam. Her biological sons were free to do as they wished. She expected greatness from Eric of course—she had always prided herself on her athletic and gifted son. Adam, her oldest, moved away long ago. The lucky bastard. His political aspirations honored the family. He was already mayor of his own little municipality.
But me?
Regan had plans for me. From the instant Dad had married her, Regan had decided I was to become a doctor. I followed in her footsteps—or rather, I tripped along after her.
“I don’t know what she’ll say,” I said. “If she even says anything.”
“She might be shocked, but that’s okay. It’s a baby, not a bomb.”
“You’ve been away from home for too long, Jude. I don’t think you remember my family as well as you think you do.”
“And I don’t think you’re giving them a chance.”
Was he crazy? I came home to announce that I was unwed, pregnant, and potentially jeopardizing my career. The only thing worse than disappointing the accomplished doctor was insulting my Better Homes and Garden step-mother with a cold casserole that substituted breadcrumbs for Ritz crackers on top.
The scandal.
Jude squeezed my shoulder. “Repeat after me. I’m pregnant.”
I took a breath. “I’m pregnant.”
“And Jude is the father.”
Oh lord, a phrase that might have once been scribbled on a junior high notebook.
Rory + Jude = 4EVR
This was not the way I’d imagined it all those years ago, doodling my life away in trigonometry.
“I’m pregnant, and Jude is the father.”
“Good,” he said. “Once more, with conviction. Sell it.”
“I’m pregnant. Jude is the father. I’m selling it.”
“So close.”
This was it. Now or never…preferably now because I suddenly had to use the bathroom.
I knocked, awkwardly, but the shave-and-a-haircut thud sounded off-tempo and out-of-tune even against the door. I pushed it open.
Eric rushed at me first, but I stood my ground braver than any quarterback who ever faced the blitzing defensive end. I didn’t let him get mad. I spread my arms and demanded a hug with a pout of my lip.
I’d broken my brother a long time ago. He squeezed me tight.
“How are you feeling?” He reached behind me and hauled Jude into the hug too.
“It depends,” I said. “How’s her mood?”
Eric laughed. “Ask grandma.”
Oh no.
As much as I loved Grandma Mildred, Regan was never in a good mood when the pride of St. Cecilia’s retirement community broke away from the bridge game long enough to cause trouble at home.
I squirmed away and grabbed Jude. “Let’s get out of here.”
Eric didn’t let him leave. He pulled Jude away and shook his hand. “How’s camp, All-Star?”
“You’ll find out when
you play me in week three.”
Eric took the challenge. “Maybe I should check you for a hidden camera, or don’t the Rivets do that anymore?”
“Don’t need to. They signed me.”
Eric laughed and hauled Jude away with the promise of a beer.
And then I was alone.
Presenting a casserole.
Pregnant.
And under the sudden scrutiny of my step-mother.
“Aurora?”
Regan appeared from the kitchen, not a hair out of place. Her proud, high cheekbones framed a dark countenance, both in skin tone and that chastising glance that surveyed me for any and all imperfection.
It didn’t seem fair that Regan had no flaws, no cracks in that perfect, ebony veneer. All I’d ever wanted was something I could use against her—a cracked tooth, tone-deafness, ugly shoes. I wasn’t that lucky. The best I could hope for was to be like her one day, though I’d probably die of hypothermia if I ever imitated her chill.
“Hi…Mom.” It had been twenty-five years since she’d married my father, and ten since he died, but the word still stuck in my mouth like a glob of peanut butter. “I brought a dish for dinner.”
“I’m serving a turkey.”
Oh, there was a thought the baby didn’t like. “I’ll have to gobble it right up.”
“You can put the casserole in the kitchen, though I don’t know how I’ll serve it. You do realize you’re late? Had you called, I might have saved room in the oven.”
“Sorry. We hit some traffic.” In the form of morning sickness, a door-less Jeep, and an angry police cruiser who had unfortunately followed a bit too close behind us. Fortunately, the cop tore up the ticket when Jude signed an autograph instead.
“You should have called,” Regan said. “It’s polite.”
“I will next time.”
“I needed you to call this time.”
I gritted my teeth. “I can dial you now, if you want?”
“There’s no need to be difficult.”
There was always a need. I brushed past her to the kitchen, but Regan followed.
I didn’t recognize the man sitting in the dining room, but suddenly Regan’s irritation made sense.
