Chapter 18

Debbie woke before the sun, a result of frequently sleeping outside. Shoving Preacher’s jean jacket off, she sat up and unzipped the tent’s nylon door flap. Greeted with the same gray sky and chirping birds that always preceded the sunrise, she leaned forward and pressed her hands into the damp grass, peering around the quiet campsite.

She wondered which tent Preacher was in and if he was awake yet.

After wandering around the park last night, exploring and spying on other campers, Debbie had returned to the camp with little fanfare. Only a small group had remained seated around the bonfire, Preacher among them. As if he’d been waiting for her, Preacher’s fire-lit gaze had found her slinking through the dark. Turning in his lawn chair, he’d tracked her as she’d hurried across camp.

She’d slipped inside the tent Ginny has assigned her, half hoping he would follow her. When he hadn’t, she’d set up a makeshift bed using her bag as a pillow and Preacher’s jacket as a blanket and eventually fell asleep.

Had she screwed everything up by running off? Did Preacher now think her an idiot child?

Debbie’s gaze meandered over to the picnic tables. She pressed her fingertips to her lips. He’d kissed her again. And it had been different than the first time. Better, even. Rougher. Frantic.

Your mouth is so crazy sexy.

She’d replayed that declaration in her head at least a million times since he’d said it. His voice had been deeper than normal, gruffer. As if his words had been torn from a place that he rarely exposed.

The statement alone had been enough to make her melt.

Dragging in a slow, dizzying breath, Debbie rolled onto her back and stared up at the arched ceiling. She didn’t just like kissing Preacher. She liked him.

Last night she hadn’t realized exactly what had made her run off like she had. Why she’d felt so flustered. So overwhelmed.

Now she knew.

She never thought she’d feel this way about a boy—a man. Actually, she’d never realized she could feel this way. Debbie hadn’t fit in with the girls she’d gone to school with. She’d never understood their incessant talk of boys, their obsession with them. The last thing she’d wanted to do was go to second base with Roger Campbell beneath the bleachers.

The last thing she’d wanted was anyone touching her.

She supposed that things were different for those who had a say in who got to touch them.

But here, with Preacher, free from the things that had haunted her back home and while alone on the road, Debbie was free to feel… whatever she wanted to feel.

And what she feeling was a lot. Too much, really. Dozens of feelings all at once, none of which she had a name for, let alone knew what to do with.

It was more than just Preacher. Meeting his family, his club, had made her feel even smaller than she was used to feeling. Ginny and Gerald, Sylvia and Joe, even Tiny, they each had such a strong individual presence. But combined?

Debbie pressed a hand to her belly and blew out a breath. Jealousy was a bitter pill to swallow.

What she wouldn’t give for a family just like this one. A loud and joyful, angry and messy… family. Imperfect, yes. But also perfect in their imperfections.

Feeling inspired, Debbie rolled over and rifled through her bag. Pulling out her notebook, she propped herself up, flipped to a clean page, and began to draw.

First she drew the picnic tables, then she began to sketch the people seated around them. She drew Gerald at the head and Ginny beside him. She drew them all as best as she could recall.

The sky lightened as she drew, illuminating the inside of the tent with a soft, golden glow. Debbie chewed endlessly on her bottom lip, eager to scratch out the image in her mind.

Finally she drew Preacher approaching the gathering. She drew him as if she were a spectator, standing behind him, unable to see his face.

And when she finished, she did something she’d never done before: she titled it. In the bottom corner, in scrolling cursive, she penned: FAMILY.

For some time she simply stared down at her work. It was far from her best. She’d drawn it much too fast. And she’d most certainly screwed up a few features drawing the faces of people she’d only glimpsed briefly.

But it was also one of her best.

Because there was more to it than serving as a mere visual reminder of the people she’d met that day. From the frown on Gerald’s face as he watched Preacher approach, to the joy on Ginny’s as she shot up in her seat, it was chock-full of everything that made this family what it was.

With a heavy sigh, Debbie put her notebook away and grabbed her things. While exploring last night, she’d discovered showers inside the bathhouses, and she meant to get in as many hot showers as possible before they weren’t possible anymore.

• • •

The bathhouses were two-room brick structures. The first room was filled with toilet cubicles and sinks, and the second housed showers. There wasn’t much privacy in the shower room, no doors or curtains, only partial stalls within a small alcove that did little to hide you. It reminded Debbie of her school locker room, where everyone had been forced to change and shower in front of their classmates. Back then she hadn’t wanted anyone to see her naked.

She didn’t mind so much anymore; she was simply glad for hot water.

Freshly showered, Debbie had just finished dressing and was finger-combing her wet hair when she heard a noise and turned.

“Oh!” Sylvia paused mid-step and blinked at her. “I know you… Debbie, right?” Her large belly preceding her, Sylvia looked exhausted and bedraggled. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and her shoulder-length brown hair stuck up in all directions.

“I haven’t been able to sleep a wink since we arrived,” Sylvia complained as she moved toward the shower stalls. Pausing by a bench, she set down a large purse and began pulling out the contents one by one.

Biting down on her bottom lip, Debbie’s gaze touched covetously upon each of the items Sylvia had laid out—a towel, a bar of soap, a bottle of shampoo, and a bag full of makeup—and probably took for granted.

“This baby in here,” Sylvia said, absentmindedly rubbing her belly, “is constantly movin’, always kickin’ me. I have to pee all the time, and everything aches.

“Ginny is right, you know? I’m carrying so low it has to be a boy. And I know Joey wants a boy so badly. And we already have his name picked out. Trey Joseph Fox. Trey after my granddaddy, and Joseph after Joey, of course.

“But on the chance he’s a girl, I was thinkin’ about naming her Marie. You know, after Marie Osmond? I just love her. Some people say I look like her. What do you think? Do you watch Donny and Marie? Speakin’ of Donny and Marie, how’s the water today? Is it hot? It was ice cold yesterday!”

Debbie stared at the young woman trying to decipher her east coast accent. It had taken her several seconds to realize that when Sylvia had said “wudder”, what she’d meant was “water.” Her accent was so thick, her D’s sounded like T’s, and vice versa. Her R’s were harshly spoken, and extra A’s were thrown in almost everywhere.

Sylvia didn’t seem bothered by Debbie’s prolonged silence and continued talking. She talked while she undressed, and was still talking even after she’d climbed in the shower.

“I’m so glad my morning sickness is finally gone!” she called out. “I thought it was going to last the full nine months. My gums are still bleeding, though,” she continued. “Did you know pregnancy could do that? I didn’t. My hair has gotten fuller, my boobs are bigger, and my skin has never looked better. But I’m as fat as Tiny, and my feet are swollen, and my gums are bleedin’, and Joey won’t…touch me…”

At that last announcement, Sylvia trailed off, growing quiet. Debbie glanced longingly toward the exit, wondering if Sylvia would care if she left—or even notice.

“He used to be all over me. Couldn’t keep his hands off me. I was a virgin before Joey, only ever let Robbie Bianchi feel me up, you know?”

Debbie did not know. She had nothing to offer this woman, no words of wisdom. She was no relationship expert, having never had one. And neither had she ever been pregnant—thank God—or been close to anyone who had been. Her mother had certainly never discussed things like that with her.

“Debbie? Could you hand me my dress?” Sylvia emerged from the shower stall with a towel pressed to her front, far too small to provide her with much coverage. Debbie had no idea what Sylvia had looked like before she’d gotten pregnant, but she could imagine her as a slim, petite woman. Her limbs were still tiny, at least in comparison with her midsection. But her belly appeared even more monstrous now that she was naked, the large swell of it dwarfing her hips and breasts.

Debbie hurried to help her, unable to avert her eyes as Sylvia dropped her towel. Jagged, painful-looking red lines covered her belly where her skin had stretched. Debbie outright stared, cringing at the thought of ever being pregnant. Between Sylvia’s talk of bleeding gums and swollen ankles and seeing firsthand what pregnancy did to your body, Debbie thanked her lucky stars she’d been fortunate enough to have avoided that fate.

“I was thinkin’ about inducing early,” Sylvia said. “I read that celebrities do it all the time. Everybody says Yoko Ono had a Caesarean just so Sean could be born on John’s birthday. I don’t know about all that though, and there’s somethin’ to be said about a natural birth, right? I bet Marie will have a natural birth. She seems the type, right?”