Lily
Ten months later…
“Are you crying?”
I wipe at my eyes and face Ellen and Floyd Hanley. They’ve pulled off the dance floor where they shocked everyone with their fast feet and quick moves, and they gesture at the empty seats at my table. I nod for them to sit.
Kerry insisted that as her most favorite, valued bridesmaid I should be sitting with the others near the head table, but I chose to sit nearer the exit. It’s the first time I’ve left Noah at home and my heart is panging.
But smiling at Ellen and Floyd’s concerned faces, I say, “It’s nothing. I just miss the baby.”
Ellen shakes her head, her smile warm. “Oh, dear,” she pats my hand and then surprises me with a hug. She squeezes me tight and soon I’m grateful for the embrace, glad to pour some of the maternal grief out to an understanding ear. Floyd nods my way, his eyes bright and sympathetic.
“Where’s my son?” He raps the tabletop with his knuckles. “You two should be giving us a preview of your dance moves so we know how far to steer clear at your wedding.” Floyd shares a look and grin with Ellen.
“Luke can’t dance?” I ask, looking between them.
“What? You didn’t know about his two left feet? More like hooves.” Floyd throws his head back, laughing. “Oh, you’re in for a real treat then. Forget about the bride not revealing her dress to the groom, Luke has to keep his dancing under wraps.”
Ellen gives my hand a squeeze. “Don’t you worry a smidgen—that’s what dance classes and choreography are for; we’ll get Luke into shape before the big day.”
I take a sip of my water, shyly informing them, “There’s no wedding date yet.” I don’t add that there’s no engagement ring either, or a proposal. Sure, Luke and I moved in together, and baby Noah’s finally here, brightening our world. But that’s it. Lately I can’t shake this stuck-in-limbo feeling shadowing me everywhere I go.
My family doctor referred me to a psychologist, but I know she was thinking post-partum depression. There’s no pregnancy blues with Noah. If anything I’m learning to cope with separation anxiety from my little baby boy.
It’s getting to the point that I hear his cooing.
“Oh!” Ellen’s exclamation and wide eyes have me turning to answer Luke’s deep, rumbling voice.
“What’s that about my two cloven hooves?”
“Noah,” I gasp, leaping up and circling my chair to Luke and the car seat he’s carrying delicately in both hands. We’re both staring down at our boy, wide awake and cooing up at us, flailing his fat little arms through the nautical-themed shirt.
I hug Luke, burrowing my face in his side, crying again. He seems to understand as he smooths his hand over my back. He spent most of the evening dealing with my whining for Noah. I felt bad considering we’re here to celebrate Kerry and Russ’ whirlwind romance and wedding.
“I slipped out to relieve the babysitter early. Noah woke up during the ride, but he’s in a good mood. For now.” Luke grins. We’ve both had our late nights blundering around, rocking the baby back to sleep.
Settling Noah down on the table, all four of us gather around him.
“He’s such a precious little thing.” Ellen reaches out to stroke his cheek with a finger. At nearly one month old, Noah makes a grab for her digit, holding her fast with his tiny hand.
“A fighter, that’s what he is. He has Hanley blood in him all right.” Floyd nods. But did he ever doubt it?
Noah’s tuft of white, barely-there blond hair is enough of a salute to his father. But he has my dark eyes, and they’re now assessing us all with much infantile curiosity. One day he’ll be able to pick out his parents and my heart swells, eager to catch every moment with him.
“So?” Ellen rounds on us, on Luke really. “When’s the big day?”
“Soon,” Luke insists. He squeezes me tighter to his side, his fingers massaging my hip bone.
Floyd nods, hands straightening the lapels of his tuxedo. As Luke tells me, Floyd insisted on dressing super-formally for the picnic-themed wedding. We took the reception to a community hall, though, once we enjoyed the ceremony and early drinks outside.
“Just don’t take too long.” He warns. “Some of us old geezers would like to be there.”
“We won’t. It’ll happen.” Then Luke changes the topic to the bride and groom, a little too hastily in my opinion.
While he chats up Ellen about Russ and Kerry’s plans for their honeymoon cruise and week-long resort stay in some warm island paradise, I fade out of their conversation.
I frown, ducking my head to Noah before Luke can see. We’re as close to a family as possible, without the legal institution of marriage binding us together.
For some reason I think of the late Art Dayton. I haven’t thought of the detective since his suicide was reported in both St. Louis and Potentia ten months ago, a week after he attacked me in my apartment.
I never asked Luke if he had anything to do with it, and I didn’t care. Any pity I had for Art Dayton died the day he barged into my home with threats of rape and death.
Russ is the reason I’m alive, even if his man, Keith Raymond, teamed up with Art to torment me. I owe Russ and his new sidekick, Ian, sales representative at Hanley Auto, for my life. Ian had been keeping surveillance on Luke inside the shop, and, now I’m Luke’s woman, I have eyes watching over me as well.
I quit work in the last month of my pregnancy, and I’m glad I did. Noah is a handful and being a first-time mother is a learning curve that requires my full attention. Luke is more than happy to have me at home with Noah.
Our life together is wonderful, a fairy tale come true.
Sure, I wouldn’t care if Luke never proposed and we continued living happily as we do now, and have been for nearly a year, but I’d be kidding myself.
I want Luke to propose.
I want him to make this really official.
I’d love to be Mrs. Luke Hanley.
So why do I get the feeling he doesn’t want me to be his wife?