Carly
I jerk to wakefulness, my hands cradling my belly. The sun is just peeking over the windowsill. I’m at the clinic. Bean is safe. The nightmare of losing the baby slinks back to the darkness it came from.
There’s a squeak of a chair, and Austin’s face is over mine, his knuckles skimming my wet cheek. “Bad dream?”
“Yeah. I’m okay now.” I force my head away from the soft comfort of his touch, but it doesn’t cost anything to look. He’s soft and sleep rumpled, with a two-day beard shadow. In a word: adorable. My mind takes me to the last time I saw him like that; in the apartment over the square on a very different morning. It seems a hundred years ago. Back when I was free to touch, and taste, and delve, and…Stop it.
He hooks the toe of his boot around the leg of the chair, pulls it over, and sits. “Tell me about it.”
“It’s nothing. You didn’t have to stay all night.”
“I wanted to. I got more sleep here than I would have at home, worrying.”
The door opens and a nurse comes in. “Good morning. How are you feeling, Carly?” She walks around Austin and checks the green stats.
“Fine.”
“Your blood pressure is back to normal. If Doctor Simmons agrees, we’ll see about getting you out of here.” She gives me a cheery smile. “In the meantime, breakfast is on the way.” She’s gone as fast as she came, and I’m left with Austin’s furrowed brow.
“I want us to talk, but I know now isn’t the right time.” He studies me as if to verify, and he nods. “Tig, I—”
The door is pushed open and Jess steps in with a tray of covered food, a bouquet of flowers, and a too-big smile. “I wrestled this from a candy striper down the hall.” She sees Austin and stops dead.
“We’ll talk later,” he whispers. He straightens, takes his hat from the other chair, drops it on his head, and walks to the door. “Hey, Jess.” And he’s gone.
“Okay, I want to hear all about that.” She looks over her shoulder as the door snicks closed. “But first, you’re going to eat breakfast.” She walks over and slides the tray onto the tray table, and uncovers the plates, one by one. Scrambled eggs, toast, and orange juice.
“God, I miss coffee.”
“Hey, don’t complain. I can’t even stand the smell of bacon, and you know that’s a major food group for me.” She drops the flowers with the others in the water pitcher. “Do you need help?”
“I think I can handle a fork, Jess.” I’d ask how and why she’s here, but it’s apparent she’s bursting to tell me.
“Good, because I may need my hands to gesticulate.” She plants her fists on her hips. “Have we not been friends since Home Ec in junior high? Were we not Girl Scouts together? Cheerleaders? Homecoming court? How many sleepovers have we had over the years at my house? At yours?”
“Are those rhetorical questions? Because they’re coming too fast for me to—”
“For cripe’s sakes, why didn’t you have someone call me?”
I lift the plastic fork, so I won’t have to look at her. “I’ve been a little busy, Jess. Sit down. I’ll tell you the story.”
“I already know the story.”
I wince. “The jungle drums are beating early?”
“Oh, it’s all over town.”
I drop the forkful of egg. No way it could get past the wad of dread in my throat. “I can just imagine.” I’m going to explain at the diner about the baby and soon.
“You know you’ll always have me.” She backs up, and fans her face. “Enough of that. I’m hormonal, too, and I’m going to ruin my mascara.”
We laugh, and it helps banish the tears.
She snatches a piece of toast from my tray. “Now, settle in, because I want to hear everything that happened yesterday.”
* * *
Austin
I hold the door to the clinic open for a woman pushing a stroller with a pair of squalling twins. “Ma’am.”
I walk out into a gorgeous morning. I don’t know if it’s me, or the light, or the cooler air, but I’m antsy; way too jacked up for sleep. I head for my truck. I came up with a plan in the quiet hours of last night. Time to put it into motion.
Go big or go home.
Before I can change my mind, I head for Coop’s Hardware.
A half-hour later, I’m standing on the porch of the Beauchamps’ farmhouse. I shift the cans of paint to one hand and knock on the screen door with the other.
“Austin, that you?” Nana’s reedy voice comes from the shadows. She comes to the door in slippers and a ratty robe and opens it. “I just got off the phone with Carly. Get yourself in here. What brings you here this time of the mornin’?”
“I’d like to talk to you both, if I could.” I step in.
Leroy looks up from his paper.
“Sir.”
“Come sit.” Nana takes my elbow. “I’ll pour you some coffee.”
I set the paint down by the door. “If it’s all right with y’all, I’d like to paint Carly’s room. To get it ready for the baby.”
Leroy growls, “Is that your business now, son?”
I stand at attention, hat in hand. “I hope to make it so, sir.”
He looks me over. Close. “Sit.”
I let out the breath I’ve been holding since I stepped onto the porch.
Nana puts a chipped mug of coffee on the table and holds out a chair for me.
I sit on the edge of the seat. “I’m stubborn, and not the smartest pig in the poke. I spent a lot of time thinking last night. It took me realizing that I could’ve lost Tig—lost them both…” I’m blowing this. Not even making sense. “See, I’ve been so angry about what happened, I couldn’t get past it. To see that Tig’s baby…” God, I sound like a cretin, but I stumble on, because it’s critically important that they understand what’s in my heart. “It’s not a by-product. It’s not his. It’s a tiny little girl, and she’ll be a person in her own right. With all the strengths and weaknesses that any of us have.” I shake my head. “I’m sorry to put this so badly, but I need you to know how much I love your granddaughter. I want to do right by her, to make up for—”
“We already know that, child.” Nana pats my arm, her eyes full.
“Did you come here to ask me for my girl’s hand?” Leroy hasn’t moved—hasn’t changed his somber Mount Rushmore expression.
“No, sir. That’s not my place. Not yet. Not until I can convince her that I’ve grown up. That I can be the man she wants.” If that’s even possible. I put my hands around the mug. “I just thought I should let you know my intentions.”
Leroy nods, slow and thoughtful, watching me the whole time. “Momma, get the boy some breakfast.” He pushes out of his chair. “Come on, I think I got some drop cloths in the barn.”
* * *
Carly
The doctor pulls off his gloves, then checks the fetal monitor readout.
“Is she all right?”
“She should be fine. It shouldn’t be a problem for you bringing this baby to term, if you’re careful. But”—he holds up a finger—“you have got to slow down. No working double shifts, lifting anything over ten pounds, or any other strenuous activity. No working out, no jogging or running.”
“No worries there. I never run unless a bear is chasing me.”
“I mean it, Carly. If you care about your health, and your baby, you’re going to have to take it easy.”
I rub my belly. “I will, I promise. But how easy is easy? I have a diner to run. My family depends on it.”
“I’m not going to put you on full bed rest, but you can’t be waitressing. Sitting in your office with your feet up; I see no problem with that.”
“Okay, I can do that.” Looks like Lorelei is going to get her new waitress after all.
He flips a few pages in my chart. “In that case, I’ll let you go home.”
“Great. Thanks, Doc.” I probably should stop by the diner, but all I want to do is get home and take a nap.
“I’ll get the nurses working on your discharge paperwork. You should be set to go in about an hour, if you want to call someone to pick you up.”
My first call is to the diner. “Lorelei?”
“Oh my God, Carly, I’m so sorry.”
My heart thuds. “What’s happened now?”
“Oh, nothing. Everything’s fine here. I meant I’m sorry to have missed yesterday. I feel like this is all my fault.”
I chuckle. “You weren’t home eating bon-bons, and dry heaves don’t make for good restaurant sales.”
“Ugh. Don’t talk about food. I may never eat again. Now, tell me everything.”
“No time. They’re letting me out of here soon. I’m fine, but the doctor says I need to take it easy, which means no waitressing. We’re going to have to hire another waitress after all.” More money out the door that I can’t afford. But I don’t have any choice. Bean comes first.
“We don’t need to.”
“What do you mean?”
“Um. Never mind. I have it under control.”
But I’ve known Lorelei for seven years. There’s bad in her voice. “Just tell me. I’ll worry more, if you don’t.”
“It’s kinda, um…quiet here.”
“Quiet, as in ghost town?”
“As in, Fish and I are playing Spades.”
Crappoli. This is my worst fear. The town has voted with their feet. Nana and Papaw, the baby, the hospital bill—they’re all going to take money. Money I won’t have without the diner.
The other line rings, and I say good-bye to Lorelei to answer. “Hello?”
“Carly Beauchamp. What the heck is going on?” Cora sounds frantic. “I do a ‘find friends,’ and it shows you at the Unforgiven Medical Clinic.”
I forgot to cancel that when I got home. “I’m okay. I was just fixin’ to call you.”
“Really? When? After you’re dead? What the heck is going on? Is the baby okay? Tell me this is just a doctor’s visit.”
“Right now, yes, and no.” I give her a quick sketch of the past twenty-four hours.
“Oh my God, Carly. Do you need help at the diner? Because I can spare Nevada, if—”
“No.” From the sounds of things, I don’t need the employees I have now. “No, we’re fine here.” A nurse comes in with a clipboard. “Cora, can I call you when I get home? They’re here with discharge papers.”
“Hang on, Nevada. I’ll fill you in in a minute. Okay, Carly, but see that you do call me. I want all the details.”
“Promise. Talk to you soon, Cora. Be sure you ride herd on that mustang, now.”
“I can only try. Bye.”
Despite my protests that I can walk, they put me in a wheelchair and roll me out to where Papaw waits in Fartito. I’ve only been in the clinic overnight, but the hot sun on my skin is welcome. I look over the tarmac parking lot to the mountains that rim the horizon. I long for home like a kid on his first time away at camp.
Papaw holds the passenger side door open, and takes my elbow to help me in.
“I’m not spun glass, Papaw. I can do it.”
“You jest set there and relax, missy.” He closes my door gently, and walks to the driver’s side. “I’da brought the Camry, but your Nana had other plans.”
“I like El Fartito better anyway.”
Papaw cranks the truck, which starts after only a little grinding. He heads for the exit and pulls out onto the road that leads home. I hang my arm on the hot metal door and lean my chin on it. I’m tired, and just want my own bed.
“You oughta give that Davis boy another look, you know.”
That pulls my head around. My grandfather doesn’t involve himself in matters of the heart. “Are you feeling okay, Papaw?”
His heavy gray brows come together. “Fitter’n a bean in a toe-sack. Why?”
“I always had the feeling you just tolerated Austin.”
“It’s my job to not like boys who date my granddaughter. None of ’em are near good enough. But things have changed. You’re fixin’ to have a baby. You need a husband. Of the sorry lot, I believe he’ll do.”
Clearly, the world has gone off its axis while I was in the clinic. “You don’t get to choose a man for me, Papaw. Did he ask you to talk to me?”
“You think we’re a couple of those metro-sexu’ls like on TV? Men don’t talk about sech things.”
And yet, here we are, having a chat about my love life. This conversation is studded with land mines, and it’s not one I want to have with my emotion-constipated Papaw to begin with. So, I collect my wild hair in one hand, stick my head out the window, and let the hot wind fill my head with the smell of home.
Papaw pulls up in the dooryard, and Nana steps out. “Welcome home, darlin’.”
“Good to be back, Nana.”
Papaw ambles for the barn.
Nana comes to put an arm around me. “I’ve got a pot of beans on for dinner, and I made a dump cake for dessert.” She busses my cheek. “Gotta go. They can’t start the noon trifecta without me.”
“May the cash ball be with you, Nana.” I totter for the house. My bed is calling Bean and me. I pull the screen door and step into the kitchen.
Austin is sprawled in a chair at the table, a sweating glass of sweet tea in front of him. “Hey, Tigger.”
Like opening the screen door has activated a time machine, I’m back in high school. It must be sleep deprivation, because my insides turn to peanut butter, and I feel a silly smile spread on my face.
Bean flutters below my belly button, reminding me that there’s been oceans of water under that bridge. In fact, the bridge washed out a couple of months ago. “What are you doing here?”
“I knocked, and they let me in.”
“I smell paint.” I follow my nose down the hall.
The kitchen chair squeals, and Austin comes up behind me. “Um. You may not want to.”
I open the door to my bedroom. The furniture has been pulled away from the walls, and is covered in old sheets. The walls are a warm, understated yellow that seems to pull in the light.
It’s beautiful. I turn. Austin’s chest is two inches from my nose. I take a step back. “Did you do this?”
He gives me a crap-eating grin, and tucks his thumbs in his belt loop. “Yeah.”
He so doesn’t get it. He’s doing it again; taking charge like he knows what is right for me. “Did I ask you to?”
His smile falters. “No.”
“Did Nana or Papaw ask you to do it? Did they hire you?”
“No. Don’t you like it?” He steps to the wall and touches it. “Good, it’s dry.”
“I love it. Bean will love it. But, the point is—”
“I wanted to.” He turns to me with a little-boy half-smile, then he pulls the paint-spattered sheet off the bed.
First Papaw talking marriage, then Nana letting him in (and I have no doubt it was Nana). “You have to stop this.” I’m too tired. My thoughts are a whirling jumble, and I can’t pull an argument out of the mess. I close my eyes and put my hand to my forehead.
“Whoa, now.” His hands come around my elbows. “You need to go to bed.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Here.” He leads me to the bed and pushes my shoulders until I sit. Then he kneels to untie my shoes.
“Stop. I’ll do that.”
He pulls off the first, then the second. “Already done. You lie down.”
My bed wraps me in warmth and comfort. And paint fumes. Luckily, they’ve never bothered me.
“Close your eyes.”
“There you go, pushing again.”
“Shhh, Tig. You’re out on your feet.” He takes Nana’s quilt from the iron footboard and spreads it over me. “Now, you get some rest. We’ll talk later.” He grabs my toes through the quilt, shakes them, then he’s gone, closing the door behind him.
My last thought, before sleep catches me, is that he’s been painting from the time he left me until now. He hasn’t slept at all.