Holly's Heart Collection Three (27 page)
Mom’s eyes shone as she laced her fingers through Uncle Jack’s, right there on top of the table. For pete’s sake, they were acting like newlyweds. After all, it had already been over a year since they’d said “I do” and the Meredith-Patterson merger had begun. Four kids of his, two of hers, and soon there’d be one more . . . of theirs. What were they trying to do—show up the Brady Bunch?
Fork in hand, I poked at my green beans. Why would Mom want to start over with a baby at her age? Weren’t there already zillions of chores to keep her busy, including the never-ending mountain of laundry?
Six kids plus two adults were plenty. Sometimes too many.
Eight is enough,
I thought.
Besides, I needed space and plenty of time to write. Next thing, Mom would have me tied down with baby-sitting after school. My writing project, a half-finished novella, would definitely suffer. And where would that put my future writing career?
I sighed, bolstering myself with the thought that I still had some time to get used to the idea. Life would remain the same for a good while longer. After all, babies took nine months to cook. I sighed, determined to grab every available minute between now and that not-so-blessed event.
Carrie pushed her plate back and leaned forward in her chair, looking at Mom. “When’s the baby due?”
Uncle Jack regarded Mom, who must’ve taken his stare to mean she should do the talking. “Our new little one”—and here she gazed into Uncle Jack’s eyes—“is due on April twenty-fifth.” “April?” I blurted. “That soon?”
Carrie glared at me. I ignored her, trying to grasp Mom’s statement, all the while doing a quick mental calculation. “That means you must be about six months along.”
Uncle Jack nodded, eyes bright. He leaned over and kissed Mom’s cheek. “We’ve already started picking out names.” He began listing combinations of first and middle names for all of us to hear and approve or disapprove of.
I kept my head down, staring at my plate, trying hard to block out the sound of his voice and the two of them in general, lovebirds that they were. It was plain to see how delighted they were. But what about the rest of us? Wasn’t this a family matter? They should’ve called a family meeting—to vote on things. Our opinion counted for something, didn’t it?
I felt numb.
“Holly-Heart,” Mom said, her eyes penetrating me. “Everything okay?”
I shrugged. “I guess.” No sense causing a scene. I’d have to work this out for myself. Still, I wondered why they’d waited so long to announce the surprising news.
Mom had appeared normal all these months. Oh sure, she’d gained a few pounds and worn those flowing tops over her stretch jeans, but that seemed to reflect her more casual style since quitting her job at the law firm. Surely she hadn’t tried to hide her condition. Had she?
While we ate dessert, I thought back over the past months, searching for clues in my mind. Then it hit me. Memories of frozen dinners and occasional order-out pizzas. Unexplained doctor visits . . . Oh yes, and there was the night I’d made spaghetti because Mom was too tired to cook.
Now I remembered. Back in October, when I was getting those bizarre mystery letters, Mom had camped out in her bedroom. A lot. Every day she had seemed exhausted. I’d even wondered if she might have the flu.
And Christmas? By then, things seemed perfectly fine. Mom had resumed her normal routine around the house, decorating for the holidays and sending out zillions of cards and notes. We’d had dinner guests off and on throughout December. People like Uncle Jack’s co-workers and employees from his consulting firm. There were relaxed evenings spent caroling with church friends, but all during that time Mom had never said anything about a baby.
Until now.
Shocking as it was, my almost-middle-aged mother was going to have another child. I should’ve been happy, but as much as I loved her, I couldn’t muster up a speck of excitement.
The truth was, I wished she had confided in me. The way she always did when she was a single mom . . . before Uncle Jack moved to Dressel Hills and married her.
On second thought, though, even sharing a secret like that with Mom wouldn’t have made much difference. Not this kind of news. Bottom line: I didn’t want another brother or sister.
Not now, not ever.
EIGHT IS ENOUGH
It was a gray Monday morning. No sunshine—not a single mountain peak could be seen from my window seat, where I peered out into the fog. A thick, dismal haze had enveloped our Colorado ski village.
I was gray, too. Inside.
During breakfast, while Mom exhibited her sunny cheerfulness, my somber mood persisted. The grayness lingered with me all day, and by the end of seventh hour—swim class—I was exhausted.
While I dried off, my best friend, Andie Martinez, buzzed over to me. “You’re not yourself today. You sick?”
I forced a smile. “I’m okay.”
Andie followed me to my PE locker. “C’mon, Holly-Heart, something’s bugging you.” She grabbed my arm and held on. “I know you!”
With my free hand, I reached for my clothes. “Thanks for your concern, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Hey, whoa—I’m your best friend, remember?”
Nodding, I turned to look at her, wondering if I dared share my ridiculous family secret.
“What’s wrong?” Her dark eyes reflected intense interest. “What is it?”
I shook my head, thinking how absurd it would sound if I told her. “Don’t ask,” I muttered. It was probably the worst possible thing I could’ve said. From past experience, I knew that a few curt words never discouraged someone as persistent as Andie. Not dying-to-know-every-ounce-of-your-life Andie. Nope.
My comment would simply egg her on.
“Aw,” she pleaded, “just give one little hint.”
I buttoned my jeans. “It’s not worth discussing, really.”
She cocked her head. “Well, it certainly must be worth brooding over.” She exhaled loudly. “Your chin’s been dragging on the floor all day.”
I chuckled at her comment. Andie was like that. She’d pull out all the stops, say whatever she had to, to get me to succumb to her pleading.
“I’ll be fine.” I turned toward the mirror, brush in hand.
Andie followed close behind. “I can’t believe you’d shut out your lifelong best friend like this, Holly Meredith.”
I brushed through my hair, wondering how long before she’d bug me to death and I’d finally tell her that my mom was pregnant.
Andie was so desperate to crack my secret, she even solicited help from another friend of ours, Amy-Liz Thompson, who’d just stepped out of the shower. “Hey, Amy!” she called to her. “Come help me talk sense to this girl.”
Amy-Liz shivered in her towel, blue eyes wide. “Why, what’s going on?”
“Look at her,” Andie said to Amy-Liz, pointing at me. “Is this the face of a happy, well-adjusted freshman?”
“Spare me,” I groaned. Her theatrical outbursts were too much.
Amy-Liz began to giggle. “Holly looks fine to me.”
“But check out her eyes,” Andie said. “Don’t you see the disappointment, the pain, the—”
I intervened. “Go ahead and dry off,” I instructed Amy-Liz. “I’m sure Andie’ll get over this sooner or later.”
Andie faked a heart attack, holding her hands to her chest. “Holly, you can’t do this to me. I’m here for you. It’s you and me. . . .” She paused to breathe. “No, seriously, we need to talk. I know you’re not okay. I can feel it!”
“I think you better get dressed,” I told her. “Unless, of course, you wanna walk home.”
Andie checked her watch. “Oh no, the bus! I’ll miss the bus,” she moaned. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“If you hurry, you can make it.” I sat down, doing the loyal, best-friend thing—waiting for her.
On the way home, the bus stopped in front of the Explore Bookstore on Aspen Street, which was the main drag in our tiny town. While passengers exited and new ones boarded, I stared at the window of my favorite bookstore. It looked like . . . yep, sure was!
“Hey, Andie! Is that what I think it is?” I strained to see the large poster displayed in the bookstore window. “Isn’t that the new Marty Leigh book cover? It sure looks like her latest mystery novel,
Tricia’s Secret Journey.
Hmm, it must be coming out soon.” I squinted to see the date on the ad. “Wow, it’s next weekend— fabulous! It’ll hit the stores this Saturday.”
“That’s nice,” she mumbled.
I turned to look at her. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m not wild about mysteries,” she replied. “You should know that.”
“Well, I can’t wait to get my hands on it.” I looked back at the store window as the bus pulled away. “Marty Leigh’s books are fabulous. I mean, you actually feel like you’re there—in the book—living the story with the characters.”
Andie made a low, disinterested grunt. “Give me romance novels any day, anytime. Historical, fantasy, contemporary— doesn’t matter, just so it’s pure romance.”
I slumped down, leaning my head back against the rail behind the seat, thinking. “In the romance novels you read, how old do you like the main characters to be?”
She thought for a second. “Old enough to fall in love. Why?”
“Just wondered.” I was thinking about the marital romance going on between my mom and Uncle Jack. Sure, they were old enough to be in love and married and all—but way too old to be starting a new family.
“Excuse me, Holly. You’re doing it again,” Andie said.
“Doing what?”
“Spacing out.” Andie touched my hand. “I’m here for you. Whatever it is, whatever is bothering you—trust me, I can help.”
The bus turned right, heading for Downhill Court, my street. A light snow had begun to fall. The flakes swirled and floated down, their silvery whiteness turning to gray in the fast-approaching dusk. Cars in driveways looked gray as we passed. Yards and houses. Sidewalks too. Everything was gray. Everything.
Trust me, I can help.
Andie’s words echoed in my mind.
But could she? After all, Andie’s mom had given birth to twin boys four years ago, when Andie was twelve. I supposed if anyone could possibly understand how I felt, it would be my best friend.
Suddenly she stood up, and I noticed the bus was heading toward my stop. “I’m getting off here with you. Like it or not.”
I didn’t argue. If she wanted to come over, fine. I just hoped Mom would be resting. Or out running errands.
Anything to keep Andie from discovering the truth.
The two of us crossed the residential street one block away from my house, and as we walked, I decided I would whisk her up to my room as soon as we got into the house. Because, knowing Carrie, she’d start talking baby stuff right under Andie’s nose.
I was not ready to discuss the baby thing. I had to be cautious and avoid it.
EIGHT IS ENOUGH
My free hand turned the doorknob. I poked my head inside the front door, wary of any activity that might call attention to the family secret.
“What are you doing?” Andie asked, nudging me forward. “You’re not grounded, are you? Is that what’s bugging you?”
While she babbled behind me on the porch, I scanned the living room. Vacant.
Good.
Inching myself past the door, I glanced at the dining room. Coast clear.
I breathed a sigh of relief. “C’mon in.”
Andie looked at me cockeyed as I took her jacket and hung it in the hall closet. From where I stood, I could see Carrie, Stephie, Phil, and Mark standing with their backs to us out in the kitchen. They were all leaning forward, studying something on the center island. I could only guess what they were looking at so intently. Probably baby furniture in a catalog.
Not wanting to investigate, I steered Andie away. “C’mon, let’s go to my room.” She cast a quizzical look my way, and we scampered up the stairs.
My bedroom was the second room on the left, the first being the bathroom. Carrie and Stephie shared the room straight off from the landing, and true to form, their music was blaring. Instantly, I wondered if having a baby in the house might—at least for the first few months—quiet things down a bit. Only a serious writer would think of such a thing, I guess.
Andie and I hurried into my room and closed the door. Goofey, my cat, was sunning himself on the window seat. One lazy eyelid lifted nonchalantly, then closed. I chuckled at his passive approach to hellos. “That was Goofey’s welcome to you, in case you didn’t know,” I told Andie.
She snorted, not amused. “For some reason, cats hate me. I don’t know why. They just do.”
“Aw,” I defended her, “that’s not true. Goofey doesn’t hate you. He knows you . . . after all these years. Nah, he’s just being a big, fat cat, minding his own business. Aren’t you, baby?”
Goofey raised his round, furry head and began to lick his paw, completely ignoring us.
“Better watch who you call fat,” Andie said, laughing as we flung ourselves on my canopy bed. I pushed my shoes off and got comfortable.
“Goofey’s used to the truth about his size, aren’t you, boy?” I leaned my head around the bedpost, sneaking a peek at him.
Andie watched me, and I could tell she was trying to be discreet in her scrutiny. “Holly?”
“Uh-huh?”
“Why don’t you tell me the truth?”
I leaned up on my elbow. “About what?”
“You’ve been acting really weird today.”
I was silent.
Should I tell her or not?
Goofey leaped down off the window seat and came across the room, sniffing our stocking feet. Then he jumped up onto the bed, parading past us like he owned the place.
“Goofey,” I said. “For pete’s sake, can’t you see we’re talking?” I reached out and pulled his shaggy gray-and-brown body over next to me.
“I think your cat’s trying to tell you something,” Andie said.
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Like to spill your soul out to your best friend. Cats—er, animals—sense things like that.”
Man, was she grasping at straws. I stroked Goofey’s fur, contemplating my life. “It’s just that things are way out of control these days. I feel like I’m about to drown in a sea of people.”
Andie’s eyebrows arched. “Huh?”
“It’s not like I don’t want to tell you about it, it’s just . . .” I paused. “I don’t know if I can make anyone understand what I’m feeling.” I covered my face with my hands. “I’m so ashamed. . . . I really should be happy. I—”
