Classified (The Godmothers) Part 11

The girl on the cot screamed; then she wrinkled her face in a contortion that Sophie knew was agonizing pain during childbirth. She felt her own stomach clench, knotting in a pain so sharp, she lost her breath.

"Oh, my G.o.d!" she whispered, clutching her stomach.

Fighting her way through the pain in order to see her surroundings, she suddenly felt an overpowering urge to push. Though Sophie had never given birth herself, she knew she was experiencing full-fledged labor pains within her vision. Somehow, she was experiencing what the young girl on the cot was going through.

Sweat dotted her forehead, and she began to grind her hips against the hardwood floor. She grabbed her blouse and pulled on the material until it tore. Then the pain stopped as fast as it started. A warm feeling flooded over her-a happiness so momentous that she knew this was to be the highlight of her life. Limp with relief, she listened as the sounds from the newborn filled the room. The two women carried a bundle out of the room, and an older woman stepped inside.

The girl on the cot, Elise, began to cry when the woman spoke to her. Shaking her head from side to side, she wept uncontrollably. The two women came back into the room, still carrying the bundle, and placed it next to the girl. Love like nothing she'd ever experienced filled her being. She opened her eyes to gaze at her son. She would call him Liam, after his father.

Exhausted, Sophie's head dropped to her chest.

Chapter 18.

Bernice stood in the kitchen doorway, her heart racing ninety miles a minute. For a split second, she thought it would explode in her chest. She took a deep breath, not believing what she saw.

In the flesh. At the kitchen table talking to Phil. Daniel Alan, the son she hadn't seen in twenty years. She watched him another minute before practically galloping across the oak floor.

"Mom," Daniel said; then he walked across the kitchen to meet her. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tightly. He lifted her off the floor in a giant bear hug. "d.a.m.n, but you're a tiny thing." His cobalt blue eyes glistened with tears, and he didn't try to hide them. "I can't believe it's you."

Bernice wiggled out of his arms. "Daniel Alan, if I wasn't your mother, I would say you're about the best-looking man I've seen. Ever." Tears pooled in her eyes, and she didn't care. For the first time in twenty years, she was staring at her son. In the flesh.

"I don't know what to say," Daniel told her.

"You don't have to say a word. You're here now, and that's all that matters. I just can't believe how much weight you've lost. I want to ask how, but I don't really care. You are really here." Bernice started sobbing like a baby, not caring. This was another great moment in her life. Her son, here, alive, and looking d.a.m.n good. Anything else was in the past. He was truly here, in the flesh.

Toots crashed through the back door, her heels dangling from her hand. Phil was sitting at the table, drinking a gla.s.s of tea.

"So, are you two going to just sit there making goo-goo eyes at each other? I think this calls for a celebration, don't you?" Toots directed her gaze to Phil. "Call the restaurant and add Bernice and Daniel to our reservations. I'm starving."

"No, Tootsie, really. I'm fine. I just want to sit here and catch up with Mom. It's been too long, and I have too many stories to tell her. You two, go on," Daniel said. "Unless Mom wants to go." He let the statement hang in the air.

Bernice finally came to her senses for a few seconds. "No, no, I want to stay here. I can fix Daniel's dinner. It's been so long! It will be a thrill to cook for my son again." Bernice smiled at him. "That is, if you're willing to eat my cooking. I don't do too much country-style cooking anymore, not since my heart attack, but I can tell by looking at you that's not going to be a problem."

She still couldn't believe her eyes. Daniel was not the same man he was when he took to the road all those years ago in hopes of finding himself.

He'd left for the hundredth time right before she and Toots moved to Charleston. In his early thirties, he'd been at least 150 pounds overweight, had an att.i.tude the size of the moon, and, to top it all off, he'd suffered from an acute case of adult acne. He'd finished college, receiving a degree in elementary education. He taught fourth grade for a while, but his heart hadn't been in it. As soon as something went wrong in his life, he would pack up and travel to parts unknown in search of happiness, staying away for months at a time. Each time he returned, Bernice prayed he would have a new outlook on life, but it hadn't been so. If anything, he was more angry. They would fight, and he would leave again. This became their normal.

When Toots asked her to move to Charleston, twenty years ago, Bernice knew it was time for Daniel to do what he needed to do. She'd spent her entire adult life caring for him, and he'd been a good son until he became a nominal adult. Having grown up without a father had left a bit of a chip on his shoulder. Bernice felt as though he blamed her for his lack of a dad. She knew it wasn't her fault that he'd deserted them when Daniel was five years old and was killed in a gangland slaying two years later. However, Daniel seemed to blame her for some incomprehensible reason.

But now, here he was. Alive, handsome, and fit as a fiddle.

"I can see you're surprised," Daniel said. "I'm not that self-centered jerk I used to be. I decided I needed a change, and the only one who could make it happen was me. I went to work as a second-grade teacher and started working out at night. I learned to cook, and the rest just kind of happened. I did have those acne scars lasered off, though." He laughed.

Bernice giggled. "I didn't want to ask. It doesn't matter, Daniel Alan. Now, why don't you get cleaned up, while I fix you something to eat."

"Tootsie?" he asked. "You okay with my being here for a while?"

Toots had kept quiet, letting Bernice have her moment with Daniel; but now that he'd asked, she wanted to set some ground rules. "Daniel Alan, you are welcome to stay here as long as you want. My only condition is, respect your mother." Toots spoke kindly, but her words were firm.

"I'm fifty-three years old, Tootsie. Those days of my smart-a.s.s mouth and running away when things didn't go my way are gone."

"Then it's settled. You can stay here until the cows come home. Now, Phil and I are going to celebrate his retirement-that is, if we haven't missed our dinner reservation."

"When you ran off after Bernice, I called the restaurant and b.u.mped them up an hour. We're fine," Phil told her. "You still want to go?"

"d.a.m.n straight I do. I am hungry as h.e.l.l. I want a steak, rare, with all the extra fattening stuff that people like you tell people like me to stop eating."

"Then let's get out of here," Phil said, and glanced at her feet. "After you wash your feet."

Toots looked at her gra.s.s-stained, dirt-covered feet and burst out laughing. "I'll be right back."

She hustled upstairs, cleaned her feet in the bathroom sink, found another pair of heels, and was back downstairs in less than five minutes.

"Let's blow this joint," she said, feeling as light as a feather. Happy, giddy. s.h.i.t, she was downright ecstatic.

Today had been a good day. She decided right then and there that tonight was Phil's night to celebrate his milestone. She was not going to ruin it by dumping him.

Chapter 19.

"Of course, we can take them," Abby said into the phone. Chris was standing next to her, listening to her side of the conversation. "You can bring them whenever you're able. Doesn't matter what time of the day or night. I can't wait. Yes, we have one of the top vets in the country on our team. You bet." She hung up the phone and did a little happy dance.

"I take it that was good news?" Chris teased, knowing it was.

"Five dogs and three cats. They're left over from the fires in Colorado. They're flying them in first thing tomorrow. Two of the dogs are dachshunds with back troubles. I'm going to ask Phil if he can send for Dr. Carnes tomorrow. I know she isn't supposed to be here until our official grand opening, but the word is out now, and we're ready for the animals, so . . ."

"So, nothing," Chris said. He picked Abby up, swinging her around like a child. She was so pet.i.te; it was like lifting a small doll.

"Chris, put me down." She was laughing as he swung her around; then in the next minute, she started yelling. "Chris! Stop it! Seriously, I'm going to be sick."

He stopped spinning her around and set her down on the sofa in the formal living room.

"Move," she said. Shoving him aside, she raced to the bathroom off the kitchen, barely making it. On her knees, she threw up everything she'd had for dinner. Her eyes filled with tears because she was so sick of being sick. She knew something was very, very wrong with her. Right when life was perfect, she had to go and get sick. She heaved for another ten minutes.

Chris hovered by the door. "Abby, are you okay?" he asked, concern in his voice.

Weak and barely able to stand, she splashed cold water on her face and rinsed her mouth. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. "Total s.h.i.t, Abby. You're screwed." Tears fell, and she wiped at them with her knuckles.

"Abby?"

She sniffed, grabbed a tissue, and blew her nose. "I'm good. Be out in a minute."

Tomorrow she'd make that dreaded appointment with Dr. Pauley, which she'd been putting off. If she was terminally ill, she wanted to spend whatever time she had left with her family and her husband. She was tough, like her mother. She'd get through this crisis, one way or another. She needed to talk to someone, but she didn't want to upset Chris. She'd call her mother first thing tomorrow morning. After she called Dr. Pauley. After the animals arrived and after she called Phil, asking him to call Dr. Carnes.

Chris tapped on the door. "Abby Clay, I am not going to ask you again. Are you all right?"

Taking a deep breath, she tossed the tissue in the wastebasket ; then she opened the door. She knew she looked like h.e.l.l, but there wasn't much she could do about it now. "I must have a bug again, or else that nasty dinner I made poisoned me."

Chris wrapped her in his arms, careful not to shake or jostle her around. "It must be a bug. I ate the same thing, and I'm fine. Make sure you call the doctor and schedule an appointment tomorrow. Come on, I want you to lie down."

Abby didn't put up a fight when Chris lifted her in his arms and carried her upstairs to the master bedroom. The room was the size of his old condo in California. He still found it weird living in such a huge house, even though he'd spent part of his childhood on the plantation. It'd been different then. He was young, running wild, and only there when he needed to sleep, shower, or eat.

Carefully he helped Abby remove her jeans. "Just because I'm letting you strip me, don't get any ideas, Mr. Clay." She'd no more said the words than Chester trotted in the room.

"Come here, boy." Abby patted the spot beside her. Like the obedient dog he was, he hopped up on the bed. He nudged her hand with his nose. "You're my main man, you know that?" She scratched him between his ears; then he curled up next to her.

Chris brought a cold washcloth from the bathroom. "Here, wipe your face while I go downstairs and make you a pot of chamomile tea. And I thought I was your main man," he added.

"Always," she whispered, unsure how long her "always" would be.

She closed her eyes, thinking of the zillion things she would have to do if she really was terminally ill: the animals, the house, her mother, the three g's, Chester.

s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t!

She was not ready to die. She'd rarely been sick as a kid. Her mother was hearty, and Abby always thought she was, too. And she always had been. Except for the occasional menstrual cramps, and a few colds, she'd been as healthy as a horse.

She closed her eyes, visions of her mother's events, funerals. She imagined that her mother would be so grief-stricken....

Wait! "Chris," she yelled, "bring my purse when you come back up!"

Abby instantly became alert, her thoughts taking her in a completely different direction. She wasn't sure, but still, it was always possible.

Chris came in the room, balancing a tray with a pot of tea, her purse slung over his shoulder.

"Smells good. The purse is so you, too," she joked.

"Smart-a.s.s. Here, scoot over. I made you some raisin toast. I don't want you to dehydrate."

Suddenly Abby was ravenous. She munched on the toast and sipped the tea. Feeling almost like herself again, she reached for her purse.

"What are you looking for?" Chris asked.

"My date book."

"You of all people, I can't believe you still use one of those old-fashioned things. Why don't you keep your stuff stored on your cell phone?"

Abby found her date book at the bottom of her purse. She removed a melted piece of chocolate from the plastic and half a dog biscuit between March and April. "I need to clean this thing out. Now, let me look at this." She flipped through the months. Not seeing what she wanted, she flipped through them a second time, searching for that little red check mark. She looked at Chris, then back at the calendar.

"What?" Chris said, seeing the alarm on his wife's face. "Did we forget an appointment?"

Abby flipped through the past three months, desperately searching for that rea.s.suring little red check mark. It was not there.

"No," she said, thinking, trying to remember the last time she'd had her period. When she couldn't remember, she plopped back on the pillows, so relieved, yet scared and excited, too.

"So, what's all this flipping pages back and forth for?"

"Chris, is there a CVS or a Walgreens close by? One that's open late?"

"Sure, there's a CVS a couple miles from here. Why? You need something?"

Yes, she did. But was she going to send Chris out at nine o'clock at night to get what she wanted?

No. She wasn't.

"Give me my jeans. We're going to the drugstore. Now." Abby took the jeans, which Chris picked off the floor, and put them on. Then she slid her feet into her hot pink flip-flops. "Come on, let's go."

"Abby, why don't you just tell me what you need. You're not feeling good. I can pick up whatever it is you need. Even if it's girlie stuff," he said, grinning.

If only, she thought, but laughed. It is girlie stuff, all right.

"For once, just don't argue with me. Just do what I ask without questioning it."

Chris held his hands out in front of him. "I thought that's what I always do."

Abby laughed. "Come on before the place closes. This is something we need to do together. Kind of a surprise." Again, she thought, If only. She could be wrong, but everything was making sense now. She'd been barfing, off and on, for weeks. More tired than usual; and now that she suspected what her problem was, she thought about the new and strange smells she'd sworn were there, when Chris swore she was losing it.

"I'm only doing this because I love you," Chris informed her.

"And when we get home, you'll love me even more," she teased. Chester rolled his head around. "You stay here, boy. This is man/woman time." She fluffed his fur; then she grabbed her purse from the bed.

Twenty minutes and a dozen questions later, Chris pulled into the parking lot at CVS. "Okay, we're here. Now you want to tell me what this is about?" he said, then cut the engine.

"Come inside, and you'll find out." She got out of the car before he questioned her again. She'd put off answering his questions the entire ride over. She wanted this moment to be special-something they would talk about in years to come, something they would tell their children and their grandchildren.

Chris followed her inside the brightly lit store. They had everything: Food, magazines, the latest "As Seen on TV" stuff. Soda, beer, dill-pickle-flavored potato chips.

"Abby, do you have the munchies?"

"G.o.d, Chris. You're acting like I've just smoked a joint or something. And, no, I don't have 'the munchies.' Follow me."

She was loving this bantering, the mystery of not knowing. Once she knew, once her suspicions were confirmed, their lives would change forever. She walked faster. When she located the aisle where they kept the pregnancy tests, she stopped and waited for Chris to catch up with her.

She eyed the pregnancy test kits on the shelf, then looked at Chris.

"You . . . are . . . is . . . are we? Abby!" Chris pointed to the many varied home pregnancy tests.

"That's what we're here to find out," she said, a euphoric smile curving her mouth.