A Wild Red Rose (22 page)

“I pump breast milk and put it into bottles so Bodey can help out at night.”

“Too much information!”

“Don’t you plan to nurse?”

A lump formed in Renee’s throat. “Implants, remember? I don’t think I can even if …” For a moment all she could recall was Clint doing his yokel cowboy routine about her not being able to feed his babies with those breasts.

Eve watched her face and changed the subject. “Why don’t you come over and go for a swim with me tomorrow? Afterward, we could paint together in my new studio.”

Renee licked cheese sauce from the corner of her mouth. “My bikinis won’t fit anymore.”

“There wasn’t much to them in the first place. Just let it all hang out. Bodey won’t mind.”

“Okay, after all that driving I could use some exercise, but I’m not sure what I’m allowed to do.”

“Swimming is great for pregnant women. I swam in the pool the day before I had Shea. But, we need get you set up with Dr. Maddox in Opelousas. He is wonderful. And we must shop for some really stylish maternity clothes. Does that cheer you up?”

“Oh, I don’t need them yet. Besides, my cards are maxed out.” Renee glanced down at her full stomach and realized she still wore Clint’s bullfighting shirt, stretched out over her breasts and belly and defaced by a fettuccini noodle, along with an unzipped pair of jeans. She wanted to cry about losing her figure, but mostly about losing him.

“Hey, finish your salad, and there’s frozen yogurt for dessert,” Eve said a little too brightly.

“Maybe later. I think I want to lie down again.”

“You will come over tomorrow. Promise me. You need good food and exercise for the sake of the babies. Your figure will recover faster if you stay in shape, too.”

“Fine, I promise. Go home to your husband and son.”

As soon as she got Eve Landrum out the door, Renee turned on the answering machine clogged with messages—Clint in a slurred voice asking her to come back—Mama Lena, no, that would be Mrs. Beck, telling her she would make Gunter fix everything—Snuffy saying he sure thought Clint might heal faster with her at his side—Norma Jean claiming other women, those damned nurses, would cut into Renee’s territory if she didn’t get her ass back to Washington now that she’d showed ’em she couldn’t be pushed around—Sr. Helen telling their former student that she and Sr. Nessy prayed for both her and Clint—and Clint again and again and again. She erased all but the ones with Clint’s recorded voice and played those over and over until she got to sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The phone rang in Bodey Landrum’s house, interrupting Daddy time. Bodey switched off an old CD of his bull riding triumphs and settling Shea firmly in the crook of his arm, got out of his leather recliner and glanced at the caller I.D. Clint again.

“Howdy, Clinton. She’s fine. Can’t go out on my own damned patio, but Renee is fine.”

The baby smiled and waved his arms at the sound of his father’s voice, and Bodey grinned right back. Shea’s eyes seemed to get bluer with each passing month, and judging by the way women doted on him, he had the Landrum charm. Yessir-re!

“So what’s wrong with your patio?” Clint Beck’s voice asked from far away.

“Not a thing. Eve and Renee are swimming laps, and Renee doesn’t want me to see her
that way
.” The baby made a grab for the phone. Bodey raised the receiver higher.

“What way?”

“Wearin’ a maternity swimsuit and all swollen up with your babies. Hell, I saw Eve swimming all the time while she was expecting Shea and there is no prettier sight than a wet woman carrying your child. If you ever tell another man I said that, you’re bull bait.”

Clint laughed as Bodey hoped he would, then got serious. “Put Renee on the phone.”

“Now you know I can’t do that. Eve says if I trick her into talking to you, Renee won’t trust us anymore and we won’t be able to help her. My wife did get her to cash the check you sent—for food and medical expenses only. Renee sold that obscene statue she had out in the yard to those two gay guys, Archie and Roger. Got a bundle for it, too, so she’s okay financially for now. Eve and Noreen make sure she gets to the doctor and eats right. That’s about all I can tell you—except I wish you’d come for your woman because me and Rusty had to spend all last weekend strippin’ wallpaper over at her place. Seems she wants to redecorate half her house before she gets too big and is doing it herself to save money. She did order in ribs from the Rainbow Café for us, though.”

“Bodey, I’d be there if I could. I’m still locked up in San Antonio. Hacienda Hidalgo might as well be San Quentin. They won’t let me drive, limit my exercise, watch my every move. I have to get in shape for the Dickies National Championship Bullfighting competition at the end of October.”

Bodey could tell he had one frustrated man on the end of the line. “Maybe you should think twice about that, Clint. Doesn’t do to come back too quick from an injury and hurt yourself again.”

Clint snorted. “You should talk. I know you rode with a bad back and a bum knee. I need to get Renee’s attention. She won’t answer my calls or my e-mail messages.”

“Been there—know the despair,” Bodey said. “Those old nuns say time and prayer takes care of everything, but in my experience, the good Lord moves mighty slow. Still, Sr. Helen and Sr. Inez have been on their knees prayin’ for you two so much both of them will soon need knee replacements, and I guess I’ll be stuck with the bill.”

He got another chuckle out of Clint. “You praying for me, too, Bodey?”

“Sure, every time Eve drags me to church and I got nothin’ else to take up my spare time. Get well, good buddy.”

“I need to get out of here to do that. My dad is sleeping in a guestroom. I guess I know now how Mama got him to let me keep on with bullfighting. My sisters are over here constantly trying to ‘affect reconciliation’, they say. Everyone yells, half the time in Spanish. So many candles are being lit to the saints they could burn this place down. I’m telling you, Bodey, I’d be better off in the bullring. Just get Renee to watch the championship competition, would you?”

“I’ll do my best. Take care now, you hear? Shea wants to say bye-bye.”

The baby grappled for the phone again. Bodey let him have it. The receiver went directly into Shea’s mouth and was immediately covered in slobber. Bodey wiped it off against his shirt and hung up. Imagine having two of these little dudes to contend with. Now that would be a handful.

The door to the patio opened. Eve entered toweling her long, fair hair. Renee followed wrapped up in one of the thick terry robes Bodey kept for guests. She was way shorter than Eve, and much bigger at five months. Guess twins did that to a woman. Eve, now, she had gotten her figure back quickly, and her breasts stayed even bigger than before.

“Have a good Daddy time?” Eve asked.

“Sure did. I showed Shea, here, how to stay on a bull. What’s for lunch?”

“Chicken salad with mandarin oranges and pecans in a light dressing. Pumpkin bread. Iced tea.”

“Girl food.”

“Yes, take it or leave it. Renee and I plan to paint after lunch, but we’ll keep Shea, so you are free to roam, cowboy.”

Bodey sighed internally. He knew better than to let it out. Since Renee returned home, his sex life had been seriously impacted. No more afternoon romps while Shea took his nap.

“I think I’ll mosey on over to Rusty’s place and get a burger on the way. We have some things we need to discuss, a few plans to make. You girls have a good ole time.” Because I won’t.

****

Rusty Niles sat settled in front of the television to watch a World Series playoff game when Bodey walked in and stretched out on the sofa next to his recliner. Russ held up his bottle of beer. “Want a brew?”

“No, thanks. Just had lunch at the café.”

Bodey could hear Noreen tapping away on the computer in the kitchen alcove. Noreen and Bodey had never gotten along that well because Bodey tried to break up her and Rusty on more than one occasion before their marriage. Still, Noreen was now Eve’s best friend and the wife of the man he regarded as a brother, so both of them made an effort to get along.

“Noreen still workin’ on her book?” Bodey asked, taking an interest.

“You bet. Once she got that mini-grant for DNA testing to prove that the Niles family and her branch of the Courvilles were descended from the same man, she got a contract from the university press to write
Sundered Hearts—the True Story of the Niles-Courville Feud
. She still had all her research from the high school project she did at Mt. Carmel that won the state social science fair. The nuns wouldn’t let her use the adultery angle, just the star-crossed lovers stuff because we found those letters. The university nixed a last chapter on reincarnation. Not scholarly, they said. She was pissed, but really wants her book published so she had to go along.”

“So no one but Noreen, you, me, and Eve will ever know you really possess the tragic soul of Rufus Courville?”

“Go ahead and mock me. I think Noreen has convinced my dad and Mona they are reincarnated, too.”

“Who were they in their past life?”

“I don’t want to go into it.” Rusty took a large swig from his beer bottle.

Little Katie appeared, her small arms overflowing with stuffed toys and dolls, which she arranged in a semi-circle in front of the TV.

“Where’s baby Shea?” she asked Bodey. Katie loved playing with Shea, putting bows in his black, curly hair and giving him dollies to gnaw on, all of which made Bodey kind of uneasy.

“He takes his nap after lunch, Little Bit.”

Katie went back to her room for a second load of toys.

“And with Renee around all the time, his daddy doesn’t get to play with his mommy in the afternoons anymore.”

Bodey Landrum should have watched his mouth. The clacking of keys had stopped while he spoke to Katie. He realized Noreen stood right behind him. Without turning, he could imagine his friend’s wife with her arms crossed and a frown her face. Here it came.

“Bodey Landrum, you dense side of beef! How can you be so self-centered? Not only does Renee need our help and support, but you probably haven’t noticed that Eve has been sick and tired. She’s been trying to keep the fact that you’ve gotten her pregnant—again—already—quiet in order not to depress Renee who believes she isn’t going to be keeping her babies.”

Bodey Landrum felt and probably looked as if he had been struck by lightning while riding a bucking bull in a thunderstorm when he turned to stare at her and could see Noreen took a great deal of pleasure in that.

“Can’t be! She hasn’t said… Eve is nursing. I thought monogamous married men didn’t need to use condoms.”

Noreen smirked right at him. “You know Eve is more Catholic than any of us. She wouldn’t ask you to use a condom now that you’re married. You should have taken more care, you dick head. Now you have a second baby on the way, and…”

“I do! That’s great!” Bodey held out a flat palm for Rusty to high five.

Russ gave him a good slap, but mumbled under his breath to Bodey, “Thanks a heap. Noreen has been hinting around for a third child with all of her friends busting out with babies.”

“That would be terrific! You, me, Clint, we could all be daddies the same year.”

Noreen gave Bodey the friendliest smile she had ever bestowed on him. Katie returned with a pile of plastic teacups and placed one in front of each doll and teddy.

“Have a brew,” she said. “Unc Bodey is a dick head. More babies.” Katie giggled.

“See what you’ve made me do! Men! No, honey, Uncle Bodey is a really good guy.” To prove that statement, Noreen patted Bodey on the head with a heavy hand.

He ducked down on the sofa. “Look, I only came over here because Clint called and asked me to get Renee to watch the National Bullfighting Finals in a few weeks. It’s on after the Professional Bull Riders Finals. I thought I’d invite everyone to a party at my house to watch.”

“Won’t work,” Noreen said. “Renee will figure you’ll spend the whole evening praising Clint Beck, saying what a great guy he is. She knows that already. The darned prenup made her feel worthless again. She’ll avoid a situation like that. Hmmm, maybe we should get the Sisters involved.”

“Now what could Sr. Helen and Sr. Inez do about this? They barely met Clint,” Bodey countered.

“They know of him and have been praying for him. And it seems to me, the good Sisters were the ones who brought you and Eve together again. Let me talk to them.”

“Go ahead, then. Let me know if I can help,” Bodey conceded.

The front door burst open, and Rusty’s son, Jesse, ran in holding up a string of dripping bass and catfish. He was followed by his grandfather Ted and Mona Niles loaded with more fresh-caught fish.

“Fish fry tonight?” asked Bodey hopefully.

“Grilled fish,” answered Rusty. “Renee is coming over. You and Eve are welcome, too.

“No, thanks,” said Bodey, a gleam in his eye. “I think I’ll stay home and make love to my pregnant wife.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Renee Beck double-checked her house again for any object that might be offensive to nuns. The semi-naked male paintings had gone along with Le Grand Pisseur to the little gallery Archie and Roger had opened. She’d told them to get whatever price they could for her art.

At Eve’s suggestion, she’d started a new series of children, not pretty, prissy little girls decked in Sunday dresses or clean, tidy boys scrubbed for their portraits, but scruffy kids having fun. The first was a self-portrait at age ten done from an old photo. She wore her hair in a messy auburn bob, all of her freckles showed, and her eyes shone wide and gray-green. A young Renee Niles leaned her head against that of her favorite horse, a little red mare named Ruby. The child that she had been, pre-Paris before Uncle Dewey, radiated happiness. She’d hung that painting close to her bedroom door as if it would ward off the bad dreams.

In the bedroom, the ceiling mirror had vanished. She’d discarded the tiger trappings, painted the room a deep green, and edged the ceiling with die-cut tropical leaves. The spread was scarlet and silky. Tall red and deep yellow vases from local potteries glowed against the dark walls. A small toy tiger peered out from behind an orange pot filled with lucky bamboo on the top of the dresser. A straw cowboy hat hung from the bedpost. The effect was something like the painter Rousseau’s idea of the Garden of Eden with the live plants still clustered by the windows overlooking the patio.