Black Ties and Lullabyes (14 page)

“Here’s the catalog I talked about,” her mother said.

Bernie took it and thanked her for it, then said good-bye and headed for the door. As she went through the living room, she glanced at Bil y, who was lounging on the sofa with his dirty feet on the coffee table.

Changing course, she strode over, jerked the remote out of his hand, and muted the sound.

Standing over him, she spoke in a low, harsh voice.

“Listen to me, Bil y. You’re going to behave yourself while you’re here. That means no smoking in the house, no dragging your friends over here, and no eating every morsel of food in the refrigerator. And you’re not borrowing any money this time. Do you understand?”

He gave her a smug smile. “Sure, Bernie. Whatever you say.” He reached for the remote, but she held it away from him.

“You behave yourself, or I swear to God—”

“What? What are you going to do? Beat me up?

You want to make your mother cry? That’l do it.” That smug look again. “After al , I grew up without a mother.”

“You little—”

Bil y snatched the remote back. “Man, what is it with pregnant women and al the bitchiness?” He pointed and clicked, and the sound came up again.

Just go. Go before you really do commit murder.

Bernie spun around and walked out the door, feeling as if a two-ton stone was pressing down on her until she couldn’t breathe. It was hard enough dealing with her mother’s condition and a job she hated and a freeloading cousin. What about when the babies came? What then?

And then there was Jeremy. The wild card in this whole thing. The man who seemed born to irritate her, to tease her with the idea that maybe he wanted some real involvement with the babies instead of just swooping in to drive her nuts. Somewhere in her life, sometime soon, she wanted to be sure of something, but right now she was sure of absolutely nothing.

She got into her car and closed the door behind her. She put her hand against her bel y and closed her eyes, imagining what her life was going to be like when she had to get up in the middle of the night to feed two babies. How tough it was going to be to find decent child care. How two babies had to be at least twice as hard to raise as one. She took a big, deep breath, tel ing herself everything was going to be fine.

Things would level out, and sooner or later she’d have things under control.

She reached down to put the key into the ignition, only to drop her hand to her lap again. Her throat tightened, and damned if she wasn’t on the verge of crying al over again.

Under control? Who was she kidding? She didn’t have anything under control. Where the babies were concerned, she hadn’t even made any plans yet. For a woman who’d always prided herself on her organizational skil s, she couldn’t seem to get any of her thoughts together. Last night she’d pul ed out some of the magazines and catalogs her mother had given her and started to make a list of the things she was going to need for the babies, but before long it al felt so overwhelming that she shoved it aside, turned o n
CSI Miami
, and pretended she wasn’t pregnant with twins.

No more pretending. It was time to face things head-on and get something concrete done. She needed some advice from somebody other than her mother, who persisted in talking about things like how darling baby girls looked in those stretchy headbands with bows on top.

She grabbed her phone, cal ed Teresa Ramsey, and asked if she could drop by for a little while.

Teresa seemed happy at the propect of having a chat, and Bernie was happy at the prospect of hanging out for a while with a woman who made motherhood seem effortless. How Teresa pul ed it off, Bernie didn’t know. But right about now, when she was picturing the motherhood experience as nothing but chaos, she was dying to find out.

Ten minutes later, she pul ed up in front of Bil and Teresa’s house. She knocked on the front door.

Waited a bit.

Nothing.

She knocked again. Stil nothing. She looked over her shoulder to be sure Teresa’s car real y was in the driveway, then started to knock one more time.

Suddenly the door swung open.

“Hey, Bernie,” Teresa said, a big smile lighting her face.

No. Wait. This wasn’t the Teresa she knew. This was Teresa’s slovenly twin sister, who wore a pair of tattered gym shorts and a faded blue T-shirt, and had her hair pul ed up into a pink scrunchy. She held a baby on her hip who was clad in nothing but a diaper with something questionable dribbling down his chin.

As quickly as Teresa answered the door, she turned and walked away. “Come on in and have a seat,” she cal ed back over her shoulder. “I’l be just a minute—crisis in the kitchen.”

Bernie stepped into the entry hal and closed the door behind her. “I hope you don’t mind that I dropped by. I just have a couple of questions about—” And then she turned and saw the living room.

As Teresa disappeared into the kitchen, Bernie stopped and stared, unable to believe what she was looking at. It was as if a tornado had swept through the room, scrambling a pile of toys into a haphazard mess. Sofa pil ows were in a heap on the floor. Two juice cups sat on the coffee table. Five-year-old Sarah was lying on her stomach in front of the TV, which was currently tuned to one of those very loud, very busy kids shows Bernie had always thought should be outlawed. Sarah turned to look up at her with wide blue eyes as if to say,
Who the hell are you?
Then she went back to watching the TV at a sound level in the supersonic range.

“Careful!” Teresa cal ed from the kitchen. “Don’t trip over anything!”

Bernie appreciated the warning. She stepped over a pile of blocks and bypassed a wooden puzzle before finding her way to the sofa. This couldn’t be Bil and Teresa’s house. It just
couldn’t.

“Bernie?” Teresa cal ed from the kitchen. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Coke?”

“No, thanks,” Bernie cal ed back, stil looking around in disbelief, wil ing her bugged-out eyebal s to relax back into her head. A few minutes later, Teresa came back into the room.

“Sarah!” she said. “Turn your show down.” Sarah grabbed the remote, which looked huge in her tiny hands, and hit the volume button, blessedly bringing the sound down into a range that didn’t burst eardrums. Teresa sat down next to Bernie and plopped the baby onto her lap.

“Sorry,” she said. “Soon as you knocked on the door, Matt here had a puke attack in the kitchen, so I had to do a little cleanup.” She sighed wistful y. “I am such a terrible mother.”

Bernie came to attention. “Terrible mother? Why?”

“Because good mothers aren’t supposed to gag at spit-up. They’re supposed to smile at their little angel like he didn’t just barf. I gag every time. I swear this one’s a spit-up machine.” She turned to the baby.

“Hey, kiddo. Keep it down next time, wil you?” She set the toddler on the floor. He took a few wobbly steps before fal ing to the carpet and crawling up next to his sister, who was stil glued to the TV.

“I guess kids watch a lot of TV, huh?” Bernie said.

“Yep. Some people say it rots their brains, but I don’t sweat it too much. I limit it as much as I can, but sometimes it’s a godsend. Ninety-five percent of mothers say they use it as a babysitter at least some of the time.” Teresa leaned in and whispered confidential y. “If you ask me, the other five percent are liars.”

Bernie was glad to hear that. Every time she imagined plunking her kids down in front of the TV

now and then, she also imagined being branded an unfit mother for the rest of eternity. One worry put to rest.

She had only about a thousand more.

Teresa turned and tucked her legs up beside her on the sofa. “Bil said you missed poker at Lucky’s this week. Everything going okay with your pregnancy?”

“Yeah. Fine. Actual y, I had a little news this week.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

Bernie was stil having trouble verbalizing it. “Turns out I’m having twins.”

Teresa gasped, and a big smile lit her face. “You’re kidding me.
Twins?
”

“Believe me,” Bernie said, “I wouldn’t joke about something like that.”

“That’s so exciting!” Teresa said, and then her smile faded. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes. Of course it is. It’s just that…” Bernie closed her eyes. “God, Teresa. I’d barely gotten used to the idea of one, and now I’m having two.”

“Yeah, I guess that would be a little bit of a shock.”

“You have no idea.” She sighed. “I guess it’s like poker, huh? I just play the hand I’m dealt?”

“Just be glad you drew a pair and not three of a kind. Now,
that
would be tough. Might as wel just tack on five more and have your own reality show.” Bernie shuddered at the very thought.

“Why do I feel like every other woman on earth was born for this, and I’m the odd woman out?” she asked.

Teresa laughed. “Come on, Bernie. Ninety-five percent of women feel that way with their first baby.”

“And the other five percent are liars?” Teresa smiled. “Now you’re getting it.”

“I don’t even know what to buy for a baby. I’ve gone through catalogs, looked online, poked around in a few stores—”

“Wait a minute,” Teresa said, holding up her palm.

“Don’t get caught up in al that. There are only a few things you real y need.”

“Like what?”

“Disposable diapers,” Teresa said, counting the items out on her fingers. “Formula if you’re not breastfeeding. Enough clothes that you don’t have to do laundry every five minutes. Someplace for the babies to sleep. A couple of car seats.” She thought for a moment. “And a diaper bag. Oh! And a strol er.

One of those double ones, I guess, since you’re having twins.”

Bernie blinked. “That’s it?”

“Pretty much. Wel —except for the musical potty that plays ‘It’s a Smal World’ to reward your kid every time he pees.”

Bernie drew back. “They make those?”

“Yep. Can you believe it? But you can also just stick your kids on the john and tel them to go. If they do, give them an M&M. Works like a charm. Musical potty chair, forty bucks. Sack of M&Ms, two ninety-nine.”

“Aren’t you setting them up to have to have an M&M

every time they pee?”

“Nah. And even if you are, which would you rather have? A kid who can’t pee unless he has a pocketful of M&Ms, or a kid who can’t pee unless he hears ‘It’s a Smal World’?”

Bernie smiled. “Excel ent point.”

“And with the M&Ms, you always have a stash of chocolate if you real y need it.”

The longer Teresa talked, the more Bernie felt worry being lifted from her shoulders. This was exactly what she needed. Practical advice from somebody who could assure her that the chal enge of motherhood wasn’t insurmountable.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Bernie said.

“Do what?”

“Every time we come here for poker, your house looks perfect.
You
look perfect.” Teresa laughed. “Thank God for poker nights, or I’d probably never clean house.”

“Oh, boy. So you’re tel ing me that once the babies are here, my apartment wil never be clean unless I’m hosting poker?”

“No. I’m just tel ing you that cleaning isn’t important.

No kid ever became a happy, healthy, wel -adjusted adult because he grew up in a house with a spotless kitchen floor.”

Yet another good point.

“Motherhood isn’t rocket science,” Teresa went on.

“Even with two kids at once. Can you hold a baby?

Change a diaper? Read to them? Stick Band-Aids on their boo-boos? Tel your daughter hel
no
, she can’t pierce her labia? Tel your son he’d damned wel better treat women right or else? Can you do that?” Bernie couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah. I can do that.” Then her smile faded. “The question is, can I do it al by myself?”

Teresa sat back, eyeing Bernie careful y. “Are you going to have to?”

Bernie sighed. “I’m not sure.”

“Does the father want to be involved?”

“He acts like he wants to be, but I’m not sure I can completely trust him.”

Teresa nodded. “Are you in love with him?” Bernie was thunderstruck by the question. “In
love
with him?” She shook her head wildly. “No! Of course not. ”

“Oh. Okay.”

“No, real y. What happened between us was a mistake. We hadn’t even been seeing each other. Not like that, anyway. And what happened between us is never going to happen again.”

“Okay. So there’s nothing between the two of you. It doesn’t mean he can’t stil be a good father.”

“If you knew who the father was, you might not be so quick to say that.”

Teresa paused. “Care to tel me?”

What was the point in keeping it quiet any longer?

The whole world was going to know soon enough, anyway. She might as wel just spit it out.

“Jeremy Bridges.”

For several seconds, Teresa just stared at her.

Then her eyelids fluttered. She tilted her head, her brows drawing together. “Jeremy Bridges? That gazil ionaire you used to work for?”

“Yes.”

“Wel , I’l be damned.” She shook her head a little, as if trying to make that sink in.

“I know it seems a little weird,” Bernie said.

“Believe me, I know. A man like him, a woman like me…”

“Why? Because he’s filthy rich and you’re not?”

“No,” Bernie said, feeling just a little bit pitiful.

“Because he’s dated some of the most gorgeous women on the planet, and guess which one he gets pregnant?”

“Hey!”

Bernie snapped to attention. “What?”

“Don’t you dare put yourself down like that. You’re one of the best women I know. I look
up
to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at everything you’ve done. You have a col ege degree. You were in the military. You’re a bodyguard. You’ve traveled al over the world. Have I done any of that? No. And in spite of the fact that he gives you a lot of shit, Bil ’s more scared of you than he is of Max.” She smiled. “I like that.” Teresa was kind to say al that, but the truth was that sometimes Bernie would trade every one of those accomplishments to be the kind of woman a man couldn’t take his eyes off.

“What I’m trying to say,” Teresa went on, “is that Jeremy Bridges would be lucky to get you, assuming you’d have him.”