Magnolia Wednesdays (33 page)

She hung up without waiting for an answer and laid her forehead against the steering wheel for a few long moments while she attempted to regain her composure. That last little tirade had been a mistake, she knew, but at the moment she was unable to regret it.

Her stomach rumbled and she realized how late it was. Still reliving the whole conversation with Matt Glazer, she drove home quickly. The sight of a rental car in Melanie’s driveway took her by surprise.

Instead of pressing the garage door opener, Vivien pulled up beside the rental car so that she could peer inside. When she saw who was there, she parked and raced, or rather waddled quickly, around to the driver’s side of the rental car and waited for Marty Phelps to get out.

She stopped short as she registered the serious expression on her former cameraman’s long, hawk-nosed face; the blood made a loud whooshing noise in her brain. The military sent a formal bearer of bad news; did the network send a cameraman?

“Tell me nothing’s happened to Stone,” she said as he stood to face her. Her voice was thick with fear.

“Nothing’s happened to Stone,” he said. “Nothing he can’t deal with anyway.”

“Oh, God!” Vivien said. “You gave me such a scare.” She was so relieved that she threw herself into his arms, stomach first. The expression on his face turned from serious to shocked as her bulging belly cannoned into him.

His gaze dropped to her midsection. “You’re pregnant.” It was a statement, but one he was clearly just trying out.

“Never could pull anything over on you,” she said, stepping back. Her stomach filled the space between them and then some.

“So this is what you’ve been doing down here,” he finally said. “Reproducing.” As if she were an amoeba or some other single-celled organism that had achieved this all by herself.

Not sure what to say, she led him to the SUV and popped open the back. “Here, help me with the groceries,” she said as she walked around and leaned into the front seat to open the garage door. “Melanie and the kids won’t be home until later. I’ll explain while I cook dinner.”

He took the bulk of the bags, leaving her to close up the car and lead him into the house through the garage.

“You cook,” he said, sounding dazed. “You’re ready to spit out a kid and you make dinner. I feel like I’m in one of those early episodes of
The Twilight Zone
. Last thing I remember you were getting shot in the butt. Now you’re like a . . . Stepford wife. Have they made you register as a Republican yet?” The most important part seemed to sink in. “How did you get so pregnant?”

“I’m pretty sure it happened in the usual way,” she said as she poured him a Coke and a glass of juice for herself and got him settled at the counter.

He blushed and his Adam’s apple, always Marty’s most reliable barometer, bobbed in his throat as she unpacked and put away the groceries. The hamburger got mixed with egg and bread crumbs and barbecue sauce like Melanie had taught her and formed into hamburger patties.

“Whose is it?”

She looked up at him, surprised. “Well, it’s Stone’s. Of course.”

He remained silent for a long moment. “Then how come Stone doesn’t know about it?” he asked. Vivi looked away, unable to meet the accusation in his eyes.

“The guy’s been going crazy trying to figure out what’s going on with you. Then he loses one of his oldest friends to those crazy terrorist assholes. The last time he talked to you, you were in tears, which is not at all like you. Don’t you think you might have mentioned that you were having his baby?”

All of the reasons she’d come up with for not telling Stone felt like so much BS when seen from Marty’s perspective. “It’s not like I wasn’t ever going to tell him,” she said and was embarrassed by her apologetic tone. “At first I just didn’t want to make him feel obligated. And then I didn’t want to worry or distract him. And then. . . .oh, hell, Marty. I finally figured I’d just tell him when the time felt right.”

“When?” he asked. “When the kid was heading off for college? When Stone got back and asked you, ‘What’s new?’ ”

His last comment hit a little bit too close to the truth for Vivi. She felt her jaw set and her chin go up. Unfortunately, it was quivering.

“Awww, man,” Marty groaned. “Please tell me you’re not going to cry.”

She shook her head emphatically from side to side in an attempt to reassure him. But that just forced the first hot, salty teardrops out of the corners of her eyes. They stared at each other in horror as a whole slew of them slid in a torrent down her cheeks. Just like Angela, she thought. Here she was boohooing because she couldn’t tell the man she loved the truth.

Later, after dinner with Melanie and the kids, Vivien walked Marty to the door. They hesitated in the foyer; the most important part of their conversation, at least from Vivi’s point of view, had not yet taken place.

“You can’t tell Stone about the baby.” Vivien looked straight into Marty’s eyes, wanting him to not just hear, but see, how important this was to her.

“Viv, the guy’s worried sick. He practically begged me to come here. I can’t just . . .”

“Yes,” she said. “You can.”

Marty slumped against the front door, not yet ready to admit defeat.

“Marty,” she said. “Telling him now would only worry him more. It would not be a kindness, just a complication.”

“But he deserves to know. He . . .”

“He does,” she agreed solemnly. “And I promise you he will. Just not now. Let him get through the rest of this assignment and back in one piece and I’ll introduce him to his child the minute he steps off the plane.”

“But what if something happens to him? What if . . .” He began, voicing all those fears that whispered in her ear during the night.

“Nothing’s going to happen to him.” She held on relentlessly to Marty’s gaze, willing him to accept what she was saying even as she prayed that this was the truth and not just wishful thinking. “Not to Stone.”

Marty was an uncomplicated guy, straightforward and honorable; she had always admired and loved this about him. He’d been a good friend to both of them. But she knew Stone in ways Marty didn’t. The cameraman moved away from the door and straightened to his full height, ready to end this conversation and the dilemma it presented.

“I know you just want to do what you think is right,” Vivi said as she reached out and laid a hand on Marty’s arm. “I haven’t necessarily handled this in the best way. But I will handle it. I will make things right with Stone.” Again, she prayed that she could do this.

“But the bottom line is this is not your truth to tell, Marty.” She swallowed and dropped her hand. “I don’t give you permission to tell Stone. I’m counting on you to keep this to yourself.”

“But what am I supposed to tell him?”

“Just tell him that you saw me like he asked you to and that I’m fine.” She swallowed again, intent on holding back the tears that threatened yet again. “And tell him that I love him and I can’t wait to see him.”

Finally he nodded in agreement. Careful of her stomach, he hugged her good-bye. But as she stood in the doorway watching him back down the drive, she felt anything but victorious.

33

A
NGELA BECAME AWARE of her breathing at the Magnolia Ballroom seventeen days before the wedding. She’d felt okay during belly dance even though most of the class seemed more interested in the details of the wedding than working on the shoulder thrust and bust shimmy that Naranya wanted them to master. Ruth, Melanie, and Vivi, who had slowed down considerably and did little more than wave her arms around, watched her carefully but didn’t press for details after she told them she hadn’t ‘confessed’ to James and wasn’t sure she was going to.

It was only when the rest of the class left and James and both sets of parents arrived for a private family lesson that Angela began to feel an odd tightness in her chest. She was standing between James and Cole while Melanie thanked them profusely for including Trip in both the Hawks game and the more recent expedition to Turner Field for a tour of the clubhouse when her breathing became noticeable and no longer simply automatic.

The lesson itself went well. Cole and Cassie Wesley were athletic and agile and picked up the steps Melanie showed them with no difficulty. Angela’s parents, John and Emily, were so excited to just be there with the wedding so close that they could have floated on air if Melanie had directed them to. Even she and James moved smoothly together. But each time she stepped into James’s arms or felt his gaze settle on her, the breathing thing became more pronounced. By the end of the lesson she was completely aware of each breath she drew in and each one she let out.

The day of her final wedding dress fitting, Angela stood on a small dais in the center of the wedding salon’s elegantly appointed fitting room, counting out her breaths. In and out was ‘one.’ The next set made ‘two.’

Her attendants had already tried on and lined up in their black-and-cream strapless gowns, then been led by Susan, her matron of honor, to wait for Angela and Emily and Cassie at a nearby restaurant where they were throwing a final bridal shower.

Her mother and James’s sat in matching white brocade slipper chairs in places of honor on either side of her. All three of them stared into the mirror at Angela’s reflection. The gown was glorious. It was just so . . . fitted. And, of course, it bared her arms and shoulders, hugged her breasts, nipped in at her waist, and molded to the flare of her hips before dropping to the ground in gentle swirling folds. She’d loved the dress the moment she’d seen it and had agreed wholeheartedly with her mother and Susan when they’d taken one look at her in it and proclaimed it “the one.” But now all she could see was a dress that left no room for one extra ounce; a shimmer of clinging satin that provided no camouflage behind which Fangie could hide. A lie of a dress in which Angela did not belong.

She stood with her shoulders arched slightly backward and her body angled a bit to the side, just as she had for her wedding portrait so that the dress would hang perfectly and the train could be arranged around her satinslippered feet. The saleswoman had decided it needed to be taken in a bit more and after pinning the back had left to get someone from the alterations department. Fangie had had a good laugh over that.

“It’s perfect,” Emily said as she dabbed at the corner of one eye with a handkerchief she’d taken to carrying with her. “With the adjustment it fits you like a glove.”

“You look beautiful,” Cassie agreed. “James is just going to go crazy over you in it.”

Angela breathed in and then out. When she lost count, as she sometimes did, she simply started over. The mothers’ faces in the mirror were sharp with excitement, their eyes glowed with anticipation. Angela’s face reflected neither of these things. Fear and indecision clouded her eyes, turning them a murky green. She acknowledged the beauty of the dress, but she no longer felt beautiful in it. She could see her chest rising and falling with each breath.
One. Two
.

She knew she should be ecstatic. The big day was almost here; soon her real life with James would begin. The last of her dreams was about to come true.

Angela breathed in and breathed out.
One,
she thought.
Two
.

“Are you all right?” her mother asked. “You have such a strange look on your face.”

Angela drew in a ragged breath and then another. She counted up to twenty, but she just couldn’t seem to get enough air.

“You sound like you’re having trouble breathing,” Cassie said.

Both mothers got up from their chairs and moved toward her. She felt suddenly surrounded, though she didn’t understand how two people could create such a crowd.

“Is your dress too tight?” Emily grasped the zipper, but the pins blocked its track and she couldn’t work them out of the fabric.

“Do you want me to call the sales attendant?”

“Yes, could you do that?” Angela asked, still trying to draw in air as Cassie rushed out of the fitting room to look for help, leaving Emily wringing her hands. She drew in another ragged breath and another one after that.

Angela’s reflection wavered before her eyes as something heavy settled over her chest and an invisible fist grabbed hold of her airways and squeezed them shut. Her last thought was that she didn’t know why breathing had become so complicated, but she was fairly certain it didn’t have anything at all to do with the beautiful dress.

ON A BEAUTIFUL evening in early April, Vivien drove Shelby’s Toyota to Pemberton to pick up her niece from her two-night-a-week SAT prep class. With the window down to enjoy the spring air, she sat in the car-pool lane, contemplating the stunning display of deep pink and white azalea bushes that bracketed the school’s front entrance as other parents arrived and departed. It was after nine P.M. and yet the school building, as well as the gym, the track, and the athletic fields that surrounded it, still pulsed with activity.

Soon, very soon, she would be giving birth. For the past few days Vivien had been trying to come to terms with this one incomprehensible fact. At her last appointment, Dr. Gilbert had smiled and told her that “all systems were go.” The baby was in position (sort of like a missile) and soon would be ready to launch itself through the birth canal and into the world. His words had struck fear in her heart and a fire under her feet as she’d rallied her flagging energy to pack a bag for the hospital (gulp), buy a package of newborn diapers (major gulp), and set up Melanie’s baby bassinet in her bedroom complete with sheets and bumpers and a clown mobile that had belonged to Trip (not enough saliva left for the size of the gulp required). From
Legalzoom.com she’d downloaded and filled out the proper legal documents to acknowledge Stone as her baby’s father and willing all her assets to him and their baby in the event anything happened to her in delivery. “If Stone is ever unable to care for our child,” she’d said to Melanie afterward, “you’re it, you understand?” And Melanie had told her not to be silly; nothing was going to happen to her or Stone, but she’d promised just the same.

Vivien shifted in the driver’s seat, unable to get comfortable, not that she actually remembered what comfortable felt like. Her stomach pressed against the steering wheel, as always in the way. Her joints ached and everything that could swell, had. She was exhausted all the time and could hardly wait to get into bed at night, but once she was there she couldn’t sleep. In so many ways she could barely wait not to be pregnant anymore, and in others—not so much.

Shelby came out of the building well after the stream of students Vivi’d recognized from the prep class and moved toward the car reluctantly, her shoulders drooping and her feet dragging. When she climbed into the passenger seat, she gave Vivien a small hello. The look in her eyes was an odd mixture of worry and belligerence; Vivi had seen this same look reflected in her own eyes more than once. It was not a harbinger of good things.

Still she had learned a few things about teenagers in her time here and so other than returning Shelby’s greeting, Vivien remained silent.

At the intersection of 120 and Johnson Ferry, Vivi slowed to a stop at the red light. Shelby sat perfectly still; no earbuds, no texting, her phone not in evidence—which were all great big red flags. As was the way she was clasping her hands.

Finally Shelby said, “I have a problem.”

“Oh?” Asked Vivi, hoping it might be something small: a forgotten textbook, a poor grade on an assignment, or one of the hundred other things that could go wrong in a teenaged girl’s day.

“I think I might be pregnant,” Shelby said.

There was the blare of a horn behind them as Vivi sat, unmoving, at the now-green light.

“It’s green,” Shelby said. “Drive.”

Vivien drove, but her attention was focused on Shelby’s face as she waited for the evil smile and the “just kidding.” But Shelby’s face was a study in misery.

There was another blare of horns, but fortunately they were not followed by the crunch of metal. Hands shaking, Vivien turned off the busy road and into a strip center where she pulled into a parking spot and put the car in park.

“What makes you think you’re pregnant?”

Shelby gave her a look and Vivien thought back to the drunken New Year’s Eve, the rumpled prom dress, the hickeys. As her own gorge rose, Vivien knew she should not have kept these things to herself. Telling Melanie might have upset Shelby, but maybe it would have prevented this moment.

“Tell me,” Vivien said.

“I haven’t had my period.” Shelby’s lip quivered. “I’m never this late.”

“How did this happen?” Vivien snapped.

“Are you kidding?” Shelby snapped back. “Yours wasn’t exactly a planned pregnancy, was it?”

Vivi closed her eyes and sighed.

“And don’t tell me how different this is because you’re old and I’m a teenager. I figured if anyone would understand, it would be you.”

“Is it that Ty business?” Vivi asked, though she knew that was the least of their problems. “I’m going to call that boy and his parents and . . .”

“Forget it,” Shelby said and the weariness in her eyes was far worse than any shouting or screaming. “He asked Debbie Stanton out. He hasn’t even looked at me since . . .”

“Oh, Shelby,” Vivien said. “I knew that guy wasn’t good enough to get within ten feet of you. Hand me your phone, I’m going to . . .”

“Vivi,” Shelby said. “Could we just find out for sure?” They looked at each other and then they looked up at the CVS sign in the corner of the strip center.

“I can’t go in there and buy a pregnancy test,” Shelby said and now her voice was whisper soft. “Even if I’m not, everybody will know.”

“Okay,” Vivi said, already fumbling for her purse on the floor of the backseat. “I’ll be right back.”

Vivi waddled into the store and followed the signs to the pharmacy. From a shelf of early pregnancy tests, she chose three different brands. With her thoughts on Shelby and hoping against hope that these kits would come up with a great big, “Relax, it’s a negative,” she carried them up to the cash register and set them on the counter.

The clerk had streaky blonde hair and a large oval face. Her body beneath the store smock was beefy and so were the hands she fisted on her ample hips. She considered the pregnancy tests in front of her and then took a long look at Vivi. “I think I can save you a little money here, honey,” she said, her gaze halting for a long moment on Vivi’s bulging stomach. “I might not be a doctor, but you’re pregnant.”

Vivien raised an eyebrow at the woman, just managing to hold back the “Ya think?” that sprang to her lips. “They’re, um, for a friend.”

“Right.” The woman was still staring at her stomach, but she went ahead and scanned the boxes. “A friend,” she repeated as she dropped them into a plastic bag. “Tell your . . . friend . . . good luck. And let her know that, uh, she can return any of these that aren’t opened.”

“Thanks.” Vivien took the bag without further comment. She could feel the woman watching her as she waddled away.

When they got back to the house, Melanie was still at the studio and Trip was holed up in his room. The final strains of “Dead and Gone” by T.I. snaked out into the hallway.

“Oh, God, I’m afraid to find out,” Shelby said as she followed Vivi to her room.

“Here,” Vivi said as she scanned the instructions, then handed a box to Shelby and directed her into the bathroom. “Ignorance is not bliss. Basically, you just pee on the stick and then wait for the color to tell you whether you’re pregnant or not.”