Slow Moon Rising (28 page)

When I said nothing, Ross continued. “Do you know what that is?”

“Of course I know. What I want to know is, why?” I sat on my feet, which were wrapped in thick socks.

Ross folded the paper and dropped it to the floor beside him. “Kyle thinks we may be looking at a form of leukemia.”

I dropped my face into my hands and sobbed. “I knew it . . . I knew it was something bad.”

Ross leaned forward, pulled me into his arms. He shushed me, lovingly, as though I was the patient and he was perfectly fine.

“Will it hurt?” I whispered into the wet spot I'd made on his shirt.

“The procedure?”

I nodded.

“Not a bit. Maybe a little the next day, but I can handle it.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my face into the hollow where it met his shoulder. “I love you so much,” I said, hiccupping. “I couldn't bear—”

He shushed me again. “Don't jump ahead of this story, Anise.”

I pulled away. “Why are you waiting until next week? You should be doing this tomorrow, no?”

“You heard what I said to Kyle. I want to go to the boat parade. A couple of days either way isn't going to change anything.”

“And Kyle is okay with that?”

“If he weren't, I wouldn't be going.” He wiped the tears from my cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.

I sniffled several times. “Should we . . . should we call Jayme-Leigh?”

“I will.”

“What about Heather?”

“No. She'll make more out of it than necessary. And not Ami, either. She's got enough going on.”

I shook my head. “Sometimes, Ross, I can't handle all this grief life brings our way. I really can't. I think I'm strong. I act like I'm strong. But, the truth is, I'm not.”

He took my face in his hands and brought my lips to his for a light kiss. “You are stronger than you know. But this time, sweetheart, you don't have to be.”

My arms went around his shoulders and I snuggled into him again. Inhaled deeply and took in the scent of Irish Spring and his favorite cologne. “Ross,” I whispered.

“What, my love?”

“What do you think? Do you think you have leukemia?”
Because I trust your opinion on everything.

“As a doctor, I'm thinking yes.”

“And as my husband?”

“I'm praying no.”

Kimberly

Saturday morning came too soon, as did most of my days. Sometimes I wondered what I'd been thinking, getting pregnant at this stage of life. A woman's forties were for trying to keep up with teenagers, not 2:00 a.m. feedings and stinky diapers.

In spite of the challenge—and the occasional thought of what my daughter's teen years will be like—I wouldn't trade little Patsy for anything. To be honest, I didn't think I could love someone so little with this much passion ever again. Nor did I think I could be this happy. But Steven, my boys, Patsy, and my life in Cedar Key are my world.

I didn't think I could love again—not after Charlie had taken my heart, chewed it up, and spit it out. I was wrong. Moving to Cedar Key changed my heart. Steven changed my way of thinking. He broke down the walls I'd been living behind most of my life. He showed me how, as the oldest of four extraordinarily different daughters, I strove for excellence. Precision in every detail of life. Always doing my best.
Being better than I had to be. Steven taught me how to rely on God, trusting in his ways. Even when his ways meant a baby in my early forties. Not necessarily planned, but we'd not done anything to keep it from happening, either.

Cedar Key had taught me something else: how to relax. How to
live
my life. How to sit down, sit back, and watch it roll in and out like the tide. I now know how to enjoy sunrise and experience sunset in ways I'd forgotten.

Not that life is always easy here; it's not. We find pleasure, yes, but we work hard too. During the summer months, when the sun beats down, Steven is out in one of our tour boats, guiding vacationers and nature lovers. This past summer, with an increase in tourism, we added another boat and put my stepdaughter, Eliza, to work. When they weren't spending their half summer with their dad, Chase and Cody worked alongside Steven.

Chase took to the business quickly. I often found myself daydreaming about the day he would take over, or—at the very least—become a partner. His love for boating and the water was evident in nearly everything he did, including the Christmas boat parade preparations.

He and Rosa's son worked for weeks on decorating one of Steven's two pontoons. This morning, Rosa and I were meeting for a midmorning cup of coffee at Kona Joe's to discuss some particulars. Namely the two teenage girls who were planning to ride the boat with our sons. How could it be that I had a son old enough to date and a daughter still nursing?

I placed my feet on the cool wood of the bedroom floor. Steven was still sleeping, his lips parted, and a gentle snoring
emitted from them. His light brown hair was tousled on the pillowcase; he looked as much like a little boy as he did a man.

My heart performed a somersault.

I tiptoed into the bathroom, showered, and changed into my clothes. If Patsy stuck to her typical schedule, she'd be awake shortly. I went into the kitchen, turned on the coffeepot, and then walked into the nursery just as she stirred under a light blanket. “Hey, punkin,” I cooed as I walked to the crib.

Patsy made baby grunting noises, quivered as I picked her up, and snuggled into me after I laid her over my shoulder.

“Morning.” I heard Steven's voice behind me.

I turned. He stood in the doorway, wearing a pair of blue and white striped pajama bottoms and no shirt. His hair was still a mess and his eyes remained sleepy. “Good morning. You're just in time for her first feeding of the day.”

He grinned at me. “Then I'm right on time. Watching this is amazing.”

“Would you bring me a glass of ice water?” I asked my husband without looking at him. “I forgot again.”

Steven returned minutes later, a cup of coffee in one hand, a glass of ice water in the other. I reached for the glass, took a long swallow, and went back to giving our daughter the attention she deserved. Steven hovered over us for a moment before sitting on the carpeted floor, stretching his legs out front and leaning against the painted-white closet door. He slurped and swallowed a sip of coffee. “Whew . . . hot.”

“Isn't that the point?” I placed the glass on the floor before pulling Patsy from her happy place and shifting her to another.

“I guess so. What's on the agenda for you today?” He rubbed a hand over his early morning beard.

“I told you yesterday. I've got a coffee date with Rosa.”

“But you don't drink coffee while you're nursing.”

“I'll have some decaf tea.” I made a playful face at him.

“Where are you meeting?” He drew his legs up to sit crisscrossed.

“Kona Joe's.”

Steven nodded. Scratched what I figured to be an imaginary itch on his chest. “I have a ten o'clock tour. Are you taking the baby with you?”

“Absolutely.”

He took another sip of coffee. “What's this meeting about, anyway?”

When Steven and I reunited after more than twenty years apart, my childhood friend—the girl I'd loved like a sister—had been anything but pleased. I didn't get it then. I still don't. She and I managed to talk through some old issues, but our relationship, even after I married Steven and moved to Cedar Key, has remained strained. Friendly, but cautious. “She wants to talk about the boys taking the boat out tonight with Claire and Crystal.”

Steven chuckled.

“What's so funny?”

“I'm thinking about you and me at that age.” He tilted his head. “Remember?”

I felt flush. The memory of the way we'd felt for each other as teenagers was enough to make me run into my oldest son's bedroom, scream, “No way, no how!” and then bar the door. “Oh, Steven . . .”

He chuckled again. Took another sip of coffee.

“It's not funny.” I raised Patsy to my shoulder and patted her back.

“Don't worry, Mom,” he teased. “I'll talk to him.” He stood, stretched. “He's a good kid.”

“
You
were a good kid.” I didn't dare mention Brigitte and their untimely pregnancy, which resulted in Eliza.

“He's a better kid. How about that?”

I didn't feel the least little bit comforted. “You'll talk to him? What will you say?”

“Kim, it's not like he and I have never had this conversation before, but I'll remind him about treating a lady with respect, about God's ultimate will for us when it comes to our bodies.”

Patsy burped. Steven beamed with pride.

Men . . .

“Let me ask you a question,” I said, standing. “Did your father have similar conversations with you?”

Steven's brow rose. “No.”

“Really?”

“Trust me. He's a good father and he was wonderful when I was growing up, but that is one conversation he and I
never
had. Not even when Brigitte and I got ourselves pregnant with Eliza.”

“That brings me not even a sliver of relief,” I said, now from the changing table.

“Your dad and Anise going to meet us here or at the dock?”

“Here.”

“All right.” He stepped toward the door. “Have fun with Rosa.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You girls play nice now, you hear?” With a final chuckle, he padded down the hall.

I was eager to see and speak with Rosa. I arrived ten minutes early, spoke to Edie and Joe, who oohed and aahhed over Patsy and talked about how much she'd grown. I ordered a cup of hot tea and some of Edie's quiche, then went into the dining room overlooking the bayou to wait for Rosa, who was ten minutes late. Sometimes, I do believe, she does this kind of thing on purpose. By now I had eaten the quiche and was on my second cup of tea.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” she said, leaning down to kiss my cheek. “I had a client call me at the last minute.”

Rosa owns Cedar Key's most successful real estate agency.

“Well, you certainly smell pretty,” I said.

She dropped dramatically into the chair opposite mine. Edie appeared in the doorway between the front room where patrons order and the dining area. “Rosa, the usual?”

“Yes. Thank you.” She looked at Patsy, who slept at my feet in her carrier. “Adorable. I cannot believe you have a baby.”

“Sometimes I can't either.”

“If I got pregnant right now, I'd . . . well, I don't know what I'd do.”

“You'd survive, just like I'm doing.”

Rosa waved her hand as though she were pushing the conversation to some other place. “It's Natori.”

“What is?”

“My perfume,” she said, looking at me as if I couldn't have possibly forgotten my statement.

“Oh,” I laughed. “Yes. I thought it smelled familiar.”

In my years as a wife, mother, and schoolteacher, I rarely wore anything beyond body spray. I
knew
Natori, of course. Heather often wore it. I, quite frankly, couldn't imagine spending that much money for something I'd wash off later.

But, for Rosa, it made sense. She was nothing short of exotic and elegant. Even now, on a Saturday in December, sitting in an island café overlooking the marshy bayou, she was dressed to the nines. Off-white straight-leg gabardine pants, a cashmere top the color of warm toast, and a lacy shawl she wore slung over her shoulders had my jeans and button-down Ralph Lauren shirt looking like they'd come from a secondhand store. As for scent, I wore Eau de Mother's Milk.

“I'm glad you asked that we get together, Rosa,” I said. “I think we—as the mothers—need to talk about, well, the rules for tonight.”

Joe sauntered in just then with Rosa's specialty coffee. “Just the way you like it, madam,” he teased.

She thanked him, and he talked for a moment about tonight's festivities and then rejoined Edie in the front. Other patrons had entered the café; two entered the dining room and sat at the first table they came to. The others had gone to the tables along the balcony overlooking the bayou.

“That's why I wanted to talk to you.” She swiveled the coffee stirrer in the cup a few times. “After all, remember when we were young? This is Mateo's first . . . date, if you want to call it that.”

“Chase's too.”

“My son is insisting that we—his father and I—not tag along. He says there will be enough adults in other boats, that the journey from one side of Dock Street to the other is not that far, and that we need to trust them.”

Camaraderie comes in strange packages. “I think I've heard those exact words from my son.”

“Remember us at that age?” she asked.

I didn't answer; I chose to take a sip of tea and glance down at Patsy again.

“Manny says he's going to have ‘the talk' with him.”

“Steven says the same thing. About Chase, I mean.”

“And Manny says they're good kids.”

“Ditto.”

“Then why am I so worried?” She chewed on her red-stained lip.

“I totally trust Steven's ability to communicate with Chase—Chase follows him like a shadow—but I think I'll have my father talk to him as well.”

Rosa's face went dark. At first I thought a cloud had covered the sun and had dimmed the natural light in the room. But when she took a shaky breath and sighed, the color on her face returned to normal. “I'm sure that will be good too.”

“Why the . . . is something wrong?”

“No, why?”

Patsy stirred in her carrier. Fussy cries and a few chubby leg kicks indicated she was awake and ready to be picked up. Half of me wondered if Rosa had kicked the carrier to keep from answering my question.

I scooped my daughter up and to my shoulder. I dug into
the diaper bag hanging from the arm of my chair until I found a bottle of water. I popped the cover off with my thumb and wiggled the nipple into Patsy's mouth. She took to it with the same vigor as she took to me.

“There we go,” I said. I looked up at Rosa, knowing I could argue with her about the expression I'd seen but deciding instead to get to the point of our sons. “So, what time did you tell Mateo to be home? Or, did you?”