The Second Time Around Read online

  He was even more glum once they walked in. The room was already more than half filled with couples. Couples who looked as if they hadn’t even been born when he and Laurel had gotten married. He couldn’t have felt more uncomfortable than if he were actually living one of those nightmares where he walked into his office wearing just his underwear.

  “When did they lower the legal age to get married in this state?” he whispered to Laurel as she led the way in.

  Besides her regular two-ton purse, she was carrying a small knapsack with a bottle of water strapped to its side and the mandatory pillow that she’d brought from home. It looked as if she was on an African safari. And he’d been relegated to the post of one of her lowly bearers, trailing humbly after her.

  For two cents, if it wouldn’t mean stranding Laurel, he would have turned around and left.

  Less than two cents, he thought darkly, glancing at one couple who didn’t seem old enough to attend their senior prom.

  “They didn’t,” Laurel told him cheerfully. Staking out a spot off to one side of the room, she let her pillow drop to the floor and set down her knapsack beside it.

  “Sure looks that way to me,” Jason insisted gloomily. “Laurie, I’m warning you, the first person who gets up to offer me his seat, I’m out of here.”

  He was referring to the chairs arranged over on the opposite side. She imagined they were for when the exercises were over. She turned to her husband, hoping to get a few words of support from him. The very things he was complaining about were the things plaguing her. She felt like a fish out of water here. An old fish. He was supposed to make her not feel that way. But instead of being bolstered by him, she was busy trying to raise his self-esteem.

  She supposed, in an odd sort of way, trying to raise his spirits did keep her from dwelling on the fact that she was the oldest mother-to-be in the room, probably by a good ten years if not more.

  “Nobody’s going to offer you their seat, Jason,” she insisted through clenched teeth.

  “You owe me,” he told her.

  “Fine,” she retorted gamely, “you can have my fourth-born.”

  Because only a few of the couples were sitting on the floor, she left her pillow and backpack to mark her space and crossed to the table against the wall farthest from the door. There was literature about childbirth stacked on both ends of the table. The rest of the table was devoted to neatly arranged snacks and an army of small paper cups filled with what appeared to be orange juice.

  “Just like in Little League,” Jason commented, two steps behind her. “Seems kind of fitting.” He picked up a cup. “Wonder if I ever coached any of these people?”

  He’d been a T-ball coach for all three of their sons when they played. T-ball was typically played by six-year-olds. Laurel suppressed a sigh. “Age is only a number.”

  He used the paper cup to block his mouth and mask his words. “Some of these people look as if they just learned their numbers.”

  “You can’t tell that just by looking at them. You look ten years younger than you are. Maybe some of these people are ten years older than you think they are,” she pointed out.

  “That still makes them a hell of a lot younger than us,” he commented. Laurel rolled her eyes.

  “Class, would you all take your places, please? We’re about to start,” a cheerful young woman announced to the gathering. She had medium blond hair, a shade darker than Laurel’s, and she wore it pulled back in a ponytail. Her eyes were lively and she had the kind of mouth that was quick to smile.

  “They just sent in the cheerleader,” Jason whispered to her as they made their way back to the area where she’d left her pillow. “The first piece of entertainment for the evening is to watch the women lowering themselves to the floor,” he quipped affectionately as he held her hand and helped her sit down.

  Laurel shot him an exasperated look.

  The young woman conducting the class scanned the room to make sure that everyone was on the floor. Satisfied, she continued.

  “My name is April O’Brien. I’m a registered nurse and I’ve worked the maternity ward at Blair Memorial for five years now. I’ve taught these classes for two. When you and your spouse or significant other finally come crashing through our doors, ready to party—” she smiled at each couple individually “—chances are that I’ll be the nurse on call offering smelling salts to your not-so-better half.”

  She was tolerable, Jason decided. Her next words changed his mind.

  “I’d like to go around the room and have you each introduce yourselves.”

  “Okay, done. We’re out of here,” he muttered into Laurel’s ear. He made a move to get up. But she caught his hand, throwing her full weight behind it to hold him in place before he could get to his feet.

  “You walk out that door,” she told him as firmly as she could, given that she was whispering, “I get the house.”

  Jason was stunned. “Are you threatening me with a divorce?”

  “You betcha.”

  One look into her eyes told him that, for once, she wasn’t kidding, just desperate. With a sigh, he relented and sank back down the quarter of an inch he’d risen. “You really owe me now,” he told her as a couple close to them announced that they had met the night of their high school graduation party. Two years ago.

  “I’ll think of something,” Laurel promised.

  “It wasn’t so bad,” Laurel said two hours later.

  Class had let out and they walked to the parking structure where their car was housed. There was a cool evening breeze, a welcome event after the unseasonable heat of the day. September brought with it hot devil winds from the desert, commonly known as Santa Anas, but tonight, the winds had died down.

  “No,” Jason allowed grudgingly. In the name of husbandly chivalry, he was juggling both her pillow and her knapsack, and wondering how women managed to carry everything and still hold on to an assorted number of children, the way Laurel had when their band was young. “I suppose not.”

  All in all, it hadn’t been as bad as he’d anticipated. He’d found some common ground with a few of the fathers, talking about the upcoming series that was about to be played between the Angels and the Yankees. Baseball was a great equalizer. He’d actually found someone who knew as much about the game, and its history, as he did. It made the second hour pass a lot more easily.

  Reaching their car, he unlocked her side first. His door opened automatically.

  “And I do appreciate it,” Laurel told him. She covered her stomach with her hand, as if to protect it as she slowly lowered herself onto the passenger seat. “It really wouldn’t have been the same without you, Jason.”

  He inclined his head in mute acknowledgment, then glanced at her abdomen. “I guess I owed it to you, seeing as how you wouldn’t have to be here in the first place if it wasn’t for me.”

  Finally, she thought.

  Laurel allowed herself a smile before she struggled with the seat belt. To her surprise, Jason leaned over and adjusted the belt for her, then slipped the metal tongue into the slot. “I really felt awful for that one woman.”

  She referred to one woman attending class without a male partner. Instead, she’d brought another woman she’d introduced as her best friend.

  Jason started the car. “Maybe she was better off with this friend than with her husband.”

  Laurel shook her head. “Wanda’s not married.”

  “Just because she wasn’t wearing a ring doesn’t mean she’s not married.” He drove out of the structure. “Remember how swollen your fingers got when you were carrying Morgan?”

  “No ring,” she confirmed. When he looked at her quizzically just before heading onto the road, she said, “I talked to her during the break—while you were talking baseball strategy.”

  Leave it to Laurel to gravitate to the underdog, he thought. It was one of the reasons he loved her. “So, what’s Wanda’s story? They break up?”

  “No, they’re still together. His
name is Paul. Paul’s just squeamish.” She slanted a glance at him before continuing. “She told me she envied me, having my cute husband right there.”

  Jason raised an eyebrow. “Cute? She called me cute?”

  Laurel grinned. She knew he’d warm to that. “Yes, she did.”

  He nodded, thinking. “Hmm, maybe I can talk to her boyfriend for her, tell him how he’ll regret not being there years later.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “You volunteered me?” he asked incredulously.

  “No.” And then she added, “But that’s because I knew you’d volunteer yourself.”

  He wondered if he’d just been set up, then decided it didn’t really matter. That was some of the small stuff his father had once advised him not to sweat. Life was a lot bigger than that.

  Jason again noted Laurel’s profile and felt himself smiling. The older he got, the smarter his father seemed to get. He sincerely hoped that was a universal truth.

  CHAPTER 31

  Dr. Rachel Kilpatrick pushed her stool back, away from the end of the exam table and its metal stirrups. Rising, she pulled off her rubber gloves, stepped on the little lever that made the wastepaper-basket lid rise and tossed the gloves away. She smiled, as if pleased with the examination.

  “You can get up now.”

  Draped in a sheet of white paper embossed with blue flowers, her wide skirt hiked up past her hips, Laurel propped herself up on her elbows, not without effort.

  “Not easily,” Laurel muttered audibly, angling her way up into a better sitting position. She deliberately ignored the hand Dr. Kilpatrick offered her, afraid that she might prove to be too much for the diminutive doctor if she really allowed herself to rely on the woman’s strength to pull her the rest of the way up.

  The obstetrician made a few notes to herself in Laurel’s file, then closed it. Holding the folder to her chest, she leaned back against the counter and turned her attention to her patient. There was genuine compassion in her eyes.

  “So, how are you doing?”

  Upright now, dangling her feet over the side of the table, the paper sheet still tucked about her waist and parts lower, Laurel looked at her doctor, amused. “Isn’t that supposed to be your job, to tell me how I’m doing?”

  Dr. Kilpatrick played along, although they both knew what she was really asking. “Well, all your vitals are great. The baby is thriving and seems to be doing quite well. And you’ve gained less weight than I thought you would. I’m very proud of you, Laurel,” she said with feeling.

  Laurel looked down at the mound that seemed to her to actually be growing by the moment. “Then why do I feel like such a lead weight?”

  The doctor’s expression told her that she sympathized. Dr. Kilpatrick had had two pregnancies and knew firsthand all the highs and lows that were involved with that state. The woman smiled at her. “It’s in your head.”

  “No,” Laurel contradicted, “it’s not. It’s in my stomach.”

  Rather than argue the point, the doctor laughed and then changed the subject. She flipped open the file to a page near the front. “I hear you’ve signed up for the Lamaze classes.”

  She hadn’t mentioned anything to the doctor about taking the classes. She wanted to keep that under wraps until she received her certificate—just in case Jason suddenly decided to bail on her. She’d known the doctor forever, but that still wouldn’t change the embarrassment she’d feel if Jason decided to quit attending classes for some reason.

  “I see news travels fast,” she commented, trying to sound nonchalant.

  Putting the file down on the counter, the doctor shoved her hands into her deep pockets. “It’s a closed community and I like keeping track of my mothers-to-be.” She eyed Laurel carefully. “So, how are the classes going for you?”

  There was essentially nothing new to be gleaned. It was all coming back to her in vivid color, especially after the video they’d been forced to watch last week. “All right, I guess.”

  Dr. Kilpatrick remained leaning against the counter with her back. “And how’s your husband taking it?”

  Surprisingly well, she thought, especially in light of the way he’d been so adamantly against attending classes to begin with. “He’s adjusted,” Laurel told her. She fixed her skirt, allowing it to pool down over the paper sheet. “More than I thought he would. He’s found some buddies amid the expectant fathers.” She smiled fondly. “Baseball nuts, like him. Frankly, I think they’re all huddling together for mutual support. They’ve kind of made Jason the head father, because this is his fourth time around.” And that pleased her. Although he was the type that didn’t really want any limelight, she firmly believed everyone needed to be acknowledged once in a while. This was Jason’s once in a while.

  The doctor nodded, her blue eyes intent. “And you?”

  She took a deep breath before answering, as if to fortify herself. These days, she caught herself taking a great many deep breaths. The baby seemed to be sitting on everything that made life a little easier. “I just want this to be over with. I feel like I’ve been pregnant forever.” It wasn’t a new sentiment. A rueful smile slid over her lips. “I miss my feet. And I’m not too crazy about the way my belly button is turning out,” she concluded with feeling.

  The doctor laughed. “Well, according to the chart, it’s not all that far away now. Another two and a half months and you’ll be back on your way to regaining that figure I’ve always envied.”

  Much as she wanted to believe the woman, Laurel shook her head. “You’re just saying that to bolster my morale.”

  “No, I’m saying it because it’s true. A lot of women let themselves go after the second baby. You’ve had three and have gone back to your original, trim weight each and every time.”

  “That’s because I had the boys so close together. Chasing after them, I never had a chance to eat more than a bite at a time.”

  The doctor laughed. “Whatever works.” She straightened. “So, any questions?”

  Laurel wiggled a little farther to the edge of the table. Her toes almost touched the single step she’d used to get up on the table in the first place. “Yes, how do I keep my sanity?”

  “Ah, the secret of the ages,” Dr. Kilpatrick teased. “One day at a time, Laurel, one day at a time.” About to head out the door, the file under her arm, the doctor paused. “Are you still working?”

  Laurel nodded. The room was cold and she could feel her abdomen getting goose bumps. “Why, are you thinking of moving?” She thought for a second, reviewing the newer properties in her head. “I have a really nice ranch that’s fresh on the market.”

  “No,” the doctor said. “Simon and I like the house we’re in just fine. It took us years to break it in.” She looked at Laurel seriously. “I was just wondering if perhaps you’re not taking on too much right now.”

  “You just said I was fine.”

  “Your blood work is fine, but that doesn’t mean everything’s perfect.” She seemed to search Laurel’s face. “Are you letting yourself get enough rest? If you weren’t working—”

  “I’d be busy sitting around, watching my stomach grow and getting very neurotic about it,” Laurel said. And then she smiled. “Trust me, Doctor, I need to work.”

  Dr. Kilpatrick nodded. “Just a suggestion, Laurel, nothing written in stone. If you change your mind, or want to take a leave of absence early, all you have to do is ask. I’ll be happy to write you a note to give to your boss.”

  Just like in school, Laurel thought. It felt like only yesterday—and a hundred years ago at the same time.

  “I appreciate it, Doctor, but no, I really do need to work. I like working,” she added with a wide smile. “And, I’ve discovered that people tend to trust a pregnant Realtor.” She hadn’t been working during her other pregnancies, so this was something new for her. “They think I really do know what I’m talking about when it comes to schools in the area and how safe the neighborhood is.”

  “We
ll, don’t you?” Dr. Kilpatrick asked.

  “Sure,” Laurel replied. “But now I really look as if I do.”

  Dr. Kilpatrick laughed. One hand on the door, she began to turn the knob. “Okay, I’ll leave you to get dressed.”

  Laurel looked over to the panty hose peeking out from beneath her purse on the chair. Getting those on took her ten minutes all by themselves. However, going without hose was not an option. She was wearing a skirt today and she absolutely refused to go barelegged when she wore a dress or a skirt. It was something her mother had drummed into her head when she was growing up until she’d embraced it as her own mantra. But it certainly made getting dressed difficult these days.

  “No restrictions?” Laurel asked just before the doctor left the room. With Christopher, because she’d flirted with toxemia near the end of her pregnancy, there had been a whole host of dos and don’ts she had to contend with.

  Dr. Kilpatrick paused in the doorway, thinking. “Just one. Remember not to go hang gilding in the desert.”

  “I don’t think you really have to worry about that,” Laurel assured her.

  “Good.” Dr. Kilpatrick pointed the top of her pen at her as if to reinforce her words. “Okay, next appointment, two weeks from now,” she said, and walked out.

  They’d stepped up her visits, Laurel thought, easing herself off the table. She pushed the paper that had followed her down back onto the plastic top. From one every other month, to one a month and now one every two weeks. In her last month, she knew there would be visits scheduled for each week.

  Until D day.

  Laurel took her panty hose and planted herself in the chair. She began the taxing task of coaxing the nylon onto her toes and then up her legs.

  The baby was due just before New Year’s. She smiled to herself as she managed to get one leg on before turning to the other. Jason had liked that part. It gave him a new deduction to use on his tax form. Except this time, she promised herself, rising to her feet and pulling the panty hose up the rest of the way, he was going to do something novel, something he hadn’t done before. He was going to learn to enjoy diapering his new tax deduction.