Yeah, sure. Like I’m going to watch you graduate, your boyfriend, with a peg leg in a pair of dorky running shoes. Get real, he thought. Then he turned off the phone and put it in his pocket.
Eight
Abby called Cameron at about three in the afternoon to say, “Don’t eat at Jack’s tonight—I’m cooking us a special dinner.”
“You got it. Can I bring anything home from the corner store?”
“Nope. I already shopped at the grocery in Fortuna. I’ve been shopping all day, buying little things for the babies. Just the essential newborn things in neutral colors until we find out the sex of the second baby. I can’t wait to show you everything.”
She was so happy, so excited, it left Cameron grinning like a schoolboy, hardly able to abide two more hours with nothing to do at the clinic. But he didn’t want to rush home and spoil Abby’s special dinner.
Still, Cameron left the clinic early and drove all the way to Grace Valley to buy her a bouquet of flowers. He made a mental note to tell Connie she might want to stock a few bouquets from time to time—he couldn’t be the only husband who wanted to surprise his wife with some flowers. Oh, that’s right! he thought with a laugh. I’m not a husband, she’s not a wife. They were just playing house. But they were playing it very well. The first thing they’d done after she moved her clothes into the closet at the cabin was drive over to Eureka and buy two cribs, a changing table and small chest of drawers. They spent some time looking at baby products online at Babies ’R’ Us so Abby could pick out what she liked and they could start a steady stream of purchasing right up to the births.
What had Abby said, that they’d probably be completely incompatible? Far from it. They moved through that tiny cabin so smoothly and with such ease, it was as if they’d lived together for years. In barely two weeks, they were becoming good friends, almost a couple. This was what he’d expected since the moment he met her, that they’d bond this way. And there was affection as well. They found plenty to talk about that had nothing to do with her pregnancy or the twins and had become comfortable enough in each other’s company for the casual touching of hands, arms, shoulders; there was even an occasional kiss on the brow or cheek. At first it was Cameron, giving her that avuncular peck, but soon it was Abby, also, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek.
The only thing that could make him happier would be if they could become a real family—husband, wife and kids. This was still in its infancy and Abby needed time. But she liked him, he knew she did. She couldn’t keep it secret. She liked him, depended on him, respected him. It was going in the right direction.
He walked into the cabin to see pots on the stove, the makings of a salad in progress scattered around the counter, and Abby’s feet hoisted up on the arm of the sofa. He leaned over the back of the sofa and looked down at her. “You all right?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Well, my ankles got bigger and bigger all day, and while I was making dinner my back started to kill me. Then I had a contraction! I felt it! It was big and long. So I stopped what I was doing and just laid down. And I’ve had a few more since.”
“Good call, getting off your feet,” he said. He tossed the flowers on the counter and went around to the front of the couch and sat on the trunk. “You probably overdid it today, got a little dehydrated—that can bring on the Braxton Hicks. You’re carrying a big load for a full day of shopping.”
“I feel like an elephant. And I could hardly stand up anymore.”
“How’s your back now?”
“It’s okay, lying down. But, Cameron, I have to make it at least six more weeks and I’m not sure I can expand any more without exploding.”
“You’d be surprised,” he said, opening his bag on the floor beside the sofa. “I’m going to take your blood pressure, just to see where you are, but I bet you were just on your feet too long today. You’re probably going to have to watch that. And roll onto your left side for me—try not to lie flat on your back like that. It distresses the babies sometimes.” He fit the digital cuff around her wrist and held her wrist across her heart for a more accurate reading. When it beeped, he looked at the little screen. “It’s just up a little. But your heart is racing. Calm down, everything is all right.”
She got tears in her eyes. “What if I go into labor too early? What if something goes wrong?”
“Okay, honey, listen. If you’re earlier than thirty-five weeks, we’ll airlift you to Redding to have a neonatal ICU available in case we need it, but there’s no indication that’s going to happen. You’re in perfect health, but you’re very pregnant and your body is going to let you know when you need more rest and relaxation. And you have to keep up the fluids. You should start lying down on your left side for twenty minutes or so every couple of hours to keep the swelling under control and give your body a chance to rejuvenate. That’s not going to be too hard to do.”
“It sounds dreadful,” she said. “Highly inconvenient.”
He lifted one dark brow. “How does complete bed rest sound? Because it’s not unusual for women carrying twins to be put to bed at the end to hang on and grow them a little more. You can avoid that for a long time by taking it easy while you can.”
Her eyes clouded over. “I think I want my mother.”
He brushed the hair back from her temple and over her ear. “You’re past traveling, Ab. But we can call your mother if you’d like, ask her if she can come. I could give her my bed and sleep at the clinic. Maybe a visit from your mother would help. Think about it—but remember, she’ll want to be here when the babies come. That’s not far away, Abby. Even if you go as far as Dr. Stone and Mel would like.”
“It’s just that…she always calms me down when I get all upset.”
“Well, I’d like to apply for that job—see if I have any talent in that department.”
“Oh! Cameron! There’s another one,” she said, her hand on her belly and her eyes wide as doughnuts.
He carefully lifted her top and put his hand, firm and warm, on her belly. “Doesn’t hurt at all, does it?”
“No. But it’s for real.”
“Braxton Hicks. Bet it doesn’t last thirty seconds. Having a lot of those can soften the cervix, which is probably why there are some OBs who think the more of those practice contractions you have, the smoother and quicker the labor will be, but I can’t recall if there’s any research to that effect. Ah.” He grinned. “Over in less than thirty seconds. It’s all right, honey. Nothing to worry about.”
“You’re sure?”
“I could check you, see if you’re dilated or effaced at all, but really, I don’t think it’s necessary. Not yet.”
“God, don’t do that. It’s so…intimate.”
He laughed at her. “Abby, we didn’t get this way sharing a glass.”
“I know, but— That was such a long time ago.”
“Thirty weeks,” he said. Then he smiled warmly. “Stay calm. I had some training in this.” He leaned over and gave her belly a kiss. “Sweet,” he murmured, pulling her top down.
She smiled a small smile. “Have you told your mother yet?”
“Not yet. I better do that, huh?”
“Probably. What will you tell her?”
“That’s the part I’m having some trouble with….”
“What if you were blatantly honest?”
He laughed. “The unvarnished truth would be—I met this knockout woman, had a wonderful but too short relationship with her, and found out later we’re expecting twins. So of course we’re having them. Together.” Then he added, “Congratulations, Gram.”
“And if she says, ‘Cameron Michaels, you get married at once, or else!’”
“I’m thirty-six, Abby. My mother can’t tell me what to do anymore. What we do is our business, not hers.”
“Right,” she said quietly. “You’d better tell her soon.”
“I have some good news for you,” he said, deftly changing the subject. “Your credit cards are paid off. You don’t owe anything more to your ex-husband. Brie is drafting a letter to him to explain you won’t be accepting any more alimony and want to consider the matter closed. You might want to talk to her about that so you understand exactly what she can do, what she can’t do. But it looks like it’s just about over.”
“That is good news. I can’t wait until all that’s behind me. Do you think there’s any chance I can still get into trouble for—you know—breaking my prenup with you?”
“I think that’s so unlikely. He has bigger fish to fry. But just so you don’t let that possibility get you all worked up, if there’s a problem, we’ll have Brie negotiate it down and pay it off, fifty dollars a month if we have to. Abby, even the worst case isn’t going to be a big deal. Let’s move on from that. It’s given us enough trouble.”
“I like that idea,” she said.
“Why don’t I finish the dinner you started,” he asked.
“You don’t mind?”
“What do you have going out there?” he asked, pointing his chin toward the kitchen.
“Chicken cacciatore.”
“Hmm. You couldn’t have been whipping up an omelet or hamburgers, huh?”
She laughed. “It’s almost done. Simmer what’s in the skillet, make the pasta, finish the salad.”
He stood up. “You must have been hungry when you started this meal. What about your heartburn?”
“Well, it’s chicken cacciatore without onions and peppers and only a small amount of garlic. It could be awful.”
He touched her nose. “Go get into something comfortable. Your flannel nightgown or some sweats. Grab your DVD player and some movies. We’ll eat on the sofa and put on a DVD.”
“Good idea,” she said. “Sorry about the dinner.”
He grinned. “Sorry about the backache and the—”
“Cankles,” she supplied.
“Cankles?”
“That’s when there’s no definition between your calves and ankles.” She held up a foot. “Cankles.” And she pushed herself up from the couch, falling back. He put out a hand to pull her up and she said, “Thank you.”
When the dinner was ready, Cam fixed a nice-looking tray and brought it to her. She took it and held it out in front of her for a moment. Her lap was gone; there was no place to put it. With a chuckle, he took it from her, placed it on the trunk and handed her the salad bowl. On instinct, she was soon balancing it on her big belly, making him laugh. “We should get some pictures one of these days,” he said.
“I don’t think I could bear it….”
“But later, when you’re in your old body, you’re going to wish you had some. Mel’s great with the digital camera. We’ll get her to shoot a few.” He lifted her tray and with it balanced on his knees, he cut up her chicken. “Just something to remember this by. We’re long past that craziness of wishing it wasn’t so, aren’t we? I mean,” he said, cutting and slicing, “I hope you are. I don’t think I felt that way for one second.”
“What are you doing there?” she asked.
“Abby, you can’t do this, sitting on the couch. I thought I’d make it easier.”
“I’m starting to feel like an invalid,” she said.
“Just concentrate on feeling like someone who deserves to be spoiled.” Finished, he put the plate back on her tray and went to fetch his own. “How’s the food taste? Did I do anything to screw it up?”
