Chapter 28
Goldie
I’m not sure how I feel as Davis holds my hand from the driver’s seat in the Explorer. Lily, who just turned one year old, is buckled into the back seat, babbling while the baby in my belly does somersaults. The desert no longer feels like home, and I wonder if it ever did as we travel the dusty roads beneath the high sun.
With the baby due soon, we’re taking a last-minute babymoon road trip so I can show Davis and Lily where I grew up and visit Aunt Lydia’s grave. Although we split the drive to Nevada into three days to give Lily a break from her car seat and to see the attractions along the way, we decided against hiring anyone to come with us since this isn’t so much a romantic vacation as it is a final goodbye.
As soon as we hit the state line between Arizona and Nevada, what’s been building strikes me—unease. I feel uneasy being so far from home. My real home among the pines, magnolias, and oaks. So far from the humidity, cicadas, open fields, and dark two-lane roads. From my mom and sister and the rest of our family and friends a thousand miles away.
After a short, much-needed nap at the hotel Davis booked, we change and head to the cemetery, passing abandoned buildings pockmarked by an assortment of adult video stores, strip clubs, and chain restaurants in this part of town. Davis helps me sit on my knees in the scraggly grass next to Aunt Lydia’s grave, holding Lily on my lap. I lay the bouquet of a half-dozen white calla lily stems beneath her plain gray headstone etched with her name and birth and death dates. I break a little seeing that, considering how colorful she was in life.
I never met Aunt Lydia’s husband, Barney, who took Aunt Lydia with him back to his home state of Nevada after he was medically discharged from the U.S. Army a year after joining the service. He passed before I was born, and the only thing that makes it bearable to leave her here is the fact that she’s resting next to him—the love of her life. It’s why she chose never to remarry or have kids. I understand her choice now, more than ever, after marrying Davis— my love of my life.
My chin quivers as tears slip down my cheeks. “Meet your great-great-aunt Lydia, Lily.” Lily claps and babbles out long sounds beneath the pink ball cap I keep placing back on her head to shield her sensitive skin from the harsh sun in the cloudless sky.
To Aunt Lydia, hoping she can hear me from wherever she is, I say, “You would have loved her so much. So so much. She takes after you, you know?” I laugh and wipe away my tears, glad I chose not to wear mascara. “She may not be able to speak yet, but I already know she’s going to be a talker, just like you,” I tease before choking out, “I miss you.”
Davis sits cross-legged on the ground and hauls us on his lap, holding us until my tears finally slow. He rubs my back and lifts his ball cap to kiss my temple. I’m sure his legs have fallen asleep beneath me, but he makes no sounds of complaint or urges me to get up until I’m ready.
I tip my head back after we finally stand and dust off the back of our jeans. “Aunt Lydia would have loved you, too…after giving you a blistering lecture about your high-handedness.”
Davis laughs softly. “With the way she loved and raised you as her own…I know I would have loved her, too.”
He takes Lily, walking her around the cemetery so I can have a few minutes alone with Aunt Lydia. I close my eyes and draw up my favorite, most treasured memories of her, determined to write them down when I get home so that I’ll never forget them in case I’m lucky enough to live as long as she did.
Lunch afterward at a small Vietnamese restaurant is a somber affair, but as the day progresses and I show Davis and Lily around town, I feel lighter, knowing that the past is precisely that—in the past. My whole future is ahead of me now, with Davis and our growing family at my side.
For dinner, we stop in at the Italian grill where I had last worked before leaving for Texas, and I introduce Davis to the few remaining servers I know. Teagan—a single mother, two years older than me, with three kids—touches my arm and tells me she’s happy I got out. Not that I got married or started a family, but got out . I don’t know her situation, but I have the overwhelming impulse to tell her to come with us. That we’ll find room, somehow, in the Explorer for her and her kids, but she’s drifted off before I get the first word out.
Davis passes me an unused napkin across the square tabletop near the wide front window with a view of several boarded-up shops, and I quickly jot down my phone number with a pen I pull from the diaper bag while Davis pays our bill. I spot Teagan heading toward the dim back hallway, and I hurry to catch up to her, careful as I swerve around the other half-empty tables.
Just before Teagan pushes inside the manager’s office, the white door scuffed and dirty around the flaky gold knob, I tap on her shoulder. “Here.” I stick out the napkin.
She looks down at it, combing back a few loose strands of straight black hair behind her ear, letting my hand hover between us. “What’s that?”
“My phone number.”
When she finally looks up, she gives me a faint smile on her round face that’s gone the next second. “It’s ok. You don’t have to pretend we’re friends just to be nice.”
I step closer, pick up her hand, and close her fist around the napkin. “But we can be if you want to.”
She sighs and drops her hand to push the napkin into the back pocket of her black work pants. “Are you planning on coming back again, friend?” she asks without sarcasm, more resigned than anything else.
“No…but if you find yourself in Texas…”
She snorts softly. “Like I can afford to travel to Texas.”
Another step closer. “If you want to get out , too, call me. I’m serious. Davis works for a trucking company that has truckers hauling all over the country. You say the word, and we’ll find someone passing through to get you and your kids out safely.”
Teagan’s lips part. “With three kids, that’s a big ask.”
I shake my head. “Not for us, it’s not.”
She shifts on her black non-slip sneakers, her brows dipped as if she’s seriously contemplating the offer. “What would I do for work once I get there?”
“I have an in at a popular diner and know for a fact I could get you a job there the minute you get to town.”
“And housing?”
I hadn’t thought about that, but I quickly tell her, “We have two spare bedrooms you and your kids can stay in until you get on your feet.” I know Davis will be the first to jump in to help. I know, too, without a shred of doubt, that our whole community will.
The office door swings open behind her, and Cherish, the new general manager who looks as tired as the rest of the staff, motions for Teagan to enter. Teagan turns halfway, then stops to say, “I’ll think about it.”
I nod and blow out a breath once she closes the door behind her, feeling better now that we’ve spoken instead of having held my tongue, thinking it’s not my place to butt into her life.
With my baby doing pole vaults on my bladder, I use the clay-tiled ladies’ room, the yellow fluorescent lighting flickering above. I exit with my head down, wiping at a spot of spaghetti sauce that had dripped onto my white maternity shirt—a poor wardrobe choice for dinner—with a wet paper towel.
“Marigold.”
I take an automatic step back, unprepared for running into Colton when this area isn’t his typical haunt. I say his name with nothing short of disgust as I stare up at the boy I thought I loved, his light brown hair floppy on top.
He’s dressed as always in a solid polo shirt, of which he has every color, and fitted khaki shorts, but the hems are all worn, the colors washed out. Not just his clothes, but him . And it’s no wonder after everything that went down with his mother, who I’m sure is no longer financially or otherwise able to support him.
I want to ask him what he’s doing here and if he’s still in college until I realize—I don’t care. Not about his schooling, how his mother’s trial has affected him, or anything else for that matter.
For several awkward seconds, neither of us says a word, each on edge. And then his blue eyes dip to my belly. “You’re pregnant.” Not a question.
“Yes.” The uneasy feeling on the drive here strengthens, and without another word, I sidestep him, quickening my pace until I’m at Davis’s side, Lily sitting on his lap. “Time to go,” I say in a low but urgent voice.
Davis immediately stands, searching the dining room behind me as I drop the wet paper towel on the table and stuff Lily’s giraffe teething toy and dirty bib with bits of spaghetti noodles stuck to the fabric into her diaper bag before swinging it onto my shoulder.
“Marigold.”
My name in Colton’s mouth is harsh, and I jump at the hand he lays on my lower back, not having heard him follow me out of the hall. I shudder and skirt away, my eyes flying to Davis’s face, his gaze hard as he stares down the man who dared to touch me without my permission.
“Who are you?” Davis asks after handing Lily to me. I never thought of Colton as short since he’s at least half a foot taller than me, but Davis’s impressive height and bulk make him appear small.
I tuck Lily on my hip and press her face into my shoulder, not caring that the streaks of leftover marinara on her chin will stain my shirt.
Colton looks at me as if he expects me to introduce them, and his frown deepens when I don’t. He sticks his hand out to Davis. “I’m Colton.”
Davis crosses his arms over his chest instead of shaking his hand. He raises his voice. “And how do you know my wife?”
I think Colton experiences the same shock I feel, his eyes swinging back and forth between Davis and me, again expecting me to step in for him. What a freaking child, looking for Mommy to step in and tell him what to do.
Davis inches forward, almost chest to chest with Colton, while I slink toward the front door, hoping Colton doesn’t notice. “I said, how do you know my wife?”
“I-I…”
Davis cocks his head. “You what? Speak up.”
Lily makes a noise of frustration, turning her head this way and that, and Colton’s attention cuts to her face. I swear I see his pupils dilate as he zeroes in on her, and his mouth drops open. “She’s my—”
I don’t know which she he is referring to, but either way, Davis doesn’t like it. Neither do I.
Davis cuts him off, jamming his finger into Colton’s chest. “She’s your nothing.”
Colton finally picks up on the underlying threat in Davis’s voice and backs up. We’re drawing plenty of attention, and the already hushed restaurant falls silent. It’s like that scene in Dallas all over again, and I start to sweat from more than just the high temperature.
“But—”
“She is my wife , and that little girl is my daughter .”
“No—”
“Yes,” Davis barks, making Colton jump in his ugly leather sandals. Colton backs up so fast that he knocks into an empty table. Davis follows, pinning Colton to the table through intimidation alone. His tone is menacing when he drops his voice and says, “And if you come near them again, I want you to think real hard about what happened to your piece of shit mother and what I did to the man who helped her.”
Colton swallows, the color draining from his face as he finally understands— he is nothing to us , and if he tries to pursue anything, he’ll meet an ugly end. “I won’t,” Colton whispers through bloodless lips, shifting his eyes as if he’s going to look to me for help again before thinking better of it.
Davis doesn’t back off, though, until Colton drops his eyes to the floor. Coward . Davis could never be so easily intimidated, especially where we—his family—are concerned.
Satisfied by Colton’s submission, Davis’s heavy bootsteps echo in the silent restaurant as he joins me, replacing Colton’s disgusting touch with his supportive one on my lower back, urging me out of the restaurant ahead of him.
If we were in the truck, I could slide into the middle of the bench seat and lean my head on Davis’s shoulder, but instead, we settle for tightly holding hands on the console until we get to our hotel, choosing the skip out on seeing the animated children’s movie we were going to watch after dinner.
Once inside our coffee and caramel-decorated suite, I put an unhappy Lily in her pink elephant-printed travel crib with a few toys and a cloth baby book, then start cramming our things back into our luggage. “I want to go home,” I tell Davis, collecting my toiletries from the bathroom vanity. “I’m sorry. I know we paid for two nights, but—”
Davis takes the toiletries from me, drops them on the bed, then turns me in his arms. He lays a long, sweet kiss on my lips. “Let’s go home.”
I sag against him. “Thank you.”
Davis takes over packing our luggage, and I change Lily into her jammies so she can sleep comfortably in her car seat. Within twenty minutes, Davis has everything stowed in the trunk of the Explorer, and we’re back on the road, having spent less than twenty-four hours in Nevada, shedding the emotions and stink of the day with each passing mile, my smile growing wider.
Davis
I tap my fingers on the steering wheel and press down on the gas pedal, nosing the needle past the speed limit. “You ok over there?” I ask for what has to be the tenth time within the past hour.
Goldie hums out a yes , her lips rolled and pinched together, trying to concentrate on the pale yellow and white striped crochet blanket she’s making for the new baby. It’s her third attempt at a blanket after mastering the art of crocheting a scarf.
I spin the A/C dial to the highest setting and direct the air vents toward her. She’s got that sweaty look about her, and she keeps puffing out her reddening cheeks with her heavy exhales that she thinks I haven’t noticed.
“Shit.” I ease off the gas when I spot a cruiser up ahead, muttering a prayer that we won’t get pulled over. When the cruiser is out of view, I push the gas again. But then there’s another one up ahead. “Goddamnit.” It’s like that throughout these little towns. Almost as soon as we hit seventy-five miles per hour, we have to drop to fifty-five and below as we pass through these one-stoplight towns, and my frustration grows.
Goldie lays her hand on my forearm. “Slow down.” A quick flick from the corner of my eyes shows Goldie leaning on the console to watch the speedometer. Her face twists in pain, but as soon as she looks up and sees me studying her expression, she relaxes.
“You ok?”
“Yup. Peachy,” she answers.
“Rule number four.” We do not lie to each other.
Goldie sets her jaw, then finally admits, “They’re just Braxton Hicks contractions.”
“That’s what you said last time,” I point out, a wave of relief rolling through me when we finally cross our county’s line. Home is less than an hour away.
“It’s too early. I have at least another two weeks to go.”
“You also said that last time.”
“Davis, I promise I’m fine.”
I grumble under my breath about lying and spankings and stubborn redheaded women . When she thinks I’m not looking, Goldie sticks out her tongue but immediately clenches her jaw as she sucks in a harsh breath. I tap my fingers faster on the wheel.
Goldie points out the passenger window. “You missed our exit.”
“Yup,” I say in a clipped tone, keeping to the left lane on the interstate instead of taking the smaller state highway that leads home. Tap, tap, tap.
“Where are we going?” she asks nervously.
“To the hospital.”
“Davis.”
“Goldie,” I deadpan.
“I said I’m fine.”
“And you’re straight lying through your teeth. You’re already up to three spankings. Keep it up and—”
Goldie grips the oh shit handle above her window and my forearm with her other hand, digging her fingernails into my skin, jerking her hips up from the seat.
“I fucking knew it,” I hiss. “How long have you been having contractions?”
Goldie groans and finally drops the charade. “Since breakfast.”
“Since…” My head swims. “That was seven hours ago! Has your water broken yet?”
“No—yes—I don’t know! At the rest stop—” Goldie grits her teeth through a contraction.
A tiny fraction of my panic eases when the massive road signs start advertising the hospital’s exit coming up soon, and I switch lanes to the right, speeding down the ramp. “Ten more minutes,” I tell Goldie.
“Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. Davis!” The alarm in her voice almost has me swerving off the road.
“What? What?!”
Goldie groans a long, low, primal sound and lifts her hips to shove her black leggings down. “Pull over!”
“Oh god, baby, hang on. We’re almost there.”
“Pull over now!” she screams. “I think the baby’s head is crowning.”
“I can’t!” I’m already midway through the intersection, turning left, and the hospital comes into view. “We’re almost there!”
Lily is wailing from the back seat, scared by her mother’s painful screech. I wrench the wheel to the right and pull into the hospital’s goddamn labyrinth of a parking lot, telling Goldie to breathe, baby , as I follow the signs for the emergency room.
Goldie holds her belly, curling forward. “Davis.” Her voice cracks.
I swerve around the idiot who pulls their car out of the lot ahead of me, cutting me off, and I blare my horn. “What, baby?” I slam on the brakes when a young woman in scrubs pushes an older man in a wheelchair across the lane. “Goddamnit!”
“Davis,” she grits between panting breaths, though I can hardly hear her through the blood pounding in my ears.
I pop the curb to swerve around the pair, two wheels on the sidewalk, the Explorer thumping when I get all four tires back on the lane. “What?” I slam to a stop at the emergency room doors, throw the gear in park, and look at Goldie.
Her arms and light blue maternity shirt are streaked with blood, and a tiny wail pierces through the whirling chaos in my mind. “A boy.” She cradles the wet, purplish-pink bundle with a tremulous smile on her exhausted, reddened face. “Our son has red hair, just like Lily.”
“Rowan Ronald Freeman,” I say with whispered awe, and I think I smile before I pass out.