Chapter 29
Tucker
Ava and I spent the next few weeks calling every organization that trained seizure dogs, getting on their waiting lists.
The dogs were expensive, some of them over twenty thousand dollars. But more critically, the wait times were around three years since the dogs took that long to train.
But Marcus got things done. He found a company that raised police dogs and identified a pup that had been through years of arduous training but failed the final test.
Then he searched until he found a woman who had retired after years of working with service dogs.
With a combination of bribery and emotional plea, she was willing to take the beautifully trained, but not quite K-9 level, three-year-old golden retriever and teach her how to recognize a seizure, help Ava safely to the ground or cushion her fall, and use a landline phone with oversized buttons to call for help.
The training took months to complete, but the new medicine kept the seizures away. Sonograms showed the baby was fine and healthy.
Ava continued to take photographs and go about her day. Vinnie stayed with her as much as possible, and Gram and Maya filled in the gaps.
Finally, after six months, we drove to Dallas to pick up our dog, named Rosie.
I reached across the seat to hold Ava’s hand. She rested the other one on her belly, showing plenty of bump.
“The phone is all programmed?” Ava asked. She’d been sleeping more than usual the last week and had left that task to me.
“Yes, exactly the way Glenda said. The biggest button is 911. The two smaller ones are my cell phone and your dad’s.”
She stared out the window. “We’ve been lucky so far.”
“We have. The new meds are working.”
But I knew what was on her mind. At least week’s neurology checkup, Dr. Simmons said the likelihood of a seizure during labor was low, but the most common trigger was the rapid breathing most women experience.
They discussed whether to aim for a C-section to avoid that scenario all together since the repercussions of a seizure were so intense for us.
But Ava had never had an epidural either or any surgery. It was all pretty damn scary.
“I’ve never had a dog before,” she said.
“Me neither. And we’re getting a super dog.”
She laughed. “We won’t have to worry about house training her, that’s for sure.”
I glanced over at Ava. She was a picture, her hair brighter and thicker from pregnancy, her face softer and rounder. I hadn’t thought she could be more beautiful, but she was.
We pulled up to the sprawling ranch where Glenda had retired. Cows milled around, mostly keeping to the shade in the August heat.
We’d be staying on site for the weekend so Glenda could work with us, training us how to handle Rosie and letting Rosie get to know Ava.
We bumped over a cattle guard and crunched down the gravel drive to the main house. Before we even killed the engine, a white-haired woman stepped out onto the porch, waving.
“She looks nice enough,” Ava said, shoving her door open with a push of her tennis shoe.
Glenda wore a long floral blouse over stretch pants. She had one pair of glasses on her face and a second pair perched on her head.
“Hello, hello!” she called. “You must be Tucker and Ava.” She drew Ava into a hug. “Bless you, child. I’m so glad to help.”
She took Ava’s arm. “Dad, you get the bags. We can’t leave Mom out in the heat.” She escorted her up the steps.
Huh. Nobody called us “Mom” and “Dad.” The words felt foreign, like they belonged to somebody else.
I opened the trunk and extracted the weekend suitcase. Dust swirled around me. The cows seemed too hot to moo. I slammed the lid and headed for the front door. This place was the epitome of Texas, that was for sure.
Glenda’s house was all rodeo, all the time. Cowhides were everywhere, draped over the back of the sofa, hanging on the wall, covering the floor. Longhorns, anchored into red velvet brackets, lined the spaces just below the ceiling.
“We’ve had our favorites over the years,” Glenda said, fingering the brown and white hide on the tan leather sofa. “This one was Buttercup. A real sweet gal.” She tapped her foot on the rug. “Millie was not quite so nice, but my youngest son, Cal, took a shine to her, so we keep her around.”
Ava’s eyebrows lifted. She hadn’t had a lifetime of exposure to ranch culture. She shifted her feet to avoid stepping on Millie.
“Why don’t you rest up in the guest cabin before we introduce you to Rosie?” Glenda waved to follow her through the living room, entering another large space with floor-to-ceiling shelves, multiple sofas, and a gigantic television.
“Wow,” Ava said. “This place is bigger than Dad’s.”
We continued on to a bright kitchen with a long counter lined with stools, two refrigerators, and four ovens.
“We often feed the crew,” Glenda said, waving at a woman rolling out dough on the counter. “We’ll have dinner here for you as well around six.”
“That’s very gracious of you,” I said, lifting the suitcase rather than rolling it across the spotless, perfectly shined floor.
Glenda led us out the back door. “Oh, no problem at all. Easiest money I’ve made in a long time. That dog was near perfect when she arrived.”
Outside was a wide, deep porch with cushioned swings, rocking chairs, and a chess set prepped and ready on a wood table.
A curving flagstone path branched off in multiple directions.
One went to a pool, sparkling blue in the sun.
Another shot out toward the first of several barns.
And the third went to a small rustic cabin of rough-hewn wood.
“This is charming,” Ava said, and I suppressed a laugh. Ava never called anything charming.
“My son and his wife stay here when they come to town.” Glenda glanced at Ava’s belly. “I keep on hoping for a grandbaby. Maybe one of these days.”
She tugged on the screen door, which creaked on its springs. Then she pushed the main door open. “Come on in.”
Ava entered first. I followed, wondering if we would be treated to more of Glenda’s favorite cows.
But this space was sunny and bright with a red sofa and cherry wood furniture. No taxidermy in sight.
“The main bedroom is off to the right,” Glenda told me. “There are cold drinks in the fridge, plus some fruit and cheese. Crackers in the pantry, some other snacks. Make yourself at home.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s coming on two. How about we meet on the back porch of the house at four?”
“That sounds good,” Ava said, the droop in her eyes telling me she really did need to lie down.
We took her rest seriously, always. She had hired a third shooter for weddings once she hit the six-month mark and only worked the ones she had booked herself.
Vinnie and the new girl, Charlotte, photographed the others.
By fall, she’d be phased out of almost all the weddings other than a few that had been booked a year out and had specifically asked for Ava.
Charlotte was also taking the lead in the family shoots. Ava wasn’t sure how close to her due date was safe to book or what her life would look like after the baby arrived.
Glenda paused at the door of the cabin. “Do you know what you’re having?” Her eyes glinted, like she was trying to savor this moment as if it were her own.
“A boy,” I told her. “We’re naming him Tad.”
“For Theodore?”
“No, just Tad. It’s an, uh, old family name.
” That was easier to say, we’d learned, than the real reason, which was that the second time Ava and I had ever seen each other, she’d forgotten my real name and called me Tad.
To save face, I’d been Tad to her for much of the hospital stay when we were in front of the nurses and social workers.
“That’s nice. See you in a couple of hours.” Glenda headed out into the sunshine.
Ava led the way to the bedroom. It was homey, with a big blocky quilt that matched the curtains. Ava kicked off her shoes as she walked, collapsing onto the surface like she’d worked all day.
“Why is simply riding in a car so exhausting?” She pulled a pillow under her head.
I lifted the suitcase onto a bench by the window. “It’s uncomfortable. You can’t move around.”
“Mmmm. Wake me at three.” She closed her eyes, then opened them again. “Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“I got a kick. I real one. Not one of those fluttery things.” She pressed her hand to her belly.
I hurried over. I’d had trouble feeling much of anything, even when Ava insisted the baby was kicking. He was too small, and there was too much space.
She grabbed my hand and shifted it near her belly button. “Right here.” She held it still. “Wait. Wait. Yes. There!”
A tiny thump pushed against my palm. My eyes instantly felt sharp with tears. “I felt it!”
“He’s going at it!” She looked at the bed. “Maybe this firmer mattress has pushed him to one side.”
I kept my hand in place as I knocked off my shoes and slid in behind her. Tad was kicking nonstop.
He’d been like a ghost to us at the beginning, only an idea based on the “Pregnant” on the test. He’d become a little more real at the first sonogram, when we could see the lima bean shape of him on a sonogram, one that became more baby-like at five months.
But this. This was his actual foot connecting with my hand. Him. His movement. His way of communicating.
“He’s coming, isn’t he?” Ava said. “He’s going to be here in October.”
“He is.”
“We should finish the nursery.”
We had a crib and a swing and were slowly accumulating clothes from the gifts Marcus and Tina brought to us with every visit. But we had a long way to go moving Ava’s office to one side of the room to use the other half as Tad’s space.
“We should,” I said.
“I won’t forget him, will I? How could I possibly do that?” Ava sniffed.
I moved my hand from Tad’s kicks and smoothed back her hair. “Some part of him will always be inside you. He will be the first thing you recognize again as yours.”
“I hope you’re right.” She pressed her back against my chest.
I held her tightly as she fell asleep.
We had this conversation all the time. It was something we both had to believe.