Title: Double Stroller

Summary: Edward keeps beating himself up for feeling like a creepy-staler-dude watching the double stroller mom pushing her kids around every day. What is it going to take for him to get up the courage to talk to her?

Pairing: Edward/Bella

Rating: T

Word count: 4863

Double Stroller

The wind is hot, and I'm sticky and sweaty and need to go home and shower. I should be taking advantage of the fact that we're done early for the day, but I'm not. Instead I'm sitting in my truck and waiting for the mom with the double stroller to walk by. I do this every day of the week and even though I worry I'm becoming a little creepy, I can't seem to stop myself.

It's my favourite part of the day.

I first noticed this woman – double stroller mom - on the Monday we started working to replace the sidewalks in the older neighbourhood on the east end of town. She was walking at a quick pace on the opposite side of the street, pushing a double stroller with one child jumping up and down in it and what looked like a small baby. Behind her trailed a young girl, maybe five or six years old, who was trying to keep up. About 30 minutes later I saw her again, this time with only the two smaller children in the stroller. Later in the day she was walking by again, hunched over the double stroller with a look of determination on her face. An hour after that she was back, again with the young girl, but this time they were walking slower and she was chatting with the young girl as the girl twirled around and smiled.

Tuesday the scene repeats itself, and then again on Wednesday. I can almost set my clock by her. I suspected she lived at the far end of the street, where the construction crew I'm working on was ripping up old sidewalks and replacing them with new. It's an older neighbourhood and the sidewalks are in desperate need of repair. Not all of the corners had curb cuts and I would watch as this slight woman would hoist her double stroller up over the high curb, her muscles flexing on her forearms and biceps as she did so. For a woman who looks so fragile most of the time, her arms appear surprisingly strong. They would have to be if she is pushing that massive stroller around all day long.

It takes us about three weeks to do the first batch of sidewalks. This includes cutting the concrete, ripping out the old sidewalk and about two feet of everyone's lawn, and then rebuilding the base, pouring the concrete and all the other bits and bobs of building a new sidewalk. It's hard, sweaty work, but it pays well for a summer job and if I'm going to run my own crew someday, I need to start at the ground and work my way up. Ripping up and pouring concrete for sidewalks is about as literal an interpretation of 'ground-up' as one can get.

My curiosity was getting the better of me and causing me to be distracted at work. I started timing my breaks so I was sitting in my truck as she would walk by – that way I could get a closer look. At first I thought she might be a nanny since she looked so young, but as I sat and stared at her in my rearview mirror (in creepy stalker fashion, I will admit) as she walked by one day I heard the oldest girl call her Mommy so that took care of that theory.

XXXXXXX

"Hey Edweirdo, here comes your mom-crush."

"Shut the fuck up Emmett," I hiss under my breath while punching him in the shoulder. My cousin wasn't wrong, but I certainly didn't need her hearing him. We were finishing up screeding the sidewalk, so I couldn't take my break yet and was going to miss out on watching her and her children walk by.

"Good afternoon ma'am!" Emmett called while waving his giant arm back and forth like an idiot.

I want to bury my head in the ground right now, so I don't turn around until I hear giggling. A lot of giggling.

When I do turn around, I see that the mom and her girls have stopped. The little redhead who is usually bouncing in her seat is waving her arms in a pretty funny imitation of Emmett and the older girl is hiding behind her mom.

"I'm three!" Red says and starts climbing out of the stroller as she continues to talk at us. She looks like she is going to run across the street but a few words from her mom and she quickly turns back around and sits down. I can't hear what double stroller mom says but from the tone they were short and sharp and had a swift effect on the little bouncer.

Then the mom turns to us. This is the first time I've had the chance to make eye contact with her, and I feel my mouth go dry. She has these big brown eyes that, if I'm honest, look a little too big. She looks slightly haunted, or haggard, or maybe just tired. Anyway, she looks like she needs a hug and a whole lot of food. I notice that her shoulders are a little too sharp, poking out of her t-shirt. She is pale and kind of sweaty as though that stroller is a large boulder and she is Sisyphus.

But then she smiles at us and her whole look changes. It's a shy smile, not a huge face-breaking grin, but it's enough to make something inside me ache a little.

"Thank-you," she says, quietly but loud enough for us to hear on our side of the street. "I'm so grateful for the new sidewalks and I know I'm not the only person on this street who feels that way." Then she gives a shy little wave and starts pushing the stroller again. The older girl who was hiding behind her skirt gives us a small smile and a shy little wave too, and the action is so identical to her mom that the ache inside grows as I watch them walk away.

The guys and I stand there watching them walk away in silence until Emmett yells out, "Bye Red!" at the top of his voice and a little hand pops up over the top of the stroller and starts waving.

We laugh and then start talking about all the people we've had to deal with on the street who have been very ungrateful that we are ripping up their sidewalks and redoing them. It was nice to get a thank-you.

XXXXXXXX

Each block of sidewalk, from corner to corner, takes a couple weeks. Once the first set is done we cross the street and start on the next. Today is Saturday, but after a couple days of hard rain that prevented us from working we are making up for lost time. I'm a little bummed because I figure I won't be seeing the double stroller today, but just as I think that, I see it making it's way down the street. In fact, they are crossing the street towards us. The guys and I stand there with our rakes in our hands, all thoughts of raking through the gravel and dirt to build up the new sidewalk forgotten.

Red, of course, is the first one to say anything.

"Hi giant man!" She yells when she sees Emmett.

"Hiya Red," he says grinning like a fool. I can't say I blame him though, it's hard not to smile when you see her.

"We made cibbabin buns!" Sure enough, in her hands is a container that she is barely holding on to because she is vibrating with excitement.

"Hi," double stroller mom says quietly. "We made these as a thank-you."

I can tell she is nervous as she glances around at us. I like to think her eyes linger on me a little longer than anyone else, but that's probably wishful thinking.

"These ones," she points to the container Red is holding, "have raisins. And these ones," she pulls her little mini-me out from behind her, "don't because I know not everyone likes raisins."

"Who doesn't like raisins?" Emmett bellows and to my surprise stroller mom throws her head back and laughs and says "I know, right?" Then she looks embarrassed by her actions and tells us again that they are a thank you for replacing these old sidewalks. She looks like she wants to run away.

As she turns to go, leaning over and pushing her weight into the double stroller to make it turn, I realize I have been holding my breath the whole time.

"Wait!" I say.

Everyone turns and stares at me. I think even the baby is staring at me.

"Um, where do we return your containers?" Oh man, that was lame I think and inwardly beat myself up. I know Emmett is going to be ribbing me all afternoon.

"Oh," she says. "You can just leave them across the street on top of that electrical box," and she points to a grey box on the corner of a lawn. "We can pick them up on our way back from the playground."

"We going to have a pic-mick!" says Red. Well, she yells it. I think she only has one volume.

"Oh man, these are so good," says Emmett around a mouthful of cinnamon bun. "A picnic! I love picnics. Can I come?" He laughs and Red laughs and double stroller mom turns a little red but smiles and shakes her head as she makes her way across the street.

I watch as she leans in to use her weight to tilt the stroller back so she can get it up over the curb. I wonder how much weight she is pushing? Red looks like a solid kid and that baby must be close to a year old because it doesn't look exactly new. I watch as all the muscles contract and move as she hefts the back wheels over the curb and I fight the urge to run over and help her. Something tells me she wouldn't appreciate the help.

Emmett leans over and tells me to wipe the drool off my face. I punch him in the shoulder.

"So," he says. "Notice anything missing?"

I pretend I don't know what he is talking about, but I totally know, and I totally noticed.

Double stroller mom wasn't wearing a ring.

XXXXXXX

Weeks later, I'm on my hands and knees in a dugout that was once a sidewalk and what will soon be a sidewalk again, when I hear a soft sniffling sound. Looking up, I see two small bare feet. The toenails look like they're painted with sparkly pink dirt. As I slowly stand and raise my eyes, I notice nobbly knees just under the hem of a short pink nightgown with multi-color cupcakes printed all over it. I start chuckling at the cuteness of it all, but quickly stop when I see her face. It's double stroller mom's little mini-me. Her brown eyes look abnormally large in such a little face and for a moment she stares at me. Brushing the dirt off my hands, I look up at the house and then back at the girl. For a moment she looks as though she is going to be sick, but in a small, quiet voice she says "my mom," and "blood" in such a way that leaves me cold.

Running up the steps towards the house, I hear noise: a kettle screaming, a baby crying, and faintly, the sound of another child babbling. Opening the front door, the first thing I see are a whole lot of little girl shoes in a short hallway that leads to a kitchen. There, on the floor is a hand and a long slim arm disappearing behind a wall.

I slowly walk forward, afraid of what I'm going to find when I enter the kitchen. Behind me I hear mini-me closing the door. Turning into the kitchen, the scene slowly unfolds before me as more and more of double stroller mom's body is revealed. She lays on the ground, her face covered in a curtain of dark hair and a small pool of blood by the right side of her head. In a highchair nearby, the baby is screaming and banging a spoon on a tray. I simultaneously take my phone out of my pocket while I reach for the kettle to shut it off. As I dial 911, I turn around to see mini-me staring at me.

"I'm calling an ambulance," I tell her. "It'll all be okay," I say even though I really have no idea if it will or not. I truly hope I'm not lying.

"911 Operator, how may I assist you?"

"Hi, there has been an accident, a woman has been hurt and we are going to need an ambulance. She's unconscious."

"What is your location sir?"

Shit! Quickly I run outside to look at the house number and give the operator the address.

When I rush back into the kitchen the mini-me is sitting on the floor beside her mother holding her hand and rubbing her back.

"What is the woman's name sir?"

I crouch down beside the little girl just to be closer to her. "Can you tell me your mom's name?"

"Bella," her small voice cracks. "Bella Swan."

XXXXXXX

As we wait for the ambulance, I look around to assess the situation. The operator told me not to move the woman, so first thing: deal with the baby. I stand there awkwardly for a moment and stare at the baby as it screams. Mini-me lets go of her mother's hand and gets up off the floor, walks over to a drawer, and takes out a cloth. Pushing a chair up against the sink she gets up on it, turns on the water and waits, testing it with her finger until - I'm assuming - she deems it an appropriate temperature, and wets the cloth. She gets down and starts wiping up the baby's face and hands and then she cleans up the tray and puts the spoon in the sink. Taking off the tray she looks up at me. "I can't undo her buckle," she says. "Oh," I reply lamely and shake myself into action. Mini-me then picks up her baby sister (I assume, she's dressed in pink) and carries her into the living room, plops her on the carpet, and shoves a soother in her mouth and a stuffed rhinoceros in her hand. Then she comes back into the kitchen and sits down beside her mom.

"I'm sorry, Mom," she whispers. "I shouldn't have slept in this morning."

This poor kid. I need to call her something other than mini-me.

"Hey," I say to her. "What's your name?"

"Margaret but everyone calls me Maggie."

"Can I call you Maggie?"

She nods her head.

"This isn't your fault Maggie. I think maybe your mom tripped and hit her head on something." At least, that's what it looks like. It looks as though she was in the middle of feeding the baby and boiling water. I look around the kitchen, and while it is a mess, I notice that there are two kid-sized bowls of fruit on the table at two place settings. It looks like cut up kiwi and mango. A half eaten bowl of some sort of baby mush – banana? - is on the table near the high chair. This woman was obviously in the middle of something so this must have been a freak accident. It doesn't look like anyone attacked her.

The two bowls of fruit remind me that I know there is another child, the one that the guys and I call Red, that lives here – and that's when she makes herself know from somewhere in the house.

"I need my bum wiped!"

XXXXXXX

I learn that there are three little girls in this house. Maggie is six, Frances, or Franny, is three and the baby is 10-months old.

"Her name is Lillian," Maggie tells me. "But we call her Luna."

"Why do you call her Luna?" I ask.

"Because she was born on a full moon and it was beautiful just like her," she replies with such honest sincerity I can't help but smiling in spite of the horrific morning this kid is having.

The name conversation comes later, after I officially meet the red-headed 3-year old named Franny who is willing to let a strange man wipe her bum. After the ambulance comes and the paramedics cart away their mother leaving three little girls with a strange man.

Internally, I was panicking while the paramedics were here, but I was trying not to show it – that's what you're supposed to do with kids right? After Franny came out of the bathroom I didn't know how to keep her away from her mother, who lay there bleeding in the middle of the kitchen floor. Of course, the kitchen is tiny so it was hard to avoid. If you needed anything you had to step around her. I went to the living room and got a blanket off the couch to cover their mom – Bella – with because her house coat had ridden up and I knew that she was probably cold laying there on the lino with blood leaking out of her head. To be honest, it looked as though the blood had stopped but she was still unconscious. I would have liked to have pulled her into my arms to make her more comfortable and because she just looked like she needed to be held but the operator told me not to move her and that help was on the way.

So I tried to do my best to distract the girls. The three of us sat there on the floor, around the body. Maggie quietly stroking her mother's back. Franny crying and repeatedly asking her mom what was wrong and then asking me why she didn't answer. At one point Maggie snapped at Franny and told her to shut-up. Then Franny told her she wasn't allowed to say shut-up and I just kept out of it because really, I couldn't blame Maggie for being freaked out, and what's wrong with shut-up anyway?

"Is your Dad at work?" I asked the girls.

The look Maggie gave me made her seem years older than she was.

Franny volunteered more information: "Daddy's gone. Mommy asked him to leave."

"Franny, be quiet!" Maggie shushed her.

But Franny liked to talk. "He spanked Mommy when she didn't do anything wrong and then he hurt Maggie and Mommy said he wasn't allowed to live with us anymore."

Maggie gave me a look like she dared me to say anything, so I kept quiet on that subject.

"Do you have any grandparents or an aunt or uncle I could call?" I asked.

"We have no one." Maggie said. "We take care of each other." Her tone was final.

At that point, I couldn't resist moving Bella's hair out of her face just a little bit so I could see her. How could this woman be taking care of these three children all by herself every day? Did they really have no help at all? I knew someone was going to have to go to the hospital with her, and I wanted it to be me. I didn't want to leave her, but I couldn't leave these little girls. So I pulled out my phone and did the only thing I could think of.

"Mom? I need some help."

XXXXXXX

A couple minutes after I call my Mom the ambulance arrives. The guys are quick and efficient and ask me a whole lot of questions I can't answer because I'm just some dumb stranger off the street. I don't really want them to know that though. They ask if anyone can come in the ambulance with them, and I tell them I can't, but that as soon as my mom arrives to look after the girls, I will follow right behind.

Maggie looks as though she is debating throwing a fit because she can't go but I pull her aside.

"I'm going to be honest with you kid. They aren't going to let you go by yourself, and I think if you leave your sisters will be terrified with just me here. I'm a little afraid to be alone with Red myself," I whisper and give her a little smile.

She just stares at me and then, in spite of everything going on in her little world right now, gives me a little smile back. "Yeah," she says as she blows some of her long brown hair out of her face. "She can be pretty terrifying."

"My mom is an awesome mom. Probably just as great as your mom. When she comes I will go to the hospital so I can tell your mom that you girls are all okay because that is the first question she is going to ask when she wakes up. Then we can figure out what we are going to do, okay?"

Maggie nods.

Thirty minutes later my mom shows up. Maggie went and got a laptop from her mom's room and put a movie in for Franny to watch, so Franny was dancing around to some cartoon about two kids named Stella and Sam. Stella has red-hair like Franny and she keeps asking Maggie if she wants to be Fred, who I think is the dog. I can't really keep up.

"We aren't really allowed to watch TV during the week but it's probably okay, right?" Maggie asks me.

I don't know their mom, but I suspect the last thing she is going to be worried about when she wakes up, in a hospital, without her kids, is if they are watching TV or not.

"Yeah, I doubt she will mind," is all I say.

At some point a nasty smells starts to make itself known and the baby starts staring at me and making this weird grabby motion with both her hands. I had been reading her a book and I'm pretty sure all that grunting was signs that she was pooping but I was hoping that my Mom would hurry up. I already had to wipe one bum today.

"What is she doing?" I ask Maggie.

"That's the sign for diaper change," she replies as though this is common knowledge.

"There is a sign for diaper change?" I ask, but inside I'm thinking what kind of baby signs that she needs a diaper change?

"There is a sign for everything," Maggie says. "How do you think deaf people communicate?"

I don't know whether to laugh or cry at this kid. Her answer is so deadpan and she seems like she's 50 years old, not six. I do wonder though if I was just reading a story to a deaf baby so I ask Maggie if the baby is deaf.

Maggie just kind of glares at me but doesn't answer and since my mom hasn't arrived, I pick up the baby and ask Maggie to show me her room so we can get this over with.

The baby's room is also the mom's room. There is a double mattress on the floor in the corner of the room and a crib in another corner. Maggie gets out the diapers and a blanket and lays the blanket on the bed.

"We change her on the bed," she says and then she starts singing a song about the moon to Luna.

Changing a poopy diaper is even worse then wiping Red's bum, but I keep telling myself that at least I'm not in the hospital right now, unconscious and bleeding from the head.

As I'm walking back to the living room with Luna in my arms and Maggie close beside me, my Mom shows up.

"Oh Edward!" She says bringing me in for a half hug since I've got a baby in my arms. Mom has this look on her face when she sees me holding the baby and I know exactly what she is thinking, but I ignore it. Right now is not the time to discuss how much she wants grandkids.

She sees Maggie beside me and crouches down so they are on the same level. I notice she has a giant bag filled with toys and snacks with her. How the hell she had time to do all that I have no idea. She's probably been stock-piling things in the hopes of being a grandmother some day.

"Hi, I'm Edward's mom. You can call me Esme. What's your name?"

And with that, my Mom has officially taken over.

XXXXXXX

A little while later I'm sitting in the hospital room and double stroller mom is still unconscious. My Mom went through her things and packed a bag for her (I never would have thought to do that) and even found her wallet. I lied to the nurses and told them I was family, that we were cousins. I almost told them that I was her husband but then I told myself to shut the hell up.

Bella (I need to start calling her that, it's much easier to say) lays there pale and still. She's breathing but that's the only movement and it's kind of creepy. In her hospital gown, under the white, flannel sheet I can see just how thin she is and I can't help but wonder what her life is like. She lives in a tiny house with three young daughters, and according to Maggie, no help. According to Red, she asked their Dad to leave after an unwarranted spanking, but who knows what the hell that really means when it isn't filtered through the mind of a three-year old.

The nurse told me to talk to her and even though it feels kind of foolish, I do it because I want her to know her kids are okay in case is freaking out inside.

"Hey, double stroller mom." Ugh. This is hard.

"So, you don't really know me, but I'm one of the guys who works on the construction crew building the new sidewalks on your street."

For something to do, I take her hand.

"I guess you had an accident this morning and now you are in the hospital and my mom is looking after your girls. Don't worry. My mom is pretty much the best mom ever, so your girls will be safe although they would really like you to wake up. Your little mini-me, Maggie, is quite the amazing kid. I think she put me in my place about five times this morning. I can tell you're also one of the best moms ever."

I don't really know what else to say but I like holding her hand. It's tiny and cold and so I feel like I'm doing something productive by holding it and warming it up.

"Emmett, that's my cousin, the one Franny calls Giant Man, is still talking about your cinnamon buns. His wife isn't the best cook, and now he whines like a dog every time he sees you and your girls walking by. He's always hoping you're going to bring him more food. Of course, he's always hoping anyone will bring him food. I bet he would sit on the floor by your table and beg for scraps if given the chance."

"My name is Edward. I was working in front of your house this morning, which is where your daughter found me. I'm so glad she did."

I feel like I should talk more, but I don't really know what to say. There are things I want to say, like how I watch her every time she walks by pushing that double stroller. How I am in awe of her strength to raise three little girls on her own, and ask their dad to leave even though I don't know the whole story. I can tell she is strong even if she looks like a frail bird lying under the hospital sheet. I want to tell her that sometimes I've dreamed about being invited to the playground with her and her girls or taking her out on a date. I don't want to tell her about another dream I had about her because I already feel like a creepy-stalker-dude and I'm sure she is going to be freaked out enough when she wakes up.

Instead of talking, I watch her and hold her hand and hope, and maybe even pray a little, that she will wake up soon and be okay.

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