"Mom, you okay?" Cheyenne Montgomery closed the door to her parent's home quietly and quickly while searching for her father. "Where's Dad?" She asked, noticing Brock Hart was nowhere to be found.
"Your father is upstairs with your littlest brother." Reba gesticulated toward the steps, yawning as she stretched her legs and rested her socked feet on the end table- a taboo in the Hart household.
It had been one month; the longest four weeks of Reba's life. The red head had forgotten the total and absolute need she had for sleep. It had been so long since Jake (now one of the middle kids of the family) had needed feeding in the wee hours of the night. Barbra Jean had mentioned just yesterday it may have something to do with her age, which Reba politely ignored by throwing an empty baby bottle at her head.
"You look beat." The young blonde chuckled, setting down her purse on the armchair. "Mark still isn't sleeping?" She settled onto the cushion beside her mother, looking her over in worried wonder.
The woman on the couch was silent for a moment, seeming to contemplate the question as if it were difficult to answer.
"Do you remember when Van said his head felt like a snow globe?" Reba finally responded slowly, pulling her robe tighter and glancing over at her oldest daughter who seemed to be in mid-thought.
It was a few seconds later before she responded. "I think so."
"Remember how we just laughed? Well, I don't think it's funny anymore, Cheyenne, cause' my head is filled with those not sleeping flakes he was going on about." She sighed, cringing as the shrill cries of her son filled her tired ear canals and racked her sleep deprived noggin.
"Oh, Mom…" Cheyenne laughed. "Let me take care of Mark for a little while, alright?" She rubbed her mother's arm and turned to go upstairs.
"Honey, please let your father try for a bit. He's been all insecure about his standing in Marcus' life, especially with Bryan creeping about lately." That statement seemed to tire the woman out a little more, she shook her head. "But I bet even he couldn't calm that baby down!" Reba raised her voice in frustration.
"I didn't know Bryan was causing trouble. Do you want me to get Van to take care of him?" Cheyenne questioned in concern.
"No- no. You know how that would turn out. We don't need a repeat of that post-wedding disaster party." Reba rolled her eyes.
They had taken to calling it that. The 'Post-Wedding Disaster Party'- which had included a rumble between her son-in-law and her ex-boyfriend in the Church lobby as she labored through the middle stages of contractions. The only two, good things that had come out of that day were Brock and Reba's marriage license, and Marcus John Hart himself. He was a seemingly happy little boy by day, but as soon as the sun set, the screaming began and the sleeplessness continued.
She sat up, lifting her feet from the table and sticking them on the cold, hard-wood floor.
"Fine." Her daughter huffed. "Have you heard from Barb—
Both women turned around as the front door swung open. The tall, bustier blonde stood in the doorway wearing a short, black dress. Henry pulled from her hand and ran in to escape her clutch once he caught sight of one of Jake's old toys on the ground from when Elizabeth last came over to play.
"Barbra Jean, what are you doing here?" Reba wondered sinking into the couch in utter exhaustion as Henry made airplane noises with his mouth.
"It's date night, ladies. Henry always stays with y'all on date night." She smiled, glancing in her son's direction as he let out a loud 'crash' noise.
"I thought the whole date thing stopped after you married the man." Reba replied sarcastically, in no mood to keep an eye on the hyper, little boy.
"Not with my man." Barbra Jean let out a playful growl, leaving the door ajar behind her and dropping Henry's overnight bag to the floor near everyone's shoes.
Barbra Jean met a man shortly after Reba gave birth to Marcus. Carter Samuel Riddick- he was a doctor, better than a second-hand therapist, he was a surgeon- a heart surgeon as it turned out. Brock introduced them a while back even before their whole affair, he knew him from pre-med and they shared a dorm for a very short while. So short, Brock had forgotten about him completely until he showed up at his office years ago. BJ was still settling in as his dental hygienist, when his and Reba's first marriage was still going strong. They had been a little smitten for a while, but it wasn't until he showed up at the second wedding that the two really had hit it off.
They eloped. BJ was sure of it this time and explained to Reba whenever the opportunity arose that she didn't want a big ruckus the next go- around, even though Reba's wedding had been… eventful, she liked to put it. She assured them that, because they decided this on their own- as a couple- the two had their minds made up. They were in love, and they were the epitome of a Nicholas Spark's book, minus the heart-breaking, gut-wrenching sorrows in the plot. And most of all, they were happy. And to BJ and Carter, that's all that mattered.
"He's waiting at the restaurant!" She grinned even wider. "I'll pick Henry up tomorrow morning at eight sharp. " She 'clicked' over to her son and gave him a smooch on the top of his head. "I love you, baby. I'll see you tomorrow!" And she waved to the group and stepped out of the house, leaving a wake of strong perfume as the door latched shut.
"At least she got her happy ending." Cheyenne stated. "I wish Van and I had 'date night'."
"I would give anything for just a good night, honey." Reba groaned, patting her daughter on the thigh as she got to her feet. "Henry?" She called.
"Yeah, Aunt Reba?"
"Did your momma get you dinner?"
"Nah." He answered sweetly.
"Come on, then. Cheyenne will make you a sandwich!" She yawned, nodding in her daughter's direction.
"I will?"
"Yeah, you will. I'm going to check on your father." The red head responded.
As Reba climbed the steps, she nearly shook with exhaustion. Cheyenne took Henry's hand to the kitchen and her mother could hear the blonde shuffling about, opening and closing cabinets- a lot of movement for a sandwich, but Reba could only shrug it off. She couldn't imagine Van did most of the cooking, but she could have been wrong.
She braced herself before entering the nursery, preparing to subject her ear drums to the screeching of the little boy in her husband's arms. "Shhhhhh….." Reba hushed. Once she approached, she gingerly ran her fingertips across the thin, soft hair on her son's tiny head. "It's time to rest Marcus…"
"He won't rest, Reba. It's like he's broken!" Brock replied emphatically. "I don't remember any of our kids doing this!" His face twisted into an expression of helplessness. "I've changed him, burped him, I've fed him… Reba I've rocked him! What could he want?" The man was upset, and overtired and Reba was the same. He was wearing an old, grey t-shirt, wrinkled with over-wear and under-washing. His pajama pants were ripped and stained with coffee and his slippers were worn and discolored. Brock's hair hadn't been brushed since yesterday, but Reba couldn't say much because hers was tied up in a pony-tail, dangling limply and raggedly down her back and off her neck.
"Brock, lemme see him!" She shouted over Marcus' yells, outstretching her arms toward the enervated man- he had no choice but to hand her the kid in surrender. She held the child in her arms, supporting his head so she could stroke his soft, light colored strands.
Reba began to hum a tune, smoothly and gently, swaying in a rhythm lethal to a little bundle as cranky as the little boy in her crook. The screams became softer- now he only hiccupped, seemingly content with the easy motion and enchanting ballad escaping from his mother's throat. His face was no longer rosy with the effort of fussing, but the content, magical pink every baby should be snuggled into the bosom of their momma. As if it had been forever since the last time his parents heard the mellow stillness that ensued in the night that came along with a sleeping child, they exhaled in unison.
"That's a beautiful sound." Brock sighed, running his fingers through his untamable mop.
"I'm gonna put him down and then we're gonna sleep." Reba said in disbelief. "You grab the baby monitor, I'll meet you in the bedroom." She whispered from the corner of her mouth. "Now, Brock!" She ordered the man.
He grabbed the plastic monitor and clicked it 'on', giving his wife a peck on the cheek he scrambled from the nursery. Reba continued to hum, making her way toward Marcus' bassinet. "I love you, little fella." She murmured, laying him on his back, swaddled in his green and yellow quilt which her mother had made and presented to Reba just a week ago.
She stepped back calmly, her heart still panging at the thought of leaving him by his lonesome even as the feelings of tiredness at away at her. Reba closed the door slowly so the hinges would squeak and coax the baby awake. Then, she avoided the creaking floor board and found her feet padding in record time two doors down. Her bed beckoned, freshly sheeted and topped with new, fluffy pillows. What a condescending gift they had received after their nuptials. Their friends whom had purchased such a prize were probably chuckling right about now… No, they were sleeping, Reba thought.
Brock was sprawled atop the covers, his eyes fluttering closed. She crawled to his side, laying her head on his chest. Her eyes closed and the feelings of sleep washed like a warm wave through her aching, deprived system. Reba's mind was at rest, knowing Kyra was off, living in her new dorm down at the state university for criminal justice, Van was just down the street taking care of her grandkids, Jake was two houses down at his friends place for the night, Cheyenne was downstairs keeping busy with Henry, aware he needed to be to bed in an hour and Barbra Jean was with Carter.
And Marcus was asleep…. Or at least for those few moments before the jarring, hollering rang out over the baby monitor…
Reba's eyes peeled open. What Now?