Chapter Fifty-seven
The frost of early December scratches at the window of the moonlit bedroom, trying to cool the air surrounding the couple lying half hidden beneath the warm blanket. With an oversized gray tee shirt pushed up to her breasts, Erin's swollen belly lies exposed to the chilly night. A wisp of cold air wafting against the right side of her abdomen nearly causes a streak of gooseflesh to scurry up her ribcage, but with the furnace that is Rick lying against her left side, her entire body is kept at a comfortable temperature, reminding her once again that she is the most primitive kind of incubator; a lesson learned in a recent discussion with Uncle Eugene.
She also realized, while drifting on a daydream during a math lesson, that the basic rules of addition did not apply when love was thrown into the equation. Touching her belly and imagining the tiny bud growing inside, she understood without question, that one plus one equals three.
Now Erin glides her hand up the plane of Rick's bare back as he leans over her, caressing her belly with tender touches and gentle kisses as he sings softly to his unborn child. Threading her fingers through the curls at his nape, the glimmer of the full moon shimmers against her wedding band and brandishes streaks of silver in the dark hair hovering above the pale skin of her stomach. As much as she can't wait for the baby to come, she almost wishes she could stay six months pregnant forever; a lifetime of feeling the little embers of life inside her as Rick serenades them both. And as desperate as she is to hold their child, she lives for the day when she can see Rick cradling their little one in his arms.
"Come on, peanut, give Daddy a little kick."
"We really have to pick a name soon," she says, smiling with an inward groan. "You make me hungry every time you talk to the baby. It's either peanut, pumpkin, sugar plum, dumpling, babycakes, or some other yummy treat that makes my mouth water. You're killing me, sheriff. What do you say we settle on something now. A real name."
"Well, you didn't like any of the ones I suggested."
"Honey, I'm sure Bartholomew Leonardo was a fine name for your uncle, but I really don't want to get tongue-tied every time I call our child."
"It was Balthazar, not Bartholomew."
"Oh yeah. And I'm sorry, babe, but that's still number one on the list of Not Happening."
"Come on, we can call him Bally."
She hears the spark of amusement in his voice and knows that he is just baiting her. "I'd rather stick with peanut."
"Alright, how about something normal like Johnny?" he asks, the little spark still shining through the shadows.
"As in Cash?"
"Ooh, Cash could be his middle name!"
Well, two can play at that game. "What about Bruce?" she asks, her tongue stroking the inside of her cheek.
"Johnny Bruce Grimes?" he asks directly to her belly, his lips soft against her skin as his whiskers graze her with a light tickling sensation.
"No, not Johnny!" She laughs, giving his curls a good tug. "Bruce… Spring Grimes!" she blurts after a moment of trying and failing to remember her idol's middle name. Carol had told her about the fogginess of 'pregnancy brain' but she hadn't had any trouble until just a few days ago, when she found herself struggling through the kid's history lesson.
"Sorry, sweetheart, but Spring is not a middle name."
"Frederick! That's it!"
"Who's Frederick?"
"That's Bruce's middle name. So Bruce Frederick Grimes!" she announces, very pleased that her momnesia hadn't gotten the best of her.
"Um, no. You can just add that to your Not Happening list."
"Okay, how about Elvis Aaron Grimes?" she asks with a straight face but a chuckle bubbles up before long.
"How 'bout we just leave all musicians off the table?"
"Not even Elton?" She pouts in mock disappointment. "Okay, fine."
"What about a nice Celtic name like Patrick or Sean?" His attempt at an Irish lilt falls abundantly short of the pot of gold by his native accent borne from the Deep South.
"I like Sean…," she says slowly in faint consideration.
"I hear a 'but' in there," he replies, dipping his finger into the shallow crevice of her stretched out navel. "What are you thinking?"
"That we need to concentrate more on a girl's name."
"Yeah? Is that mother's intuition?" he asks quietly, his tone still sweet but turning slightly serious after the battle of the boys.
"Maybe. But you feel it too." She traces a fingertip along the swell of his bottom lip. "Don't you?" she asks, daring him to disagree.
"Yes." He parts his lips and draws her finger inside, holding her nail delicately between his teeth before releasing it with a kiss. "But I know you're wishing for a girl and I didn't want to get your hopes up in case I was wrong." He lays his cheek on her belly and looks at her tenderly. "So, sweetheart, what would you like to call our daughter?" he asks softly as she strokes his jaw.
She knows he is giving her the freedom to make the final decision, and she is grateful for that. For there is only one name that she had always wanted to call the child that she never believed she would have. "Well, when I was little, I gave all my teddy bears the same name; Tori."
"T-O-R-I?" he asks, spelling it out.
"Yes. It's Gaelic and it means 'triumphant'. I heard it somewhere when I was four or five and it stuck. I didn't even know what it meant at the time, but from then on all my stuffed animals were called Tori-blue or Tori-green, or whichever color bow or hat or outfit it had on." She chuckles at the memory, envisioning the variety of Tori's that had lived inside her toy chest. "I know, I was not a very creative preschooler."
"No, but I'm sure you were adorable." He leans forward to kiss her lips. "And it's perfect." Shifting his weight again, he moves back to her belly and speaks directly to the infant kicking inside. "What do think, darling? Do you want to be our little Tori?"
The light fluttering that she'd been feeling all night becomes a solid pressure against her rib. "Ooh!" She grimaces through a bright smile. "Yes, I'd say she likes the name. She's doing a happy dance on my ribs."
"Really?" His excitement is infectious as he slides his hand a few inches northwest, resting just below the sweep of her ample breasts.
"Here." Covering his hand, she glides it down, just enough so that his fingers are sitting directly above the foot she'd felt a moment ago, pressing against her distended abdomen. She pushes down against his knuckles, pressing his hand firmly to her belly to incite a response from the infant inside.
"Come on, Tori, come dance with Daddy," he pleads softly.
Erin feels a light tremor inside and then a stronger pressure to her ribcage, just beneath Rick's hand.
"Hah! There she is! Oh, my God," he breathes, sounding completely awestruck. "Our triumphant little miracle," he murmurs, moving his hand aside and touching his lips to the spot. The truly endearing gesture tightens Erin's throat and she has to fight a rising tide when she hears him softly whisper, "Thank you, baby Jesus."
Lying in his arms, she falls asleep to the sound of his moonlit voice as their daughter settles comfortably between them, curled up in her incubator and enjoying the serenade.
One plus one… equals three.
The long frothy limbs of the great weeping willow sway softly in the gentle breeze, stirring the shadows at the edge of the lake. The setting sun paints golden hues on the windows of the cabin and shimmers up the chimney toward the white smoke curling from its flue. Lying on the plaid blanket beside their willow tree, Erin rolls to her side and adjusts the two-toned tan jacket rolled up beneath her head. She smiles sleepily at the man sitting beside her, blissfully enjoying the sound of his voice as he sings to the three month old infant lying upon his lap. With soft downy hair of strawberry blonde that will probably curl when it grows in, she is a combination of both parents, inheriting her mother's Scottish coloring and heart-shaped face , and her father's bright blue eyes and dimpled chin. Clad in a white onesie that matches the pocket tee of her dad and the dolman-sleeved top of her mom, her tiny fists seem to be shaking imaginary tambourines as her little legs kick a western hoedown against his thighs.
Softening the original upbeat rhythm to create a lullaby she believes Johnny Cash would approve of, he sings…
"You can't see it with your eyes,
hold it in your hands,
but like the wind it covers our land,
strong enough to rule the heart of any man,
this thing called love.
"It can lift you up, never let you down,
take your world and turn it around,
ever since time, nothing's ever been found
that's stronger than love.
"Most men are like me,
they struggle and doubt,
they trouble their minds
day in and day out,
too busy with livin' to worry about
a little word like love.
"But when I see a mother's tenderness
as she holds her young close to her breast,
then I thank God that the world's been blessed
with a thing called love."
Supporting her neck with his fingers, Rick lifts Tori up under her wiggly little arms and holds her high above him. She gazes down with wide-eyed wonder.
Erin looks at her with wistful emotion, her own sense of wonder at the indescribable pride and affection she feels for this tiny little being. She never could have imagined the depth of profound love contained deep inside her heart. "God, she really is beautiful, isn't she?"
"The most beautiful little girl in the world," he replies. "And the most loved, too."
"You've got Daddy wrapped around your tiny little finger already, don't you, Tori?"
"Oh yeah, I didn't stand a chance against this one. I mean, look at that face." He bends his elbows and turns their daughter toward Erin. "Can you smile for Mommy, Tori? Give us a big happy smile, darling." He pulls her closer and presses his lips to the soft crease of her neck, eliciting a high peal of laughter from her toothless grin.
Erin beams at her baby girl. "Is Daddy tickling you with his whiskers?" He does it again to another infectious squeal and Erin reaches out to touch her toes. "Wait 'til you meet your big brother. I have a feeling that Carl is going to spend a lot of time making you laugh." She leans forward to kiss her daughter's precious foot and then lifts her chin to meet her husband's sweet mouth. She places a tender kiss to his lips, and then leans even closer to lay her cheek against his as tears singe a path in her throat. "Thank you," she whispers against his whiskered jaw as the sun bathes the lake in amber.
His own voice is thick with emotion when he softly responds, "The pleasure is all mine."
...
Walking toward the front porch of the old farmhouse, Rick turns his face toward the bright sun warming the comfortably crisp afternoon. A lovely day in early March, the sleepy Spring restrains the chill of nippy air and stretches her legs for the annual tug-of-war between Winter and Summer. A bumblebee buzzes lethargically by Rick's ear as he slides a finger along the stem of a long red rose, absently scraping a nail against the rough patch where a thorn had recently dwelled.
After finding the rosebush full of blooming red petals three days ago, he has picked two of the long-stemmed beauties every afternoon for his wife and unborn child. A tall Mikasa vase stands on the top of the old upright piano in the sitting room, brightening the corner with the elegant flowers. So far, six blooms of deep scarlet stand graceful and proud, embodying the true love of a man and a woman; beautiful, fragile, and perfect… with the possibility of pain if you don't handle it with care.
Climbing the wide brick steps leading up to the front door, he turns toward the three ladies sitting at the end of the porch, the gentle creak of their chairs a warm comforting sound on the afternoon breeze.
"More roses?" Carol asks with a friendly smile as the redhead rocking next to her beams brightly back at him.
"You're lucky they bloomed so early this year," Amy says on the other side of the redhead, now positively glowing as he holds her hazel gaze.
"Yeah, my girls are gonna have a nice big bouquet by the time Tori joins us." Bracing his fists on the armrests of Erin's chair, he leans over the prominent belly beneath his own blue flannel shirt tucked inside a pair of maternity overalls. He greets her with a tender kiss. "How are my girls doing today?" he asks softly as she gently strokes his cheeks.
"Well, one of us is running out of room to move, and the other doesn't have any energy to move."
"Well it won't be much longer. Hershel says any day now."
"I know. I just hope it's sooner rather than later."
He glances at the nearly empty water bottle on the little wicker table beside her chair. "Do you want me to get you another drink?"
"Lord, no. I just got out of the bathroom. Again," she adds with a roll of her eyes. "She's still doing handstands on my bladder and I feel like a dangerously overfilled water balloon ready to pop."
"Hang in there, honey." He leans his forehead to hers, wishing he could somehow ease her discomfort. "We're so close now." His eyes are closed but he can hear the smile in her response.
"I know," she whispers in the warmth between them. "Thank you for my flowers."
"You're welcome."
Several hours later, he watches her waddle into the bathroom again after she excuses herself from the dinner table, and then three more times during a tournament of board games. When he wakes in the middle of the night to find her awkwardly climbing out of their bed, he knows where she is headed. He lies back on the pillow and watches her take the lantern from her nightstand and walk into the hallway; a pear-shaped vision in a short-sleeved lilac maternity nightgown that sways loosely out in front of her thighs, several inches above, and ahead of, her knees.
Staring at the beautifully carved wooden cradle sitting next to their bed, a gift from her Uncle Daryl, Rick listens to the light sounds of Erin's progress as the rest of the house sleeps. When she climbs back into the bed he curls around her, tucking his legs against the backs of her thighs as he circles his arm around her enormous belly. "You okay?" he murmurs behind her ear.
"Yeah. Sorry I woke you."
"No problem." He moves his arm so that it is resting more on her hipbone as she adjusts her head on the pillow. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, my back is just aching bad tonight."
"You want the hot water bottle?"
"No, you're heating me up enough. Just stay there."
"I'm not going anywhere," he whispers against her hair. "Try to sleep now."
When he wakes again, it is to a warm wet sensation against his thigh. "Whoa, honey, get up!" He rises to his elbow as he nudges her hip. "You didn't make it to the bathroom that time."
"That wasn't my bladder. I think my water just broke."