Cherry wrote the bestest story in the whole world, Come Home (blueeyedcherry). I demand you to read it. Beautifully written and touching. I don't know how she makes me smile and cry all at once.

Mia strips on the weekend, FYI.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO DataByteDL-FangirlinGranma! *POPS BALLOONS EVERYWHERE* I'll be writing an outtake for her, so expect a short, cute Saturday update! *muah*

Readers- I love you like Rowdy feels.

Chapter Seventeen: Temptation & Trepidation

"Jessie Beth Gracie, you sit still right now!" I tap her with the comb as I attempt to French braid her hair into pigtails on Sunday morning.

"You're pulling it too tight!" she whines, touching her tender scalp. "I want Ma to do it!"

"Ma's getting ready. Now hush or I'm going to pop you again," I warn her. "AJ!"

I scream my sister's name and she comes running into the bathroom with only her undies and a white slip on. "Get me those bows in the container. The pink ones."

"These?" AJ holds up dark shaded barrettes, but I shake my head.

"No, the light pink ones with the brown polka dots. I need 'em to match her dress."

AJ hands me the hair clips that I snap on to Jessie's curly, braided ends.

"All finished, Jessie," I smile triumphantly. I hold her up to the bathroom mirror above the sink and she smiles.

"I'm pretty!" she squeals.

"Yes you are," I say, kissing her plump cheek. "Now put on your clothes before we're late."

Papa's already downstairs yelling that it's a quarter to ten, so I dash to my room quickly, tossing on my flowered, ruffled dress and green wellies. I get halfway down the stairs before I realize I'm missing my cardigan.

"You women folk has to cover up," the Revered always says. "You can't praise the Lord if you're tempting the Devil from your pew."

I wasn't trying to tempt the Devil.

Just Rowdy.

.

.

.

Rowdy's as handsome as can be while sitting in church. He links his finger with mine between our bodies and I hope Papa doesn't notice.

"…And the man at the Pool of Bethesda was a disabled man," the Reverend preaches. "The Bible says for 38 years. How many of y'all been disabled for years? Struggling day by day? Feeling the pain of a hard life? You don't need a wheelchair to be handicapped!"

"Amen!"

"Preach it, Pastor!"

"Easy for him to say," Rowdy mutters and I giggle, swatting his arm.

"Jesus told that man to get up and walk!" Reverend Weber bellows with a booming voice and wipes the sweat from his brow. The poor front row is getting soaked. "Get up and walk, he said! How many of y'all are going to walk today?"

"I am, praise baby Jesus!" Jessie yells back.

"That's right, Jessie Swan! See, even the little ones know, you can't stay down. Whatever your circumstance, you keep on keeping on. You fight until you can't fight no more! You pray 'til you can't pray no more! And oh, is the Lord going to come and save you! He saves the wicked, the unrighteous, and the immoral. Don't you lie there, congregation; don't you lie in your sin or your situation! You pray, and just like that man, Jesus will come to you! Can I get an amen, church?"

"Amen!"

"Rose Charlotte, carry us out with a song for the Lord. I get the feeling little Jessie's got a dance in her heart." He smiles and points to my little sister.

It's the only cue that Jessie needs, 'cause once the choir starts singing Jessie starts shouting on the pew, tapping her little foot away.

We stand up clapping and singing and for once, I even hear Esme calling out for God.

I turn to smile at her, but she's doubled over in pain.

"Mama!" Rowdy scoots past his two brothers to help Carlisle hold Esme up.

"Cotton! Get Renee! The baby's coming!" Rowdy yells at me above the music.

I wave my arms to get Ma's attention and she glances at Esme in shock. "Oh dear!"

The next thing I know, Ma has shuffled us all out and we're climbing into cars on the way to the hospital.

I'm excited Rowdy's little brother or sister is on the way, but Jessie just pouts the whole time.

"What's wrong, Jessie?" AJ asks as Papa speeds down the back roads.

"Nothing," Jessie sniffles. "I just hope Miss Esme has a boy."

"Why's that?"

"'Cause if baby Jesus can help the lame man, then that means Esme's baby can help Rowdy get better."

Ma looks back at me and I shrug.

Jessie's much more aware than we give her credit for.

.

.

.

I hate hospitals.

They smell like rubbing alcohol and old people.

Rowdy sits beside me in the waiting room sometime after five, sharing candy while our brothers and sisters have disappeared to who knows where. Papa left for the cafeteria and I think Ma has sneaked into the delivery room.

"What do you think it is?" I ask him, chewing on a green Skittle.

"A boy. Mama can't pop out anything but boys."

"I think it's a girl. I'd bet my striped wellies that's what it is."

"Naw," Rowdy disagrees, shifting in his chair. "It's a boy for sure. But I don't want your wellies when you're wrong."

"Trying to wager with me, huh?" I grin, stealing another green Skittle.

"Yep. Let's bet … a push in the river if you're wrong!"

I wrinkle my nose. He knows how much I hate swimming in that murky water. He's just being mean. "Fine. I bet you a night at bible study that I'm right."

This time it's Rowdy who frowns. "Seriously? Who bets on church?"

"A person with so much to lose and so little to gain. Deal?"

"Deal."

We shake on it, but Rowdy kisses my hand, his green eyes twinkling, just as Ma comes running out waving her hands in the air.

"It's a girl! It's a girl!"

I cheer and Rowdy sulks 'cause he's lost the bet. Loser.

"Wait a second, where did everyone go?" Ma asks, her excitement dying down.

I shrug, getting up to throw away the candy wrapper. "Somewhere."

"Well go find 'em! Esme wants to tell everybody the name!" She scuttles off, back to Esme's room, her dressy loafers click-clacking on the floor. "Oh, I've got to call the church. Maggie is going to lose her mind!"

I laugh at her screaming down the empty hall about Esme's little angel.

I turn towards Rowdy. "C'mon, let's go find Jasper and the rest. They've got to be around here somewhere."

Rowdy just stares at me, not saying a word.

"Rowdy, c'mon! Emmett's probably broken into all of the soda machines by now," I say, giggling.

Rowdy doesn't move and so I flick his arm. "Quit playing around. We need to go."

He is such a sore loser. Ignoring me all over a stupid bet.

"Rowdy!"

"Rowdy!"

"Rowdy?"

I bend down, putting his face in my hands. "Rowdy? Are you okay?"

He's unresponsive, but his eyes are open, staring blankly at me.

"Rowdy!" I shake him again and again and again.

"Rowdy, wake up! We need to find Jasper and AJ. Rowdy!" Tears fall from my eyes before I can stop them. "Rowdy, wake up!"

I stand up and because I'm not supporting his weight, he begins to slump in his chair.

Oh God, he's dead. He's dead he's dead he's dead.

"Rowdy! WAKE THE FUCK UP!" I scream, kicking his chair. "Get up, please get up! Please, please, please!"

Papa comes around the corner chewing on a sandwich. "Cotton, is that you curs-"

"Papa!" I scream, kneeling over Rowdy's body. "He's dead! Rowdy's dead!"

"Masen?" Papa drops his sandwich, right there in the middle of the floor, and lifts up Rowdy's head. "Shit! Doctor! WE NEED A DOCTOR!"

Papa races down the hall, past several rooms until he reaches the nurses station. I'm guessing no one's there because he turns down a corridor and I no longer see him.

I hold Rowdy's body, rocking him back and forth, sobbing all over his collared shirt. I have never in my life prayed for something so badly as I did right then.

My fingers wrap into his hair as I wait for Papa to come back with some help. It's been less than two minutes, but it feels like a lifetime.

"Cotton?"

God's playing tricks on me, so I ignore him, holding Rowdy so tightly I can barely breathe myself.

"Cotton."

The voice is so clear I can practically hear it next to me.

"Cotton!"

I pull back my arms and Rowdy's staring at me, but he's now blinking.

"Oh my … Rowdy! I thought … I thought…"

I hug him all over again, my ugly sobs now filled with joy.

"What happened to you?" I ask.

He looks like he's in a daze and not quite understanding what's going on. "I…"

Just then, Papa and an entire team of hospital staff come racing down the hall.

"He's fine," I say, wiping my face with the sleeve of my cardigan. "He's fine."

A doctor kneels down in front of Rowdy, flashing a light in his face.

"Can you hear me, son?"

"Yes," Rowdy answers.

"Can you remember what happened?"

"I … uh … I have a baby sister and then … I saw Cotton … and…"

What? A whole lot happened between then. Why doesn't he remember it?

"Looks like you had a seizure. An atonic one perhaps, but I need to look at you more closely. Are you sick? Do these happen frequently?"

"I…" Rowdy's so overwhelmed he can barely speak.

"He's got Guillain-Barré syndrome, but I don't think he's ever had a seizure before," I answer for him.

"All right. I'm going to have to admit you and we can run some tests. Sometimes these can happen with your condition, but I just want to be sure. Nurse, can you get me a wheelchair?"

The blonde woman beside him nods, but Rowdy protests. "I'm fine. I can walk. I don't need no wheelchair."

He's stubborn as usual, but at least he doesn't argue over being admitted.

Rowdy grabs the handles of his chair, grasping them tightly. So tight in fact, his knuckles turn shades of white.

He attempts to heave himself up, but he just can't do it.

Rowdy tries three more times before I finally ask, "What's wrong?"

He slumps in his chair, crying like no boy his age ever should.

'Cause while Rowdy's struggling just to stand, a crowd of folks from the church come loudly around the corner, cameras and recorders in hand.

"Oh, I can't wait to see Esme's baby girl," one lady squeals. "She's going to be a precious one, she is!"

"This seizure sure has taken a toll on you," the doctor says sympathetically. "Which doctor was it that diagnosed you with Guillain-Barré syndrome?"

Rowdy ignores him and stares at me. He doesn't look like he's in pain, but I see it in his eyes.

"Cotton, I can't feel my legs."

I tremble as I wrap my arms around him, kissing his forehead.

And I can't feel my heart.

They can't help it. They act just like small town folk do, being nosy when it ain't none of their business.

I see the blinking light from one of the deacons' video camera, recording Rowdy in his lowest moment.

Rowdy's secret is out, and for a town like Forks County, it's as bad as sinning on a Sunday.

People don't care about poor folks—never have, never will.

When the poor is sick with some French sounding disease, they're going to accuse him of selling his soul the devil.

But as Papa glares at Rowdy's and my embrace, I know that the sacrifice I've made has come with a price.