Michael Jackson.
“I took dance lessons when I was Jack’s age,” he told her. Winking and grinning, he admitted what very few guys were willing to own—that he liked to dance.
“Dancing is awesome. Moving around, taking up space—yeah. Love it.”
Talking about movement and space made him think about Summer. Sadness tugged at his emotions, and darkness edged his thoughts.
Nic leaned across the little table and held his hand. “Are you okay, Uncle Arnie?”
He lifted her small hand and gallantly kissed it. “Not to worry, honey. Everything’s fine.”
She snatched her hand away, crossed her arms, huffed, and sat back heavily. “Why do grown-ups think kids are stupid?”
Eh, what the hell. Unburdening himself to a preschooler was no weirder than most of the stuff he’d done in his lifetime.
“Okay, well, you see, Nic, you aren’t the only princess I know. There’s another.”
“Really?” she gasped with childlike awe. Her arms uncrossed, and she clapped her hands. “What’s her name?”
He answered without reservation. “Summer.”
“Oh! You mean she’s a summer princess? Does she wear flowers in her hair? Mommy says maybe I can have a flower crown for the wedding. Flowers are cool.”
Indeed.
“She has a little sunflower on her ankle.”
Nicole’s face was transformed by wonder and happiness. “Princess Sunflower.”
Oh my god. He was going to cry. Pressing a fist to his chest, he willed his heart to remain steady and fought the overwhelming sense of regret and loss sweeping through him.
“You miss her.”
What was that expression? From the mouths of babes? Yeah … that one.
“Yes, and she lives far away.” He shrugged and changed the subject. “May I please have more tea?” Arnie held up the plastic teacup by the curved handle. “All gone.”
Redirected, Nicole switched to charming tea party hostess, and their date continued.
“With eight weeks to go, I’m afraid we have to call it, Summer. Your maternity leave starts immediately. No work and no stress. I’m not recommending bed rest yet,” the doctor sternly added, “but you have to slow way down.”
More exhausted than she’d ever been and hobbled by aches, pains, swollen ankles, hemorrhoids, and a Santa-sized belly, Summer was d-o-n-e, done. As in, stick a fork in her done.
“I see from the nursing assistant’s note that you completed the birthing class.”
Summer nodded but remained silent as she watched the doctor move the ultrasound wand over her enormous Tinker Belly. She turned her head to study the image on the monitor.
“Looks like she’s running out of room for activities,” the doctor joked. “And moving into birth position—head down.”
“This is really happening,” Summer murmured.
“Not long now. Are you all set with a labor plan? Who’s your birthing partner?”
“Oh, uh, my neighbor. She’s a friend. Lynda. She was my birthing class coach.”
“Good, good.” The clinic doctor finished the ultrasound and wiped off Summer’s belly. “Nice and easy,” she said while helping her sit up.
Pulling on the hem of her top, she covered up and sighed. “So everything looks good?”
While washing up at the exam room sink, the doctor offered a smile. “The baby is doing quite well, Summer. It’s you I’m worried about.”
The amount of crushing reality she could manage at any given time had dwindled to nil. Her emotional and physical strength was depleted—the tank running on empty.
“Me too,” she quietly admitted. “I’m so …” She couldn’t find the right words.
Surprised but grateful when the doctor put an arm around her in a show of support, Summer swallowed a lump of emotion and let out a long sigh.
“When you say slow down, do you mean I have to sit on the sofa all day, or can I take walks?”
“No walking. Not with those ankles. You got a three-wheel bike, didn’t you? Well, feel free to ride around the neighborhood. Just be sure to wear a helmet.”
“Okay,” she wearily replied.
“I know this is hard, but you’ve got a little girl counting on you, okay?”
Summer hugged her bump. Tears stung her nose. She wasn’t saying so out loud, but she was terrified. And she desperately, desperately needed Arnie.
She wrapped up the clinic visit and wobbled numbly to the parking lot. Life took place all around her, but none of it mattered.
Not the elderly couple holding hands at the bus stop.
Not the kids clustered around an ice cream truck parked at the corner.
She nearly broke down in tears when getting into the car proved exhaustingly difficult. If Tinker Belly got any bigger, she wouldn’t be able to drive.
It wasn’t like her to get weepy, but dammit, she was human.
When the engine started, the radio kicked on. Tom