of gel markers and fine line pens. As she searched for the right tip and color, it occurred to her that she might have a problem where office supplies were concerned.
“Addicted to pens.” She chuckled. “It could be worse.”
She signed the card, colored a bunch of red hearts and a neon yellow sunflower next to her name, and addressed the matching envelope.
She hadn’t seen her brother except in video chats for a while. He was off again doing the Army’s bidding, and she didn’t know where. As time went on and Reed moved through ranks and postings, it seemed more and more likely the whole special trainer assignment was bullshit of the highest order.
Oh, she was relatively sure he trained soldiers, but what he taught was the real story.
Licking the envelope to seal it, she added an embossed sticker of the sun to the seam, and said, “There. All done.”
She relaxed into her pillow nest and rubbed her belly. “I’m afraid we’re surrounded by men with secrets,” she told Tink. “Why’s it gotta be this way?”
Pushing her makeshift workspace out of the way, Summer reached for the tub of belly butter she kept on the side table, pulled her dress up, and tucked it beneath her boobs.
Sprawled comfortably, she opened the tub and scooped out a big glob.
“Supposedly, this is good for stretch marks,” she told Tink. “I really don’t care if it works or not. I like the way it feels. Don’t you?”
Her hands glided over skin made taut by pregnancy. It amazed her how adaptable the body was. Massaging the sweet-smelling cream into her belly, she mapped the baby’s position with curious fingers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, as we begin our final approach, please prepare for arrival. Head down, legs and arms tucked. Just like in gymnastics.”
She was uncomfortable, reeling emotionally, and about as discombobulated as she ever remembered being, yet Summer wouldn’t trade this experience for any reason. The wait to finally meet her daughter was long and, at times, felt like more than she could handle, but it didn’t matter anymore. Soon, she’d get to hold her baby. Her and Arnie’s baby. A little girl.
Well, she sniggered. Not so little.
People kept asking her if she had girl names picked out. Despite buying three books full of baby names and even succumbing one bored and restless night to playing around with an online name generator, she still wasn’t happy with any of the options.
Sometimes, she considered naming her Tinkerbelle and be done with it.
And then she came to her senses.
“Monica?”
Ergh. She shuddered. Nope. Not Monica.
“Danielle? Dani for short?”
Hmm. Nothing.
“How about Cordelia? Or Savannah?”
It only took a few seconds before she snorted out a laugh. “No and nope.”
“Your uncle Reed suggested Barbara. Get it? Like Santa Barbara. I told him he was high and suggested he get a grip. Honestly, Tink. Men are clueless.”
Names danced in her head. Evangeline held prospect. So did Autumn until she realized how hokey a mother and daughter named Summer and Autumn would be.
Arnie might find it funny—not that she cared about his opinion one way or another.
Tink elbowed her in the side and made Summer flinch. Even the baby knew she was full of it because she cared about Arnie way more than an abandoned pregnant woman ought to about a man who wasn’t around.
“Shut up,” she muttered.
Imagining her daughter’s laughter was easy. She’d have a giggling chuckle—the perfect parent smashup.
Unfamiliar sounds coming from the vestibule beyond the front door drew her attention. She struggled to scoot off the sofa. Her tension rose as the noises became louder, and she could make out voices raised in alarm.
Hauling ass as quickly as her wobbly waddle allowed, she flung the door open and gasped in alarm when she found Lynda on the floor with Bud hovering over her.
“What happened?”
Bud looked at Summer. She read concern in his expression and went to his side.
“She fell.”
Dismayed to hear this, she glanced around. A couple of small windows made the space connecting the two residences into a mini hothouse for plants. Summer spied a short stepladder next to the washer and dryer. There was a watering can on its side, leaking liquid onto the flagstone floor. Lynda must have been watering a hanging plant when she fell.
“I’ve called 911,” Bud murmured.
Summer leaned in and offered her support to a tearful Lynda. “Are you okay? What can I do?”
“It’s broken, I just know it,” Lynda cried. She lay awkwardly with her left foot at an odd angle.
Bud was ashen-faced. He