“She doesn’t have a vest,” Delia pointed out.
“By the time anyone can raise a stink about it, we’ll be long gone. We just need Jenny Jane to see the baby, and we can get out of here. Jenny Jane?” I called. “You ready to see your grandbaby?”
Her brows dropped as she glanced at the grocery store and pointed.
“Moriah’s doing a little shopping,” I said. “Is that okay?”
She nodded.
Louella tugged the leash as she led our little group to the entrance of the store. Suddenly, a buggy came whizzing past me that had Delia coasting on the back of it. She jumped off, tugged the cart to a stop, grabbed the dog, and dropped her in the baby seat, wham bam boom.
“Take that,” she said to Louella. “Bite me, will you? Hmmph.”
Louella flattened her ears and growled but settled down right quick. In fact, she didn’t seem to mind riding in the buggy at all, lifting her nose in the air and taking in the sights and sounds.
“You’re crazy,” I said to Delia. “You know that?”
“It runs in the family.”
Air-conditioning blasted us as we walked through the automatic doors and swung the buggy toward the produce aisle. “She’s here somewhere,” I said, looking around.
“Up there,” Delia said, pointing toward the bakery. “See her, Jenny Jane?”
Jenny Jane’s hands flew to her mouth as her face bloomed with joy. Tears moistened her eyes, and a smile creased her cheeks. She floated toward them.
Delia and I moved closer. Louella had slumped in the seat and her eyes were drifting closed. How long could she survive on this hunger strike of hers?
Cautiously, I reached out to rub the spot on her head between her ears. One of her eyes flicked open, and she gave me a halfhearted growl, but she didn’t nip. Now I was extra worried. If she didn’t perk up by tomorrow morning, I’d take her to see Doc Gabriel.
In the bakery, Jenny Jane was playing peekaboo with her granddaughter, and the baby girl was smiling at her.
Like animals, babies had a special connection with the spirit world and could often see what adults could not. I wasn’t surprised that she could see her grandmother just fine. Moriah looked over her shoulder with a quizzical look, as there was no around.
I pretended to study a loaf of rye bread as I watched, feeling my heart grow full. The little girl, who looked around eight or nine months old, had her short hair pulled atop her head, styled into a spiky ponytail tied with a bow. She had her grandmama’s blue-gray eyes. Kicking chubby legs, she squealed as Jenny Jane continued to play with her.
Moriah once again looked over her shoulder, and Delia grabbed up a lemon meringue pie, pretending to study the ingredients list. “My word, three hundred and sixty calories per serving.”
“Worth it,” I said.
“Amen.” She set it in the buggy.
I eyed her.
“What?” she said. “We’re here and I’m hungry.”
“Well, now we need to find some forks.”
“I’m on it,” she said, scooting off.
Slowly, I followed Moriah into the next aisle and faked a great interest in apple sauce when she stopped to pick up a couple of cans of green beans.
Jenny Jane, I noticed, had begun to fade.
Delia was back a moment later with a box of plastic forks and a six-pack of water. “Lemon makes me thirsty, and this music is making me stabby.”
It was classic rock Muzak.
It was making me stabby too.
Jenny Jane soared over, about ten feet in front of us, and pointed excitedly before holding her hands over her heart.
“She’s gorgeous,” I said. “Looks just like you with that hair and those eyes.”
With a nod and a big smile, she lost a little bit more of her haziness. She floated back over to the little girl, and Delia took charge of the buggy.
We walked in silence for a bit before Delia said, “Do you think you’ll have kids with Dylan?”
Letting out a sigh, I said, “I don’t know. I haven’t really allowed myself think that far ahead. Part of me is terrified we’re not going to last, so thinking about babies with him just seems like I’m asking for heartache.”
I recalled what Mr. Dunwoody said this morning.
Are you strong enough to let him hurt without feeling guilty about being part of what caused the pain? Because if a storm is brewing, he needs to know you’ll be there for him and not run away, thinking you’re saving him from even more agony.
“Why don’t you think it will last?” Delia asked.
“History tends to repeat itself,” I said simply. “Now there’s the mess with his mama . . .”
“Carly Bell, you cannot let your fears stop you from moving forward with him.”
“Easier said than done.” I glanced at her. “What about you? Do you want babies some day?”
“I’d love a half dozen,” she said with a smile. “I can’t wait to be a mama.”
“Really?”