Suddenly, she winces and lays a hand on her stomach.
“You okay?” I ask, reaching for her. She brushes my hand away.
“I’m okay,” she says. “Just a hard kick. This one’s going to be another football player.”
“It’s a boy?”
She nods. “It’s another boy. Two and two. The perfect crew.”
“You like being a mom, Katie?”
She laughs. “Well, until one of them pukes or throws a temper tantrum in the middle of the grocery store, I love it. And I can handle the temper tantrum better than the puke. My husband…” She stops and shakes her head. “My husband always handled the puke. It never bothered him. Since he’s not here, Alex is the official pukemaster.”
“There’s nothing boys like more than gross stuff.”
“His dad told Alex to take care of me before his last deployment. He took it very seriously.”
“He’s military?”
She nods. “He was.”
“Where is he now?”
She throws the drying towel into the sink. “I think I’m going to put the kids to bed early and go to bed myself. The drive wore me out.”
She might as well have told me to scram.
“I’ll get Pop and head home. Thanks for letting us come for dinner. I think it did Pop good.”
“You did all the cooking, and the cleaning, and you brought the food. I can’t think of a better evening.” She smiles at me.
Then her smile slips away. “Stop trying to figure me out, Jake,” she says. “It’s simple. I’m here, in my favorite place in the world. And you’re here too, which makes it extra special. That’s all there is to it.”
“If you say so.”
“I say so.”
Well, then. “I guess we should go.” On impulse, I lean down to kiss her on the cheek. She stiffens for a second, but then she falls against me, her arms sliding around my waist as she presses her cheek against my shoulder. I feel a little tap against my belly. “I think your uterus is kicking me,” I whisper.
She laughs, but it’s a watery sound, and my heart twists. “That would be the baby in my uterus, Jake. Get your anatomy straight.” She steps back from me. “Thank you,” she says. “I didn’t know how much I needed a hug until I got one.” She takes a deep breath.
“I’ll collect Pop.”
We walk out to the porch and find that Pop is now without a shirt, and Gabby has it hanging on the back of her chair.
“Jesus, Pop,” I say. “You’re losing your shirt out here.”
“The kid’s a shark, Jake,” he grumbles.
“Well, Katie wants to go to bed early. We had better get out of here before the shark wins your boxers.”
“That would just be gross,” Gabby mutters.
A little hand tugs on the leg of my jeans. “Can Sally spend the night?” Trixie asks.
“Umm…” I look at Katie. She gives me a subtle nod. “Sure. I guess it’s all right.”
“He can sleep with me.” Trixie looks from me to her mom. Her mom nods.
“I’ll come and get him in the morning,” I tell Katie.
“Sounds good.”
Pop lumbers to his feet and stretches, his pudgy white middle on display.
“Thanks for letting me kick your butt, Mr. Jacobson,” Gabby says, grinning from beneath the brim of Pop’s hat.
“Same time tomorrow,” he says, knocking his knuckles on the table. It’s not even a question. It’s an order.
“Pop,” I start to complain. But he’s already walking toward Katie. He kisses her on the forehead quickly and lingers to whisper close to her ear. She nods, and her eyes tear up. She blinks furiously.
“I’m glad I’m here too. Same time tomorrow.” She squeezes his arm.
I ruffle the dog’s…I mean Sally’s ears, and he sits down beside Trixie like this is where he belongs.
Pop gets in the golf cart and waits to speak until we’re almost home. “I didn’t let that kid win,” he says.
I arch a brow at him.
“She’s a shark, I tell you.”
“Maybe she’ll let you win tomorrow.” I chuckle.
“She had better not,” he grumbles. “That’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time.” He claps me on the shoulder. “And I got you another date.”
“Pop, that wasn’t a date.”
“Take it slow, son. It’ll all work out. You’ll see.”
I heave a sigh and go inside. It does no good to argue with Pop.
In my head, I try to piece together all the parts of Katie, but they don’t fit. They don’t form a picture at all. Not one that I can make out, anyway.
14
Katie
I walk from room to room, checking on my kids. It’s a habit from when they were small. I still stop in each doorway long enough to watch their backs rise and fall, or to see the covers flutter with the motions of their breaths. The regular motions of breathing can ease a troubled mother’s spirit like a balm to the soul.