One to Take (One to Hold 8)

I follow her to a bare wall in the living room, and she positions me in profile.

“Now hold up your shirt.” Then she pushes down the front of my skirt. I almost grab her hand, since now I’m going commando. My wet panties are in Stuart’s saddlebag.

“That’s good!” I say with a laugh, and she gives me a sly look. “We were swimming!”

Her eyes flick to the window where we can see rain falling steadily outside.

“It hadn’t started raining yet!” I cry.

“Hey, whatever floats your canoe.”

Shaking my head, I smile as she snaps the photo. The camera spits out a white print with a black center.

“Where did you find a Polaroid camera?” I skip forward to look at the print she’s shaking back and forth.

“I’ve had it for years. Finding film is the tricky part.”

Sylvia joins us to wait for the image to appear. As soon as it does, she takes it over to the fridge. “It’s a wonderful shot. Look how your eyes are dancing!”

“Because I busted you not wearing panties,” Amy murmurs in my ear, and I elbow her.

“Shh!”

We both laugh, and she skips back to the bar. “Next up! Measuring your circumference.”

“You make me sound like a planet.”

“Hold up your shirt again. No need to push down your skirt. We’re not officially sisters yet.”

Narrowing my eyes, I do as she asks, and she stretches a piece of pink yarn around my waist, clipping it at the center before holding it up. “This is where you’re starting. Sort of.”

The yarn goes in an envelope labeled Week 12, and she puts it to the side.

“Now we all have to fill out a wish card.” She takes out a small stack of decorated index cards and puts them on the bar. “You can do it at any time, but everybody does one. Then you give it to her… whenever!”

“I really like that one,” I say, running my fingers along the stack. “We only get one? I have lots of wishes for her.”

“Only one.”

“Then I’ll have to think about it,” I say, going to the hall leading to our bedroom. “In the meantime, I need to shower and wash my hair.”

“I’ll say,” she calls after me. I only roll my eyes, but she adds. “When you get back, I want you to sketch my portrait! And read my coffee grounds.”

I shake my head, laughing as I continue down the hall. Amy’s presence will hopefully curb her brother’s overprotectiveness. At the very least, she’ll help me laugh it off.

* * *

Stuart

The last thing I need is a crowd of women teaming up, trying to tell me what to do. I’m one comment away from going to the cabin until Amy leaves, but after Mariska’s no-eating stunt, I’m forced to stay and endure. My escape would be tainted with worry otherwise.

At least for now, they’ve backed off telling me how much I don’t know about babies and women and being pregnant. Amy sits on the hearth in front of the empty fireplace, and Mariska is on the couch, her large sketchpad balanced on her thighs.

I walk behind her and smooth a thick strand of chestnut waves away from her cheek so I can see her progress.

“Any good?” She reaches up to catch my hand and press a kiss to my wrist.

“You don’t need me to tell you that.” In a series of expert lines and shading, she’s captured Amy’s features and personality on the page. “It looks like it could talk.”