Becca's Baby

Before she could even react, her entire being was consumed with the most miraculous sound she’d ever heard.

Thump-thump! Thump-thump! Thump-thump!

“It’s so fast!” she choked out. She giggled, then burst into tears. She looked from the doctor’s smiling face to Will’s, as though the three of them had, then and there, created the little life whose heart was beating inside her.

Taking off her own headpiece, Dr. Anderson handed it to Will. “Here,” she said, “try this.”

Will moved in closer, leaned down and placed the stethoscope over his ears. Becca couldn’t take her eyes off his, waiting for him to hear that first sound.

She wasn’t disappointed when he did. His eyes, so closed to her lately, were filled with the same awe, the same wonder and joy that she was feeling herself.

We did this, his glowing face seemed to say.

For that moment, she felt as perfect in his eyes as the day they’d first fallen in love.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE FOLLOWING WEDNESDAY, Becca had run out of excuses for skipping the weekly family lunch. She’d been avoiding her mother and older sisters for too long. Besides, they were all scheduled for another update on Samuel Montford, and Becca was eager to hear what they’d found out about Shelter Valley’s founder.

She was hoping to have her Save the Youth kids enact Montford’s life story on the Fourth of July. Her friend, Martha Moore—Todd’s wife—had offered to write the script for them as soon as Becca’s family had finished their research. Before the birth of her first child, Martha had been a drama major and through the years she’d been involved with the local community theater.

Becca was grasping at anything and everything in an effort to keep her thoughts occupied. And off Will. Or the baby they’d created. She’d made it through the first trimester.

Which meant she had a promise to fulfill. She’d told Will they’d only stay quiet about the baby until the end of the first trimester.

But first, Samuel Montford…

Sliding the Thunderbird into a spot along the curb outside the Valley Diner, Becca looked for Sari’s car and didn’t see it. Her mother’s was there, though. Betty and Janice—whose homes were on the same block—lived close enough to walk.

“Becca! Haven’t seen you in a while,” Nancy greeted her when she stepped through the door. Nancy had been Valley Diner’s hostess since graduating from high school two years behind Becca.

“I’ve been busy.” Becca smiled. The mother of six children, Nancy had blossomed by about forty pounds, but she was still pretty.

“Found any funding yet for the Save the Youth?” Nancy asked, her brow furrowed. “My Cara’s fifteen now and could sure use something to do after school. She’s spending far too much time watching MTV and on the Internet.”

“I should have something within the next month,” Becca said. “Keep your fingers crossed.”

Nancy held up both hands, fingers crossed, then nodded toward the far window. “They’re over there.”

Becca thanked the hostess with a smile. She’d already seen her mother—could hardly miss her. Rose Naylor was wearing a tall, bright-red feathered hat that could have been worn by one of the Ziegfeld Follies girls back in the 1920s. And a bright-red, highbodiced and very short dress to match.

Betty and Janice, sitting with her, were both wearing jeans—designer, of course—and stylish blouses. Dressed in her standard suit, with a skirt that had grown just a bit tighter around the waist, Becca envied them their comfort.

“Lenore’s granddaughter, Kaitlin, came home from Phoenix last weekend with a tattoo on her shoulder,” Rose was saying as Becca approached the table.

“It was painted on, Mom,” Becca said, taking one of the two empty seats. “It washed right off.”

“It’s the thought that counts, that’s what I told Lenore, and it could have been real. I once knew a girl during World War II, who walked into a men’s tattoo parlor and had one done on her left cheek, and I don’t mean her face.”

Sharing a smile with her older sisters, Becca sat back and picked up the menu. She needn’t have worried about explaining her absence these past weeks. As she suspected, her mother probably hadn’t even noticed. Becca never supplied juicy gossip. Or created it, either.

“What’s been so critical that you had to miss these lunches?” Betty asked, pen in hand.

Okay, so she’d been a little hasty in abandoning her worry.

“Not the day care.” Becca chuckled, knowing that was the one activity of hers that drove Betty nuts. Her older sister saw no sense in Becca spending so much of her valuable time taking care of other people’s kids when there were professionals being paid to do it.

She also knew that Betty had such a problem with her volunteering there because she thought Becca was rubbing salt in her own wounds. Betty had never understood that the little bit of mothering she’d been able to experience at the day care had been a balm, instead.