Catch a Rising Star (22 page)

I stand and approach my sister. She’s radiant, but there’s hesitation in her eyes. I smile, a genuine smile with no hint of
performance. “Shelly, you’ll make a beautiful bride, and Brian is one lucky guy.” She falls into my arms like she’s the one
with dramatic flair. Hmm. Maybe I should get her an audition.

“So when is the big day?” Mike asks.

“Well, I’m looking into getting us a place to live right now. This apartment isn’t big enough for a family. I only have a
pullout couch for a bed.”

“I told him I don’t mind,” Shelly pipes in.

Brian’s gaze slips over hers with all the tenderness of a man in love. “I know, honey, but I want us to start off right, and
we have to think of the baby.”

My dad nods in approval, and Mom is about to cry, I can tell. It’s gratifying to see someone want to take care of Shelly after
all the Mr. Wrongs that have come into her life.

“So where are you thinking about moving, Brian?” I ask.

“There’s an old building getting a face-lift on York Avenue and Eighty-second Street. I’d like to put a down payment on the
place so that as soon as they’re ready, we can get married and move right in. But they’re going really fast, so I need help
convincing my darling fiancée here that it’s a good idea.”

“I just don’t see how we can afford that,” Shelly says. “I’ll be going to school for the next four years and not contributing
financially. We’ll have baby expenses and child care. I just don’t want us to get in over our heads.”

“You’re going to college, Shell?” My heart is so full of pride for this girl.

“Yeah. I’m going to be a teacher. Can you believe it?”

“That’s great, sis.” Mike gives her a “rock on” fist and Joy grins. “Hey, that’s my major too. Are you going to teach high
school or elementary?”

Somehow her soft voice doesn’t fit the persona. Just goes to show you can’t judge a book… you know.

“Elementary,” Shelly says, her face glowing with confidence. “And I think we should live here and make do until I graduate
and get a job.”

Wow, I’m looking at her, but I can’t believe this mature young woman is the same bratty little girl who used to terrorize
my Barbies and tag along after my friends and me until I had to sic Mom on her.

“You let me worry about that.” Brian winks. “There are advantages to being an only child of two only children. I get a trust
fund when I marry.”

Shelly’s eyes grow wide. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“It was a surprise. We’re having dinner with my parents next week when my dad flies in from Boston. They’ll give me the check,
and we can go put the down payment on our apartment. Unless you’d rather choose someplace else.”

Shelly shakes her head. “The Eighty-second Street apartments are perfect. I couldn’t ask for anything better.”

Brian runs his hand over my sister’s hair and smiles tenderly.

There’s something about watching all this play out in front of me. My sister about to be a wife and a mother, living in a
home of her own. My brother in love—with a hoodlum, yes, but in love nonetheless. Mom and Dad, holding hands and content.

Ahhh, love is in the air a mere three days before Valentine’s Day. I’m so jealous.

Need I remind the Lord that we had a deal? I let Him run my life, and He makes all things beautiful in His time.

When, Lord?

T
he snow is coming down hard when we leave Brian’s, so I cave in to Mom’s request that I spend the night. It’s not far from
Brian’s. I don’t see how it could hurt. Besides, I’d love to talk wedding details with Shelly.

I’m almost positive the cabbie has never driven so much as a block in snow before because after about six near-collisions
he looks almost sick when he slides the cab to a stop in front of Mom and Dad’s place.

I fish around inside my purse looking for my cell phone and call my own apartment. Dancy picks up.

“I’m staying at my parents’ tonight,” I say. “The weather’s pretty bad. Mom and Dad’s was closer.”

“Okay. David’s called twice. Want me to give him your cell phone number next time?”

“David Gray?”

“How many Davids do you know?”

“Just him. What does he want?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.” She pauses. “Maybe he wants to ask you out.”

“Fat chance.” Still, at the mere suggestion my heart does some major flip-flops.

“Okay, give him my cell phone number next time he calls.”

After I hang up, I poke my head inside Shelly’s room. “Hey, can I borrow a pair of PJs?”

“Sure,” she says, stifling a yawn. “Bottom drawer.”

“Thanks.” I pull out a heavy sweatshirt and a pair of lounge pants with a drawstring. “So…”

“Yeah.” She stares at the diamond ring on her finger. “He really wants to marry me. Baby and all.”

“I know. I’m glad.”

She pulls her gaze from the ring and meets my eyes. “You really don’t mind?” Okay, is this like the hundredth time or what?
I’m starting to get annoyed at their sensitivity.

“Look, Shelly. Brian was never my type. He’s Mom’s type and apparently yours too. Be happy and don’t worry about me. I couldn’t
be more pleased that the two of you found each other.”

“Thanks. Turn off my light when you leave, okay?” She gives me a sleepy smile and closes her eyes, probably drifting to sleep
amid thoughts of white lace and promises.

I call Jerry Gardner in the morning to let him know I won’t be coming to work. “I got caught in the weather and ended up at
my mom and dad’s last night.”

“It’s okay. The twins have the chicken pox or some such nonsense, so we’re going to shoot around Felicia’s story line for
the next few days. Why don’t you take a couple of days?”

“You mean it?”

“Sure. Just be ready to work your tail off when you get back.”

“Thanks, Jerry, I will.”

Chicken pox? Those poor kids.

Shelly comes into the living room, her tummy preceding her.

“Wow, the baby has really grown in a couple of weeks, Shell.”

“I’ve put on five pounds in fourteen days,” she grumps. “I think I’m just getting fatter. I weigh nearly one hundred twenty-five
pounds.”

I oughtta slug her. I have to eat like a bird to maintain one hundred thirty. And she thinks she’s fat at five months pregnant?

“How are you feeling these days?”

She shrugs and plops onto Dad’s overstuffed recliner. “Not too bad, really.”

Mom bustles into the room a few minutes later. “Coffee will be on in a jiff,” she says. “I can’t believe I slept so late.
Must be all the excitement from last night.”

Shelly and I exchange glances and follow her into the kitchen. “Anything we can do, Ma?”

“Get the bacon out of the refrigerator and mix up some pancake batter.” She’s flustered. This is something new. “I can’t believe
I slept so late,” she says again.

Mom sets two cups of coffee on the table and a glass of juice for Shelly.

I pour a packet of Splenda into my cup and stir.

“Don’t sit to drink that.” Mom’s nervousness is starting to be contagious. “I need help.”

“I wasn’t going to.” I peel bacon slices and pop them onto the flatiron. They start to sizzle and smell wonderful almost immediately.
Well, they smell wonderful to some of us. Shelly suddenly goes pale and makes a beeline for the door.

“I thought she wasn’t supposed to get sick after the third month or so.”

Mom gives me an indulgent smile. “I was always sick the whole nine months with you kids. Looks like Shelly takes after me.”
She pauses. “I’ve been watching you.”

“Watching me?” Now I’m really nervous. Has Mom been sitting outside my apartment with binoculars or something? I can’t really
see her doing it, but I wouldn’t put it past her.

“On your show. I’ve had a lot of time at home lately with your dad recovering and all.”

I’m stunned that my mom is stooping so low as to watch daytime television in general, soap operas to be specific. “So, what
do you think of it?”

She smiles. “I’m starting to get into the story lines. Especially Felicia and Rudolph’s of course. So tell me. When is Felicia’s
memory going to come back?”

“Mom! I can’t tell you the show’s secrets. I signed a nondisclosure form. They can sue me.”

“Well, for heaven’s sake. Who do you think I’m going to tell? The mailman?”

Guilt hits me and all of a sudden, I spill my guts. Nondisclosure notwithstanding, my mom trumps all legal contracts.

A
fter helping with cleanup I suddenly get a brilliant idea. “Hey, want to look at old photos?”

“Really?” Dad asks. He knows that’s about my least favorite thing to do, but for some reason all these changes have made me
sentimental.

“Yeah, really.” I grin at his “you traitor” expression because I happen to know he hates doing the picture album thing too.

“I love that idea,” Shelly perks. “I’ll help you get them down.”

“What do you say, Ma?” I ask. “You up for a trip down memory lane?”

“Sounds like fun. You two get the albums.”

A few minutes later Mom and Dad are happily telling stories around the pictures. Our baby pictures bring about a sigh from
Shelly. “I wonder what my baby is going to look like.”

“Beautiful like you,” I say, feeling nostalgic, which is making me generous. I sling an arm around her shoulder, pulling her
close for a second.

My parents look up from the photographs and smile. Both of them. As though I’ve done something wonderful. I guess it beats
arguing, but you know, this baby is special, and since I stood next to Shelly’s bedside and watched the baby on the screen,
I’ve felt very “auntish” and much closer to my sister.

Shelly lets out a snort. “Look, Tabs. Remember this?”

I turn to the photo album and smile at a picture of Shelly, Michael, and me. All loaded down with chicken pox.

Mom shudders. “Three kids crying for calamine lotion around the clock. I needed a vacation after that.”

“Hey, remember the grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup?” Shelly asks.

“Mmm,” I reply. “And homemade chocolate chip cookies.”

I can’t help but laugh at the memory. “It didn’t do a thing for the itching, but it made me feel better anyway.”

“Yeah, me too.” Shelly’s eyes are misty. “I hope I can be as good a mother as you are, Mom.”

I can’t help but follow Shelly’s gaze to my mom. Her eyes are swimming with tears, and it’s obvious she’s deeply moved by
Shelly’s words. She reaches across the table and pats the mom-to-be on her hand. “You’ll be wonderful.” I squirm a little—uncomfortable.
I mean, do these two really need another bond?

I avert my gaze back to the pictures and remember that David’s kids are suffering from chicken pox too. Is he rubbing them
with calamine lotion and feeding them treats? Something squeezes my heart. Even though I was closer to my dad as a child,
I can’t imagine going through various childhood illnesses without Mom’s brand of TLC. An idea hits me and true to my impulsive
nature, I hop up from the table. “Well, folks. I think it’s time for me to head back home.”

“You don’t want to stay for supper to find out Michael’s big announcement?”

“Announcement?” I can’t help the frown puckering my brow. “Who said anything about an announcement?”

“Well, why else would he make a point of coming over for dinner?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he just wants a free meal.”

“Hardly.” She gives me a once-over. “You could use a hearty meal yourself. Don’t you want to stay?”

“Thanks, Mom. But I have plans.”

“Well, all right,” she says with a sigh. “It’s been nice having you home.”

“It’s been nice to be here.” I’m about to say something about how much it’s meant to spend time with her, but she points to
a picture and looks at Shelly. “Look at your first birthday party. You were always such a little beauty.” Oh well.

I definitely think it’s time for me to go home. A whole day with the family is enough for an independent woman like me. Besides,
seeing the chicken pox pictures reminds me that the twins are at home miserable and itching. I want to implement my idea before
I chicken out.

An hour and fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting in front of Normandie Court at Third Avenue and Ninety-fifth Street, staring
at the twenty-year-old high-rise apartment building in front of me. David and the twins live on the second floor.

You’d have thought I was a stalker when I called Jerry to ask for David’s address. Quite frankly, he was taking the whole
privacy issue a little far until I made a veiled threat that went something like: “You know, my throat is awfully scratchy
(fake cough, fake cough). I think I might be coming down with strep throat, or possibly even mono or something. How long does
it take to recover from strep? A week?”

He threatened to fire me, but we both know that’s not going to happen. So with great reluctance, Jerry gave up David’s privacy
for the sake of production.

Next to me in the front passenger seat sits the nice big “get well” basket I put together. I take it in both hands and head
for the door of the apartment building. The sixty-year-old doorman looks down his chiseled Roman nose and doesn’t seem to
believe I know someone that lives in the building. “David Gray,” I say, trying without much success to control the hostility
starting to rise at the snobbery. I mean, sure, he’s just doing his job and that’s a good thing. But he could do it with a
little more personality and a little less attitude, if you want my honest opinion.

He comes back to me after a “private” phone call. “Mr. Gray is expecting you, Miss Brockman. Second floor, third door on the
right.”

My first instinct is to stick my nose in the air (much like his) and stomp off with all the I-told-you-so dignity I can muster,
but I figure he’s just doing his job, so instead, I slip him a couple of bills and thank him for his help. His eyebrows go
up, especially when I take a Snickers bar from the basket and present it to him.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Uh, Randall Shultz.” He eyes the candy bar, and I know he wants to take it. I push it on him. “Go on, take it. I have plenty
of goodies in here for the kids.”