Authors: Carol Pavliska
Color Me Crazy (40 page)
“Cleo,” Julian said. “She’s like the sun.”
Epilogue
Cleo gazed at the dreaming baby in her arms. The teakettle whistled downstairs, and the little one furrowed her tiny brows.
“There, there, it’s just a teakettle,” she soothed. “Get used to it. It’s all Daddy knows to do at times like these.” The baby produced a milky grin, melting Cleo’s heart.
Padded footsteps squeaked their way up the stairs, accompanied by the sounds of a clattering tea tray. Cleo looked up to see Julian pausing at the door, gazing at her as if she were the most beautiful creature in the world instead of a postpartum wreck of a woman.
“Want some tea, love?” he asked. “I have anise and fennel…milk production and all that.”
“If I produce any more milk, I’ll be able to feed a third-world country.”
Julian smiled and set the tea tray down on the cedar chest that overflowed with diapers and baby blankets.
“Time to baby-gaze,” he said, climbing onto the bed. He snuggled against Cleo’s breast, where the baby nursed, and leaned in to kiss a tiny cheek. He sniffed the baby’s fuzzy head, and Cleo felt him shiver.
“The ocean?” she asked.
Julian nodded and smiled in a state of dreamy intoxication. The only sounds were the baby’s suckling and the soft buzzing of an amp in the corner.
A downstairs door slammed, and Julian flinched. “Mommy,” a high-pitched voice screamed. “Uncle Sheik has to put five dollars in the F-word jar!”
Julian stood and faced the door—a shield between the baby and what was about to burst into the room. Goldie was first, with Ruby hot on her heels. With no trouble at all, they dodged their father and jumped onto the bed.
“Don’t wake the baby,” Goldie screamed at her sister. The baby began to wail. “I told you. I told you you’d wake the baby. Mommy, Ruby woke the baby.”
Cleo didn’t bother pointing out that two-year-old Ruby, with her thumb firmly embedded in her mouth, hadn’t produced a peep. Goldie, on the other hand, was a five-year-old human foghorn.
Ruby pulled her thumb out of her mouth. “My kiss bebe Asher?”
“It’s Azure, Ruby,” Goldie screamed, standing on the bed. “Like zha zha zha
boom
.” She swung her hips and plopped down hard, bouncing the baby in Cleo’s arms. “It means blue. Because she cries blue sounds, right, Daddy? Ruby keeps saying Asher but that’s wrong. She still has baby talk.”
Ruby leaned over and planted a sloppy kiss on the crying baby’s head, while Goldie continued her running monologue. “Azure means blue, and Ruby means red, and Goldie means yellow, but not because I have yellow hair, right, Daddy? I have red hair. And Ruby has brown hair. Isn’t that funny, Daddy? We don’t have the right hair, any of us. Because you named us for our colors that only you can see.”
“That’s right, angel,” Julian said. “Ruby cried jewels, and you were like the rays of the sun.” He tousled her hair affectionately. “And now you’re like glass in a blender,” he murmured, just loudly enough for Cleo to hear.
“And Azure sounds blue and smells like the ocean,” Goldie continued. “But to me she just smells like poop.”
“Who wants to take a nap?” Julian asked, and Cleo recognized the tone of forced enthusiasm.
“Not me, Daddy,” Goldie said. “Because I’m not even a little bit sleepy.”
“Of course you’re not.” Julian sighed. “But Ruby is. And Mummy is. And you need to be rested for when Joey Ramone comes over later.”
“I’m gonna marry Joey Ramone,” said Goldie, decidedly.
“You most definitely are not,” said Julian.
“Am, too. I like how he plays guitar.”
“Oh, dear,” Cleo said.
“He sucks,” Julian grumbled.
“
Julian.
Good grief, he’s six.”
“He still sucks,” Julian replied as everyone settled in. Goldie snuggled up against Cleo, and Ruby settled into her favorite spot, the crook of Julian’s arm. Without dislodging her, he reached over and grabbed the old Martin acoustic.
He strummed a chord, and Cleo waited for the usual naptime set, “Ruby Red Kisses” and “Golden Was the Day.” But something new floated out instead. Something dreamy and sweet and…
blue
.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“‘Azure Skies, Midnight Cries,’” Julian whispered. “It’s a work in progress.”
“I like it.”
“I was thinking about dusting off the Les Paul later. I think you might like that better,” he said.
“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind, Guitar Boy?”
“The usual,” he said, running his fingers over the strings and switching seamlessly to “Playing Cleo.”
Her heart skipped a beat at the melody.
“We’ll start out with something nice and slow,” Julian said. “Then we’ll work our way up to something a little faster…and
dirtier
.” He grinned, causing her skipping heart to thud instead.
“And?” she asked. “Then what?”
“Then,” Julian purred, “we’ll stop in the middle when the baby cries.”
Cleo laughed. That was their song, all right. And she couldn’t wait to play it again.
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Acknowledgments
I’d like to say I wrote this book all by myself, but that’s hardly the case. Many people contributed to what finally became
Color Me Crazy,
and some of them are even still speaking to me.
First and foremost, thank you to Jessica Snyder for saving this story from the publisher’s slush pile. In my mind, she emerged from the dark depths covered in slush (whatever that is) and waving the manuscript victoriously above her head. Sometimes, depending on my mood, she’s wearing a cape. And thank you to Kerri-Leigh Grady for passing the
Crazy
torch to Karen Grove, who fanned the flame into an inferno. That might be an exaggeration. She turned this story into a novel while treating me like a delicate flower. (She also saved Julian from plaid pants.)
Thanks to my pep squad for their amazing stamina. Author Amy Bearce is the best friend a girl could have. She was the first person to read the original manuscript, and she read every version after, giving each one the same earnest consideration. Most importantly, she was always ready for an emergency trip to the coffee shop. Author Alison Bliss never got tired of waving her Texas-size pompoms (all the way from Indiana). Actually, she probably got really tired of it, but was too polite to say so. Author Samantha Bohrman kept me laughing and from quitting, usually by telling me to shut up and quit, already. I hate that I fell for reverse psychology.
I’d also like to note the contributions and support of Jeannine Hanscom, Claudia Corrozza, Roselle Kaes, Kasey Corbit, and Louise Gornall—awesome ladies, each and every one.
A big high five goes to my street team for promoting this book and keeping me saturated in BuzzFeed quizzes and pictures of Alex Minsky.
And last, but not least, I need to thank my sisterwives: Ann, Cat, Dee, Heidi, Julie, Pamela, Sara, and especially Cynthia, who tried her hardest to stick around.
About the Author
Carol Pavliska
began her writing career as a family humor columnist and blogger, a pursuit she abandoned when her children grew old enough to realize they were being exploited. To save them from further embarrassment, she turned to writing fiction. Her debut novel is a steamy contemporary romance so, unfortunately, the children are still embarrassed.
Carol and her husband, both diehard Red Hot Chili Peppers fans, raise their vegan brood of mortified offspring on a cattle ranch in south Texas. No lie.
To learn more about Carol Pavliska and keep up with her latest news, go to
carolpavliskabooks.com
or connect with her on social media. She’d love to hear from you!
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