I'm So Sure (25 page)

But he keeps it. “Do you realize what a big deal this could be?”

“You holding my hand?”

His grin is slow. “The paper.” He brushes his thumb over my skin then releases me.

I struggle to remain neutral. Unaffected.

“We have to make sure we have every fact straight, so we need to put our heads together and map out the story.” He pulls out my chair and motions for me to sit.

“So what’s the latest on Joshua?”

“He’s still in jail. His family couldn’t afford to post bail.”

“Callie must be going crazy.”

Luke pushes up the sleeves of his Abercrombie henley. “Joshua still insists on his innocence.”

“So do most ax murderers.”

Since I have the day off from Manny’s House of Indigestion, I call Mom after school to see if she wants to run to Tulsa to help me shop for some new heels. I need something to snazz up my old lastyear’s model of a dress. Though I could get a new dress with my money for bringing Ruthie’s harasser to justice and my job advance, I think I’ll just save it.

“I can’t, Bel. I have to get to Dolly’s. The family is coming for the baby. I need to be there with her.”

“Today? Now?” But I didn’t get to say good-bye to baby Mason. “Can I go?”

Mom’s hesitation crackles over the phone. “I don’t know . . .”

“Budge can watch Robbie. I’ll pick you up at Sugar’s.” And I disconnect before she has time to argue.

I drive my key-lime-green Bug to the diner. When I swing open the heavy glass door, the overhead bell jingles. And mom stands there waiting just a foot away.

“Let’s go.” Her mouth is set, her face pinched.

She buckles into my passenger seat as I start the car. “What’s with the bag?” I ask.

Mom rests a big plastic bag at her feet. “It’s a care package—an entire chocolate pie from Sugar’s, smothered chicken fried steak, some Kleenex, a new push-up bra, and a romance novel.”

“A bra?”

She shrugs. “Your dad always said perky boobs make everyone feel better.”

“He also said thin thighs could bring world peace.”

She flings the bra into my backseat. “Good point.”

Ten minutes later the Bug eases into the driveway. Mom grabs her bag and we slip into the front door without even knocking.

“Dolly?” Mom calls from the living room, where we tiptoe around suitcases and boxes of Mason’s things.

She steps out of the kitchen, Mason in her arms, her eyes red and puffy. “He’s been asleep for an hour, but I can’t seem to put him down. It’s like we’re two magnets . . . stuck together.” A tear slips down her cheek only to be chased by another.

The doorbell bongs a short melody. All three of us jump.

Dolly's eyes widen and zip to Mom. “He’s here.” She swallows. “I can’t believe this day has come already.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Mom grips Dolly’s shoulders. “We can fight this.”

She pats the baby’s back. “This is Mason’s father—his family.” More tears free-fall. “I know I don’t go to church and stuff. Haven’t stepped foot in one since the girls’ funeral. But I do pray. And this is what I’m supposed to do.” Her voice breaks on a sob. “It’s just so hard.”

Mom glances toward the door. “Are you ready for me to let him in?”

Dolly wipes her nose and nods.

Mom pulls open the big oak door. Mason’s father stands in the entryway, his parents and attorney behind him.

“Hi, I’m Jonathan.” He holds out a hand and Mom shakes it. She puts on her best fake smile and ushers the family in.

The door swings open again, and Mickey Patrick walks in. “Hi. I was . . . um, in the neighborhood.”

Dolly keeps her attention on the young father. “These are his things.” She gestures to the mountain of boxes. “I did some shopping for him just yesterday. Spring is coming soon, and I wanted him to be ready. There’s a really cute Easter outfit in the red suitcase.” She sniffs. “You may not want it, of course.”

Jonathan stares at his son. “He’ll wear it. I’ll send you pictures.”

“That’d be nice.” Dolly’s breath shudders in her chest. “The blue bag has his favorite toys. He likes to have his froggy rattle as soon as he wakes up. But that’s on the instructions I wrote out for you. Those are in the brown suitcase.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jonathan says calmly, like he has all the time in the world. And I guess he does. He now has a lifetime to spend with the son he didn’t even know he had. But that still leaves Dolly alone. With a gaping place in her heart.

“And I packed up his crib set and all the décor because he really likes looking at his cowboy things. He loves his horse mobile, so be sure and turn that on for him. Sometimes when he’s—”

“Dolly—” Mickey steps from the behind the family and wraps a big arm around his ex-wife. “Let him go, babe.”

Her face seizes and she breaks down, clutching the still-sleeping Mason. “I love you, sweet boy.” She presses a kiss to each of his cheeks. “You’re going to be so happy with your daddy.” Her watery words are a struggle to decipher.

Mickey runs a knuckle across the baby’s hand. “When he gets fussy, he enjoys a little AC/DC too.”

I look at Mom, and she’s just as teary eyed as me. This is majorly sad—like
Fox and the Hound
sad. Like
Bambi
sad.

Dolly pulls Mason from her shoulder and kisses him one last time. She whispers words for his ears only, then offers the baby to Jonathan. Slowly. Carefully. Hesitantly. Her arms stretch out to meet his.

Jonathan’s face transforms as he holds his son. His parents move to either side of him. He looks to Dolly. “He’s going to be my everything.”

Though it sounds a little dramatic to me, it seems to be just what she needs to hear. Dolly attempts a smile and nods her weary head.

When the last box is packed away, Jonathan hugs Dolly. “Thank you. God brought Mason to you for a reason. Whatever that is, I’m grateful.”

Jonathan holds his sleeping son, and together with his parents, disappears into the van, down the driveway, and out of Dolly’s life.

The ride home is a quiet one. No radio. No talking. Just me and my mom silent with our own thoughts.

It occurs to me that something was missing out at Dolly’s. “Where was the camera crew? Do they have the day off?”

“I asked them to stay away. This was private.” Mom parks the Tahoe in the front of our house. “And it was nice while it lasted.” She gestures to two men in the yard, one of them wielding a large camera.

Ignoring the
Pile Driver of Dreams
crew, I follow Mom onto the front porch and almost trip over a large UPS box.

She leans over it. “To Bella Kirkwood.”

Fun! “For me?” I pick it up and carry it with me into the house. Too big to be diamonds. To small to be a new Mercedes.

I drop the box on the ugly orange couch in the living room. Peeling off tape with my nails, I lift the flaps. “It’s my dress!” I reach in and grab the red strapless piece of art. “It’s the one I wanted from Bergdorf ’s. Is this from Dad?” I didn’t even look at the return address.

Mom picks up a small white card from the floor. She reads it, then passes it to me. “Not your dad.”

Bella,

Can’t wait to see you at prom. I hope this dress is just one of many things that will make the night perfect.

Counting the days until I see you again,
Hunter

I run upstairs, clutching my fabulous new dress. Shutting my bedroom door, I rip off my clothes and ease the dress over my head. I stare into my full-length mirror and peel up the zipper.

It’s perfect.

I spin around the room a few times before breaking into a waltz with an invisible partner. Breathless from turning, I collapse onto my bed and call Hunter.

He picks up on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

“Simply amazing.”

He laughs. “But enough about me. Tell me how you feel about the dress.”

I run my hand over the smooth material. “Oh, Hunter. Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything. I’m just glad to make you happy.”

“Happy? I’m delirious! I love the dress. And I love that you did this for me. But Hunter . . . it’s so expensive.”

“Don’t even think about that. Just enjoy it.”

I look at the skirt fanning around me. “I will. I don’t ever want to take it off.” Something beeps in the background. I hear voices in loud conversation. “Where are you?”

“Um . . . at the hospital.”

“What?” Here I am gushing about a dress and he’s in the hospital. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing. I came in this morning, and I’ll be out in a few hours.”

“Please tell me what’s going on.”

“Bella, forget about it.” His voice is weak, but stern. “Just a little flare-up with my stomach. You know the routine—more tests.”

“Hunter, I realize this isn’t the time. But this weekend we are sitting down, and you are telling me every detail of your health situation. I want to know everything.”

He draws a deep breath. “There’re are a few other things I want to talk to you about when I see you.”

I think of Luke’s hand on mine this morning. Then I think of Hunter hugging me the last time we saw each other. Our long talks. This fabulous dress. If Hunter wants to discuss us getting back together . . . I believe I know what my answer will be.

“Hunter, I have something to tell you too.”

chapter thirty-four

I
know, Lindy. I’m really sorry I can’t be there to decorate today and tomorrow. I’m sure you will have plenty of help. I think it’s nice that Felicity got the helium for the balloons.” I watch the final passengers board the early morning flight to Las Vegas. “No, I don’t think she wants everyone to think you’re an incompetent, do-nothing class president who doesn’t know a streamer from a shrimp roll. Look, I have to go. I’ll see you Saturday night.”

After a quick call to Hunter to check on his progress, I power off my phone and stick it in my bag.

“The teenage years are difficult and trying ones,” Robbie says
254
from across the aisle.

Mom licks her finger and flips a magazine page. “Tell me about it.”

In a few minutes the plane taxis down the runway. Then with a lurch that never fails to make my stomach drop, we become one with the clouds, birds, and smog.

Three Sprites, two
Teen Vogues
, and one iPod movie later, we touch down in Vegas. I look over at the boys, and they’re head-to-head asleep—Budge with his mouth wide open.

“This is going to be so exciting.” Mom lifts Robbie’s suitcase from the conveyor at baggage claim.

“Hey, it’s Dad!” Robbie scampers away from us and runs straight into Jake’s waiting arms. Jake sweeps him high in the air.

“You guys ready to go to the hotel?” With Robbie on his shoulders, Jake wraps an arm around Mom. “It’s something else.”

Yeah, the WWT hotel. Of all the cool places to stay in Vegas, we have to stay at the one dedicated to wrestling. Why not the ritzy Bellagio? Or the cool one that looks like Paris?

Outside a stretch limo waits for us. Robbie and Budge
ooh
and
ahh
. Even though I’ve ridden in one many times, I can’t help but run my hands over the buttery leather seats.

We all find a window to press our nose to as we drive through town. This Las Vegas place is unreal. It’s like we’re on a different planet.

The limo glides to a stop at the hotel. We climb out and take in the sight before us.

“It’s in the shape of a big wrestling ring.” Robbie’s head is cranked all the way back to get the full view.

Jake escorts us to the front desk where we’re greeted by a staff of men and women in tight Lycra shorts and tank tops.

“Welcome to the WWT hotel,” a pert blonde says. “After you get settled in your suite, we hope you’ll explore the Spit and Spandex Museum, the Rope Burn Buffet, as well as the Chop Drop Casino. And we also have a virtual gaming room where you can experience a computer generated wrestling match and know the thrill of having a karate chop to the larynx or your arms broken in two.”

The guy beside her smiles. “And Clay Aiken will be performing in the Head-Butt Lounge tonight.”

None of us move. We all just stare.

“Okay, guys!” Jake hustles us away. “Let’s go see your rooms.”

We ride the glass elevator to the fifteenth floor. Robbie holds his hands over his head and makes whooshing noises like he’s flying. Budge listens to his iPod and openly gawks at all the hot ladies in skimpy uniforms below.