Little Gale Gumbo (40 page)

“I'll need you to drive me,” Dahlia said.

He nodded, still staring down at his coffee. “What will we say?”

“We'll say I lost the baby. The doctor said a lot of women miscarry their first pregnancy. Especially in the first trimester.”

The room fell silent, the guilt spinning between them like a bicycle chain around two gears.

Wayne walked her back to her truck.

“She can't know,” Dahlia said, climbing into the cab. “Not ever.”

Wayne gripped the edge of the door, a fresh wave of nausea roiling through him.

“She won't.”

 

They each told Josie a different reason for their absence on the following Tuesday, taking the ferry across the choppy bay at noon, then climbing the hill to Congress Street in Wayne's sedan, saying little as they drew near the clinic, the windshield wipers brushing away a light snow.

Headed home afterward, they sat in the dark of the ferry's garage, watching Dusty Cuttle retie his roof straps almost four times, saying nothing until a young mother walked past with her newborn.

It was hard to know who cried first. Only that when Wayne reached for Dahlia she let him pull her into his arms, let him bury his face in her hair as their sobs collided, clinging to each other as if they might otherwise drown.

 

An hour later, Josie met Wayne at the door, her eyes bright, streaks of paint covering her arms and thighs.

“Come see,” she said, pulling him up the stairs even as he tried to shrug out of his coat, leading him down the hall to the tiny spare room at the end. Stepping inside, she was winded with excitement as she said, “What do you think?”

Wayne stared at the fence of stripes that lined the far wall, shades of peach and blue, purple and green.

“I went a little overboard, I know,” Josie said, gesturing to the sample pints stacked in the corner. And she hadn't even confessed to the week's other purchases, the embroidered linens and crib bumper she'd been unable to resist at a new boutique on Exchange Street, the changing table with the musical mobile she'd put on order at the mall.

She pressed herself against him, waiting for him to wrap his arms around her.

Wayne swallowed thickly. “It's . . . They're all great,” he said, turning away before she could see the strain on his face. “I've gotta go empty the car, 'kay?”

“Sure.”

When he'd gone, Josie looked at the wall again, a fresh burst of hope swelling in her. Life was so funny, she thought. The way things worked out, even when she'd been so sure the spirits had chosen other paths for her. Now she would be a mother. A mother! And to Matthew's baby. Was it so wrong of her to take joy in that sweet and simple fact? No, she decided brightly. Not a bit. Maybe this was how it was meant to be all along. Maybe Dahlia was right to have her doubts about the spirits' powers. Maybe there was some faith to be had in the universe on its own.

Even still, after Wayne had gone to bed, Josie lit a protection candle at the kitchen table for their continued good fortune, for the continued health of her sister, and the baby she had already imagined born and grown, his or her whole life spread out before Josie like a perfect, never-ending bloom.

Twenty-nine

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It had to be Josie, Dahlia thought when she stepped up to the café's front door and heard the soulful singing through the glass. No one else blasted Billie in the middle of the day like her younger sister.

Coming inside, Dahlia was startled to find Matthew behind the counter instead, head thrown back in mock singing.

“Matty?”

He spun around, arms wide. “Hey, perfect timing!”

Dahlia came behind the counter and lowered the music. “Where is everyone?”

“Don't know. Closed early, I guess. God, I love this song. Do you remember this one?”

“Of course I do, Matty. I still hear them all ten times a day.” She eyed him warily. “What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like?” Matthew gestured to an opened case of beer cans on a nearby table.

Dahlia counted four empties and sighed. “Crap.”

“Oh, come on.” He laughed, taking her by the hand and tugging her toward the table. “It's not great beer, but it's far from crap.”

“You're turning everything into a stupid joke,” she said flatly, taking the chair across from him. “Something happened.”

“Ahh, Dahlia, the great psychologist.”

“Look, Matty, if this is about last night . . .”

“Hush.” He grabbed a beer out of the case and pushed it at her. “Drink.”

She snapped open the can and took a sip, watching Matthew over the rim. He was edgy, she thought. Too edgy.

“How did you get in here?” she asked.

“How do you think? The key's been in the same place for twenty years.”

Dahlia set down her beer, licked her lips. “So do we have to go through this whole case before you tell me what's wrong?”

Matthew drained his can and slammed it down. “She's pregnant.”

“Who?”

He gave Dahlia an even look. She sat back, stunned. “Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah. Exactly.” He pulled out another beer, snapped it open. “Fucking architect sperm. And I always thought they built huge buildings to compensate for their small dicks.”

Dahlia leaned across the table and took his free hand. “We'll talk to Joze. She can do things to him. She can make him wake up with moss all over his balls. The really thick, prickly stuff, where slugs hang out.”

Matthew laughed helplessly. “Suddenly you're a believer, huh?”

“I make exceptions.”

“Yeah. Don't we all.” He looked down at her hand in his, turning it over and running his thumb across her palm. “I don't know, Dee. It's funny.”

“What is?”

He shrugged. “I've been sitting here thinking maybe there's a reason Holly and I couldn't get pregnant.”

Dahlia felt his hand tighten around hers.

“I'm sure the doctors had their theories, Matty.”

“I'm not talking about what the doctors said.”

“What then?” she asked.

“Maybe the reason it never worked was because I never really wanted to have a baby with her.”

Dahlia tried to ease her fingers out of his grip but he wouldn't release her.

“That's crap and you know it,” she said. “You were with Holly for ten years.”

“So? You've known me almost my whole life, Dee. Did you ever think I'd have kids?”

“I don't know. I never thought about it.”

“Well, neither did I. Out of all of us, Josie was always the one who wanted kids. But what about you and me?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Matthew lifted his eyes to her and smiled sadly. “Because in my whole life, I think the only person I ever thought about having a baby with was
you
.”

Dahlia pulled her hand free. “Very funny.”

“You think I'm lying?”

“I think you're drunk.”

“Right.” Matthew swigged his beer, swallowed hard. “I figured you'd say that.”

The front door opened. They turned to see Josie come in, wide-eyed and winded. “Why's the Closed sign turned around?” she said, looking between them. “Where's Wayne?”

“JoJo!” Matthew stumbled out from behind the table, lurching to meet Josie. He grabbed her around the waist, hugged her tightly. “My little JoJo . . .”

Josie managed to raise her chin above his shoulder, locking eyes with Dahlia. The sisters shared a nervous look. Dahlia gestured to the beers and shook her head.

“Dance with me,” Matthew insisted, spinning Josie around a pair of tables before she could protest. “You always wanted me to ask; you know you did. Here's your big chance.”

“Matty, stop,” Josie said gently, trying to loosen his hands from her waist. “I think you should sit down.”

“Oh, fuck all that,” he said. “I'll sit when I'm dead. Isn't that what they say?” He tugged Josie closer to the jukebox. Dahlia rose to help, stepping between them.

“Joze, why don't you go make us something to eat.”

“Good idea.” Josie finally slipped free and moved out of Matthew's reach, grabbing Dahlia's hand on her way to the kitchen and bringing her along.

The sisters hurried through the swinging door. When they were safe inside, Josie exclaimed, “What's going on?”

“Holly's pregnant.”

“Oh!” Josie's face brightened.

Dahlia frowned. “It's not his.”

“
Oh
,” Josie said again, quieter this time. “No wonder he's drunk.” She moved to the refrigerator, opened it, then stopped. She looked at Dahlia over the top of the door, her expression determined. “I'm going to tell him.”

“What?” Dahlia moved to the fridge, frantic. “Don't you dare. You promised.”

Josie shut the door. “That was before this.”

“Joze, it won't help. You'll only hurt him more.”

“I don't believe that,” Josie said.

“Well, it's not up to you!”

“Why not? It's as much my secret as it is anybody's. Maybe I'm tired of feeling guilty about it all the time. Aren't you?”

“Shhh!” Dahlia glanced to the door, sure she heard Matthew approaching. “Of course I feel guilty,” she whispered. “How can you even ask me that?”

“Then let's tell him,” Josie said. “Let's tell him so he can get on with his life.”

“How is telling him going to help him get on with his life?”

“Because he can try again with someone else. He has time—he just doesn't know it!”

“Jesus, listen to you two!” Matthew burst through the swinging door. “I can't even hear the music. What the hell are you yelling about in here?”

“Nothing.” Dahlia glared pleadingly at Josie across the kitchen, but Josie wouldn't meet her gaze.

“We have something to tell you, Matty.”

“No, we don't,” Dahlia said, moving to Matthew and urging him back out into the café. “I want another beer.”

“So go get one,” Matthew said, turning to Josie. “What do you want to tell me?”

“Joze,” Dahlia warned evenly, “so fucking help me . . .”

“Dahlia just told me about Holly, Matty.”

Matthew shrugged. “Yeah, what are you gonna do, right? Life's an asshole.” He strolled between them, looking around the kitchen. “I thought you guys were getting us some food.”

Josie moved toward him, her hands clasped under her chin. “I know you're upset,” she said calmly, “and you think you can't have a family, but you need to know that there's still time for you to try with someone else.”

“Jo, come on. . . .” Matthew turned back to her, his head rolling to one side. “I don't want to talk about this, okay?”

“Hear that, Joze?” Dahlia stared at her sister. “He doesn't want to talk about it.”

But Josie was too determined now. “You
can
have babies,” she said. “As many as you want.”

“Jesus, what is this?” Matthew said. “Some kind of fucking intervention? I told you I don't want to talk about it any-more.”

“It's the truth,” Josie said. “We wanted to tell you a long time ago. It just never seemed like the right time.”

Matthew looked at Dahlia. “The right time for what?”

Dahlia couldn't meet his eyes. The room seemed to grow hot, the air thick. Her heart thundered in her chest. She looked at Josie instead, determined to let her sister gasp for breath alone. This confession was, after all, Josie's grand plan. Dahlia would be damned if she'd rescue her sister halfway across the high wire she'd walked herself out onto.

“Go on, Joze,” she said coldly. “Tell him already.”

If her sister regretted her decision, she didn't reveal it. Josie's expression remained tender, her smile small but insistent, even as her eyes filled with tears.

“Matty,” she said, “Dahlia was pregnant with your baby.”

For a few seconds, the admission seemed to hang in the air like incense smoke, heavy and unmoving. Matthew just looked between the sisters, his eyes slitted with confusion. “What did you say?”

He'd heard, of course he had, but he wanted to hear them say it again. To hear Dahlia say it.