The Big Bang (33 page)

“I know that was an utterly amazing night.”

That jittery feeling returned.

Mackenzie’s eyes fluttered briefly.

Tim kissed her tiny forehead.

“I just can’t imagine how you went off to the hospital like that.”

“Nor can I,” he said.

“Hope!” Theresa appeared at the top of the landing.

“Congratulations!” Hope said. “Your daughters are absolutely gorgeous!”

“And thankfully, they’re still sleeping,” Tim said as Theresa came down the stairs and joined them in the front hall.

They kissed.

Hope flashed back to sitting with Tim at the picnic tables. She remembered walking alone down the hall toward the vending machine. So high.

There was nothing more.

That fuzzy memory she had of some sort of kiss had to be from the dream with
not Jim
.

“Look at those baskets!” Theresa peered through the cellophane at
MACKENZIE
and
KAYLA
in letters shaped and painted to look like flowers. “I can’t imagine how cute their names are going to look above their cribs.”

“There are also tree decals and 3-D butterflies,” Hope said.

“You didn’t need to go to all that trouble.”

“It’s kind of ridiculous, but I’ve actually lost sleep picturing how it’s all going to look on the wall above their cribs.” In fact, her nagging memory felt no more real than the aching but false familiarity one had after a romantic dream with a celebrity or distant friend.

Kayla began to coo and Tim broke into the broadest of grins.

No matter how stoned and drunk she was, she wouldn’t kiss a man other than her husband, couldn’t kiss a man whose wife was pregnant, much less in labor with his two beautiful new daughters.

Mackenzie made a much more inauspicious sound.

They all laughed.

No way she could ever have kissed Tim.

“Do you have time to take the baskets upstairs?” Theresa asked. “I’d love to see what you’ve been picturing.”

“Thought you’d never ask.” Hope smiled.

If even a hint of anything had happened, wouldn’t there be full-fledged horror if not profound awkwardness between them?

“I’ll keep an eye on my girls while you do,” Tim said.

Instead, there was easy friendship, a relaxed atmosphere, and joy. Hope rubbed what would soon be her own little bundle as she followed Theresa to the stairs.

Pure joy.

T
he dull throb of the flat-screen TV reverberated through the garage as Laney weaved around the Little Tykes play sets, cast-off lawn equipment, and worse-for-wear patio chairs that had usurped both of their parking spaces. She entered the house and set her purse on the table. “I’m home.”

Her voice echoed through the empty front hall that was supposed to contain the boxes of Mary Kay, Pampered Chef, and assorted home shopping samples Mother’s Helpers had deemed obsolete and had been earmarked for the yard sale.

“Hey.” Steve lay beached on the couch like a steadily growing whale, inhaling Doritos like krill.

Accept that he’s been diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue.

The therapist’s words infused her sigh.

Expect him to be unwell, not going to accomplish much, if anything, from a honey-do list until he starts to feel like himself again.

The therapist warned her not to henpeck, but was a polite entreaty to bring three boxes up from the basement when he had nothing else to do so wrong? It wasn’t like she was going to suggest he call Scott Connors, who was hiring insurance agents at his
booming
agency, at least according to that show-off Julie, when she’d called to schedule a Mother’s Helpers party for next month.

Expect nothing.

As expected, nothing had moved, including him, since she’d left for the therapist.

“How did it go?” emerged from his blowhole.

“Apparently, I’m still depressed and have over-high expectations for the ones I love.” She headed for the refrigerator for a Diet Coke. “But my hypochondria seems to be improving.”

“How’s that?”

“The therapist didn’t hesitate to offer me an Advil for a tension headache.” She shook her head. “Can you believe that?”

He pointed the clicker toward the TV. “You’re not going to believe this.”

“I don’t exactly have time for ESPN. Randall Fowler’s on his way over with yard sale stuff right now.”

“Then we’ll get to be the first to congratulate him.” He upped the volume.

In off-season trade news, Randall Fowler inked a sweet deal that has him trading in his Broncos jersey for the Silver and Black.

Laney felt her knees weaken beneath her. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning your
bestie
is headed to Oakland.”

7
:04 a.m.:

Despite the prediction of rain, the sky was a uniform blue. The only hint of white came from the last few still-snowcapped peaks rising up behind the houses dotting the hillside. Baby birds chirped like circus barkers. Summer was in full swing, but having spent the better part of the week pulling together the biggest yard sale Melody Mountain Ranch had ever seen, Maryellen felt nothing, if not springy.

She attached balloons to the last of the neon-painted signs directing traffic from Parker Road, along Melody Mountain Parkway, and through the development to their cul-de-sac.

Before the sale got going, Maryellen took a moment to admire the sea of clothing, outdoor equipment, household items, toys, and furniture dotting the lawns and driveways and flowing into the street itself. Since her first blast e-mail, plans had fallen into place like clockwork. Parishioners, neighbors, even random people who’d heard about the sale, began to drop off their prepriced, separated-by-category items. Considering how much had come in, she was amazed at how little pricing and sorting there was to be done. So little, in fact, the Pricing-and-Sorting committee had morphed into the Night-Before-Prep committee.

Thanks to Hope and Laney’s generosity of both yard space and storage, the loaders and haulers who would still have been unloading at the Melody Mountain High School parking lot were enjoying coffee and bagels at the playground pavilion. Frank changed the covenants to allow multihouse yard sale permits upon approval of the board and then approved hers. And while the sale didn’t officially start for almost twenty minutes, the first shift was in place with aprons on and change at the ready, awaiting the purchases of a Hispanic couple with a pickup truck, a consignment shop owner, and a smattering of early birds.

As she headed back down the cul-de-sac, Frank appeared from inside the house. Yard sale casual in a pigment-dyed T-shirt, Lucky jeans, and the sneakers he put on after helping with setup and running back inside to shower, he surveyed the scene, gave her the thumbs-up, and joined her beside the greeter’s chair. “What do you need me to do, Mel?”

Maryellen smiled. “Just relax, mingle, and watch the money come in.”

***

7:45 a.m.:

Hope kept her mug of peppermint tea in close sniffing proximity to ward off the no longer enticing aroma of fresh brewed coffee.

“I mean, I’m thrilled as hell Randall got traded, or whatever,” Laney, who’d been on a stream-of-conscious rant about the Fowlers for the last ten minutes, continued, “but you can’t tell me they didn’t have any idea. I’m telling you, they knew all along.”

Hope shook her head as compassionately and with as little motion as possible.

“And if one more person asks me how psyched I am about the
big news
…”

While Laney seemed content to vent about Sarah Fowler with little in the way of thoughtful response, Hope was happy to stand in one place and not try to track the conversation. She inhaled peppermint to quell morning sickness that, were there no sale as distraction, she’d be suffering in bed, or more likely, on the floor of the bathroom.

Not that she was complaining. She’d never been so thrilled to be so nauseous.

“Morning, Frank!” Laney said in a loud, too-chipper voice when Frank Griffin stopped at a table of books that was arguably outside shouting distance.

He responded to her wave with one of his official church smiles, but picked up a title of interest and began to read the back cover as though hesitating before heading over to say hello.

“He really does look cute when he does the dress-down thing. Don’t you think?”

“Never really thought of him that way,” Hope managed.

“Really?” Laney ran her tongue along her teeth, ostensibly to loosen rogue sesame seeds from the bagel she’d been nibbling. “How can you not?”

Hope belched.

“Morning,” Frank said, making his way over, but not really zeroing in. His attention seemed to be on a transaction at the checkout table. “I’d love to chat, but Maryellen has me on a short leash this morning.”

“I’m sure she does.” Laney smiled.

“I’m glad I caught you both together, though,” he said. “We can’t thank you enough for the use of your yards and garages.”

“No problem.” Hope worked her lips into an upward curl.

“My pleasure,” Laney said.

A woman who’d been milling through a nearby box of bedding came over with an unopened queen sheet set.

“The only price I see is the original tag from the store.”

“Still in the package and originally $79.99,” Laney said, examining the price tag. “Twenty-five bucks should be about right.”

“How about twenty?” the woman asked.

“For an unopened Pottery Barn sheet set?”

The woman picked up a crystal vase from a nearby table. A $5 price tag hung from the base. “Throw this in and you have a deal.”

“Should we do it, Frank?” she asked.

“I think that’s a question best answered by Maryellen,” he said, either missing or ignoring her double entendre. “Follow me.”

“Thanks for your support, ladies,” he said as the woman fell in behind him. “You’re the best.”

Two steps away, but a step before he was definitely out of hearing range, Laney said, “If he weren’t a man of the cloth, I might be tempted to show him just how right he is.”

With that thought, not-yet-digested peppermint rose in Hope’s throat.

***

7:50 a.m.:

Maryellen watched Laney wave Frank over, conduct what she must have thought was a surreptitious g-string-liberating tug on the backside of her hot pink sweats, and break into a flirty smile. The day looked so promising, Laney’s usual nonsense had no effect on her—not until a customer stepped over and she began to conduct what looked like negotiations. The sexual innuendo routine was one thing, but taking charge of the sale was another.

Maryellen stood and was on her way over to intercede when Frank started in her direction, customer in tow.

They met halfway.

“Laney suggested twenty bucks for this sheet set and vase,” he said, showing her the items in his hand. “But, I wanted to get an okay from the big boss.”

The
big boss
smiled. “Twenty sounds perfect.”

***

8:31 a.m.:

“Yo, Laney,” Steve Torgenson waved a lacrosse stick as he headed toward the checkout line. “Cool surprise about Randall Fowler, huh?”

“Fabulous!” she said. “Speaking of fabulous, you must just love that prolonging cream Samantha picked up for you at my Mother’s Helpers party.”

***

9:42 a.m.:

Whether Maryellen was greeting shoppers at the playground pavilion, refilling her coffee, or at the checkout table watching the exit parade of fondue pots, Little Tykes toys, and lamps destined for a new life as someone else’s treasure, praise seemed to float in the breeze that had rolled in.

Excellent merchandising, items priced to sell…

I don’t think I’ve ever been to such an attractive rummage sale
…

Maryellen says a well-organized yard sale can bring in up to
30
percent more…

To that end, she stopped to straighten a rack of assorted coats.

Amid the hum of compliments, the distinctive cry of a newborn rang through the air and Maryellen turned to find Theresa Trautman standing beside her, double stroller in tow. “Oh, you’re here!”

“We’re all here.”

She hugged Theresa and took in the heavenly tableau of rosebud mouths; plump, ivory cheeks; and blue eyes. “They’re gorgeous!”

“The blondie is Kayla Rose.” Theresa beamed, touching a little ringlet. “And our Mackenzie Grace,” she lifted the pink woven cap, revealing adorable peach fuzz, “is darker like Lauren, but still sporting a mild case of cone head.”

“I can’t even imagine giving birth to two at once.”

“There’s barely time to think about it when they come two minutes apart and as quick as they did,” Theresa said. “My water broke at eight-thirty. We were at the hospital by nine-thirty. I had Mackenzie by a minute after eleven and Kayla two minutes later.”

“Absolutely amazing,” Maryellen said.

“Isn’t she though?” Tim appeared beside her and slid an arm around his wife. He glanced at his boys who had taken to digging through a table covered with assorted sports equipment. “So is your sale, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Maryellen said. “But everything pales in comparison to your beautiful daughters.”

He smiled at Theresa. “Clearly, they take after their mama.”

With the sound of a horn, one of the babies began to fuss.