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She’s about four weeks out, and I can hardly handle the excitement. I can sense Eve’s excitement, too, but it’s tinged with a bit of stress. I count my lucky stars that her mood swings aren’t too bad. Eve’s a sweetheart through and through. She does her best to brush things off, but I know her better than that.
She’s a dancer, after all. She’s used to pain and suffering in silence. Eve will occasionally make a passing comment that her back hurts, and I’ve noticed that loud noises—like the abrasive honking of cars outside or the constant hum of the air conditioning unit—irritate her. Every time I ask if there’s something I can do to make things easier for her, Eve simply smiles and kisses me on the cheek before saying she’s fine.
But I’m a man of action.
Always have been.
Our five-day escape to the countryside is my gift to her. It’s the best I can do considering how close her due date is. I would’ve taken her to the old family cabin we have up near Whistler in Canada, but I don’t like the idea of Eve having to endure a six-hour flight there and back. Besides, she’s so heavily pregnant that she shouldn’t be flying, anyway.
It’s picturesque out here, like something out of a fantasy novel. Tall trees tower around us like skyscrapers, casting long shadows over the property. The car engine clicks as it cools down where I’ve parked neatly behind a stack of firewood that’s been left out to dry. There’s nothing but the soft rustle of wind through the branches, the distant sound of running water—likely from a nearby creek—and the whistling of birds overhead.
The McBrindle Bed and Breakfast is an old Victorian home built sometime after the Civil War. Its decorative shutters are painted black, standing in stark contrast to the white paint job of the exterior walls. Outside, commemorative metal plaques detail the historical significance the house played as a transfer point along the Underground Railroad. I’m sure it’s all very interesting, but history was never one of my stronger subjects in school.
Eve, on the other hand, eats it up.
“This is so cool,” she says, sliding out of the passenger seat because her large belly prevents her from standing upright without a great deal of effort. The gravel beneath her feet crunches as she takes a step forward, marveling at the house. “It’s so beautiful here, Nate.”
“I’m glad you like it. Come on, let’s go check in.”
The lady who owns the place, Mrs. McBrindle, looks like she walked straight out one of those old-timey black-and-white photographs from the late thirties. She’s hunched over, leaning heavily on a simple cane made of carved birch. She has almost no hair remaining, and what little she does have is ghost white and pulled into a tight bun atop her head. Her head reminds me of a turnip, impossibly round cheeks with a sharp chin.
“Ah, welcome, welcome,” she greets, her voice like an out-of-tune trumpet. “So glad you’re here, Mr. Winthrop. And you’ve brought the missus. You’re positively glowing.”
“I’m not—thank you, ma’am,” Eve says, a soft blush dusting her cheeks.
“Your room is on the second floor. I’ll show you there.”
We luckily don’t have to climb too many flights of stairs. It takes Eve a little longer to make her way up, but I’m behind her every step of the way to help her keep her balance. Mrs. McBrindle shows us to the room at the end of the hall. There look to be at least four other rooms on this floor, but there aren’t any signs of other guests.
Eve notices this too. “Where is everybody?” she asks.
Mrs. McBrindle chuckles. “Your husband booked out the entire house.”
“Oh, he’s not my—” Eve then looks to me, astounded. “The whole house?”
I shrug a shoulder and grin. “This way no one will disturb us, and you can get all the rest you need.”
Eve smiles up at me, taking my arm and giving my bicep a squeeze. She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t have to. Her eyes do all the talking. It pleases me to no end to see her so delighted.
The room looks bigger on the inside than it does out in the hall. The noonday sun streams in through the arched windows, dust particles glittering the air in the light. There’s a four-post bed made out of what I assume is mahogany, cradling a comfy king-sized mattress adorned with a mountain of silk covered pillows and a warm duvet.
Across the room sits an ornate vanity table and mirror, decorative boxes in an array of pastel colors adorning its surface. I’m not sure what purpose they serve, but at least they look nice.
There’s also a spacious en-suite bathroom that’s recently been renovated. The bathtub’s large enough to fit at least three adults, and there’s a shower next to it with tall glass walls and one of those waterfall showerheads that I’m admittedly excited to try.
