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Ellie and Roger look up at us as we emerge from the hall. The smell of the food hits my nostrils again, and I cover my nose with my hand.
“Rachel isn’t feeling well. I think I’m going to take her back to the barn and get her in the bed,” J.R. tells them.
“You okay, Mama?” Knox asks concerned.
“I’ll be okay,” I tell her. “Don’t worry.”
“I can bring Knox down when she’s finished eating,” Roger says. “I hope you feel better, Rachel.”
I nod and avoid saying anything else for fear of hurling all over the hardwood floors and ruining everyone’s dinner.
“J.R., I’ll bring you a plate over,” Ellie calls as we head out the door.
J.R. calls back, “Just a sandwich or something. It's a pregnancy thing.” I’m thankful that he ensures the smell of fried beef doesn’t follow us to the barn.
“Ohh,” Ellie says, understanding my green complexion now. “Well, I have just the thing for both of you. I’ll bring it right over.”
The fresh, cold air feels good against my skin as we walk from the house to the barn. I’m still crying, which only seems to make the situation worse. J.R. slides his arm around my shoulders as we walk. I lay my head on the inside of his shoulder, and I cling to him as though I’m dying. I am probably being a little dramatic, but I can’t stop myself.
“Were you sick when you were pregnant with Knox?” he asks me.
I forget that this is all new to him—seeing me like this, holding my hair as I puke, having to be conscious of smells.
“I was.” I sigh. “I was hoping this time would be different. Thank you for holding my hair while I puked.”
J.R. laughs. “I saw it in a movie.”
J.R. helps me up the steps to our new bedroom. He peels back the covers on the bed, and I crawl inside. It’s not my bed from home, but it will do. I try not to miss Tybee tonight, but I do. I miss not hearing the ocean’s roar in the background and the smell of the sea breeze as it moves through my hair. I miss my house and the way my bare feet felt against the cool, wooden floors. I know this isn’t permanent, but it’s not just a week away either. We’ll be here for months, and I’ll have to adjust.
J.R. climbs into the bed next to me, and then he pulls me close. We lie there quietly together for a few moments, my eyes closed, as I try to will the nausea away.
“Your parents are being really nice to us,” I say through the silence, trying to distract myself from my current condition.
“They are, aren’t they?” he says.
“You don’t think it’s an attempt to keep us here forever, do you?” I don’t want to ask this question, but the thought has crossed my mind.
J.R. doesn’t respond immediately, but I notice a change in his breathing, and I think he’s not sure how to take what I’ve said.
“I don’t know. What are you saying, Rach?”
I’m hesitant to go any further with the conversation. He sounds offended, and I don’t want to hurt him. I’m still suspicious of his parents, and I wonder if they have ulterior motives. They’ve only just re-entered J.R.’s life after more than a decade of distance, and suddenly we’re here, living in this beautiful barn that they had completely renovated just for us. Someone has to be aware. Someone has to be cautious.
I turn my eyes to his, and I gaze into them for a moment. “Just promise me that we get to go home one day. We won’t stay here forever.”
“Rach, I told you this isn’t permanent. This isn’t our home,” he assures me. “I promise.”
I smile up at him. “We’ll bring our baby home to the farm.”
“Same place I was brought home to. Kind of poetic.”
It is poetic, I guess. I wonder if this baby, whether boy or girl, will have permanent roots to this farm. I wonder if our baby is the one who will take over this place when they're old enough. Maybe J.R. didn’t want to take the farming route, but maybe the baby will. I wonder.
I close my eyes, wrap my arms around him, and lay my head against his chest. “I love you, J.R.”
I feel his hand stroke the top of my head gently. “I love you, too.”
37
