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She chatters for the first few minutes of the drive, telling me things about her childhood and the way she hopes to raise our children. We don’t have any yet, and I thought maybe something was wrong. But Cash, the town doctor, reassured me that it can take up to a year of trying to conceive before it actually happens. I’m trying to be patient, but I can’t wait to see my woman pregnant with my baby.
Walt is up for it, too. He’s been dropping hints about how nice it’d be to have some grandkids for the past two months. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he’s started to work on creating kids’ toys. He’s just as eager as we are to see the next generation of the Abernathy family start.
All of my family members are in jail. Mom pleaded guilty and agreed to testify against my father for the part she’s played in the company’s shady dealings. She’s already a few months into a ten-year sentence. But my dad is dragging his case on and on. His lawyers keep asking for continuances and pulling these bogus “motions” in an attempt to delay his trial. At least, he’s on house arrest so he can’t flee the country.
Andrew did manage to flee the authorities, but my idiot brother picked a country that has an extradition treaty with ours. He’s now back at home and awaiting trial for what he did, among several other crimes. I suspect he’ll plea out before he can face sentencing.
For all of this, I wanted to change my name. Abernathy felt like a shameful legacy, but my beautiful wife changed my mind.
She scowled at me when I suggested it and insisted that she is an Abernathy too. “Are you ashamed of me as well? What about the children we’ll have one day? The legacy of your name is what you make it, and I happen to be very proud of the Abernathy name. To me, it represents a man who is honest and good and true. Who takes responsibility for his wrongs and always tries to make the world a better place. I can’t think of a legacy I’d want to give my children more.”
When she said that, I couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest man in the world. Not only does my wife love me, I have her unconditional support. I’ll never take that for granted, and I’ll always support her dreams.
After a few minutes, she stops talking and drifts to sleep. Her head is on my shoulder and the feeling of her so close never fails to warm me. But she’s been sleeping a lot lately. When we come back into town, I’ll set up a doctor’s appointment for her. I want her to see Dr. Cash and have her vitamin levels checked. If her vitamins are normal, I’ll insist she hire an assistant to lighten her workload.
We finally arrive at the little bed and breakfast. She’s looking paler than normal and she touches her stomach. “Ugh, I don’t think I should have eaten that burrito dad made for breakfast.”
Her father loves cooking and the two of us often trade-off. I quickly learned my wife doesn’t enjoy being in the kitchen—unless I’m taking her up against one of the counters. Then she doesn’t mind it so much.
I pat my own stomach. Breakfast is sitting right with me. Of course, a lot of things aren’t sitting right with her. Trace came into the cabin the other day with cigar smoke on his clothes, and she couldn’t be in the same room with him. Yeah, she’s definitely going to the doctor when we get back.
She tries to reach for the suitcases, but I scowl down at her and take them. Check-in is a smooth process but she’s looking sicker and sicker. By the time we get to the suite, she dashes for the bathroom.
I hold her hair back while she empties her stomach. When she’s done, she swirls mouthwash and I go for my phone. I’ve already started to dial Cash’s number when she frowns at me. “What are you doing?”
“Doc,” I manage the word.
“I don’t need a doctor,” she insists.
I quirk an eyebrow. This is one fight she’s not winning. She isn’t well and if that means we have to cancel the honeymoon and go back to town so she can receive proper care, then that’s what we’ll do. “Sick.”
“I’m not…” She presses a hand to her forehead. “I’m not sick.”
I punch in the last digits and she reaches for the phone, quickly wrestling it from my grip. She glares up at me. “I think I’m pregnant, you big doofus.”
The floor tilts at the single word. Pregnant.
Could it be that all of our dreams are about to come true? Did we really make a little life? A piece of me and a piece of her came together, just like that?
