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Her eyes light up. “Yes! Are we going?”
I nod.
“Now that the fields have been sown, I figured we could take a couple of days off. I have to fly to Colorado tomorrow, but we could close the office next Thursday and Friday.”
“I have to ask your mom about keeping Kaela,” she says.
“Already have. She’s looking forward to it.”
She squeals with excitement and throws her arms around my neck before she realizes it. “Sorry, did I hurt you?”
“Nope.”
Her eyes meet mine as her hand comes to rest on my jaw.
“Thank you, Weston.”
“For what?”
“For making everything so easy,” she whispers.
We rejoin the party, and by the time the children have come down from their candy and cupcake high and the mothers and grandmothers have gotten them bathed and into pajamas, Pop and Tucker have a fire blazing in the firepit, and everyone has pulled over their lawn chairs and settled in.
Mom and Sara-Beth pass out blankets, and Erin cracks open a bottle of wine and proceeds to fill stemless glasses with generous pours.
“Here, girl, you deserve it. You have officially survived your first Welcome Back to the Valley extravaganza.”
Anna takes the glass from her with one hand as her other cradles a sleeping, bundled-up baby to her chest. “Thanks.”
“You want me to hold her?” I ask.
She just smiles and shakes her head. “No, this is my favorite part of the day. When she’s all tuckered out and cuddly. She’s reaching that age where she’d rather be down, exploring, than be confined. I don’t want to miss a single moment she lets me hold her.”
“It goes by fast. You’ll blink, and one day, you will have picked her up for the last time. You won’t even realize it is the last time. You just never do it again,” Leona says.
“And then they’ll be driving and dating and going off to college,” Mom adds.
“Getting married, moving away, having families of their own,” Leona continues.
I glance at Anna, and the bliss on her face has turned to tears as she looks down at Kaela.
“Hey, guys, cool it,” I say, and they look our way.
“Oh, Anna, sweetheart, we didn’t mean to make you cry. You have plenty of time. We’re just two old birds, missing our babies being babies,” Leona bellows.
“If they’d start making us some new grandbabies, we’d be fine,” Mom quips.
Then, her hand flies up, and she points to me. “Not you! I’d prefer you find yourself a decent young lady first.”
“And not Morris either,” Pop calls from across the pit.
“Right,” she agrees.
We sit and enjoy the evening until the fire begins to dwindle and the campers disperse to their own sites.
“Need help?” I ask as Anna struggles to stand.
“Please.”
