And at least one of my cousins has little kids, who I’ve now included in a cover-up story nobody asked me to create on the fly.
Fucking hell.
I keep my head down and don’t look around for Pastor Bingham or Jessika Foote as I take my receipt and head outside.
And then, after I grab my pick-up order from the loading dock, I hightail it into town and stop at the garage.
Cash winces when he sees me. “Won’t get to it until this afternoon.”
“No, I said it’s not a rush, and it’s not.” For me. I don’t know about Hope. A small twinge of guilt twists in my chest. “But listen, I gotta tell you about something I overheard at the farm supply store.”
Cash just rolls his eyes. “I’ll make sure I go over at lunch and loudly make it clear that I’m painfully alone in my apartment every night. Make sure that it’s known my bed is open to everyone in town except Jessika.”
“Subtle.”
“Nobody expects anything less.”
Fair enough.
I think about how, or if, to tell Hope about this inconvenient development.
But when I return to the ranch, that thought gets shoved aside, because I hear Bellamy before I see her. A sustained, high-pitched keen that carries across the yard with impressive range for someone so small.
Carrying the bags from the farm supply store, I follow the pitiful sobbing around the side of the house to the greenhouse.
Hope is sitting cross-legged on the grass, one hand on her daughter’s back, the other pressed flat to her belly, her eyes closed.
Bellamy is face-down on the ground.
“Bellaboo.” Hope’s voice is even, but I can hear the effort it’s costing her. “Baby, I know. I know you’re tired. But I need you to get up.”
“Nooooo.”
“I need you to get up, and then we can?—”
“No, no, no, no?—”
As her daughter wails again, Hope squeezes her face tight.
Maybe I’ve shown up at the worst possible time, but it might also be the exact right time, because it looks like she’s running out of energy. Bellamy sounds exhausted and furious, and it’s not even lunch yet. The last time Hope warned me a tantrum was incoming, it was later in the day.
I set the bags down and clear my throat. “Hey, Bellamy.”
Hope’s head whips up. Some complicated mixture of relief and mortification moves across her face, and she starts to say something—because she’s always one breath away from sorry—but I make a face and wave it off.
She doesn’t have anything to apologize for here.
Being little is hard.
At the sound of my voice, Bellamy lifts her head in curiosity, momentarily forgetting that she’s furious. Tears streak through the dust on her cheeks, and as soon as she figures out who said her name, the fury returns. I’m oddly proud of her for committing to the bit.
I imagine it’s also hard to be her mom twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, without any help or reprieve.
But Goddamnthat attitude is going to carry little miss Bellaboo far in life.
“I brought you a surprise,” I say. “But it’s only for people who are standing up.”
“What is it?” Bellamy demands, from the ground. Her mom sighs and mutters an unnecessary apology under her breath.
