“Hey, Abby.” Elliot, one of the other cashiers I’ve worked with, a friendly but shy boy of about twenty, greets me as I start bagging. “You’re a customer, not an employee today, huh?”
“It’s nice to be on the other side of the checkout,” I reply with a smile.
“Cara said you’re leaving soon, though?” He looks at me expectantly, a twelve-pack of toilet paper in his hands.
“What?” I am a little taken aback and try to hide it. “I mean, when the baby comes,” I allow. “Although I’ll come back after that.” Actually, Josh and I haven’t discussed it, but the truth is, we need the money. We’ve been managing all right for the last few months, between his tutoring and my work at Kroger, as well as Bethany’s job in town and William working for the forestry, but… it’s barely enough to sustain us, and I certainly can’t lose my twenty hours a week long term.
“Oh.” Elliot looks confused as well as uneasy. “I thought Cara said you were finishing for good next month. Sorry, I must have heard wrong.”
Or Cara has decided to lay me off, I think with a pang of anxiety. As a part-time employee, I’m not entitled to paid maternity leave, but I thought I was still entitled to twelve weeks of unpaid leave. Although, do I evenwantto come back to Kroger when this baby girl is only three months old?
“Thanks, Elliott,” I say as he insists on putting the bags in the cart. I’ve tried not to let money woes affect me too much lately. It was a big source of strain between Josh and me back in the fall, and inadvertently—or not—led to his car accident. Even so, the worry about our finances has been like a cloud hovering over my head, ready to descend.
Now it has—or at least started to.
What if I lose my job? Can we evenaffordto have this baby?
I do my best to push such thoughts away as I go to pick up my dad. I feel like I’m the teenager’s parent after the party, waiting in the car and checking her watch as my dad strolls out at six-fifteen. I really didn’t expect to be doing this with my own father.
Then I notice he’s not alone.
He’s walking next to a woman who, my first thought is, is nothing like my mother. My mother was briskly petite, practical but elegant. This woman is almost as tall as my dad, broad-boned with a full head of curly gray hair, and she’s wearing a dress of vivid purple satin, complete with gloves, hat, and fishnet stockings. I mean, kudos to her for owning it, but… really?
Then she lets out a loud honk of a laugh, I can hear even though the windows of my van are up. She lays one hand on my dad’s arm as he grins bashfully.
I feel like my head is about to explode.
As they say goodbye, I work hard to keep my expression neutral. I must fail, though, because my dad gives me a knowing look as he opens the passenger door and slides in.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
“Who was that?” The words burst out of me. I can’t keep myself from it.
“That,” my dad says with deliberate mildness, “is Jolene.”
“Jolene? Like the song?”
“Yes, but she was born before the song, so…” He smiles faintly, as if he’s remembering something, and looks out the window.
I glance once more at Jolene, who is chatting loudly to someone else. Goodness, but she’s a…. vibrant… woman. And so unlike my mother, which makes me feel both better and alarmed.
“Are we going?” my dad asks pointedly.
I glance at him, too discombobulated to hide my horrified expression.
“She’s just a friend, Abby,” he tells me patiently. “Now, can we go home? I’ve been jitterbugging for two hours, and I’m tired.”
Chapter eight
That Wednesday, I am driving back into Buckholt for my regular shift at Kroger and feeling unaccountably nervous. I’m not even five months pregnant yet, so why was Cara telling other staff that I’mquitting? I’m really hoping it’s just a misunderstanding because after holding my breath and closing my eyes like I was making a wish—a rather ridiculous instinct, I know—I checked our bank balance online andhealthyis not a word I would use to describe it.
Yes, we can afford our bills…just.But any extras or any improvements we want to make to this homestead are currently unaffordable. And then there’s the fact of this baby. Even the shortest hospital stay will likely run into the thousands, and even though Josh’s hospital stay met our deductible, that was last year, and guess what? It reset in January.
I briefly considered having a home birth—Lily managed just fine, after all, and Bethany could be my doula—but considering my own less-than-stellar response to Lily’s birth, I don’t think that’s wise. Plus, when I mentioned it in a very offhand way to Josh, he went as white as a sheet.
“Mabel gave birth on her own,” I pointed out, and he gave me a disbelieving look.
“Mabel is acow.”
