That’s when Ronnie screamed. It was a primal thing, something that came wrenching up from deep inside of her, and then the hallway was crowded with people.
Henry grabbed the house phone and called 911 while TJ carried Ronnie down the stairs-my mom got her a blanket and even thought to put shoes on her feet. And it wasn’t Josh’s arms I found myself in this time, but my father’s.
I stood on the porch and watched as the ambulance came and took Ronnie and TJ away. And then I collapsed, sobbing in my father’s arms instead of Josh’s.
Because Josh was already gone.
“Janie, you need to rest.”
I looked at Ronnie as I tucked a tray with my red-roasted pepper and tomato soup and gourmet grilled cheese on it around her legs. There were four kinds of cheese on the sandwich. I’d made one for Beth, too. She was sitting in the kitchen scarfing it down.
“I’m fine,” I told her. “Do you need anything else?”
“You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
I nodded. “Sounds about right.” It had been that long since we’d been back.
“He’ll call.” She touched my hand as I tucked the blanket around her.
I just shook my head. “I wouldn’t blame him if he never did.”
“He loves you.”
“Yeah, well…” I went to the door, pausing with my hand on the knob. “Love doesn’t solve everything.”
“I’m sorry, Janie,” she whispered, and I looked back to see tears brimming in her eyes.
“It’s not your fault.” I wanted to crawl into bed with her, to cry in her arms, but I couldn’t. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, sweetie.”
I noticed the mail stuck through the slot in the door and grabbed it, taking it with me to the kitchen. Beth was sitting with her feet tucked under her, picking the crusts off her sandwich and singing, “Rockabye Baby” under her breath.
“Interesting song choice,” I said, tossing the mail on the table and pouring myself a cup of soup. I’d been all about comfort food this week-macaroni and cheese, lasagna, chocolate chip cookies and, of course, tomato soup. Beth thought she’d died and gone to heaven.
“I’m practicing.” She took a long drink of milk. “To sing to the baby when he’s here.”
I smiled, swallowing past the lump in my throat. It had been a close call. That’s what TJ’d said. They’d given her I.V. medication that made her horribly sick but might work to stop the contractions, had even tilted her bed so her head was pointed toward the floor to take the pressure off, doing everything they could think of to stop her labor.
And, miraculously, after two hours, it had.
Beth’s little brother or sister was just fine. For the moment. Of course, Ronnie couldn’t get out of bed except to pee, and she was still on meds that made her feel awful, headachy and nauseous.
“Think it’s gonna be a boy?” I asked, sipping my soup.
“It’s a boy,” she said definitely, making her crusts into letters-an M and then an O. “But I don’t want it.”
“No?” I didn’t believe it for a minute. She practiced singing and rocking and diapering and carrying babies constantly.
“When the baby comes…” She made another M out of her crust and I realized she’d spelled MOM. “No one is going to have time for me.”
“Do you think so?”
“No one will have time for me, or room for me, or…” Her eyes were filled with tears when she looked up at me. “No one will love me anymore. Not as much as they love him.”
“Come here.” I held my arms out. She came to sit in my lap, letting me cradle and rock her, and I had a memory of sitting on my own mother’s lap just like this, saying the words I was about to say.
“You love me, don’t you, Beth?”
She nodded against my shirt, her thumb in her mouth, preventing a verbal assent.
“And you love your mommy, don’t you?” I heard her breath hitch, and she nodded again. “And your daddy, too?”
I felt her growing still on my lap. She was older than I’d been, hearing these words, and she was making connections faster. I could feel it.
“But how can you love so many people at once?” I pulled out the punch line, letting it sink in.
She took her thumb out of her mouth and looked up at me in wonder. “It’s easy.”
“I know.” I smiled, squeezing her tight, remembering my mother’s words and repeating them to her. “Our hearts are so big that we can always love someone else, no matter what.”
“I love you, Janie.” Her words made my heart ache.
I kissed her dark head. “I love you, too, kiddo.”
“I’m going to give mommy my crusts,” she said, hopping off my lap and sliding her grilled cheese onto the table to make room for the crusts that spelled MOM on her plate.
“She’ll like that.”
I flipped through the mail when Beth had gone upstairs, separating out theirs from mine. I didn’t get much-mostly credit card applications and rejection letters from publishers. I almost tossed the letter aside because I figured it was another rejection.
And then I saw the return address. Wickham Agency.
Josh.
My hands trembled as I tore the envelope open, reading the first few lines in confusion and wonder:
We are pleased to inform you that we would like to accept your manuscript, The Princess Who Threw Away Frogs, for publication…
But how? Josh had never once read any of my work. I never wanted him to think I just wanted an agent out of everything after all, so I’d actually refused to let him.
There was a note stuck inside, handwritten in Josh’s bold, brash scrawclass="underline"
If I can’t be your boyfriend, that means I can be your agent. I’ve negotiated you an unprecedented advance for this book. Call me.
There was a number on the stationary-his work phone. I’d never called him at work before.
I pulled my cell out of my pocket, my fingers shaking so badly I had to dial slowly to make sure I was pushing the right numbers.
“Josh Wickham.”
Oh my god. Didn’t he even have a secretary? I wasn’t ready yet. I tried to say his name, but it only came out as a hiss of breath.
“Hello?”
“Josh.” My voice was strangled and I closed my eyes, the sound of his voice filling me with a familiar warmth.
“Janie.” He sounded surprised, even happy, and my heart soared. There was a moment of silence, and then he was all business. “You got my letter?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He cleared his throat. “We need to sign some paperwork, but if you’re interested—”
“How did you get your hands on that book?” I blurted.
He was quiet for a moment. “TJ gave it to me.”
Ah. That explained it all. Ronnie had probably snuck my laptop into her room and printed it out for him. I couldn’t imagine it wasn’t a joint venture.
I was grinning from ear-to-ear. “Isn’t it illegal for you to represent me if I haven’t even signed a contract with you?”
“Probably,” he agreed casually. “Want to sue me?”
“No. I want to kiss you,” I confessed, holding my breath.
“We can arrange that.”
“Can we?” I closed my eyes.
“I’m still at the Plaza,” he told me. “It’s not the Presidential Suite, but…”
“It could be a tent for all I care,” I breathed. “It was so never about that.”
“I know.” He paused, sounding sad. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” I insisted, the tears I’d been holding back now spilling over. “I’m sorry I lied, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Ronnie and TJ, and I’m sorry I—”