Round Rock - Michelle Huneven [136]
“It’s done, we kiss.
“And shots explode, ring out, so close and loud, I’m sure we’re already dead. Red and I leap apart. Behind us, a dozen laughing men, blue and gray, raise their smoking muskets.”
Libby closed the book, wiped at her cheeks.
Lewis handed her a paper towel. She blew her nose loudly. “Thanks for listening, Lewis,” she said. “I really wanted you to hear this.”
LITTLE BILL came bearing gifts. He brought his own copy of Goodnight, Moon, a clever wooden rattle, and a tiny Stanford T-shirt sent from Joe.
“So you know about my dad and all,” Little Bill said.
“Yes,” said Libby. “And I’m sorry. Having parents shouldn’t be so difficult.”
Little Bill shrugged. They smiled awkwardly at each other. “Mom just closed on a house in Bel Air.”
In a recent conversation, Joe had told her that Billie was househunting, but this information caused in Libby a general physical loosening, as if all her muscles had gone flat. So. Now she knew.
“I hope she finds what she wants,” Libby said. “And what will become of the house here, and the ranch?”
Little Bill shrugged. “Rogelio will run the groves. Some producer wants to lease the house. If that doesn’t work out, she might sell.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to live here. Maybe later, but not now.”
Libby could hear David’s timing in Little Bill’s careful way with words, and see the same inimitable sweetness in the boy’s eyes and face.
“And Old Bill—what’s he going to do?”
“Grandpa’s moving into Uncle John’s,” Little Bill said. “He lives only two blocks from Mom’s new place.”
“Well, that makes sense,” said Libby, “the family close together like that. It’s still hard to imagine your mother living anywhere but here.”
Little Bill smiled his kind smile. “I keep telling her she’ll be miserable not walking her irrigation lines every night. She says no, that was misery, and she’d much rather walk the aisles at Barneys. Who knows, maybe she’ll marry a movie star.”
“Think you’ll ever tell her that you see your dad?”
“I want to. I told my uncle John when I went to work for him. He was pretty cool about it. He thinks we should tell her, but only after she moves, so he can keep an eye on her. Actually …” Little Bill frowned. “Uncle John says we should check her into a hospital and then tell her, in case she flips. But I think, Right, and how do we get her into the hospital?”
“You might feel relieved when everything’s out in the open.”
“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not.”
Billie must have done many things right with this boy, Libby thought, for him to end up so measured and quiet and wise.
“I’ll miss you,” she said.
“Oh, I’ll be up all the time to see my dad. At least that will be easier. Next week, and Joe’s coming along. He says …” Little Bill paused, suddenly embarrassed.
“He says … ?” Libby prompted.
“He says maybe his new sister will be here by then.”
“Tell him I’m working on it.”
25 October 1:22 a.m. Dearest Red. Labor woke me up. I haven’t called anybody. Nothing severe so far, only the sensation of large hands tightening around my back, almost an embrace—I like to think that it’s you. I’m not scared yet. I’m going to take a bath.
2:39. My skin’s all pruney, but somehow, warm water felt exactly right. Also, the shower jet on my back was great. Big movement afoot. I’m not uncomfortable yet. Except that I miss you so much. I’m writing this by candlelight. Cat on the chair next to me.
Twelve minutes apart. It’s exciting and strange, and there’s a little pain creeping in. It comes almost after the contraction, almost