Phoebe and the Rock of Ages Page 7

“I’ll save you two a seat at church.” His words were redundant in more ways than one; even though he was typically late, he always arrived before them, and he always saved them a seat.

  “Excellent,” she said, as though he’d just suggested a brilliant new idea. “See you tomorrow!” And with that, she hung up. It was only after he took the first delicious bite of his supper that he realized she hadn’t given him Phoebe’s number.

  “I’ll stop being such a slacker and ask Phoebe for it myself tomorrow,” he declared, pleased at the notion. He took another bite and then carried his bowl and water bottle into the living room to look for something to watch on television while he ate.

  Saturday night, home alone, thoughts of a beautiful woman weighing heavy on his mind. “Careful, man,” Trevor muttered to himself as he flipped through the channels, not finding anything worth settling on.

  Saturday night television. It was like playing Russian Roulette with his imagination, he knew. “Movie night, me thinks,” he said, flipping over to Netflix. A good, long movie with an epic score by Hans Zimmer, or Danny Elfman.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Phoebe woke with a start, gasping for air in the pitch black, her whole body trembling. She’d fallen asleep fully clothed, and from what she could tell, the night was well underway. She’d slept straight through dinner, straight through the evening, straight through her date with Stan—they’d made plans to go out tonight to celebrate landing another book cover contract, this one for a series of four books, all featuring the handsome mechanic.

  Shaking off the elusive dream that had her shoulders tight and her jaw aching from clenching it, she rose and headed downstairs to find her cell phone. Had Stan called? Or stopped by when she didn’t show up at the The Tudor House?

  Switching on a few low-light lamps, she made her way to her bag where she’d dropped it just inside the front door. The screen on the phone showed no calls, no texts, no messages at all. Strange.

  It was after 10 p.m. but they’d planned to meet downtown two hours ago. She pushed redial, knowing his was the last number she’d called.

  “Hey, Phoebe Gustafson. Where have you been?” His velvet drawl swirled through the phone after only one ring, but the noise in the background told her he wasn’t really missing her. He’d just partied without her, as far as she could tell.

  “Sorry. I fell asleep.”

  Stan laughed out loud. “You really know how to bolster a man’s ego, darling.”

  Phoebe smiled ruefully and shook her head over her insensitive statement. “That didn’t come out right. I did fall asleep, but not because of you. It’s been a long week, and I’m just really worn down. I was out cold at about five o’clock this afternoon. But I’m wide awake now. Where are you? Want some company?”

  Through the phone, Phoebe heard a female voice call out something too muffled for her to understand, followed by a cheer of appreciation. Sounded like he already had all the company he needed. His next words confirmed it.

  “Nah, get some rest, beautiful. I’m getting ready to head out in about an hour anyway. Got an early morning at the shop tomorrow.”

  Phoebe didn’t miss a beat, refusing to let on that his rejection of her company stung just the tiniest bit. “Oh good. I’m glad you’re all right with that. I’ve got a project due next week, and I could use the extra time to put into it.” Stop now, Phoebe girl. You’re rambling. She lowered her voice to a sexy purr and brought her mouth close to the phone. “Forgive me, big guy?”

  “What was that?” Stan’s voice rose as the noise around him did, too. “I didn’t hear that last bit.”

  “Never mind,” Phoebe said, grimacing. “I’ll see you here on Tuesday, okay? Don’t be late.”

  “Unlike some people I know, I always show up when I’m supposed to, woman.” He said it with laughter in his voice, but Phoebe thought she might have caught a hint of disappointment in there, too.

  She really liked Stan. He had a handsome boy-next-door face that made it hard to decide whether you wanted to tuck him in with a kiss on the forehead, or crawl under the covers next to him with a kiss on that full mouth of his. He had a steady job and good work ethic, he didn’t seem to have a girlfriend, and from what she could tell, he was respectful to those around him. He made a good companion for Phoebe—they were each other’s arm candy, if not exactly friends with benefits. Although if he ever offered, she might actually consider it…even though in the end, she’d most likely refuse him anyway. People liked to think she was trashy, and she did nothing to contradict the assumption, but it was all part of the game she played. In some sick way, she liked knowing she had everyone fooled, that the rest of the world was so easily duped by a pretty face and feminine curves.

  But the fact that he hadn’t missed her, hadn’t even bothered calling to check on her, to find out why she hadn’t shown up when she said she would, told her something was shifting.

  “I’m losing my touch,” she murmured, her voice loud in the quiet room. Dropping into a chair, she rested her head against the seat back, stretching out her legs in front of her, and crossing her ankles. She let her hands hang limply over the padded armrests. Her phone slipped from her grasp to the painted concrete floor, but she didn’t pick it up, not even caring if it was still in one piece or not.

  In fact, right now, she didn’t care about much of anything. A tear gathered in the corner of one eye, then another, and soon they were falling slowly, but steadily, running down over her angled cheekbones, dripping off her jawline, and dampening the neckline of the top she wore. She wept soundlessly, her breath catching only slightly now and then. The release felt good, though, and Phoebe didn’t resist.

  Finally, she stood and wandered over to the table that held her pottery wheel, running her hands over the surface of the bat, chalky with prolonged disuse. Her fingertips came away dusty and she sighed and sniffed, swiping at her cheeks with the back of her knuckles, feeling the growing urge to create something new, to pour whatever this indefinable emotion was into something outside of herself.

  Phoebe filled a bucket with water, lined up her tools on the table beside it—a few sponges, a metal rib, a wooden sculpting tool, and a wire tool—and straddling her stool, she slid up to the table, the wheel and its bowl wedged between her knees. She draped an old towel over her lap, then taking a deep breath, she drew a large cooler out from under the table, pulled out a plastic bag of gray clay, a lump about the size of a softball, pleased to find it was still pliable and elastic. She formed it into an egg and dropped it in the center of the wheel. She had no idea what she wanted to make, but she wanted to feel the slick smooth texture of the clay beneath her fingers, against the palms of her hands, the motion of the wheel spinning, spinning, swirling away her heavy thoughts until all that remained was the sensation of inspiration pouring from her heart through her veins to her fingertips.

  Less than an hour later, she slid the wire tool beneath her creation to separate it from the wheel, and carefully moved it to a shelf close by to set. She’d made a delicate tulip bowl complete with a scalloped rim, and she’d carved an intricate pattern of cherry blossoms around the inside lip of it, imagining Granny G’s delight when she opened it at Christmas.

  Her phone rang and she glanced at the huge wall clock that hung near the front door. Who on earth would be calling her after eleven at night? Had Stan changed his mind after all?

  Wiping her hands on the towel across her knees, she scooped up the phone from the floor where she’d dropped it earlier.

  Ren? Ren! Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

  Tim and the boys were out of town for one last camping trip before the baby was born. Renata was home alone.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Ren?” Phoebe spoke before the phone was even up to her ear.

  “Hey, Phoebe. Sorry to bother you so late. Are you busy?” Phoebe released her breath in a whoosh, relief flooding through her veins. Renata sounded ridiculously calm and relaxed.

  “
It’s not so late, ma cherie. What’s up with you?” But the fact that her usually uptight sister sounded so chill at 11 o’clock at night and was calling her—the least favorite sister of the bunch—had Phoebe’s radar on high alert. Something wasn’t right.

  “I’m fine. What are you doing right now?”

  “Why do you want to know? And you’re not fine. You wouldn’t be calling me if you were.”

  Renata huffed and said, “Okay. Then I’m as well as can be expected, under the circumstances. What are you—” Her voice suddenly cut off, and Phoebe heard Renata’s sharp intake of breath hiss through the phone.

  “Ren?” Phoebe stood up too quickly and had to grab the table edge, the sudden movement making her lightheaded. “Rennie?” she repeated when her sister didn’t respond.

  “I’m—I’m okay. But I need—” Ren drew in a long breath and then let it out into the phone like she was blowing out candles. “I need help, I think.” Another breath. “I may need someone to take me to the hospital. I’m in stupid labor.” The petulant words sounded like they were ground out through clenched teeth.

  “Have you called Tim?” Phoebe interjected the man’s name between Ren’s heavy breaths, but didn’t wait for an answer. She scurried around the room, gathering up her bag, snatching her car keys off her desk, and shoving her feet into a pair of Mary Janes, shoes she knew would be comfortable for the long haul.

  “Not home—until tomorrow. Can’t reach him. No service or he’s not answering.”

  “Jules?” Phoebe couldn’t help wondering why Renata hadn’t called Juliette. Or Granny G, or even Gia, before calling her.

  “She’s out with Vic. It’s Saturday night, remember?”

  Right. Saturday night was Date Night for Vic and Jules. Every week like clockwork. Those two were made for each other.

  Renata released a long, cleansing breath right into Phoebe’s ear. Her voice relaxed again and she said, “I didn’t want to call Granny G, either. She hasn’t been feeling well and I don’t want to get a cold right now. Besides, she’s already agreed to keep the boys while we’re at the hospital.”

  Phoebe tried not to read anything into her sister’s statements, tried not to take things personally. It didn’t matter that Phoebe was clearly Ren’s last choice on the call list, other than Gia. Had she really expected any differently? The fact that she was on the list at all had to mean something, right? At least Phoebe came before Ren’s church lady friends.

  “I’ll be right over. But let me call Jules anyway and see if Vic can’t figure out a way to get a hold of Tim. Maybe call the Forest Service people or something. Don’t all those departments know each other—law enforcement, forestry service, fire department?” She waved her free hand in a big circle as though Ren could see her. “He needs to be here.”

  “I know, I know. And I’m sure he could figure something out—you know Victor. I didn’t want to spoil their date, though. It’s not like I haven’t been through this before. I kinda know what to expect, you know?”

  “Ren, seriously?” Phoebe couldn’t believe she was hearing the conscientious words come out of her sister’s mouth. “Okay, listen. Sit tight. I’m heading over now, and I’ll call Vic as soon I get there. Unless you want me to call him now.”

  Ren didn’t answer right away, and Phoebe held her breath, willing herself not to panic. “You all right?”

  “I’m—fine. Sounds like a—plan.” Her sister’s voice trembled a little, making her sound young and vulnerable. Something tugged painfully in Phoebe’s chest and she pressed the heel of her palm to her sternum.

  “I’ll be right there!” Phoebe hung up the phone, and jerked open her front door, snatching a denim jacket off the large coat rack as she passed by it. She slipped one arm into it, locked her door, and had Xena backed out into the street before she realized she still only had the jacket half on.

  “Thank God for small towns,” Phoebe muttered to herself as she slipped it on the rest of the way. The night air was a little chilly and she was glad she’d brought it; the topless Jeep made for a brisk drive.

  In less than ten minutes, she was pulling up outside Renata’s home, her cell to her ear, waiting for Juliette to pick up.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Hey, Phebes.” Juliette gave no indication that the call was interrupting anything, but Juliette always answered her phone that way.

  “Jules! I’m glad you picked up. Sorry to bug you on your hot date, but I just pulled up at Ren’s house. She can’t get a hold of Tim—she thinks he’s out of cell phone range—and she’s in labor. Can you ask Vic if he can figure out how to reach him?” The words gushed out of Phoebe as she clambered out of her Jeep and hurried toward Renata’s front door. It stood open just a bit, causing a shiver of alarm to race up her spine.

  “What? Oh, no!” Juliette’s gasp spurred Phoebe on a little faster, and she pushed open the door, gently, in case Renata was right behind it. “I’ll let Vic know and we’ll be over as soon as we can,” Juliette finished.

  “Ren?” Phoebe called out as she entered the house, the phone still pressed to her ear. “Where are you?”

  “I’m here,” Renata said, her tone grumpy and breathy. She poked her head out of the bathroom in the hall.

  “I have Jules on the phone. You okay? You want her and Vic to come over, too?”

  “No, no,” Renata waved off the suggestion, her gesture impatient. She moved slowly, uncomfortably, out into the hallway. “I just need him to get a hold of Tim for me. Now. This baby isn’t going to wait for him to get back tomorrow night.”

  “Did you hear that?” Phoebe muttered into the phone.

  “Should we come over there or meet you at the hospital?” Juliette asked.

  “Do you need me to take you to the hospital now, Rennie?” Phoebe asked. “They can meet us there instead.”

  “I don’t know,” Renata snapped, and then closed her eyes and leaned against the wall, both hands wrapped around her belly, her shoulders hunched forward, chin lowered. The pose made it look like she was holding herself up. “I need John,” Renata moaned softly. “Oh God, I need John,” this time in a broken whisper.

  Phoebe stiffened at the name that escaped her sister’s lips, shock and grief crashing through her in a tidal wave of surprise. “Oh, Rennie,” she murmured, rushing to Renata’s side.

  “Jules,” she said into the phone, “I gotta go. I’ll call you in a few minutes and let you know what we’ve decided, okay? In the meantime, please have Vic do whatever he can to find Tim.”

  Phoebe shoved the phone in her bra and gently pulled Renata into her arms. Ren let go of her belly and slipped her arms up around Phoebe’s neck, and then sagged into her. It hurt a little, Ren’s forehead pressing against her collarbone, but Phoebe didn’t dare shift her position; her sister clung to her like she’d never let go.

  Phoebe couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually embraced Ren—any of her sisters, for that matter. Not real hugs, anyway; the kind that lasted for more than a simple greeting or celebration required. And as awkward as this felt with Baby Charise a hard globe between them, Phoebe suddenly ached for what she’d been missing.

  Renata pressed her head harder into Phoebe’s shoulder and moaned again, her hands clutching the collar of Phoebe’s jacket. “This is a strong one. Sorry.” The words were muffled between them, and Phoebe held on, biting her own lip to keep from yelping in pain. She was certain she’d come out of this with bruises.

  “John—held me—like this,” Renata ground out between breaths. “He was so much better—at giving birth than I was.” She half-sobbed, half-laughed, breathing in short, punctuated pants. “So strong—and patient—with me.” Phoebe felt the wetness of her sister’s tears on her chest. “I miss him so much.”

  “I know, Rennie,” Phoebe murmured into her hair.

  Standing there in the dimly-lit hallway, holding her laboring sister upright, she closed her eyes and tried to look at life thro
ugh Renata’s eyes for a moment. John had died suddenly only a little more than eight months ago, leaving behind Renata and their four boys…and a baby girl on the way. It had taken Renata almost three months to realize she was pregnant, and then another three months for Tim, John’s best friend, to convince her that marrying him—and loving him, and letting him love her and John’s children—was the best thing for all them. What a huge leap of faith it must have been for someone like Renata, who controlled everything but the weather in her world, and even that wasn’t beyond the scope of imagination. To trust someone like Tim, even though she’d known him for years, someone who’d never been married, never had children, to step into John’s superhero shoes?

  “Oh, where is Tim?” Renata moaned, her breathing easing, her grip loosening. She straightened a little and took a deep breath. “Why did I let him go away this weekend? I promised him he wouldn’t miss out on any part of this, and I should have known better. This little girl has been bouncing her head on my bladder for weeks, but over the last few days, I’ve felt like I was walking around with a coconut between my legs. What was I thinking telling him to take off like this? One last grand adventure—ha! And with the boys, no less!” Her words came fast and furious, spiked with genuine frustration more than any real anger.

  “There’s the Renata I know and love,” Phoebe quipped, a smile lifting one side of her lips. The lines of discomfort etching Ren’s forehead had eased noticeably. “So, do you want me to take you to the hospital?”

  “Not yet. These contractions are still only about fifteen minutes apart and my water hasn’t broken. If all goes as it usually does, I figure I’ve got another hour or two before I have to think about going in.” Renata’s deliveries were historically by the book, lasting eight to ten hours, and transitioning from one phase to the next like clockwork. “Although there have been a few differences this time, and I’m a little afraid of being caught by surprise.” She rolled her eyes and rubbed her stomach in slow, swirling movements. “Like now, Charise Olivia Larsen. You’re not due for another two weeks,” she cooed, her tone making the statement a caress rather than a reprimand.