Page 22 of Forever Christmas
“I’m okay,” she says. Her eyes meet mine and soften.
“We’re in this together,” I tell her.
She nods.
We take off down the highway again. I pay close attention to my acceleration to make sure the pump is keeping up. I still have a few tricks should it falter again.
It’s not an expensive fix, but this car is old and life is just going to getharder when the baby comes. We have to get something reliable for Corabelle.
I’m definitely going to have to drop out of college. We don’t even have family nearby to help. Although there’s Tina and Jenny. It’s just that they both have money, with Tina’s husband being a doctor and Jenny’s husband signing a record deal. They don’t have the problems we do.
Corabelle reaches across the seat, andI take her hand. It’s all right that we’re not bigwigs or famous. I wouldn’t have us any other way.
~*´♥`*~
The stop in Tucson is easy. The fuel pump is only forty bucks there and the manager loans me a couple tools to make it a quick replacement.
The harder thing is actually arriving home.
It’s a nine-hour drive normally, and we thought that leaving at eight in the morning would get usto Deming by late afternoon. But the delay means it’s after five as we pull into town.
It’s still another hour to Las Cruces for the bigger hospital where Dad is, and Corabelle is already looking beat.
“I don’t care if I see him before surgery or not,” I say.
“There’s no point in coming all this way if we don’t see him,” she says. “Just stop by my house and trade cars. We’ll take Mom’s therest of the way.”
“This car is fine now,” I say.
She flashes me a look and I remember, Corabelle’s way. Her hair is stuck to her forehead. I don’t think the air conditioner is keeping up with what she needs.
“All right,” I say, turning off the highway to the road that will lead to her old house, and mine. I haven’t seen any of these places since I left six years ago.
“The old Tiger Mart closeda couple years ago,” Corabelle says. “Remember how we used to search for change in the sofa cushions so we could buy candy?”
“Your cushions were always richer than my cushions,” I say.
“They were.”
It’s good to hear her laugh. It helps the curdling feeling I have in my belly. There’s lots of good memories with Corabelle as we roll down the streets of our small town. But there’s plenty of badtoo.
The shed on the lot at the end of the street is gone. I used to hide in it when I needed to escape my dad and Corabelle wasn’t home. There’s a Walgreens there now.
The houses all seem smaller than I remember, even Corabelle’s. We pull up in front of it, the few flowers her mother tries to coax from the arid soil showing their distress.
Mom always planted flowers too. It was something thetwo mothers would commiserate over, back when they were friends.
The Rothefords come out onto their porch as soon as the first car door closes. Corabelle’s father looks the same as always in his baggy dress pants and thick-rimmed glasses. Mrs. Rotheford wears her trademark red lipstick, well put together in a pale green dress, her black hair swept back.
When Corabelle gets out, her mom hurriesforward. Mr. Rotheford follows more leisurely, his eyes on me. He’s still not one hundred percent happy about my re-entry into Corabelle’s life.
They came up last Christmas, and of course we saw plenty of them when Corabelle was in the hospital after her near-drowning incident. I wonder how they’ll feel about Corabelle’s pregnancy. We’re keeping quiet about it this trip. She’ll call them in acouple weeks after we have the first sonogram.
They don’t know anything about the vasectomy or my reversal. That’s the type of thing a couple has to keep to themselves.
“How did the car hold up?” Mr. Rotheford asks, shaking my hand.
“New fuel pump did the trick,” I say.
