Page 58 of Forever Christmas
Chapter 22: Gavin
Time passes, as it does. The fall quarter begins, and I manage to start another class and keep my work hours up. Corabelle gets a little better. The sickness is mostly gone, and the baby kicks regularly now. This helps her, I know. Even though Finn kicked too and died anyway, it’s a reminder that he’s there.
That he’s coming.
They take Tina’sstitch out, but she doesn’t go into labor. In the end, the baby is late, and winds up being born on the same day as Corabelle’s parents arrive for Thanksgiving.
I head to the airport to pick them up, as Corabelle is up at the hospital.
I hope she’s handling things well. I pull into the cell phone lot and barely get the SUV in park before a message buzzes through. The Rothefords have their bagsand are ready at the curb.
The gearshift goes right back into reverse. They don’t know Corabelle isn’t with me. They’ll figure it out soon enough.
I guess if my Dad did me any favors, it was to get me back in Deming and in Corabelle’s parents’ good graces before today. Because the way things were after her trip in the ocean, it was a little iffy whether they were ever going to really forgiveme for ditching her in high school.
As it stands, when I park the SUV and pop the hatch, her mom gives me a huge hug and her dad claps me on the back. Of all the things that changed in the years since Finn, this counts as one of the good ones.
Her dad opens the front door then pulls back. “Where’s Corabelle?”
“Her friend had her baby this morning. She’s up at the hospital. We’re going to swingby and get her on the way back.”
“That’s wonderful!” Mrs. Rotheford says. “A boy or a girl?”
“A girl. Tiny little thing, but so is Tina.”
Mr. Rotheford holds the door for his wife, and she slides into the front passenger seat. “Corabelle was a bruiser. Almost nine pounds.”
I shut the hatch and come around. When I get in, we’re all quiet, and it feels like we’re all thinking the same thing.How big was Finn? Nobody says, and I feel a deep shame, as if I should know this detail by heart, but I don’t.
“Well,” Mr. Rotheford says, “is she still puking her guts out?”
“Arthur!” Mrs. Rotheford admonishes. “She says she is better. Is it true, Gavin?”
“Yeah, it sort of let up in the last few weeks. She’s put on a couple pounds, even.” Finally. She was scaring me a little, so thin withthe belly poking out.
“That’s good news,” Mrs. Rotheford says. She smooths her skirt and straightens her sweater. “It’s chillier here than I expected for Southern California.”
“Just a little cold front,” I say. “It’ll be gone tomorrow.”
“I never know how to pack,” Mrs. Rotheford says.
“You have two suitcases!” Mr. Rotheford leans forward between the two seats.
“Oh, hush, you old grump,” shesays. But she smiles at him. God, they are as corny as ever.
It’s late, the streetlights lighting the damp streets. It rained earlier, and the whole world seems washed clean. I pull onto the highway. Traffic is light, and the Rothefords chat quietly about random things until we pull up in front of the hospital.
Corabelle is outside the main entrance, sitting on a bench. Jenny is with her, bouncingPhoenix on her lap.
“Is that Corabelle’s funny friend, the one with the pink hair?” Mrs. Rotheford asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “She had a baby about nine months ago.”
“Adorable,” Mrs. Rotheford says, eyes fixed on the child.
Corabelle sees the car and hugs Jenny good-bye. Jenny heads back inside the hospital.
Mrs. Rotheford rolls down her window. “Would you like up here?” she asks.
