Page 78 of This Love
Glenda’s house was all rodeo, all the time. Cowhides were everywhere, draped over the back of the sofa, hanging on the wall, covering the floor. Longhorns, anchored into red velvet brackets, lined the spaces just below the ceiling.
“We’ve had our favorites over the years,” Glenda said, fingering the brown and white hide on the tan leather sofa. “This one was Buttercup. A real sweet gal.” She tapped her foot on the rug. “Millie was not quite so nice, but my youngest son, Cal, took a shine to her, so we keep her around.”
Ava’s eyebrows lifted. She hadn’t had a lifetime of exposure to ranch culture. She shifted her feet to avoid stepping on Millie.
“Why don’t you rest up in the guest cabin before we introduce you to Rosie?” Glenda waved to follow her through the living room, entering another large space with floor-to-ceiling shelves, multiple sofas, and a gigantic television.
“Wow,” Ava said. “This place is bigger than Dad’s.”
We continued on to a bright kitchen with a long counter lined with stools, two refrigerators, and four ovens.
“We often feed the crew,” Glenda said, waving at a woman rolling out dough on the counter. “We’ll have dinner here for you as well around six.”
“That’s very gracious of you,” I said, lifting the suitcase rather than rolling it across the spotless, perfectly shined floor.
Glenda led us out the back door. “Oh, no problem at all. Easiest money I’ve made in a long time. That dog was near perfect when she arrived.”
Outside was a wide, deep porch with cushioned swings, rocking chairs, and a chess set prepped and ready on a wood table. A curving flagstone path branched off in multiple directions. One went to a pool, sparkling blue in the sun. Another shot out toward the first of several barns. And the third went to a small rustic cabin of rough-hewn wood.
“This is charming,” Ava said, and I suppressed a laugh. Ava never called anything charming.
“My son and his wife stay here when they come to town.” Glenda glanced at Ava’s belly. “I keep on hoping for a grandbaby. Maybe one of these days.”
She tugged on the screen door, which creaked on its springs. Then she pushed the main door open. “Come on in.”
Ava entered first. I followed, wondering if we would be treated to more of Glenda’s favorite cows.
But this space was sunny and bright with a red sofa and cherry wood furniture. No taxidermy in sight.
“The main bedroom is off to the right,” Glenda told me. “There are cold drinks in the fridge, plus some fruit and cheese. Crackers in the pantry, some other snacks. Make yourself at home.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s coming on two. How about we meet on the back porch of the house at four?”
“That sounds good,” Ava said, the droop in her eyes telling me she really did need to lie down. We took her rest seriously, always. She had hired a third shooter for weddings once she hit the six-month mark and only worked the ones she had booked herself. Vinnie and the new girl, Charlotte, photographed the others.
By fall, she’d be phased out of almost all the weddings other than a few that had been booked a year out and had specifically asked for Ava.
Charlotte was also taking the lead in the family shoots. Ava wasn’t sure how close to her due date was safe to book or what her life would look like after the baby arrived.
Glenda paused at the door of the cabin. “Do you know what you’re having?” Her eyes glinted, like she was trying to savor this moment as if it were her own.
“A boy,” I told her. “We’re naming him Tad.”
“For Theodore?”
“No, just Tad. It’s an, uh, old family name.” That was easier to say, we’d learned, than the real reason, which was that the second time Ava and I had ever seen each other, she’d forgotten my real name and called me Tad. To save face, I’d been Tad to her for much of the hospital stay when we were in front of the nurses and social workers.
“That’s nice. See you in a couple of hours.” Glenda headed out into the sunshine.
Ava led the way to the bedroom. It was homey, with a big blocky quilt that matched the curtains. Ava kicked off her shoes as she walked, collapsing onto the surface like she’d worked all day.
“Why is simply riding in a car so exhausting?” She pulled a pillow under her head.
I lifted the suitcase onto a bench by the window. “It’s uncomfortable. You can’t move around.”
“Mmmm. Wake me at three.” She closed her eyes, then opened them again. “Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“I got a kick. I real one. Not one of those fluttery things.” She pressed her hand to her belly.
