Page 30 of Faith Notes
Grayson holds it up, flipping it over, front and back, trying to figure it out, but when he can’t, he offers the women a tight smile instead and says, “Thank you.”
He means it as a statement, but it comes out more as a question.
Mrs. Carlton laughs, taking the paper from Grayson’s hand. “Do you know what this is, boy?”
Grayson shakes his head, a sheepish smile on his face. “No, ma’am. I’m sorry I don’t.”
Patting his arm, she says, “That’s okay. I’ll tell you.”
She holds up the paper for everyone to see, and when I can see the picture more clearly, my heart begins to beat a little harder in my chest because I think I know.
On the paper, there’s a hand-drawn picture of a man and a small child. Only the man’s back can be seen, and he is carrying the kid on his shoulders.
I have to blink a couple of times to keep from crying.
“Now, many of you know, I like to dabble in the arts,” Mrs. Carlton says, “but I will say that this is a first for me. I’ve never drawn a tattoo before.”
Understanding hits Grayson like a rocket. He blinks a couple of times, trying to fully comprehend, and even when he does, his mouth only opens and closes, no sound escaping.
“But—but, you guys hate my tattoos. I think one of you even told me they made me look like a criminal once.”
One of the ladies at the end turns bright red, and Mrs. Adams gives her the stink eye.
Mrs. Carlton clears her throat, clearly embarrassed on behalf of her friend, before she turns back to Grayson. “Despite somepastopinions, we know what your tattoos mean to you. You’ve allowed us to see a new side of you since you’ve been with Georgia, a side that we sorely underestimated before, and whether you actually use this idea or not, we hope that this can be a way for us to start over. We want to love you just as much as we love Georgia and that baby of yours.”
There’s not a dry eye in the place as Grayson leans forward, taking both Mrs. Adams and Mrs. Carlton into his arms.
The older women hug him back, offering him a motherly hug that I think he has been missing since his mom died.
“Thank you,” he chokes out.
And I know right then that this will be another one of those moments I will want to remember forever.
Chapter 12
Grayson
35 Weeks
Georgia looks uncomfortable.
She’s been walking around the house all day, holding her back and waddling. Every time I ask her what’s wrong, though, she waves me off, claiming that it’s just normal pregnancy pain, but I’m not so sure.
This seems like it’s more than that, mainly because I’ve been timing it, and every pregnancy book that I’ve read said if the pain can be timed, then it’s the real deal.
Right on cue, Georgia bends over from her pacing, holding her stomach and taking long, slow, deep breaths.
I time that, too.
“Peach,” I say once she’s finally standing up, “I think we need to go to the hospital.”
“No, we don’t, Grayson. I’m fine—” she groans in pain with the last word, and I start to panic. That one was closer than before, and I didn’t count.
“Peach, please. The worst they can do is send us back home, but I am not equipped to deliver a baby. I would rather be safe than sorry.”
I’m not above dropping to my knees and begging at this point. We technically have five more weeks, and most first-time babies don’t come early. But there’s nothing normal about Georgia and me. Why would our baby be the exception?
Georgia must hear the desperation in my voice because she slowly spins my way, and when she takes me in, she nods. “Okay, Gray. Grab the bags, and let’s go.”
