“How far along are you?” I ask as my hand itches to reach out and touch her stomach.
“Just about seven months.”
“Holy cow,” I breathe. Her stomach is already huge, so I can only imagine how she will look when she’s full term.
“I know.” She nods. “I keep telling Ben that he’s having the next one. I had no idea that I was going to blow up like a whale.” She smiles.
“You look beautiful, pregnancy looks good on you.” I tell her softly.
“I can’t wait till he gets here so I can hold him,” my mom says, and pain slices through me. I have always wanted children, and if by some chance I find a man to have a family with one day, I won’t be able to share any of that with her. She will never hold her grandchildren; she won’t even be there to lean on when I have questions or concerns about being a mom.
“Sorry, I’ll be right back,” I excuse myself from the table and go to the bathroom. The second I’m behind the closed door, I burst into silent tears. I have no idea how I’m going to make it through this time. She thinks we’re lucky to know she’s dying, but I feel like it’s so much worse this way. Now all I can think about is everything she will be missing out on, everything I will be missing out on without her. If she just were to have passed away suddenly, I would be forced to accept what happened and try to move on. With this situation, I feel stuck. There is no moving on, because I’m waiting for the inevitable to happen.
All my mom wants is for me to be happy, and I wish more than anything that I could say I am, that I don’t feel like I am dying inside, like I’m not constantly fighting just to take a breath.
“Honey, breakfast is getting cold,” she calls through the bathroom door.
“Coming,” I call back then turn on the faucet to splash some cold water on my face, dry off with a towel, and then go back into the kitchen, where Rhonda and Mom are huddled together talking quietly.
“So, your mom was telling me you’re an accountant,” Rhonda says as I take a seat, placing a pancake on my plate.
“I am. It’s boring to most people, but I have always loved numbers, so I enjoy it. What about you? What do you do?”
“I’m a registered nurse. Here in town, I do private care. I actually have my own company, and have three girls who work for me.”
“That’s amazing. What kind of care do you do?” I ask.
“We help some of the elderly in town who can’t make it to their doctors, and we also do hospice care if it’s needed,” she says, and I can’t help but turn my head from her to look at my mom, knowing there may come a time when she’ll need to be placed in hospice. I’m actually relieved to learn there is someone in town who could take care of her, that she won’t need to be moved from the house, and that I won’t be on my own when the time comes. But I’m a little surprised that my mom never mentioned Rhonda before yesterday considering her job and how close they seemed.
“I’ve been looking for a new accountant since Larry retired a couple months ago,” she says, bringing me out of my thoughts.
“I can help you out until you find someone.” It would be good to work while I’m here, and luckily, accounting is something you can do from anywhere; you don’t need much more than a computer.
“That would be perfect, and if you decide to say in town, I know a lot of people who are looking for help.”
That is one thing about living on a small island in Alaska: there is normally only one person for each job, and if that person decides to leave, you’re screwed, unless another person with the same profession moves into town.
“Just think, you could open your own office in town. I’m sure Larry would sell you his space if you asked,” my mom says, sounding excited at the idea, so I smile, even though on the inside I begin to feel sick. After my mom is gone, I have no idea what I’m going to do or where I will go. The house Ken and I owned in Montana is set to close in a few weeks, and I sold all of my stuff in a huge yard sale before I packed up my clothes in my car and drove to Seattle to get on a ferry to Anchorage.
“I’ll think about it,” I tell her, watching as she gives Rhonda’s hand a squeeze.
*
“My baby shower is next weekend, and I would love it if you were to come with your mom,” Rhonda says as we walk into the yarn and craft store.
“I would love to go.” I lie not wanting to hurt her feelings.
“Hey, Rhonda.” I turn my head, coming face-to-face with a beautiful, willowy blonde, and it registers she’s the woman I saw wrapped around Austin as he held the door open for her at the bar. I can see what Austin would find appealing about her. She’s almost as tall as he is, where I’m at least a foot shorter. Her body is shaped to perfection, where mine is full of curves from eating a little too much chocolate.
“Hi, Anna,” Rhonda says, but I can hear a slight annoyance in her tone, and I wonder what that’s about.
“You must be Lea,” the woman named Anna says, and her eyes sweep over me from head to toe, making me thankful I took a little extra time in getting ready and didn’t just put on the first pair of jeans I found. I had on a pair of black corduroy pants that flared at the ankle, a cream scoop-neck sweater, cream boots that were casual but still sexy, and my puffy black vest that was just perfect for the Alaskan spring weather.
“I didn’t know you were in town,” Rhonda says, and Anna’s gaze moves to her.