Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2)(23)
“No. You’re right.” Grams let out a long sigh and turned down the TV. “You’re right.” She shook her head, emotion clouding her eyes. Carter gave himself a mental kick. This was their night for enjoying the ridiculousness of reality TV, not a time to bring up an old family tragedy.
Grams’ slim, arthritic fingers toyed with the tassels on the afghan she had draped over her lap. “You’re right, of course. I’m sure your mother wasn’t thinking of the danger to herself when she went back for your father. But I don’t blame her. I’ve never blamed her. How could she have lived with herself if she hadn’t tried?”
Carter swallowed, a piece of popcorn lodging uncomfortably in his throat. They rarely spoke of the fire that had killed his parents. He’d been all of six when it happened. Ancient history. But, as much as his aunt and uncle had stepped in and become the parents he’d lost, he sometimes wondered about an emotion that would consume so much of your good sense you’d risk your own life for it. “She wasn’t thinking about me or Grace or Ian either, was she?”
“Maybe. Maybe,” Grams nodded, the grief etched into her features. “But I hope someday, for your sake, you’ll understand just what kind of love they had.” She sighed deeply. “Now that… that was true love.”
“Like this show?” he said, trying desperately to lighten the moment.
Grams laughed and took back the popcorn bowl, wiping away a tear as she turned the volume on the TV up again. “No, this isn’t true love. It’s just silly drivel. But I still enjoy it.” She patted his hand and settled back in her recliner, a slight smile determinedly erasing the sadness from her features.
Carter stared at the TV screen. He didn’t like the idea of loving so deeply nothing else mattered. Unlike his grandmother, he didn’t watch this show hoping the couples would find true love so much as come to their senses.
“So,” Grams interrupted, “do you think those are real or implants on the travel agent? I’ve been trying to figure it out for three weeks now.”
Carter shook himself out of his daydream and grabbed another handful of popcorn, grateful he wasn’t in danger of falling in love. “Those? Definitely implants...”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
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“HOLY CRAP. This place is a mess!” Trish exclaimed the next day with what appeared to be no small amount of wicked glee. She’d dropped by with baby Clara before her meeting with the school psychologist and, despite Liz’s attempts to keep her at the front door, had insisted on putting her expressed breast milk in the fridge personally.
“If you think it’s bad now, you should have seen it before we cleaned.” Liz stumbled a bit as Trish handed her Clara in her bucket seat. Jeez. Were all babies this heavy?
Trish swung toward her like a lock-on, gossip-seeking missile. “We?”
“Eddie and I,” Liz said, carefully setting the baby down. “So, anything special I should know before you head out?”
Trish looked vaguely disappointed at the change of subject, but a quick check of her watch had her looking harried again. She swung an enormous diaper bag to the floor. “Okay. Quick run-down. She just pooped, but that doesn’t mean anything. Extra diapers, onesies and fresh outfits are in the big compartment. She’s got a little diaper rash going, so use the ointment that’s in the side pocket, but don’t let her get her fingers in it, because she’ll eat it. I’d take off my necklace if I were you, because she’s starting to get grabby, and you’ll probably want to keep your hair in that ponytail.
“I fed her twenty minutes ago, so if you’re lucky, she’ll sleep till I get back. But, she’s growing again, so if she’s cranky, she probably wants to eat. Just bring the bottle to room/body temperature. If she’s still cranky, it’s probably teething. The Orajel is with the diaper cream, but you can let her suck on something cold, too. Back-up formula is in this compartment over here if she drinks all the milk,” Trish indicated vaguely to the far side of the diaper bag, “but I should definitely be back before you’ll need either. Any questions?”
Liz blinked at her sister and mentally reviewed the rudiments of infant CPR she’d Googled that morning. Okay. Now to ask a pertinent question to make it clear to Trish she had everything under control. “Do you have emergency numbers for me, just in case?”
Trish waved a dismissive hand. “In case of what? She’s a baby. What kind of emergencies can she have?”
“Won’t she be upset when she wakes and you’re not here? I haven’t seen her much, and I’ve read that babies this age—”
“If you have milk, she won’t care if you’re Freddy Krueger.” Trish planted a quick kiss on her daughter’s hair. “I have my cell phone. I’ll be back in a couple hours.” And, then she left Liz. Alone. With the baby.
Liz stared at her niece, her fluffy blonde hair glowing in a beam of sunlight.
Hmm. Would it be too hot in the sun? Liz eased the bucket seat a few inches to the left, her gut clenching as the baby stirred then settled. Liz let out a long, slow breath and marveled at the scary, sweet scent of infant that wafted through the air.
Okay. Now what? Should she continue to clean? Probably not. The noise could disturb the baby. She could put a primer coat on the front door! Hmm. But then she wouldn’t hear if the baby woke up. Liz slumped into a kitchen chair. How in the world did mothers ever get anything done?