The Secret to Hummingbird Cake (14 page)

When the platter came my way, Jack tipped it and slid two of the eggs onto my plate. I watched them for a minute, and my stomach lurched. I bolted from my chair and into the nearest bathroom just beyond the kitchen. Jack was close on my heels.

He knelt down beside me. “Are you all right?”

“Ugh . . .,” I said. “Those eggs—did you see how they were shaking?”

“Shaking? I didn't notice a shake.”

“Hand me a washcloth, will you?” I asked.

He wet the cloth and gave it to me. The cool, wet cloth did the trick, and the nausea passed as quickly as it had appeared. “That was weird.”

Ella Rae peered around the bathroom door. “When was your last period?”

“What?” I said. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to realize what you idiots can't figure out.” Ella Rae grinned. “When was your last period?”

I looked up at Jack, who was staring down at me. The look on his face matched mine. Pure and absolute astonishment.

“Uh . . . I think, probably, let's see.”

“This is not a difficult question, Carri,” Ella Rae said.

“Really,” Laine said.

“Who else is out there?”

“Just us,” Ella Rae said. “Now, think. Look, Laine, her boobies are huge.”

“What?” I looked down at my chest. Wow . . . where had those come from?

Jack was looking at my chest, then back at my face. He wore a little lopsided grin. “Well?” I thought back. I knew it had been after the Crawfish Boil, then before Laine had been in the hospital, so that meant . . . I hadn't had a period since June. This was the first week in September.

I looked at Jack again and whispered, “June.”

Ella Rae let out a huge “Woo-hoo!” that brought the rest of the house running.

Picture this . . . I'm sitting on the floor of the bathroom, hands hugging the toilet seat. Jack is sitting on the edge of the tub beside me. Ella Rae is doing what later becomes known as the “Baby Dance,” and Laine is pumping her fist in the air as if the Tigers just converted a fourth and five, not that she'd know what that meant. Then my mother-in-law, father-in-law, Mrs. Jeannette, Tommy, and Mamie all joined in.

That night we did what Louisiana folks do best. We had a party at the drop of a hat. Laine called my mother, who called a few of our friends, and we celebrated Baby Whitfield. Or I should say “they” celebrated Baby Whitfield. Jack and I mostly stood around in shock. Although he was in better shape than I was, that was for sure. At least he was talking.

Looking back, I'm sure I was in shock. In one of those weird cocoons when you're so freaked out that everything
seems a little surreal. And everybody sounded like Charlie Brown's teacher. I grasped for every straw I could think of. Maybe it was something else, right? I'd certainly been under a lot of stress lately. Couldn't that cause your little friend not to show up? I mean, I couldn't be pregnant. I just couldn't be. I could barely take care of myself. How in the world would I take care of a baby?

I went over and over the last couple of months in my mind. I had gotten off my pills in May and was going to take the birth control shots. I was in no hurry to get back to Shreveport to my gynecologist. There was no point since Jack and I were barely speaking. We went to stay at the Farm when Mrs. Diane and Poppa Jack left on their cruise. And then we had that picnic . . . quite a picnic, apparently. When Laine got sick, I never thought about it again.

Ella Rae and Tommy dashed into town to buy a home pregnancy test, but there was no need to take it. I knew it was true. I started remembering little things I passed off the last few weeks as insignificant. Too much was going on here without whining about a nagging backache, or the horrible smell of coffee in the mornings, or the constant and irrational craving for peaches. I assumed we were all adjusting to the new normal. Besides, I had always hated the smell of coffee. It had just never made me want to projectile vomit until lately.

I stepped out onto the patio and quietly closed the door behind me. I wanted to be alone for a few minutes, to let this information sink in. And I needed to decide how I really felt about it. The truth was, this couldn't have happened at a
worse time. I didn't want to terminate the pregnancy—that was absolutely out of the question. I wanted Jack's baby. I hadn't known I did until now, but I did. Still, I didn't want any attention taken off of Laine. I could be pregnant anytime. She was going to . . . die.

That thought punched me in the gut like it always did. I sat down on the metal patio bench and looked out into the field. The next few months should be about her, and only her. She deserved that. It's why she was here. It's why we were all here. I was stealing the show again, just like I always had. Laine had always been in the background no matter what I was doing, either cheering me on or screaming at the top of her lungs for me to stop. It seemed unfair now that I couldn't even give her center stage when she was about to exit the show.

“Hey,” Laine said.

I looked up and saw her standing in the patio door. “Hey.”

She walked over and sat down beside me. “Are you okay?” The tears that had eluded me for most of my life now flowed like a faucet, at least once a day, even if I tried to hide them. But there was no hiding tonight.

“Carri, what's the matter?” Concern filled her voice. “You are happy about this, aren't you? The baby, I mean?”

“Of course I am . . .” I started to blubber a little. “It's just . . .”

“What?”

How could I tell her I wanted her to star in her own death show and being pregnant would steal her thunder? I couldn't. So I just cried instead.

She grabbed my hand. “Carrigan!” she said. “This baby—it
is
Jack's, isn't it?”

That jolted me back into reality and I snatched my hand from hers. “Are you kidding me?”

“Well, you know, there was Romeo, and I wasn't sure . . .”

I glared at her. “Of course it's Jack's baby, you idiot!”

“Okay, my bad. I was just making sure. It's not always easy to keep up with you. So, what is it? Tell me.”

“Laine, I . . .” I tried to make the words come out, but stammered. “This is a really bad time for . . . What I mean is . . .”

She caught on quickly. “Ahhhh, I see,” she said. “You think this would be a crappy time for you to be pregnant while I am . . . ill.”

“Yes.”

She stood up and stared down at me. “Are you out of your ever-loving mind?”

“What do you mean?”

“What better time could there be?” She towered over me, both hands on her hips. “It's . . . it's . . . life restoring itself.” She gestured around us. “It happens on this farm every day with plants and animals. It's the natural order of things. It is a
blessing
, Carrigan. Trust me.”

I stared at her. She had amazed me the way she'd accepted her death sentence. She spoke about her death like it was matter of fact and wanted everyone else to speak about it the same way. Well, I couldn't just talk about it like it was a weather report or a football score. And I didn't want to, even though I
knew it would make the days easier for her and for me too, if I could. I hadn't wanted her to accept it either. I wanted her to go out in a fighting blaze of glory. But it was already way too late for that. It was almost like she embraced the idea of it. I hated that part of her. Hated it. So I filed it. And I went along with it because if I didn't, it would upset her.

She knelt in front of me. “Carrigan,” she said, “I couldn't be happier about this. I
love
you. I have always wanted this for you. For you and Jack. Don't you see? It gives me a reason to . . . hang on.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “This is going to be an amazing time. Please don't try to downplay it or restrain your happiness or act like it isn't a big deal. It's a huge deal. This has made me feel better in the last hour than I have physically and emotionally in months.”

I weighed her words. I wanted to be happy and excited and all those things you were supposed to be when you find out you're pregnant. I wanted to celebrate. But I felt so guilty about it. She was the one who deserved a happily ever after, but I was the one who got it. How could somebody rejoice and mourn at the same time?

She sat down beside me and put her arm around my shoulder. “This baby is like a gift for me,” she said. “Don't you understand that? And I know what you're thinking.” She paused. “Look at me.”

I turned my face to hers.

“I will see this baby,” she vowed. “I promise you I will.”

I hugged her so hard I was afraid I had hurt her. “Thank you.”

Ella Rae popped her head out of the patio door and produced a pregnancy test. “Time to pee on a stick!” Great. Just what I always wanted. Fifty people standing outside a bathroom waiting for me to produce a urine sample.

I looked at Laine and held my hand out to pull her up from the bench. “Let's go find a potty.”

She smiled. “At least we aren't at the boat landing looking for one.”

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

The following weeks were filled with excitement and preparation for the baby. You would've thought I was giving birth to royalty the way everybody treated me. Mamie now checked every morning with Laine and, me too, to see what we wanted to eat the rest of the day. She also made sure we both cleaned our plates. But she kept eggs off my menu.

Luckily, I craved fresh fruit and pancakes. I was forced to sneak orange popsicles because she thought I was getting too much sugar. I made Jack buy some and put them in the freezer in the barn where they kept the animal meds. But I think he counted them as well. Mamie even had him on board with the sugar thing.

Finally I went to the doctor. Correction: Jack, Ella Rae, Laine, and I went to the doctor. “April third,” Doctor Davis said. “That's your due date.”

I looked at Laine, and she reached over and squeezed my hand. I was sure everyone in the room understood that
gesture. I was torn between wishing the days would pass fast so the baby would get here and Laine could enjoy him or her, and wishing they'd slow down so we'd have more time.

Jack's mother was the chairperson of the baby room committee at the Farm. Jack said she was driving him insane. He and Ella Rae had painted the room four different times; each time she would come in and say, “Too pale” or “Too bright,” and they'd have to start over. When I asked him what color it was, he shook his head and said, “Yellow. It's yellow.”

Nobody would let Laine or me remotely near the paint fumes, and we spent most mornings on the front porch sipping Mamie's smoothie concoctions and talking. My favorite was the coconut pineapple that tasted like a piña colada without the rum. It was delicious.

The morning before Thanksgiving, I asked Laine, “Do you remember one night years ago, we were frog hunting in the creek behind Ella Rae's house?”

“Do I remember? How could I forget? I'm still carrying the scar where you tried to kill me.”

“Listen, that knife slipped out of my hand while you were shrieking about an alligator. That whole cut thing wasn't my fault.”

“Whatever,” she said. “Funny how I never get injured unless you or Ella Rae are around.”

“Ha-ha,” I said.

“What made you think about that night?”

I slurped the rest of my drink and put the glass on the wicker table. “You told me that night you had a secret, something you'd never told Ella Rae or me. I've asked you to tell me that secret almost as often as I've asked you about the secret ingredient for your Hummingbird Cake. And you always said you'd tell me someday.” I paused for effect and looked at her. “We 'bout there yet?”

“I wondered when you were gonna bring that up.” She stirred the last of her drink with her straw. “You know,” she said, “I think we have arrived at that day.”

I sat up in my chair on full alert and mindlessly rubbed my baby bump. “Then do tell,” I said. “And look, this better be good. I've waited on it for years.”

“I think you'll find it . . . interesting,” she promised.

“I'm ready,” I said. I was truly excited to hear this deep, dark secret she'd been keeping for years. Of course, she was probably about to tell me she'd cheated on a test in fifth grade or stuck her tongue out at her mother when she was nine or some other offense she believed would send her to hell. Regardless, I was eager to hear the confession. Laine looked tired this morning, and although she'd never admit it, I could tell she was in some pain lately. I questioned Debra about it, but didn't get very far. She was fiercely protective of Laine's privacy and had repeatedly told me when I asked questions that it was something I should ask Laine. I supposed that's what nurses were supposed to do, but the only response I ever got from Laine was, “I'm fine.”