By the time Monday rolled around, I thought I had come to grips with my over-active emotions and regained my ability to think fast on my feet. Apparently, the theory would be put to a test quicker than I would have liked.
I was at work for less than two hours. I hadn’t even had my second cup of coffee and was only half through with my new copy of a parenting magazine. I subscribed to it shortly after I found out I was pregnant because I figured I needed all the help I could get.
While reading an article about what to do when your child talked incessantly, I made a mental note to anonymously send a copy to Booger Bailey. He certainly could benefit from the advice in that department. His son Art talks a mile a—
“Hey, little lady.” Booger’s voice boomed through the office.
I jumped to attention. Good heavens. Where had he come from? He came into the office, dragging his goat behind him. The one that barks and chases cars like he thinks he’s a dog or something.
“Mr. Bailey? I was just thinking about you.”
“Well, for crying out loud, don’t let my wife hear you say that. One time Mildred Locke called our house to tell me I left my wallet at the Chow Pal Diner, and Icie went ballistic.” Booger pulled a blue bandana from his bib-overalls pocket and wiped his brow. “I mean ballistic with capital balls.”
Lord, whatever I’ve done to deserve this, I promise I’ll never do it again. Please make Booger go away.
“May I help you with something . . . like maybe leading your goat back outside?” I took the leash from him and walked through the door.
He followed. “Did you ever notice how Mildred walks funny?”
I wanted to ask if he meant the way she lumbers along like Dufus the Saint Bernard from Perkins Park in south Florida, but I thought better of the idea. I certainly didn’t want to discuss something of that nature with a man I barely knew. Especially a man with a name like Booger.
Out in the bright sunlight, I tried to hand him the rope back, but he didn’t take it. He just continued on talking about his wife.
“Yes, sir. Icie went over there and kicked Mildred in the shin and told her she’d better leave me alone.” At that point, Booger cracked himself up. “I tell you that were so funny.”
“Yeah, I bet Mildred dies laughing every time she thinks about it.” I shoved his goat leash back at him. “I’ve really got to get back inside.”
“Well, wait a minute,” Booger said. “I need you to take care of my goat while I go out of town.”
I felt like someone had boxed my ears. They ran like someone was playing the Bells of St. Mary in my head.
“What planet did you drop in here from that makes you think I’d do something like that?” My voice literally squeaked. “I don’t know you. I don’t know anything about taking care of a goat. And if I’m being absolutely honest, I don’t even like you or your goat.” I think I sprained my vocal cords.
“Well, you have to either goatsit for me or babysit with my boys. Which will it be?”
I had to keep calm for my own baby’s sake. I was feeling a little trapped, like I usually do when someone asks me to do something for them, like take them to a doctor’s appointment or pick up their dry cleaning. No matter how hard I objected, I always relented. But wait a minute; those were my friends and family. Booger didn’t fall in either category. I owed him nothing.
“I won’t be a sitter for your goat or your two boys,” I said so matter-of-factly it scared me.
“I have three boys. Art, Bart, and Fargo.”
“Fargo?” I cringed so hard my eyebrows hurt. “I didn’t know about him.”
“I didn’t either until a few years ago when his mom dropped him on our doorstep. Sure was a good thing she didn’t wait around for Icie to get home from the grocery store, because she probably would have kicked her in the shin, too.”
I raised my hand. “Stop! Stop this instant. I don’t want to know any more about your business. I’m not going to watch your kids or your goat. You have a good day.” I turned to run into the office. When I got there, I intended to lock the door and put out the Closed sign, but Booger stopped me.
“You certainly can’t expect me to take them and the goat with me to the big town of Atlanta. It takes a lot to keep them all corralled.”
“I don’t mean to seem insensitive, but I . . . don’t . . . care . . . about . . . your . . . problem.”
“Oh boy, I was hoping to get this settled without Icie’s help, but I don’t guess I can.”
I felt trapped. I couldn’t even see my shins for my protruding belly, but I knew they were there, and I didn’t want them to be kicked. I don’t know what made me do it, but I snatched the rope from Booger’s hand. “Give me the freaking goat. What do I feed it?”
From the bed of his pickup, he pulled a big bag of dog food. What else would you feed a goat who thought he was a dog?
“He gets two cups of this each morning and all the garbage he can eat.” Booger climbed into his truck.
“What’s his name?” I yelled.
“Goat,” he called.
“Goat? Why not Dog?”
“I didn’t want him to lose all his identity.”
I just stood there, watching him drive away, and wondering if my brothers paid Booger to play a joke on me. Naw. Billy and Bobby didn’t have the ability to come up with something of that caliber. It had to be the real deal. After all, wasn’t I holding a goat on a leash and watching his owner drive away?
But wait. Booger was turning around. The joke was over. He pulled up beside me.
“By the way, don’t let him eat any newspaper. The ink gives him the runs.”
Booger and his family stopped on their way out of town to drop off the goat’s medicine. By then I had my mental faculties back in working order enough to ask how long I would be a goatsitter.
“We’ll be back on Tuesday afternoon.” Booger handed me a plastic sandwich bag with several very large, brown pills. “Give Goat one of these every morning with his food.”
“What are they for?” Curious minds, etc.
He stepped closer to me. “It’s for a little condition we don’t like to talk about in front of the boys.”
All three boys took a step closer, too. My mind ran the gamut of what the condition could be, but with little pitcher having big ears waiting with bated breath, I didn’t ask. I probably didn’t need to know anyway. I’d give Goat the pill every morning and everything would be fine.
“Okay,” I said.
“Be sure you don’t forget because Bart and I think what will happen is his nose will grow like Pinocchio’s. Huh, Bart?” Art elbowed his brother who shrugged.
“On second thought, don’t give it to him. Compile a report on what happens, and I’ll read it when I get back.” The little twerp gave me a thumbs-up.
I gave him one, too, although I had a different hand motion I thought about using. “Yeah, sure, kid. I’ll jump right on that.”
Booger herded his little tribe to the truck, and they were off. From my way of thinking, it was none too soon.
Goat and I got along pretty good considering he was a goat. He had a tendency to nibble on the hem of my blouse, but a few whacks on his nose with a newspaper and it wasn’t a problem anymore. Of course, I had to be careful not to leave the paper lying around where he might eat it. Evidently, he had an allergy to the ink.
I was afraid to let Goat have free run of the storage yard. There were too many places he could slip through the fence, and the last thing I needed was to have to form a posse to go in search of a goat. Or, worse yet, I feared he would chase cars on the busy highway in front of the garage.
Linc and Carrie Sue used some old chain-link fencing Pop had to fix the goat a dog-run. He had plenty of space and a patch of green grass to nibble on. I put Linc in charge of making sure Goat had his meds every morning. I didn’t warn Linc by doing so he would be doing his part to keep a mysterious condition at bay, because not only didn’t I want to talk about it, I didn’t even want to think about it.
Several times a day, I hooked the leash to Goat. He and I went for a walk through the storage yard. Walking was good for me and the baby. It also gave me a chance to examine the fence lines and inventory the cars.
It was hard not to like Goat. He was cute and playful, but every once in a while he stopped and stared at me. He tilted his head from side to side and then give his head a hard shake. His little goatee (oh, that’s where that word came from) gave him an air of being highly intelligent. My ability to analyze a goat and come up with these results showed that I wasn’t.
After a morning stroll with Goat, I put him back into his pen and removed the leash. When I closed the makeshift gate, I saw a piece of paper skewered to a sharp piece of the fence. I picked it up and read it.
Your boss lady can’t protect you forever. Your days as a single man are numbered. Wedding plans are being made right now.
It was signed Budda.
I knew that note was not there when I took Goat out. Someone put it there while I was only a few hundred feet from it. I hadn’t seen anyone. I looked around, but still saw no one.
Inside the garage, I gave Linc the note. “This came for you. Special delivery.”
He took it. While he read it, I slid a chair up behind him because I knew he was going to need it. Linc turned as white as the inside of a turnip and slumped into the awaiting chair.
“What am I going to do, Mrs. Bertie? They’re never going to leave me alone.”
“I have a feeling you’re right. I’m going to call Carl Kelly and see what he advises. I don’t like the idea they came on to my property in broad daylight, and I didn’t even see them. They’re a sneaky bunch.”
“They’re scary, too.” Poor Linc was beside himself with fear. Maybe he had a right to be. The Redneck Mafia had given him and me both things to think about.
We told Carl all the details about the latest invasion by Budda and his Redneck Mafia.
“Since he signed his name to that note, it gives us proof he was here, or at the very least is threatening Linc. We’re pretty sure those two are the ones who kidnapped Linc those times. I’m going back to the station and get things underway. It’s time to put a stop to this.”
He went to his car, pulled a package from the back seat, and brought it back to me. “This is from Karen and me. She was coming to your shower the other night, but our little girl was sick.”
“Oh, thank you. That’s so sweet.” I took the beautiful gift wrapped in paper covered with lambs. “I hope your daughter is okay.”
“She only had a cold, but Karen was afraid she’d bring the germs to you.”
“That’s very thoughtful. I’ll be sure to send her a thank you note. And thanks to you, too, for anything you can do to give Linc relief from Budda/Bubba.”
That afternoon, when it was time for Goat’s walk, I insisted Linc go with me. I always heard there was safety in numbers. We hooked the goat to his leash and walked halfway around the perimeter of the yard. Linc held the rope, and I walked ahead right beside Goat. I scratched his back, and he seemed to enjoy it.
We had a building located at the back of the storage yard where we locked up towed vehicles connected to some sort of crime. Since Sweet Meadow was relatively crime free, we seldom had to use the lock-up building for its intended purpose. Pop stored his bass boat in there.
Linc, Goat, and I had walked past the building when Bubba and his little buddy stepped into our path.
“Sorry, ma’am, but Linc has to come with us,” the overgrown warthog said.
“No, he doesn’t. Do you, Linc?” As I waited for Linc to respond, I heard a grunt and turned in time to see Linc throw down the leash and run for all his worth out of the yard.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” I hollered. “You go call 911, and I’ll hold ’em here.” Linc had no intention of making a phone call, and I knew it. He was hauling his sorry carcass to the office to lock the doors. I’d probably find him hiding behind a desk. But maybe I could hold off the two men until he got there so they wouldn’t catch him.
Suddenly, Goat made a noise that sounded very much like a growl. It grew into a bark, followed by several more. The hair on the ridge of his back bristled. The goat’s actions startled Bubba.
He shoved his partner. “Go get Linc, you fool.”
The skinny man shook his head and backed away, never taking his eyes off the agitated animal.
“You go get him. I’m leaving,” he said.
“I have to do everything myself.” Bubba took one step forward.
Goat lunged at him. Somehow I managed to scoop up the end of leash and bring the charging goat to an abrupt halt. Bubba took off at a dead run, following in his partner’s footsteps. Goat followed suit. He pulled me behind him, and there was nothing I could do to stop him.
There I was, a couple of weeks from my due date, being pulled at a full run by a goat who thought he was a dog, chasing the Godfather of the Redneck Mafia. The words Story at eleven screamed in my head.
Miraculously, Bubba caught up with his assistant. They both headed for a topless car. It had been a hardtop until it went under a semi. The men shinnied over the trunk and jumped into the seats. Bubba was surprisingly agile for a man his size, but then again fear-induced adrenaline probably had something to do with it.
I dropped the leash, and Bubba turned to watch Goat race at him. The animal climbed onto the trunk a lot faster than the heavy man got up there. The goat placed his paws on Bubba’s chest, knocking him down into the seat.
“Help,” he screamed like a girl. “How could that beast climb up here that fast?”
By that time, I arrived. I grabbed the leash, but didn’t pull Goat back. I needed him to keep Bubba right where he was.
“What do you mean how did he get up there so fast? He’s a goat, as in sure footed as a goat,” I explained.
“Well, get him off me,” he bellowed.
“Not until the police get here.” I hoped they were on their way. Even if Linc hid under a desk, he’d come to his senses and call Carl eventually. At least I hoped he would. I heard the siren in the distance and knew help was on its way.
Carl, my own personal cavalry, arrived with trumpets blaring. Another deputy arrested Bubba Craig and his partner, whose name turned out to be Scooter Conner. If I were him, I think I’d stick with the name I gave him--Little Buddy.
Despite my objections, Carl insisted the EMTs check my vitals to make sure I was okay. The baby and I were fine. I thanked God I didn’t have to go see Dr. Johns because even he would not believe this one.
“Bertie, if I was your husband, I’d hogtie you in a closet until after you delivered that baby. What is wrong with you, out here chasing bad guys? Are you nuts?” He held up his hand. “Never mind; I know the answer to that.”
“I’m going to look on the bright side. They say walking helps bring on labor; surely running is even better.” I rubbed my tummy. All quiet on my western front.
Carl pointed at my very big stomach. “That kid is probably terrified to come out of there. It wonders how it will ever survive with a mother who runs around like she has a death-wish. Go home. Go to bed and wait for the big event before I take you into protective custody.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Whatever.” Goat and I scurried back to his pen.
When I got home that night, Arch and I decided I should stay home until after the baby was born. Since school was out and would start again in a couple of weeks, we thought it would be a good idea for me to spend the rest of Petey’s vacation at home with her. She rotated her time between Mavis and Millie’s and sometimes at Mom’s. For a few days, Petey stayed with Barbie before her mother came. I said she could spend her days at the shop with me, but the other ladies clamored for her, and Petey loved the attention they showed her.
“They’re old, and they need me to help them out. Plus, they’re so funny I laugh all day long,” was her argument.
“Barbie’s not old,” I said. “What intrigues you about her?”
“I think I want to be a doctor someday. A psychiatrist maybe. Barbie is a great subject to study. You wouldn’t believe some of the things she says and does.”
Unfortunately, I knew firsthand the things Barbie was capable of saying and doing. Petey had been exposed to enough nuttiness for the summer. Maybe it was a good idea for her to stay home with me until school started again. I felt there was something out of kilter with the rationalization, but I voted against trying to figure it out. Arch agreed. He said it was bigger than both of us.
So, for the next two weeks, Petey and I sat around the house listening to me groan and the carpenters nail and saw our new rooms together. I hoped they finished before the baby came so Arch could paint, and Petey and I could get everything set up. But so far, that hadn’t happened.
We had, however, ordered from catalogs things to decorate the nursery whenever it was finished. I picked out borders, sheets, blankets, a lamp and pictures, all in a sports theme. Perfect for a little boy’s room.
Petey picked out lambs romping. What was it with the romping lambs? Since I realized I was going to have a baby, I was plagued by those silly things. Granted, they were cute for a baby girl, but we were having a boy, and playful lambs were not going to cut it.
In the end, I vetoed the lambs and went for the baseballs and footballs. Everything arrived, but since the room wasn’t ready yet, I left it all in the boxes it came in, stacked neatly in a corner.
School started. I was left alone all through the day, except for the workmen. I cleaned every inch of the house, including all the drawers, closets, and cabinets. Mom said I was nesting and labor shouldn’t be too far away.
The baby was three days late, and I was beginning to believe Carl might be right. My son wasn’t coming out because he knew the crazy mother he would have. I couldn’t take it anymore, and had Arch drop me off at the garage. I could pay bills and do things to keep my mind busy. Mom and Pop were next door in case labor should ever decide to come. I wasn’t holding my breath. I was sure I would carry the baby for the rest of my natural life.
It was a little after two when Mom and Pop stuck their heads in the door.
“Hi, sweetheart. How ya doing?” my dad asked.
“I’m still here. Still miserable. Still pregnant.”
“It’ll be over soon,” my mother assured me. “We wanted to check on you before we went to the grocery store. You don’t think you’ll be going into labor before we get back, do you?”
“You could probably cruise to Hawaii and come back and still be safe.” I really didn’t mean to be sarcastic. “I’m sorry. I’m a little irritable.”
Mom came on into the office, gave me a hug and kissed my forehead. “It’s all going to be okay. You’ll see. Just be patient.”
They left and I walked out into the bright, hot sunshine. The heat felt good against my skin, cooled by the air-conditioning. I strolled around the parking lot for a few minutes. Although my back ached with each step, I wanted to stay outside. Trying to ignore the twinge of pain and hoping to simply get comfortable, I walked out into the storage yard.
Linc marked our ID number in the windshield of a red Altima he recently towed. I was only a few yards from him when I felt the gush of water run down my legs. Stunned, I stood there for a moment, but then an excruciating pain shot through my midsection, knocking my breath away. Before I could catch it, the pain came again, stabbing through my back bone. Again through my stomach. It was all happening too fast. I couldn’t take a step or scream. The baby was going to be born. Now!
I held tight to my stomach and tried not to slump onto the sand.
“Linc,” I yelled. But he couldn’t hear me above the chugging of the wrecker’s diesel engine.
I had a few seconds of pain-free calm. I started toward him, but was soon stopped by another round of dueling pains. First, my stomach felt like a wrecker was winching my baby out of me. Then my back felt like the bumper of the truck was trying to push it back in.
I let go of the death grip I had on my stomach long enough to wave my arms above my head, hoping to attract Linc’s attention. It worked. He saw me.
He climbed into the tow truck and rapidly backed it next to me. He raced around and opened the passenger door. Bless his heart; he was as scared as I was. He tried to lift me into the seat, but couldn’t. He got behind me and used his shoulder to shove me upward. I was no help to him at all. There was no way I could climb into the seat.
“Wait a minute,” he said. Linc took off in the direction of the garage, leaving me standing there, soaking wet, in horrendous pain, and crying like the baby I was about to have.
“I’m coming,” I heard Linc calling to me, but the pain stole my sight. My eyes were squeezed shut and I couldn’t open them.
“Help me,” I cried.
When he touched me, I managed to get my eyes pried open enough to see the golf cart. Linc helped me onto it. Once I was seated, I slid forward and placed both my feet on the dash.
“Hang on, Mrs. Bertie.” He stomped on the pedal. The gas engine revved, my head snapped back, and I screamed at the top of my lungs, “Hurry.”
As we neared the gate, Linc laid on the golf cart horn. By the time we got to the parking lot, Carrie Sue was standing at the garage door.
“We’re having a baby,” Linc told her on our way past.
“Don’t let Millie hear you say that, for crying out loud,” Carrie Sue managed to say before we hit the highway.
I twisted in my seat as best I could with my feet on the dash, my legs spread, trying to keep the baby from being born on a speeding golf cart. I looked back at Carrie Sue.
“Call Arch,” I yelled, and immediately started panting like a dog on a hot summer day. “Please hurry, Linc. I don’t think I’m going to make it.”
“You have to. I don’t know anything about delivering babies unless it has four legs.” Linc tried rocking in his seat as if he thought the momentum would help us go faster.
We took the same route to the hospital we had when he knocked me off the golf cart and ran over my foot. The difference this time was I really didn’t care about the horns blowing or the people who yelled for us to get off the road as they sped past us. All I cared about was the fact I didn’t want to have my baby on the side of the road. I was sure Arch would frown upon that.
We made it to the emergency room entrance with the baby still inside me. From that point, things happened so fast I can barely remember them. I know I was placed on a stretcher and wheeled at a high rate of speed past the reception area. My clothes were taken off me and I was shoved into a hospital gown. It didn’t take long to realize it didn’t matter if I had one on or not.
Several people snapped on gloves and checked me to see how many centimeters I dilated.
“Eight,” one of them announced.
“You have two more to go,” another peppy nurse declared.
“What do you mean two more? This baby is coming out now. I can feel it.”
The woman smiled and wiped my brow with a damp cloth. “Don’t you worry. It’s not quite ready, but it won’t be long. You’re having good, hard contractions, and that’s a good sign.”
“I need something for the pain. Please.”
“We’ll give you something to take the edge off as soon as Dr. Johns gets here. He’s on his way.” She swabbed my mouth with something that looked like a cotton lollipop. It had a pleasant lemon flavor, so I let her do it all she wanted.
More people snapped on gloves and checked me again. Where were all those people coming from? Surely there weren’t that many maternity ward personnel. I think the last one might have been the hospital janitor.
The contractions were coming faster and faster with almost no relief between them.
“How much longer before the baby comes?”
“Not much longer now,” someone said.
Once I heard someone say having a baby was like having a Buick drive through you. They were so wrong. It was more like a big Hummer.
I was tired and I didn’t want to play their game anymore. “I’ve changed my mind. I want to go home. Please get my clothes for me?” I pleaded.
“Too late for that, honey. Just relax.”
I tried to get out of bed and pulled a monitor line loose, causing it to beep loudly.
“What have you done now, Bertie?” Dr. Johns came to my bedside.
While the nurse readjusted the machine and got it to stop its infernal beeping, I grabbed the good doctor by the front of his jacket and pulled him to me. “You know what I’ve done. Now what are you going to do to get it out of me?”
“You are a trip, Bertie.” He freed himself from my clenched fists. “I meant what had you done to cause the machine to sound off?” He turned to a nurse. “How’s she doing?”
Just then a major pain hit and at the same time the nurse checked me. “She’s ready. The baby is crowning.”
I felt like a turkey whose little red thing had popped out to tell the cook it was done roasting. As they wheeled me to the delivery room, I was so happy it was almost over. In a few minutes, the baby would make its entrance into the world. The only thing that would have made it a happier time would have been if Arch was with me.
“Arch, oh my God,” I screamed. “Where’s my husband? The baby can’t be born without him here. Make it stay in there until its daddy gets here.” They were running down the corridor pushing my gurney. Sheets flapped in the breeze. “Is anyone listening to me? I can’t have this baby until my husband gets here.”
They laughed at me. I was not in control of the situation or, for that matter, my body. They rushed me into another room, slid me onto another table, stuck my legs into some kind of straps which held them up and apart. Someone else injected something into an IV line which I didn’t even remember getting.
“This’ll take the edge off, honey.”
Within seconds, I was very relaxed. Things sort of squiggled in front of my eyes.
“Where has that stuff been all my life and can I buy it by the quart?” I asked the lady beside me.
She snickered and rubbed my arm. Dr. Johns came in looking like Zorro behind his mask. Behind was another masked man. I’d know those eyes anywhere.
“Arch,” I whispered, and held out my hand.