Chapter Ten

Epilogue

“So that’s how I married your Aunt Rhubarb,” Bobby was saying to the crowd of kids at yet another wedding's kids’ table.

Ruth Anne came up behind him, smacked the back of his head and lowered herself carefully into the chair next to him. He, of course, jumped to his feet to help her sit, smiling down at her before dropping a kiss on her lips. She smiled, shaking her head ruefully. Even after a lifetime with this man, he never failed to surprise her. One of his best qualities, really.

“Is that true, Mommy?” Mary Beth, their precocious seven-year-old demanded from the far side of the table. Ruth Anne stifled a grin. Their first born was their own mothers’ revenge—a child way too much like them. She had her Daddy’s eyes, blue and bedazzling, her mother’s riotous curls, and the ability to find trouble with the accuracy of a laser. She had the fastest comeback for a single digit age group and, of course, she could set up a trap faster than you could snap. Their five-year-old son, Robert James, was just like her. No one knew quite sure what to make of two year old Emma Jean, redheaded like her but calm as the sky after a summer storm. Many had asked if she was adopted. Bobby insisted it was just an old-fashioned case of the bodysnatchers. As for one so impatient to get out into the world that he had rendered Ruth Anne’s bladder bruised nearly beyond using (dammit), well, she figured they’d know soon enough.

“Is what true?” Ruth Anne asked, watching her husband fit his long length into the seat and scoot up to the kiddie table. Ten years of marriage and she still got a thrill watching him move in the slightest of ways. He wagged an eyebrow at her, letting her know he was aware of what she was thinking. Again.

Well, they’d just see, wouldn't they?

“Did Daddy really kidnap you from Gramma’s house and take you to a castle in the sky and write you a song every day until you agreed to marry him?”

Every time he told the story to the kids—who’d heard it a thousand times or more—it became more fanciful, more imaginary and definitely more heroic on his part.

“Sure, honey.” Why ruin their good time?

The truth was it took a whole year after their actual wedding—only a few days later, in a judge’s office for legalities sake—for the scandal to die down. Everyone was sure she was pregnant and while Father Larkin had never spilled the beans about finding them on his desk, everyone kept counting on her having been impregnated at the reception. Of course, Bobby did give it a damn good effort as soon as he whisked her away home, which still made her flush when she thought about it. But despite their very best continued efforts, Mary Beth Wichowski didn’t come along until she was good and ready...something she did in every aspect to this day.

“See, I told you my daddy was a hero,” Mary Beth exclaimed to the oohs and ahhs of her cousins. “Gramma says she’d have wasted away if my Daddy hadn’t come along.”

Ruth Anne didn’t have to guess which Grandmother had helpfully mentioned that. She would have defended herself—lots of heroes had shown up, Bobby was just real good at getting rid of them—but the twinges in her back and belly had gone from noticeable to disturbing in a second. (Apparently, this baby knew the truth.)

“Hey, Rhubarb,” Bobby said, noticing almost as soon as she did. He spread a palm over her tightening belly, before giving her a slightly cross look when the contraction loosened. “How long has this been going on?”

“Only since this morning. I’m fine.”

“Come on, we’re going to the hospital.”

“It’s a Wichowski, Bobby, he’s got no plans to come out until God makes him. We’ve got time.”

“Then we’ll drive nice and slow.”

She grumbled, but let him help her up. Of course, the second she stood, another contraction hit.

“See what happens when you challenge God?” he said as he hefted her up into his arms.

“Bobby, no, I’m gonna crush you.”

“If I can carry a baby grand, I can carry you.” He grunted and repositioned her better while walking through the party, a trail of excited Wichowskis hopping along behind him. “Mama!” he bellowed, snagging the attention of anyone who happened to miss them.

“I’ll watch the kids,” Evangeline replied without missing a beat—or a bite.

“You’re comparing me to a baby grand?” Ruth Anne demanded. Okay, she was no lightweight, but come on. That was like calling her an Orca.

“Come on, baby, you know those pianos get me hot.”

Rakish grins really shouldn’t have been her weakness, Bobby didn’t have any other kind. “Getting you hot is what got us in this situation.”

“Actually, I think that little red teddy thing got us in this situation,” he replied, strolling down the steps at a fast clip.

“I wouldn’t have worn it if you hadn’t gotten tenure at the University,” she reminded him.

He stopped walking, looking disappointed. “You wouldn’t have worn it?”

Ruth Anne rolled her eyes. “Okay, yes, I would have worn it. I’d already bought it when you called.”

He gave her a kiss. “Good, I knew that thing was lucky. What say you wear it again as soon as the doctor gives us the clearance?”

“First, let’s have the kid, Bobby. Then we’ll get back to your raging libido.”

“Oh yeah.” He started walking again towards the car. “Did we ever come up with a name for this one?”

“Billy?” she offered, hunching a bit into the next contraction.

“How about David?” He freed his keys while she hung tight to his neck, and pressed the button on the mini-van for the sliding door to open. Gently, he set her on the bench seat.

“David’s good,” she replied, huffing a little as he secured her with a seatbelt. “If you get me to the hospital before he’s born, I’ll let you pick the middle name too.”

“Sounds like a deal.” He gave her a quick kiss then, apparently thinking the better of it, gave her a solid one, before closing the door and rushing to the other side.

As the car pulled away, Ruth Anne smiling while her husband sang a nonsensical song about red teddy bears to keep her occupied, neither of them gave a thought to the crowd waving them off, or the circle of little girls watching and grinning.

“See,” Mary Beth Wichowski said to her cousins, reiterating what obviously didn’t need to be proved. “I told you my Daddy was a hero.”