The Rejected Writers' Book Club (Southlea Bay) Read Online Free PDF

to keep it airy. “Is everything alright?”
    “Mom?” She sounded desperate.
    “Yes, darling.” A viselike grip was taking hold of my chest.
    “No! Everything’s not alright,” she said as she burst into tears.
    Oh no. Not cancer or an accident or a death or a—before I could make it all the way through my top ten list of doom, gloom, and dismemberment, she blurted out, “I’m pregnant!”
    It took a couple of seconds for my brain to register what she’d just said.
    “Sorry, darling? Did you say you were pregnant?”
    “Yes.”
    She started to cry again. The vice released its grip from my chest, and I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
    “That’s wonderful,” I said, relieved. “You must be very happy. After all, you and Chris have been—”
    She cut me off.
    “How can you do that?” she wailed, as if I’d just slapped her in the face with a wet kipper.
    “Do what?”
    “Do that happy Pollyanna thing you always do. This is the worst day of my life!”
    She was starting to get hysterical. My concern returned. This was really out of character for my ice child, who was usually calm and collected, with never a hair out of place. Outbursts were just not her style. But her voice was undeniably starting to escalate. I needed damage control, fast, or I would lose her.
    “Are you sure, sweetheart?” I asked, coaxing her down off her emotional ledge. “You could be mistaken?”
    Suddenly, the crying stopped. Ah, a glimmer of hope. Maybe she hadn’t taken a test or seen a doctor and just suspected pregnancy. I was just about to pat myself on the back for my superior parenting skills when I heard her retch—a loud, grumbling, and gut-wrenching retch at that. What followed was the unmistakable sound of someone throwing up in all the acoustic resonance that a modern telephone can produce.
    Oh dear, I thought. She wasn’t going to need to pee on a stick to confirm this pregnancy. By the sounds of it, her hormones were already doing a full West Coast swing.
    Between the third or fourth heave, I suggested that I call her back later.
    “Congratulations!” I shouted into the phone, but she’d already hung up. I fought the urge to call her right back, reminding myself not to push it when dealing with Stacy. We had moved to Southlea Bay in an attempt to give her the space she seemed to need in California.
    Making myself a cup of tea, I mulled over the situation. I had mixed feelings. Excited to be a grandma, of course, but was I ready? I had only just come up for air from raising my own child and wasn’t sure I was prepared to take on a responsible role with someone else’s. Stacy was only twenty-four, and we had only just finished paying for her wedding the year before. Sitting down in my favorite armchair and slowly sipping my tea, I allowed this new realization to sink in. Outside the kitchen window, the sun was just starting to set.
    Enjoying its rosy descent, I started to focus on all those Hallmark moments that would come with this new experience, reminiscing about all the lovely times we had enjoyed as Stacy grew up. Trips to see Santa and the Easter Bunny, butterfly kisses, and sloppily painted fridge pictures. Fun-filled days at the zoo and cool evenings warming ourselves, watching marshmallows melt in hot chocolates around a campfire. I remembered fondly the Christmas we had bought her very first two-wheel bike. Martin had stayed up till four in the morning putting it together and then wheeled it under a Christmas tree that was twinkling with tinsel. It had remained there in all its glory for exactly forty-five minutes before an excited six-year-old had bounded down the stairs to greet it. It had been a sparkly purple, princess affair, her favorite color at the time, with white handlebars and silver tassels. I remember the joy on her upturned little freckled face, a broad smile shining through gapped-tooth wonderment, caught in the glow of the tree lights. The joy had lasted for