Page 5 of Not Mine to Rescue

The phone in my hand rang. It was Jim.

Finally. “Where are you?”

“In the hospital.”

Oh. Shit. I recalibrated my tone. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Denise had some blood pressure changes today and they ran tests.”

“The baby?”

Molly barked more frantically. I barely heard Jim’s answer.

“—okay. They say it’s preeclampsia. She needs bed rest.”

I let out a breath. “What about Molly?”

“Honey, didn’t you listen to anything I said?”

That tone. God, I hated it. It was the main reason I’d begun sleeping in the guest bedroom of my own house a year and a half ago. Underlying the edges were sharp little blades of meaning. I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t kind enough. I would never be a good mother, and that’s why it was a blessing we never had children. Wait, that last part he said aloud.

“Jim, I understand you’re probably emotional right now. I am on your front step waiting for someone to let me in the house so I can have Molly for my weekend.”

“All you think about is that damn dog.”

Whoa. If that’s what he thought about her, I was going to initiate a suit against the settlement. “Jim⁠—”

“No, I’m not rehashing our failures, okay? The neighbor has a key. I’ll call him and tell him you can take Molly. With Denise on bed rest, can you maybe take her for the next week or two?”

Gladly.

“I will. I hope Denise feels better.”

Part of me didn’t. Part of me wanted her flat on her back for the next eight weeks. That was awful of me. The poor…child, twenty-fucking-four, ugh… had her work cut out for her with James Crowne, Esquire. And, barely a month into their marriage they waited on the arrival of the next little Crowne who was certain to be just as demanding.

I didn’t hate her at all. I pitied her.

“Hey, Hon? Jim says I should let you in.”

Bob Dennison next door waved at me from his porch. I waved back.

“I just gotta get my key and some shoes. I hope Molly’s okay?”

A long whine was his answer. Molly loved the neighbors. They dog-sat sometimes, having a little dachshund named Herman who adored Molly and toddled after her through the grass with his little brown tail flapping a mile a minute every second they were together.

When Molly heard the keys jingle, her frantic barks and whines turned into scratching. Vindictively, I hoped she was doing damage to the trim inside.

Bob got the door open, and Molly almost knocked him over as she pushed the door wide and leapt into my arms. It was a good thing I was crouched because the subsequent roll took me off the front steps and into the grass. But Molly couldn’t help it. She’d been tortured enough. Her poor body was shaking, and she couldn’t get close enough to me.

“Hey now, Molly!” Bob reached for her collar to pull her off me.

“No, it’s okay!” I blocked his hand and gave Molly a deep hug, patting her flanks so the message would get through that I was really there. She whined louder. “I know, I know, sweetie. Mommy’s here…shhh.” I kept the message on repeat until she calmed.

The cold grass was damp, and my outfit was probably ruined.

In the grand scheme of things, I’d rather pay a fortune in dry cleaning than ever listen to Molly in distress.

“You sure you’re okay?” Bob asked.