Sweet December
One
The air coming through the open window is fresh, carrying the faint smell of freshly mown lawn. Dean can hear one of his neighbors whistling a tune while they work in their yard; he smiles to himself before picking up the paint brush again. From downstairs he hears the clink of glasses, the slam of the fridge door. No doubt it’s Joanna, putting together glasses of lemonade for them.
While he paints he hums, an old tune his mother used to sing to lull him to sleep. Even after all these years he remembers the words by heart.
“Hey Jude, don’t be afraid,” he sings, his voice low and deep, “You were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin, then you begin,” he pauses as footsteps fall softly outside the doorway, “To make it better.”
Dean turns on the last note, his heart jumping into his throat at the sight of his beautiful wife. Her cheeks are rosy, glowing – and her brown eyes sparkle. There’s a soft, happy smile on her lips. Setting the brush down he strides over to her, placing his hands on her distended belly while he kisses her softly.
“I have lemonade downstairs.” Jo murmurs against his lips.
“Mm, I love your lemonade.”
She pulls away, laughing. “I know you do.” Her eyes flit past him, focusing on the pale pink walls of the nursery, the white trimming, the beige carpet. “It looks better and better every time I see it,” she whispers.
Dean lopes an arm around her waist, steering her down the hallway, a grin plastered on his face. They drink their lemonade on the screened in back porch, watching as birds fly by and admiring the setting sun. When their glasses are empty he places a quick kiss on her lips, hurrying back upstairs to add the last coat of paint. Jo remains downstairs, busying herself with making dinner.
Later that evening, when they’re tucked into bed and she’s curled tightly against his side, head resting on his chest, everything seems to happen all at once. Suddenly the sheets beneath them are wet, and an intense onslaught of contractions has Jo curling into herself, screaming from the pain. Frantic and frazzled, Dean dresses quickly and grabs the hospital bag from their closet.
After careful maneuvering and periodic breaks where Jo clutches her abdomen and screams like a banshee, they’re finally strapped into the minivan and heading for the hospital. Jo has to remind him, between labored pants, that there’s a speed limit.
While he paints he hums, an old tune his mother used to sing to lull him to sleep. Even after all these years he remembers the words by heart.
“Hey Jude, don’t be afraid,” he sings, his voice low and deep, “You were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin, then you begin,” he pauses as footsteps fall softly outside the doorway, “To make it better.”
Dean turns on the last note, his heart jumping into his throat at the sight of his beautiful wife. Her cheeks are rosy, glowing – and her brown eyes sparkle. There’s a soft, happy smile on her lips. Setting the brush down he strides over to her, placing his hands on her distended belly while he kisses her softly.
“I have lemonade downstairs.” Jo murmurs against his lips.
“Mm, I love your lemonade.”
She pulls away, laughing. “I know you do.” Her eyes flit past him, focusing on the pale pink walls of the nursery, the white trimming, the beige carpet. “It looks better and better every time I see it,” she whispers.
Dean lopes an arm around her waist, steering her down the hallway, a grin plastered on his face. They drink their lemonade on the screened in back porch, watching as birds fly by and admiring the setting sun. When their glasses are empty he places a quick kiss on her lips, hurrying back upstairs to add the last coat of paint. Jo remains downstairs, busying herself with making dinner.
Later that evening, when they’re tucked into bed and she’s curled tightly against his side, head resting on his chest, everything seems to happen all at once. Suddenly the sheets beneath them are wet, and an intense onslaught of contractions has Jo curling into herself, screaming from the pain. Frantic and frazzled, Dean dresses quickly and grabs the hospital bag from their closet.
After careful maneuvering and periodic breaks where Jo clutches her abdomen and screams like a banshee, they’re finally strapped into the minivan and heading for the hospital. Jo has to remind him, between labored pants, that there’s a speed limit.
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427 Words