On Bended Knee

Chapter 12

"I meant it, you know," Frederick said, cradling Lucy's head on his bare chest, toying with a curl of her hair. The room was dark and quiet. Raindrops tapped an unsteady rhythm against the window.

Lucy knew what he was referring to. "Come with me," he'd said.

"I know you meant it," said Lucy softly.

"And?"

"And I don't know."

Lucy listened to Frederick's heartbeat, strong and steady in his chest. It was a warm and gentle heart, and it was wrapped in a seriously attractive package. But it came with some major strings. Gigantic, snarled, ugly strings that took perverse delight in splashing the details of Frederick's personal life across supermarket tabloids and internet gossip sites around the planet.

She could feel Frederick tense at her admission of her ambivalence. What she said next would either bring them together, or tear them apart, quite possibly forever. The only middle ground, maintaining a long-distance relationship, was almost worse than saying goodbye. It pulled Lucy to pieces when they were separated by their schedules even while working in the same town.

"It's one thing to make 'us' work here, literally in the middle of nowhere," Lucy said, "But to be in the spotlight, to be constantly judged? I'm not sure I'm cut out for it."

"There are ways to make it easier, to live quietly. It's not so bad. Some parts can be fun," he said. He hooked a foot around hers under the covers, pulling that small part of her closer to him.

"It's a lot to think about," she said.

"Promise me that you will. Think about it."

"I promise," said Lucy, sealing her assurance with a kiss.

* * * * *

The next morning, Lucy was picking her stunning dress up from the floor when she saw something. She'd been in a hurry to get the dress on, and in an even bigger one to take it off, so she hadn't looked to closely at the inside.

When she spotted the name on the label, she gasped loudly, then picked the dress up like it was made of spun gold. Actually, spun gold was probably cheaper. And had a shorter waiting list. Lucy didn't follow high fashion all that closely, but even she had heard of this designer.

Frederick poked his head out of the bathroom, toothbrush in hand, wearing nothing but a towel low in his hips.

"Is that a real...?"

"Oh, that," Frederick said as casually as though one of the biggest designers on the planet was a neighbor who had loaned him a garden rake. "He owed me a favor. Did a nice job, don't you think?"

* * * * *

That afternoon, Lucy was into her second hour on the phone with Violet, trying to keep her friend from panicking, and failing miserably.

"Violet, you know babies aren't always exactly on time. You're fine, the baby's fine, the doctors aren't worried yet. Calm down."

"Calm down, ha! Don't tell me to calm down. I know when it's time to get freaked out and when it isn't. And this is definitely an 'is', Lu-Lu." Violet used Lucy's least favorite nick-name. That told Lucy that she was really upset.

"They're not talking about inducing for a couple more days. The baby could still come on its own any day. Any hour." Lucy was secretly beginning to hope that Violet would start having contractions this minuted if only to end this ceaseless phone call.

"Everybody says that induced labor is worse than regular labor, and regular labor is no day at the beach, from what I've heard."

"Have you given any more thought to an epidural?"