⇾𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐈𝐈

Chapter Fifty-Two: Precisely

April 5, 1967

I watched in fascination as John doodled onto the wall with a pencil. I wasn't sure if he knew I was behind him or not. He was completely absorbed in the work. Below him, he had the frame with the original dog drawings for his books below him for reference.

He connected two lines and then scooted back on the floor to admire his pencil markings. They were just dark enough to be seen, but faint enough to be erased if needed. He had a little radio perched down at the base of the door playing Buddy Holly. "Reminiscing" came to a close and a familiar song followed. John turned to look at the radio with a smile and caught me leaning in the doorway. His smile widened.

"Hello, love," he said, standing up and stretching.

Hold me close and tell me how you feel...

He came to stand next to me, gesturing towards his penciled dogs. "How do they look?" he asked me, sounding almost nervous to hear the answer.

"They're perfect," I responded with a happy smile. He turned back to them, now looking prideful. Then, he looked around at the rest of the room, a prideful look in his eyes. It, of course, was empty apart from a few paint buckets on the floor from the past few days.

"You think they'll like them?"

I put my hands to my stomach and smiled. His eyes followed my hands. "They'll love them."

We looked at one another with a grin. "You're sure?" he implored for reassurance.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," I answered, putting my hands to his face and patting him on the cheeks teasingly.

He bent down to place a kiss on my forehead. "I don't know about you," he began. "But I'm really craving some fish and chips for lunch."

"I'm happy to report that we are all four on the same page." We looked back down at my stomach for a moment before he patted me on the back to lead me out of the room.

~~~

When we made it to the place we'd be eating, we were delighted to find Ringo and Maureen sitting at a table themselves. It wasn't long before they'd spotted us too and were beckoning for us to join them.

"What has you out today?" Ringo asked as we sat down.

"We've been painting the nursery," John responded. "Got a bit peckish."

"That reminds me," said Ringo. "Did you find out the genders? Or can we not know yet?"

"No, of course you can know," I responded.

"Brian is coming over tonight for dinner so we can tell him, though," added John.

"So no running your mouth," I finished.

"Isn't it funny how you guys finish each other's—?"

"—Sentences?" finished John with a crooked grin.

"Precisely." Ringo smiled teasingly.

"So?" asked Maureen excitedly. "What's the news?"

Just as John opened his mouth to speak again, a waitress came to take our orders. John and I decided on the spot to share a plate of fish and chips. When the waitress left again, Maureen and Ringo were both eyeing us in pure, unfiltered anticipation.

"First," John said. "Have you guys found out the gender of your little offspring?" He bent his voice up an octave, clasping his hands together with his elbows resting on the table.

"Not yet," Maureen responded. "We've got a few more days."

"Ah, right."

"Now, tell us!" said Ringo exasperatedly.

"Alright—," I began, but John had other plans.

"I'm gonna have a son and a daughter," he said, his voice unbearably enthusiastic.

"Characteristic of you," quipped Ringo. "Couldn't decide on one, so get a little of each."

"Precisely." John grinned maniacally.

"Well, any road, congratulations to you," said Maureen.

"Thank you, love," John responded.

"How are you feeling, Donna?" Ringo asked me.

I thought a moment. "Not really very good."

"Well, I hear you're running off to Liverpool next week?"

"I suspect that'll make everything better," I responded.

~John's POV~

I ran the paintbrush around the pencil markings on the wall until the two black lines met. Satisfied, I scooted back on the floor to look at what I'd done. I smiled in amusement at the dogs I'd drawn: one standing still and the other running away. I had drawn their ears perked up, the one running's tongue was lolling out of its mouth. It looked perfect.

"John?" Donna's timid voice startled me. I put my paintbrush into the cup of water sitting next to me and turned to see her standing in the doorway. She was wearing the same thing she'd worn to lunch earlier, but her hair was tied up now. She had a book dangling from her left hand and she was rubbing her eyes with her right.

"Donna?" I asked confusedly, noticing quickly that she appeared to be upset. "Something wrong?"

She held up the book feebly. "I want to burn it," she said simply.

I stood up from my spot on the floor and went towards her to look at it. She held the hardcover book up so I could see it.

"Where the Red Fern Grows?" I asked. "Why do you want to burn it?"

"Because it made me sad," she responded, her voice cracking as she began to cry again.

"Aww," I cooed, putting my arms around her and pulling her close as she cried.

"The dogs died," she sobbed. "Why'd they die? A damn mountain lion. And Little Ann was just so sad that she died too. It's not fair, John."

"I'm sorry, love," I said to her, running my hands through her hair.

"Our kids are never reading this book, and I'll never read it to them. It's too sad."

"What if they want to read it, though?" I implored.

"It's not allowed," I responded. "That's why I wanna burn it."

"Well, we're not gonna burn it," I said.

"Why?" My words had brought on a new wave of tears.

"Because we don't have anywhere to burn it. Besides, that seems a bit mean to the author, doesn't it?"

She pulled away from my chest to look me in the eyes. "Maybe," she said sadly, a thoughtful look in her eyes.

"What time is it?" I asked her.

"That reminds me," she quipped finally. "I came up here to tell you we should get ready. Brian'll be here soon.

"Alright, then," I responded. "Do you like the dogs?" I asked her, pointing towards my work on the wall.

Her bottom lip puckered out again and she looked at me with a smile. "I love them," she replied, wiping her eyes.

I put my arm around her. "Are you still sad about the dogs in your book?"

"No," she said. "I'm just so happy that you painted these dogs." She dawned a frustrated look on her face. "Why am I crying?" she asked and we laughed.

I rested both of my arms around her and placed a small kiss on the top of her head. "I looove you, Donna."