Here With Me by Beverly Long

convertible—drinking and
driving. It made her want to wrap her arms around her stomach and
always protect her unborn child from all the fools like them.
    Melody glanced at Grandmother just in time to
see her open her eyes, realize who was coming, and close them
again. Melody figured that perhaps she was debating whether or not
she should pretend to still be asleep. Having been cooped up
inside, away from her horses and the myriad of other chores that
would normally have occupied her time, had no doubt given
Grandmother plenty of opportunities to chat with Tilly and
Louis.
    Melody decided to help her out. She put a
finger up to her lips. “Be quiet. Grandmother’s sleeping.”
    However, either Grandmother’s impeccable
manners kicked in or she’d just plain lost her common sense because
the woman sat up on the couch. She rubbed her eyes. “Where were you
two this afternoon?” she asked.
    Tilly’s head jerked up. “Nowhere. Why do you
ask?”
    Grandmother shrugged. “Just making
conversation, Tilly.”
    “Where’s your husband?” Louis asked Melody,
before he tipped his beer up and drained it.
    “Getting acquainted with the horses,” she
said.
    Tilly sat in the chair opposite the couch.
“That’s so convenient, isn’t it, that he’s had experience with
them?”
    Coming from someone else, it would have been
casual conversation. From Tilly, Melody knew it was the prelude to
a full-blown inquisition.
    “Your grandmother mentioned that the two of
you dated a few years ago. I don’t believe I ever heard you mention
him before.”
    Bingo.
    She’d never been good at party games. She
stood up. “I’m sure I must have mentioned him,” she said. Before
the next question came, she turned to her grandmother. “I’ve still
got unpacking to do. I’ll see you at dinner.”
    “Of course, darling. By the way, we’re having
a guest. It’s Rebecca Fields of cookbook and cable television
fame.”
    “Louis mentioned it earlier.”
    Her grandmother smiled. “I thought it was the
least we could do. She’s really lovely on television and Bessie’s
even tried some of her recipes. I think that speaks to her powers
of persuasion.”
    Bessie didn’t like admitting that anybody
knew anything about cooking that she hadn’t already forgotten. “It
should be fun to meet her,” Melody said. “Do you still eat at
seven?”
    “Absolutely.”
    On her way out of the room, Melody heard
Tilly ask Grandmother if she wanted her to rub her back.
Grandmother answered with a grateful-sounding yes. It made Melody
less irritated with her aunt. Whatever else Tilly had ever been,
she’d always been kind to her mother.
    Melody stopped at the desk in the foyer and
grabbed the telephone book out of the top drawer. She did need to
unpack but she also needed to find an obstetrician. She’d seen her
own doctor three times. He’d listened to the baby’s heart,
pronounced Melody sound, and sent her on her way with prenatal
vitamins big enough that they looked remarkably like the horse
pills her grandmother kept in the stable cupboards. But every day
she forced one down, followed by at least six crackers and a glass
of milk.
    Once she got to her room, she sat on the edge
of her bed, opened the phone book to the yellow pages and ran her
finger down the list of physicians. Fortunately, she had a name.
Her friend, who had owned the restaurant where she’d been working,
had a sister in Napa who’d had a baby the previous year. She’d
raved about her obstetrician.
    Melody found the name she was looking for and
dialed the office on her cell phone. When the receptionist
answered, she explained her situation and waited while the woman
checked availability. She had expected to have to wait a couple
weeks but was delighted when the woman said that she could take a
cancellation the day after tomorrow. She ended the call just before
there was a light knock on the door.
    Thinking it could be Tilly, she debated
feigning sleep but decided it was an