The telephone began ringing just as she closed the door to her hotel room and started down the hallway toward the elevator. She never even considered not turning back to answer, confident that the call was either from her son or Dennis.

“Hey, Mom,” her son said cheerily before she even had a chance to say “hello.”

“Hey yourself! How are you guys?” she inquired. “Everything o.k.?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I just called to say ‘hi’ and make sure you were having fun.”

“So far, so good,” she responded, touched by the fact that her nine-year-old son clearly missed her but was trying not to let on. “What’s your dad up to?”

“He’s out in the backyard,” her son explained. “He’s doing something with the pool chemicals before the twins and their dad get here. We’re all going to swim this afternoon. Just the guys. Amy said that if you get a ‘girls’ weekend’ away, she gets part of a weekend to herself. Dad is going to bar-b-que hamburgers for dinner. You know what else?”

“What?” she asked amusedly.

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“And you got married just like that?” Amy said incredulously.

“Just like that!” she laughed. “It was an amazing day. We only had about twenty-five guests and got married, barefooted, on the beach at sundown.”

“When did you tell your families that you were pregnant?” Amy pressed.

“During the reception! Dennis proposed a toast to me and our baby.” She smiled at the memory of the way the guests gasped and the momentary silence that followed. “Within a few seconds, after everyone had a chance to absorb the announcement, they were happy and supportive. Both of our mothers burst into tears, of course.” As she spoke, her eyes never left the playground where her son was climbing up the stairs to the slide, with Amy’s twin boys right behind him. “Be careful, boys!” she called to them. “Don’t crowd each other.”

“I was so happy when the realtor told us that you had purchased the house next door. I was hoping that a nice couple with a young child would buy it so the boys would have a playmate — and I might make a friend,” Amy said genuinely. “As much as I love being a stay-at-home mom, it does get a little bit lonely sometimes.”

“I know what you mean. That’s why we wanted to buy a house and get settled into a nice community,” she responded. “When Dennis told me that our new next-door neighbors had twin boys, I knew we had decided on the right house for us!”

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The florist delivered the flowers late Saturday afternoon. A beautiful bouquet of her favorites — delicate pink roses. The card said simply, “You will be picked up at noon on Sunday. Be ready. Love, D.”

She opened the door and was greeted by a uniformed driver. “I don’t think you have the right apartment,” she said apologetically.

“Oh, I’m sure that I do,” the driver replied respectfully. “I’m here to pick you up and take you to brunch. Mr. Dennis sent me. Are you ready?”

Speechless, she hurriedly grabbed her bag and locked the apartment door before following the driver to the parking lot where a black limousine awaited them. She stopped and stared at the car and then the driver.

“Madam, if you please,” the driver said, gesturing toward the vehicle as he walked toward it and opened the door for her.

Without saying a word, she got into the car. Before closing the door, the driver explained, “There is sparkling apple cider on ice. Would you like me to pour you a glass before we depart?”

“No, thank you,” she smiled. The driver gave her a knowing smile and playful wink before closing her door and then taking his seat behind the wheel.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Ah, Mr. Dennis would like that to be a surprise. But I can tell you that we will be there within the hour,” the driver explained as he pulled out of the parking lot.

She had never ridden in a limousine before, so she leaned her head back on the seat and closed her eyes, wondering what Dennis had in store for her . . . for them.

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She knew what she had to do — and that she needed to do it now. Procrastinating would only make the task ahead more difficult — for both of them.

Her circumstances — and the future of her unborn child — required that she be fearless now. Decisive. Determined. Protective.

As she showered and dressed in anticipation of Dennis’ visit, she vacillated between being extremely angry with herself for not being more responsible — the thought of using birth control had never even entered her mind on that fateful New Year’s Eve — and worry about what her future held. She knew that her discussion with Dennis this evening would only be the first of many conversations she would be having in the coming weeks and months with the people she loved. She wondered how she would tell her parents, knowing that they would be disappointed, but fiercely protective. Although she had not had time to fully evaluate her financial circumstances, she presumed that she would need to move back into her parents’ home and secure employment back in her home town, dependent upon her parents to assist with child care and other responsibilities.

The days ahead would be difficult, but she was resolved. She was going to have his child and raise it on her own without any assistance from him. If her plan succeeded, he would never know.

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“I just don’t understand why the doctor can’t prescribe something to help you.” Her friend was clearly irritated. “How long did he say it would take for this thing to ‘run its course’?” she inquired.

“I told you,” she responded, staring out the passenger window of the vehicle as she adjusted her sunglasses to hide her swollen, puffy eyes. “There is no medicine that he can prescribe. It just has to run its course and I’ll feel better when it does.”

“It’s a virus?” her friend pushed.

“I guess so,” she shrugged, hoping that her friend would ease up because her head was throbbing again. “He didn’t really explain it in much detail,” she lied. “Thank you for driving me.”

“You’re welcome. So,” her friend sighed, “you’re going to go home and take a nice, refreshing nap, right? And call me if you need anything at all?”

“Right,” she smiled feebly as she stepped out of the car and hurried to her front door without looking back lest her friend change her mind about simply dropping her off.

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“Are you coming, Grandma?” she called up the stairs lightly.

“Yes, dear,” was the response. “I’ll be down in just a few moments. I’m moving a little slower than normal this morning,” the old woman giggled. “I’m not complaining, though. You just sit tight and be there in a flash.”

“All right, Gran,” her granddaughter laughed. “I know it’s all my fault . . . I kept you up too late.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” her grandmother called back good-naturedly as she put the pearl studs that had been a gift from her groom more than forty years earlier into her ears and lined her lips with a beautiful rose-colored gloss.

As she finished, she told the reflection in her dressing room mirror, “Not bad for an old dame celebrating Easter morning.”

Then, as had been her custom for more than fifty years, she sat down on the edge of her bed, opened her nightstand drawer, and pulled out the Bible that had been a gift from her grandmother on the occasion of her baptism. The King James volume had a white leather cover bearing her birth name in gold embossed letters that closed with a zipper. The zipper pull was in the shape of a cross, but the imitation gold finish was worn off in the precise spots where her fingers had performed this same ritual twice each day for so many years.

She let the page fall open to reveal the photograph she had lovingly gazed at every morning and every night for more than five decades. The edges were frayed and one corner was slightly torn, but she didn’t care. The young man in the photo was nineteen years old and dressed casually in a sport shirt and jeans. He was standing on a stage, surrounded by other young people wearing equally casual attire, with his arms outstretched and a wide smile upon his face as he looked directly into the camera’s lens. In the far right corner of the photo, a middle-aged man sat before an upright piano, his hands perpetually poised a foot or so above the keys. He too was smiling as he looked at the young man standing center stage. Next to the piano, the top of which was littered with paper cups and an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts, a man and woman stood with folders tucked under their respective arms and their hands extended in front of them, their silent applause forever memorialized in the black and white image.

After a few moments of looking directly into the handsome young man’s deep-set brown eyes, she tucked the photograph into its appointed place in the Bible, zipped up the cover, and placed it back in the drawer. Then she stood, straightened her skirt and buttoned her jacket before turning to smooth the bedspread. She walked over to the window and drew the curtains back to allow the morning sun to stream into the room.

Just in front of the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed, she paused again before another black and white photograph of a bride and groom standing in a church, the train of the beautiful young bride’s long white gown neatly arranged behind and beside her on the steps leading up to the altar. She put her right index finger to her lips and then pressed it gently to the glass covering the groom’s face before she walked out of the bedroom toward the stairs, a spring in her step that defied her years and fatigue.

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“Breathe . . . breathe,” her friend urged, as she knelt alongside her chair, rubbing and patting her back. “Come on . . . deep breaths. You can do it. Get some air into your lungs . . . there you go . . . you’ll be all right.”

Upon hearing that he was planning to marry the woman with the dark heart — and the betrothal had been publicly announced — she had been unable to catch her breath. Her eyes filled with tears, she was rendered mute, and she thought she would suffocate. Her friend immediately came to her aid, soothing and consoling her as she struggled to maintain her composure and avoid the stares of the cafe’s other patrons.

“Drink some water,” her friend urged. Without protesting, she gulped some ice water but her stomach lurched so she pushed the glass away, shaking her head vigorously and covering her mouth with her napkin just in case.

Finally, she caught her breath and found her voice, although it was barely audible. “I’ll be fine. You can sit down now,” she said in a near-whisper.

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The ringing telephone startled her awake. She sat straight up on the couch, disoriented. The telephone was on the coffee table directly in front of her with a hand-written note taped to it: “Make an appointment with the doctor. I’ll call later and check up on you. Love, Me.”

She threw off the blanket that covered her and reached for the telephone, noting that she was still fully dressed.

“Hello,” she said groggily.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Dennis replied tenderly. “I didn’t want to call too early and wake you up, but it sounds like I did just that. How are you feeling? Any better?”

“What time is it?” she asked.

“It’s a little after nine o’clock,” Dennis responded. “Did you get a good night’s sleep?”

“Actually, yes,” she said truthfully. “I did. I slept very soundly, in fact.”

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Welcome to the All for Women Blogging Carnival! I’m delighted to host this carnival for the very first time. I stand in awe of the collective talent of the participants and hope you will enjoy this amazing collection of posts covering a wide variety of subjects.

Health and Beauty

From Rose Walbrugh: Depression - Is a new perspective needed? at FreeMyMind.Net, saying, “Are you feeling stuck, repeating the same cycles or not comfortable taking brain altering drugs just to get through the day? There may be a much milder and more effective alternative. This articles introduces a new approach based on our core beliefs.”

From Marcella Chester: Blog Against Sexual Violence Day 3 April 2008 at abyss2hope: A rape survivor’s zigzag journey into the open, saying, “Sexual violence impacts women’s lives in various ways which are often out of our control. This event allows women (and men too) to talk about how to better prevent sexual violence.”

From Megan Bayliss: Photos of women in Cairns sharing afternoon tea and research at the Imaginif talk doctor’s surgery at Imaginif…, saying, “At Imaginif, we love women and we wish every day was International Women’s Day. Here in the far north of Australia, we celebrated women’s diversity with an afternoon tea at our Imaginif talk doctor surgery. Check out what we look like, what we wear, our hair styles, our womanhood.”

From Master Carl Mills: What Is Karate? at Master Carl Mills.

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