Kaitlyn Rice - The Late Bloomer's Baby

“She’s fine. She said neighborhoods northeast of the middle school weren’t affected.”

Callie drew in a deep breath.

“The sirens woke her, though. She turned on the news and heard we were flooding. She tried to get to the house but the roads were impassable. She’d just returned when I called a minute ago. She’s on her way here to pick me up.”

Good. Her sisters were safe. They’d have each other until Callie arrived. “I’ll make arrangements and fly into Wichita today,” she said. “I can rent a car at the airport so we’ll have another vehicle to use, and we’ll—”

“Oh, no,” Isabel butted in, her voice firm. “I wanted you to know that Josie and I were safe, but you don’t need to come. You’ve got your work to think about, and, well, everything would be too difficult, wouldn’t it?”

“Are you kidding? I’ll take a leave of absence from BioLabs. My assistants can continue the trials. I need to be with my little sisters.”

“But you also have a baby to worry about,” Isabel said. “I don’t expect you to bring Luke. For the obvious reasons.”

Callie frowned through her sister’s patient explanation. Yes, her child would complicate this trip, and not simply because he was an infant.

Luke’s father lived in Wichita again now—just twenty miles west of Augusta. Ethan didn’t know—couldn’t know—of his son’s existence.

“I have no choice but to bring Luke,” Callie said, then heard a muffled male voice in the background, followed by Isabel’s response. Someone had lured her sister away from their conversation.

Seconds later, she came on the line again. “Sorry. People are waiting for the phone.” Isabel lowered her voice. “I did hear you, though. Are you sure you want to take the chance? Josie and I can handle things here, you know.”

That was right. Isabel had always been content to piggyback her emotions on the well-being of others, hadn’t she? It wasn’t that she didn’t feel her own feelings, but she derived such joy from her interactions with others. Such energy from their happiness. Even through this trauma, she’d appreciate Josie’s spunk. She would be fine. Maybe Callie could stay here in Denver, where she could keep Luke safe.

The man interrupted again. While her sister spoke to him, Callie considered taking the easy out.

No. Despite the risk, she had to go. At twenty-nine, Callie was the oldest of the Blumes. Now that their mother was gone, she felt protective of her sisters. Although Josie and Isabel were each smart and capable, they could surely use an extra brain and pair of hands.

“I’m coming,” she insisted when Isabel returned. “I’ll call Josie’s cell number when I know details about my arrival. We can talk then.”

After she hung up, Callie sat on the sofa for a moment, organizing her morning. She’d rush a shower, then pack for two. Later she’d call a travel agency. If she left Luke at the lab’s on-site day care for an hour, she could outline a task list for her assistants.

She’d be fine. She probably wouldn’t run into Ethan. If she did, she’d control her reaction.

When she caught herself toying with her wedding band and allowing her mind to wander, Callie sighed and rubbed her fingertips across her tired eyes.

She had no choice, really. She was headed home.

Three mornings had passed since heavy rains had caused the Walnut and Whitewater rivers to overflow. The flood-waters had receded now, but hundreds of homes had been abandoned. The muddy devastation at Isabel’s house had been tough to see. Turbid water had not only filled the basement, but had risen three feet onto the main floor.

Yesterday, a van load of volunteers had helped her sister cart much of the wreckage to the curb, but the pungent smells and endless mud would be harder to remove. Isabel wouldn’t even be allowed to live in the house until the damaged walls and systems had been repaired and inspected.

She’d need all the help she could get. Callie knew she’d been right to come. In spite of the necessity for plans and contingency plans.

In spite of her turmoil.

For the past hour, she’d been in the Hilltop Church gymnasium. After completing financial aid applications for Isabel, she’d joined dozens of others awaiting counsel from relief workers. The molded plastic seats were sticky, the area smelled like a neglected clothes hamper and folks were plainly too weary for small talk.

Callie had alternated between wondering about Luke’s welfare down a corridor in the nursery, and imagining Ethan appearing through the gym’s open double doors.

If he did, she’d be fine. He wouldn’t see her with Luke. She’d only have to deal with the trauma of seeing him again. However, as soon as possible, she intended to get her baby boy and escape to a place less public.

Good thing Ethan was from Wichita. He’d spent time in Augusta with Callie while they were dating, but he didn’t know many people here and vice versa. Chances were good that no one would talk to Ethan about her or her baby.

When her number was called, Callie clutched the clipboard to her chest and strode to the opposite end of the gym, where various relief agencies had set up temporary workstations.

“Let’s have a look, Miz Blume.” The worker met Callie’s gaze briefly as he took the paperwork, then he waved her into a chair across the table from him.

Callie wasn’t a Blume anymore, of course, but she didn’t bother to correct him. He looked vaguely familiar. He must remember her from her youth.

She hadn’t really considered herself a married woman for almost two years, anyway. Not since the day Ethan had abandoned their marriage and her life.

The man knit his brow as he read the application, then clicked his pen top once against the table as he turned the page. When he flipped the paper back, his scowl deepened.

Callie leaned forward in her chair, trying to see if she’d neglected to answer some question. When the man turned the page again with a heavy sigh, she reminded herself to be patient. She had no reason to worry. She’d analyzed every response as if it were test data.

The worker tossed the forms on top of his sizable stack, and Callie waited for him to speak. No matter whom he was helping, he should offer some instruction now, as well as a few kind words. But he didn’t. He sighed again and sat back in his seat, glaring past her head at the waiting crowd.

When Callie didn’t automatically vacate her chair, he repeatedly clicked his pen against the table. “‘Bout six weeks,” he said, then he clicked two more times before calling the next number.

Callie hadn’t been dismissed so rudely in a long time. She realized she was holding her limbs stiff, bracing herself against bitter memories. Of her mother, chasing outsiders from the yard with a pellet gun. Of the whispers she’d heard during her family’s rare visits to town. To the folks in Augusta, she would probably always be one of those Blume girls—a little pitiable, a bit mysterious and different enough to be feared.

But this man’s behavior, today, didn’t matter. Callie had returned to help her family, not to change people’s minds. She forced herself to relax, then stood and headed toward the open double doors. She’d locate her son in the nursery and get out of here.

Luke had plopped down in the middle of a round rag rug where several other toddlers were exploring a scattering of toys. While Callie approached, she watched her gregarious son hand a colorful block to a cute blonde who looked about his age, then another to a bigger boy.

Some days, everything Luke did reminded her of Ethan, and she spent a lot of time yearning for those wrecked hopes, and wishing that father and son could know each other.