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By V. C. Andrews
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But Mommy was talking about it now as if it were historical fact and we had no concrete information upon which to base our assumptions, except for the dates carved in a couple of tombstones. "Okay, Mammy," I said. I was thinking about washing the lipstick drawing off her stomach. but I was afraid even to mention it. I have to try to get in touch with Daddy, I thought. "Oh," Mommy suddenly cried. "Oh, oh. oh. " She clutched her stomach. "It's getting worse. I'm going into labor. " she cried. She released a chilling scream that shook my very bones.
I'll rise from my bed and look down at our driveway where I will see a car stop and Mommy step out, looking like her old self, strong, full of energy, joyous at the sight of her beloved old home. She would be cured and the first wards out of her lips would be. "Where's Cinnamon? " Mommy. I would cry inside, Mommy. And I would practically fly out of my room. descending the stairway so quickly that I couldn't remember my feet touching a step, and then I'd go charging out the front door and into her awaiting arms.
Grandmother Beverly was already at the top of the stairway. " she asked, her hand on her breast, her face whiter than ever. "She thinks she's in labor. " "Oh dear. dear. We'll have to call the doctor. I was hoping you could calm her down. " she said. Another scream from Mammy spun her around and sent her fleeing down the stairway. Mommy continued to moan. I glanced at my watch. Daddy had to be at his desk. Why did Grandmother Beverly say before that she certainly couldn't reach him? He should be easy to reach.