Sugar Daddy by Lisa Kleypas Page A

trailer park, we were all goners. The knowledge gave us a more or less fatalistic attitude about natural disasters. As with so many other aspects of our lives, we were never prepared for trouble.
    We just tried like hell to get out of the way when it came.
    Mama’s pains had started in the middle of the night. At about three in the morning, I realized she was up and moving around, and I got up with her. I’d found it nearly impossible to sleep anyway, because it was raining. Until we’d moved to Bluebonnet Ranch, I’d always thought rain was a soothing sound, but when it rains on the tin roof of a single-wide, the noise rivals the decibel level of an airplane hangar.
    I used the oven timer to measure Mama’s contractions, and when they were eight minutes apart, we called the ob-gyn. Then I called Miss Marva to come take us to the family clinic, a local outreach of a Houston hospital.
    I had just gotten my license, and although I thought I was a pretty good driver, Mama had said she would feel more comfortable if Miss Marva drove us. Privately I thought we would have been a lot safer with me behind the wheel, since Miss Marva’s driving technique was at best creative, and at worst she was an accident waiting to happen. Miss Marva drifted, turned from the wrong lanes, sped up and slowed down according to the pace of her conversation, and pushed the gas pedal flush to the floor whenever she saw a yellow light. I would have preferred Bobby Ray to drive, but he and Miss Marva had broken up a month earlier on suspicion of infidelity. She said he could come back when he figured out which shed to put his tools in. Since their separation, Miss Marva and I had gone to church by ourselves, her driving with me praying all the way there and back.
    Mama was calm but chatty, wanting to reminisce about the day I was born. “Your daddy was such a nervous wreck when I was having you, he tripped over the suitcase and nearly broke his leg. And then he drove the car so fast, I yelled at him to slow down or I’d drive myself to the hospital. He didn’t stay in the delivery room with me—I think he was nervous he’d get in the way. And when he saw you, Liberty, he cried and said you were the love of his life. I’d never seen him cry before….”
    “That’s real sweet, Mama,” I said, pulling out my checklist to make certain we had everything we needed in the duffel bag. I had packed it a month earlier, and I’d checked it a hundred times, but I was still worried I might have forgotten something.
    The storm had worsened, thunder vibrating the entire trailer. Although it was seven in the morning, it was black as midnight. “Shit,” I said, thinking that getting into a car with Miss Marva in this kind of weather was risking our lives. There would be flash-flooding, and her low-slung Pinto wagon wasn’t going to make it to the family clinic.
    “Liberty,” Mama said in surprised disapproval, “I’ve never heard you swear before. I hope your friends at school aren’t influencing you.”
    “Sorry,” I said, trying to peer through the streaming window.
    We both jumped at the sudden roar of hail on the roof, a battering shower of hard white ice. It sounded like someone was dumping coins onto our house. I ran to the door and opened it, surveying the bouncing balls on the ground. “Marble-sized,” I said. “And a few golf balls.”
    “Shit,” Mama said, wrapping her arms around her tightening stomach.
    The phone rang, and Mama picked it up. “Yes? Hey, Marva, I—You what? Just now?” She listened for a moment. “All right. Yes, you’re probably right. Okay, we’ll see you there.”
    “What?” I asked wildly as she hung up. “What did she say?”
    “She says the main road is probably flooded by now, and the Pinto won’t make it. So she called Hardy, and he’s coming to get us in the pickup. Since there’s only room for three of us, he’ll drop us off and come back to get Marva.”
    “Thank God,” I said, instantly