Page 20 of Captiva Café
"Well, if my child inherits Gareth's restless energy and my stubborn streak, I may never sleep again." Emma sigheddramatically. "Speaking of my dear husband, that's partly why I'm calling."
Sarah set the groceries on the kitchen counter and kicked off her shoes, settling onto a barstool. Emma's calls always required her full attention—her friend's life as the wife of bestselling thriller author Gareth Graham was never short on drama.
"What's he done now?" Sarah asked, amusement coloring her tone.
"He's driving me insane with the baby preparations," Emma groaned. "The man who can barely remember to put the milk back in the refrigerator has suddenly become obsessed with organizational systems. He installed shelves in the nursery at midnight last night. Midnight, Sarah! I could hear him muttering about 'optimal storage solutions' while I was trying to sleep."
Sarah stifled a laugh, picturing Gareth—tall, perpetually disheveled, with his writer's tendency to get lost in his own head—suddenly transformed into a hyper-focused nursery planner.
"Pre-baby nesting happens to the best of them," Sarah commiserated. "Trevor reorganized our garage three times before Maggie was born. Something about impending fatherhood turns perfectly normal men into neurotic project managers."
"It would be endearing if he wasn't also following me around with a notepad, documenting my 'pregnancy journey' for his next book," Emma continued. "Apparently, his new protagonist is a pregnant detective, and he needs 'authenticity' for her character."
Sarah nearly choked on her laugh. "He's not."
"He is. He asked me to rate my swollen ankles on a scale of one to ten yesterday, then nodded sagely and muttered something about 'the weight of justice being heavier than expected.'"
This time Sarah didn't bother stifling her laughter. "Oh, Emma. Only you could marry a man who sees your pregnancy as research material."
"I knew what I was signing up for," Emma admitted, the smile evident in her voice despite her complaints. "Anyway, that's not why I called. Well, not entirely."
Sarah switched the phone to her other ear, recognizing the slight shift in Emma's tone. "What's up?"
"We're coming to Captiva next week," Emma announced. "Gareth has a book signing event at that bookstore on Sanibel, and he thought it would be the perfect opportunity to visit before the baby comes. His words were 'one last hurrah before our lives are forever altered by the tiny overlord.'"
"That's fantastic!" Sarah exclaimed, genuinely delighted. "How long will you be staying?"
"A week, maybe ten days if I'm feeling up to it. Gareth can work anywhere, and it’s not that far from Naples so not a difficult travel."
"Are you staying at a hotel? Because you know there's always room at Mom's inn, or you could stay with us if you'd prefer."
"Actually, we booked the cottage at the Key Lime Garden Inn already," Emma said. "Gareth called two weeks ago but I’ve been too busy to let you know. He wanted to surprise me, but then realized I might want to, you know, pack my own things rather than trust his idea of maternity vacation wear."
Sarah laughed. “This is so great. I’m surprised Mom didn’t mention the reservation to me. Then again, my grandmother has been keeping my mother on her toes lately. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. I can’t wait until you get here.”
"Me too, I want to see you and Trevor and those children of yours. Noah must be getting so tall, and little Sophia—is she still obsessed with marine biology?"
"Completely," Sarah confirmed. "She has Trevor wrapped around her finger. He takes her to the marine research center every chance they get. And Little Maggie is walking now, into everything."
"I can't believe how fast they grow," Emma said, a new softness in her voice. "Do you ever just look at them and feel—" she paused, searching for words, "—overwhelmed? Not in a bad way, but like your heart might actually burst from loving them so much?"
"Every single day," Sarah said quietly. "Even when they're driving me crazy. Especially then, sometimes."
“Sarah,” Emma's voice was suddenly uncertain. "What if I'm terrible at this? At being a mother?"
The vulnerability in her friend's question caught Sarah by surprise. Emma was usually the confident one, the woman who approached life's challenges with unflappable determination and a wry sense of humor.
"Emma Thurston Graham," Sarah said firmly, "you are going to be an amazing mother. Not a perfect one—none of us are—but an amazing one."
"How can you be so sure?" Emma pressed. "I can barely keep my houseplants alive. Gareth and I still sometimes eat ice cream for dinner. My own mother was so organized she color-coded our family calendar. I don't even know what day of the week it is half the time."
"Because I know you," Sarah said simply. "You love deeply and fiercely, and you never give up. You're patient when it matters and impatient with things that don't. You'll make mistakes—we all do—but that baby is lucky to have you."
A sniffle came through the phone. "Damn hormones," Emma muttered. "Now I'm crying again. I cried watching a paper towel commercial yesterday. A paper towel commercial, Sarah."
Sarah laughed softly. "I cried because Trevor put the dishes away in the wrong cabinets when I was eight months pregnant with Maggie. Pregnancy does strange things to our emotions."
"I haven't told Gareth how scared I am," Emma admitted quietly. "He's nervous enough as it is, under all that enthusiastic preparation. I don't want to add to it."
