She's Having a Baby. Marie Ferrarella
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other woman seemed to be trying it out in her head, as well. She nodded at MacKenzie. “Very masculine sounding. Doesn’t look very friendly, but maybe that’s because he’s new,” she theorized. “Shy so often can come off as standoffish, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
MacKenzie considered herself shy, but she took just the opposite tack, trying to force herself to be as friendly as possible. Obviously it wasn’t working with her new neighbor.
As if someone had just snapped their fingers, the other woman seemed to come out of a self-imposed trance. She stopped looking toward the other apartment with a bemused expression on her face and faced MacKenzie instead.
“Oh, where are my manners?” The woman shifted the dog she was still holding to her other arm, putting out her hand toward MacKenzie. A thin layer of downy dog fur clung to her sleeve. “I’m Agnes Bankhead. Aggie to my friends.” Her eyes brightened as MacKenzie took her hand. “And I think we’re going to be friends—as long as you tell me your name.”
MacKenzie took an instant liking to the older woman. There was something about Aggie that reminded her of an aunt she’d had. Actually, Sara had been her father’s aunt, but so young at heart, she’d seemed years younger than her dad.
“MacKenzie.”
Aggie cocked her head, the ends of her short silver-gray hair swinging about her face. “Is that first or last?”
“My mother’s last, my first.” She’d been named after her mother’s people. She was also supposed to have been a boy. The name would have fit better. But when she was born, her mother had been adamant that the name be used. She hadn’t intended on having any more children. Ethan, the brother who’d arrived eleven months after MacKenzie, had had other ideas. “It’s MacKenzie Ryan.”
Aggie firmly shook her hand before releasing it. “Well, MacKenzie Ryan, it’s nice to finally meet you.”
MacKenzie was still amazed that this was their first encounter. You would have thought, living so close together in the same small complex, that their paths would have crossed at least once before. “How long did you say you lived here?”
“You’re wondering that because you never saw me before, right?” Aggie guessed knowingly. “There’s a reason for that. I worked at home.” She waved at hand toward her front door. “Glued to my computer, going blind. Until last week, my last job was freelance graphic artist.” She leaned her head in closer, as if sharing a secret. “Freelance is shorthand for fighting to keep the wolf away from the door. Most of the time, the wolf won.”
She stopped abruptly, looking up. The sky was a deep shade of gray layered over black. “Looks like more rain’s about to find us. Why don’t you come inside and I’ll finish this conversation?”
MacKenzie was more than happy to take her up on the invitation.
“I’d love to.” She followed Aggie and her dog into the cozy apartment. “So, what happened last week?”
Aggie closed the door and released the dog, who immediately trotted off to his favorite chair. A large dark blue recliner with an crocheted afghan spread over it.
“Last week I took a long, hard look at my life and realized that I was tired of hustling for clients. I decided that if I was going to hustle, I might as well do it for the kind of self-satisfaction that would make me feel loved.”
MacKenzie caught her lower lip between her teeth, afraid to venture a guess about the new career the other woman had chosen for herself. For one thing, Aggie’s choice of words sounded way too much like a description a former high-profile madam had given Dakota on one of the shows they’d done earlier this year.
Bright and vivacious, Aggie still looked a little old to be getting her feet wet in the game, although who knew? MacKenzie decided to play it safe and just ask.
“Such as?”
Aggie grinned from ear to ear, her expression catapulting her into her thirties, or thereabouts. “Stand-up comedy.”
MacKenzie stared at her. It took years to become a successful comedian. Years of one-night stands and playing in clubs that had more roaches than customers seated at the tables. She couldn’t have heard Aggie correctly. “Excuse me?”
The look in the sparkling blue eyes was knowing. And there was laughter in them, as well. “You think I’m out of my mind, don’t you?”
The last thing MacKenzie wanted was to offend the woman. Besides, who was she to judge anything? She’d judged that Jeff was the perfect man and look how wrong that turned out to be?
“No, absolutely not. I think everyone should try to make their dreams come true.”
“Just not at seventy-two.”
“Seventy-two?” MacKenzie echoed incredulously. “You’re seventy-two?” How could she have been that far off? Maybe being pregnant affected your vision, she thought.
“Uh-huh.” With one hand at her back, Aggie gently guided her into her cheery kitchen. Daffodils bloomed on the wallpaper, adding to the feeling of warmth in the room. “I know, I know, I don’t look a day over seventy-one. It’s all those genes I inherited from my mother.” Switching on the coffeemaker on the counter, Aggie poured in water and placed the pot under the spout. Hot water emerged almost immediately, making noise as it ran its course. “Of course, they’re a little old themselves, having been used by her, not to mention all those women who came before her.”
After turning around, she paused to lean against the counter. “They tell me that my great-great-great-grandmother looked like she was fifteen when she was my age, but what can you do?” Crossing to the small pantry, she opened the door and reached inside. “Tea?” she asked, firing the question over her shoulder.
Maybe Aggie had something there, MacKenzie thought. The woman was certainly entertaining and amusing. Maybe she was unique enough to make it in this unsteady field she was thinking of entering.
“Um, yes, please.”
Taking out a small box of tea bags, Aggie placed the box on the counter in front of MacKenzie. The coffeemaker had finished turning cold water into hot. “Earl Grey, right?” Aggie took down a cup and saucer. “No milk.”
It was exactly the way she took her tea. And she was a tea drinker in a land of coffee consumers. It wasn’t often that she was offered her first choice right out of the box.
She looked at Aggie with no small amount of wonder. “How did you…?”
The water steamed as it descended over the tea bag. Aggie set down the pot and waited a moment, then raised and lowered the tea bag a total of five times before setting it before her guest.
“I’m just a wee bit psychic at times. That, too, came from my mother’s side,” she confided with pride. “She came to this country from Scotland as a young girl. A lot of people had the sight—that’s what they called it back then.”
“Of course they had no cable television, so I suppose they had to do something to entertain themselves,” she added. MacKenzie hadn’t begun to drink, so Aggie gestured toward the tea. “Drink it while it’s hot, dear. The nice tea will help to soothe your stomach.”
MacKenzie looked at her sharply. “What makes you say that?”
Aggie’s expression was the personification of innocence. “The baby’s been giving you trouble, hasn’t it, dear?”
MacKenzie’s mouth dropped open.
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