Читать книгу At Odds With The Midwife - Patricia Forsythe, Patricia Forsythe - Страница 12

CHAPTER FOUR

“WHAT DO YOU THINK, GEMMA?” Lisa asked, setting the small carved figure on an end table and positioning it just so. Gemma’s mom had sent it from Botswana, where she and Wolfchild were helping build a school.

The figure was a precise circle in ebony, with the mother’s head bent down toward her child, arms cradling the baby, whose face was nestled into her neck.

“It looks good there, but I think it would make the perfect logo for the Sunshine. I could have it on the reception desk, and also painted on the sign. I’ll have to find someone to do the artwork, though.”

She glanced hopefully at Carly, who was relaxing on the sofa with a glass of iced tea. She shook her head. “Sorry, Gemma. I can put colors together and paint a basic design, but something that detailed is outside my skill set.” She tilted her head as she considered it. “Although I guess I could learn.”

“Marlene Fedder,” Lisa suggested. “Junior’s mom. She took up painting about five years go, and she’s really good.”

Lisa set down the piece. Carly picked it up and ran her fingers over it, letting them rest on the back of the baby’s tiny head. Sorrow touched her face before she handed the carving back to Lisa and resumed sipping her tea.

Lisa and Gemma exchanged a look, but didn’t comment. Lisa rewrapped the piece and fitted it back into its box, then she ran her hand over the tabletop.

Gemma saw the gesture and smiled. “It’s clean, Lisa. You polished it five minutes ago, remember?”

Lisa answered by wrinkling her nose. “Can I help it if I like clean surfaces, uncluttered spaces?”

“You’ve earned that quirk,” Gemma assured her. Lisa had been raised in the home of her loving hoarder grandparents and was determined to never go down the path of too many possessions taking over her life.

“We should celebrate the last of your unpacking,” Lisa said, curling up on the sofa opposite Carly and pulling her feet beneath her.

Gemma sat sideways in the armchair, her legs dangling over one arm and her head resting on the other.

“Let’s order a pizza from Crossroads,” Carly suggested. “That’s one of the good things about living in a small town. You can get gas, groceries, new socks and a pizza all at the same four-hundred-square-foot store.” Before Lisa could object to the number of calories in a typical Crossroads pizza, she held up her hand. “Try to think of it as a crust-based salad. They do buy my onions and peppers, you know.”

Lisa rolled her eyes, and Gemma laughed. While her two friends haggled over the pizza toppings, she relaxed and thought over the events of the past few days. When their dinner had finally been ordered, she said, “At the meeting yesterday, did either of you know there would be that much hostility toward Nathan?”

Carly shook her head. “No. I thought people would be too excited about the reopening to care about anything else.” She shrugged. “But I’m probably not the one to ask. Most of my conversations center around vegetables or reclaimed furniture.”

“I thought people might be hostile,” Lisa admitted. “A few have made comments. Everyone was curious. I think most of them expected him to come in driving a Rolls-Royce, move into the family mansion and lord it over the rest of us.”

“Probably what Cole Burleigh thought,” Gemma said.

“Looks like the good people of Reston suspected he’d profited a lot more than he did, maybe even colluded with his old man,” Carly said.

“Well, then, they just didn’t know him.” Gemma spoke more sharply than she intended to and her friends gave her assessing looks.

“That’s the second time you’ve come to his defense,” Lisa pointed out. “Wasn’t he the one who had nothing good to say about your chosen profession?”

Gemma squirmed uncomfortably and focused on the ceiling. “I’m used to that. Almost every midwife is.” She paused. “He didn’t have to come back here. No one expected him to...make up for his dad’s crimes.”

“And?” Lisa prompted.

“I don’t know why he’s doing it.”

“Because it’s the right thing?”

“Maybe to prove he’s not like George,” Carly added.

“I guess so,” Gemma admitted. “But he had a good job in Oklahoma City. No one there knew or cared about his father, or Reston. Whatever his reason, I think it’s tearing him up.”

“How can you know that after seeing him exactly three times?” Carly asked.

“It’s a...feeling I have.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her friends exchange a look, one she knew well, that said, “Gemma is on another rescue mission.”

She pretended not to notice.

* * *

“YVETTE, THIS IS the changing table I picked out for you,” Margery Burleigh announced in tones that seemed to invite applause. “Bob assembled it.”

Yvette thought that much was obvious since he had bandages on three fingers. He had brought the table in on a hand truck and now waited, red faced and panting, for his wife to give him further instructions.

Forcing a smile, Yvette looked at the oversize, curlicue carved piece of furniture and wondered how they would fit it into the nursery. It was too big, and...overwhelming.

In fact, it reminded her of Margery—outsize and overdressed.

Her mother-in-law seemed to think her place in the community was much more important than it really was. She considered herself to be an expert on everything, including childbirth and child raising, though she’d only ever had one son, and that when she’d been past forty. Now in her seventies, she was set in her ways and unlikely to change. She drove a Cadillac and dressed up every day in spite of living on a place with livestock, and raising her own chickens. Yvette had never seen her in a pair of jeans, and suddenly had a momentary vision of the big, ugly changing table dressed in denim.

“Um, thank you,” Yvette finally said. “It certainly looks...useful.”

If Margery was annoyed by the faint praise, she simply breezed right past it. “The crib you said you liked in that online store won’t do. You’re going to get the one that matches this changing table and can convert into a toddler bed, then into a full-size bed later on. When the other children come along, we’ll get them ones to match.”

“Other children?” Yvette asked faintly. How many was she expected to have? Besides, she had already ordered the crib she wanted.

“It’s not easy being an only child. Ask Cole. I couldn’t have any more babies or we would have filled the house up.” Margery seemed to recall something and fixed her piercing, critical gaze on Yvette. “You do already know that. You’re an only child, right?”

“Yes, I am.”

“That settles it, then,” Margery exclaimed as if they’d been having a heated argument. “You’ll want a big family.”

Yvette wondered how Margery could possibly know that. She never asked what Yvette wanted or thought, or hoped for. She simply made ironclad statements and stared down anyone who tried to argue with her. Bob went along with whatever she said and backed her up. Cole was intimidated by them, although he could be exactly like Margery.

Margery turned her attention to her husband. “Go ahead, Bob. What are you waiting for?”

“For you to quit flapping your gums,” he answered.

Dismayed, Yvette watched him wheel the latest monstrosity down the hall and into the nursery with his wife sailing along behind, handing out orders.

Cole had disappeared somewhere, probably because he knew his parents were coming over. No doubt, he was steeling himself for their upcoming trip to a rodeo in Tulsa—just him and his parents. Yvette was expected to stay home and represent the family—and Burleigh Livestock Sales—at the Sandersons’ barbecue.

She wasn’t quite sure why Bob and Margery weren’t on the hospital committee, or part of the fund-raising campaign, except that if Margery couldn’t be in charge, she wouldn’t want to be involved. From what Yvette had seen, Frances Sanderson was far more likely to charm people into giving than Margery, who’d try to bully people’s wallets out of their pockets.

Yvette had liked what she’d seen of Frances and Tom, and was eager for the weekend. She was also looking forward to peace and quiet in the house and not having another baby item foisted on her.

She wished she was brave enough to tell them no, she didn’t want all the items Margery was buying, but she wasn’t.

* * *

THE MUSTANG SUPERMARKET had recently reopened under new management. The outside looked great, if orange and brown were a person’s favorite colors, Nate thought. At least it was clean with shining windows and a freshly resurfaced parking lot—which had a puddle in the middle big enough to swallow a compact car.

The puddle had always been there, filling up with every rainfall for as long as he could remember. He didn’t know why they hadn’t graded the lot before refinishing it. Maybe someone had objected. The puddle was as much a part of Reston as the First Baptist Church, the Elks Club and the high school gym.

Nate stepped out of his car, slammed the door and stared at the puddle, recalling a time when he’d spied the water, made a break for it and jumped in, feet first. He’d been about five. His mother had been horrified. Since she didn’t want to get drenched in dirty, sloppy water, she’d sent Mandy in to get him. Mandy had been giggling uncontrollably, which he now saw had been equally humiliating for his mother. She didn’t like the attention a muddy little boy and a laughing teenager would bring. She had hustled them back into the car and hurried home without getting the groceries they’d come to buy.

Glancing up, he saw that all movement in the parking lot seemed to have slowed. People who had been walking in to the store, or out to their cars, had paused, their faces turned toward him, watching as he pocketed his keys and started toward the entrance. He nodded to people as he went along and that seemed to break the spell as everyone went back to their own business.

He wondered what his mom would think of this kind of attention.

At the sound of hurrying footsteps, he looked back to see Gemma bearing down on him.

“Good morning, Nate,” she sang out, giving him a big smile.

With her red hair flying around her face, and her lemon-yellow summer dress, she looked like a burst of sunshine—a good match for the name of her birthing center. All eyes were on her as she walked quickly toward him—as were his. It wasn’t simply that she was attractive. She was absolutely full of life.

“How are things going?” she asked when she caught up to him.

“Um, fine.” He realized he needed to quit staring at her, so he pulled a shopping cart out of the lineup and went inside, taking a moment to appreciate the scents of new paint and the pine cleaner used to wash the floors.

Gemma grabbed a carry basket and looped it over her arm as she fell into step with him. “I only came in for a couple of things,” she informed him as if he’d asked. “You should try the deli. They make excellent sandwiches. Carlin Houck runs it. You remember her, right?”

He gave her a dry look. “Well, I’ve known her since kindergarten, so I think so. I may have been gone a long time, but I don’t suffer from amnesia.”

When her cheeks reddened, he softened his tone. “I’ll try the deli.”

People were giving them sidelong looks or outright stares, obviously eavesdropping as she continued to chatter on about the wonders of the Mustang Supermarket. A number of people smiled at her enthusiasm.

When Mrs. Arnstein, their high school math teacher, saw them, she hurried up and gave them each a hug, then stood back to look at Nate.

“It’s wonderful to see you. I’m glad you’re back.” She beamed approval at him.

“I’m glad to see you, too, Mrs. Arnstein,” he said, and meant it, touched by how happy she was to see him, unlike nearly everyone else in town. If it hadn’t been for her patient tutoring, he never would have passed his junior year. They chatted for a few minutes and when she left, he felt a warmth he’d barely known since he’d returned to Reston. He looked at Gemma, who was watching him as if he’d done something brilliant.

They continued on, with Gemma waving to people or stopping to speak with them as she accompanied him up and down the aisles. It was almost as if she was acting as his... What? Bodyguard?