“I wish I didn’t, either.”
Jon kissed her, but rather than giving her a token peck on the cheek, he kissed her passionately.
“Wow, what was that for?” she asked, fluttering her eyes, hardly able to catch her breath.
Jon chuckled. “I’m not sure,” he responded. “I guess it’s because I’m a satisfied husband.”
“I plan on keeping you that way.”
“You do?”
“Definitely.” She got inside the car and watched as Jon walked back to the house, his steps lighter now.
By one o’clock Maryellen hadn’t had a chance to eat her lunch. The gallery was doing a robust business, much to her delight. Fortunately, Lois showed up to relieve her, and she went into the back room to warm the soup delivered by the Potbelly Deli nearly an hour earlier. While the soup du jour, beef barley, heated in the microwave, she took a washroom break. That was when her happy world went into a downward spiral. She was spotting.
For a minute or more she sat there, her head spinning. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Perhaps it was the lovemaking, but the doctor had reassured her on that score. Terror clawed at her as tears sprang to her eyes.
Not wanting to alarm Jon prematurely, she called her mother at the library. “Mom,” she said fervently, “I need you.”
Her mother seemed to know instantly what was wrong. “Is it the baby?”
“Yes. I don’t think I can drive.”
“Do you want me to take you to the medical center?”
The tears came in earnest now. “I don’t know.”
At that point, Grace took over the decision-making and decided Maryellen should see her regular physician. Dr. DeGroot’s office was nearby and the receptionist promised to get them in as soon as Maryellen arrived.
“I’ve called Jon,” Grace told her when she picked up Maryellen at the gallery.
“No,” she cried. She didn’t want him to worry unnecessarily.
“Sweetheart, this is his baby, too. He’s on his way.”
“Was he upset?” Maryellen knew he’d blame himself for this, although she felt certain their lovemaking had nothing to do with it.
“Jon’s only concern was for you and the baby.”
“You told him I was fine, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did.”
Her mother walked her into the physician’s office and Maryellen was quickly ushered into a cubicle. Grace stayed with her until Jon got there and then announced that she’d be out in the waiting room.
Before her mother left, Maryellen hugged her. “I love you, Mom.” She feared she didn’t say it often enough. She’d been blessed with a wonderful mother, and she knew this was a difficult time for Grace because of the breakup with Cliff.
Grace returned her hug. “Love you, too, sweetie.”
Once her mother had left, Jon sat next to Maryellen and held her hand.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, trying not to break into sobs.
Her husband drew her close. She knew he was struggling with emotion, too. If she lost the pregnancy, Maryellen was afraid there wouldn’t be another. Jon would refuse to risk it. She wasn’t sure she could go through this again, either.
Reading her chart, Dr. DeGroot stepped into the cubicle, and smiled at the two of them, holding hands, clinging to each other physically and emotionally.
With his nurse at his side, he examined her carefully.
“Am I losing the baby?” Maryellen cried, unable to keep silent.
He shook his head. “If you mean are you miscarrying, the answer is no.”
“Is the baby safe?” Jon asked.
“For now.”
Maryellen didn’t like the sound of this. Involuntarily she stiffened and tightened her hold on Jon’s hand.
“Your cervix is weak and there’s a danger you’ll lose the child unless you have complete bed rest for the next five months.”
Maryellen gasped. “But how can I?” Katie demanded constant care and like a typical two-year-old was into everything. In addition, Maryellen had a job and with her employment came an insurance package that covered medical care. Jon was self-employed and had no benefits.
“If you want your baby to live, you’ll find a way,” Dr. DeGroot insisted. “I can stitch up the cervix and that’ll offer some protection, but you’ll need to stay in bed and off your feet.”
“This is my fault,” Jon said. “I…we made love last night.”
“It’s impossible to know for sure, but frankly I doubt that’s the cause,” Dr. DeGroot told him. “However, you’ll need to abstain from lovemaking until after we deliver your baby.”
Maryellen nodded and so did Jon. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.
“We’ll be fine,” he assured both the physician and Maryellen.
She didn’t know how that could be true.
“I’m not sure Lois is ready to take over the gallery,” she lamented after Dr. DeGroot had left.
“She doesn’t have a choice,” Jon said, unwilling to yield.
Maryellen knew he was right, but she couldn’t help worrying. How was Jon going to be able to work, take care of her and look after Katie, too?
Jon kissed her forehead. “All you need to think about,” he whispered, “is taking care of yourself and our baby.”
Maryellen attempted a smile. He was trying to set her mind at ease, and she was grateful for that, but even his loving words weren’t proof against her doubts and fears.
Thirty-Four
Linnette could hardly imagine Cedar Cove without a medical clinic. She hadn’t worked a shift yet during which she wasn’t on her feet for the full eight hours. She loved her job and was responsible for a variety of cases.
She’d adjusted to life in Cedar Cove surprisingly well. Naturally, it helped that she was familiar with the town, since her parents had lived there for six years. And making friends with Gloria Ashton had boosted her sense of welcome.
Thursday afternoon, Dr. Timmons walked into a cubicle, passing within inches of her. He nodded politely and she smiled back. They worked side by side nearly every day and he’d been guarded but friendly. He always treated her with respect. But not once—not even one time—in all the weeks they’d worked together had he given any indication that he’d be interested in seeing her outside the clinic. Linnette had finally accepted the truth, finally stopped deluding herself. It was all too apparent that Chad had no romantic interest in her.
Linnette wanted to kick herself for being so coldhearted and callous toward Cal Washburn. Despite the fact that her mother had arranged their initial meeting, she liked him. His stuttering didn’t bother her. What did bother her was how much she enjoyed his company—and his kisses. She was still thinking about it. In the weeks since their last date, she hadn’t stopped thinking about Cal and where their relationship might have headed if she hadn’t been so eager to cast him aside.
Her behavior upset her so much that she’d talked to her father about the strong attraction she felt for Cal. In retrospect, Linnette was happy to get advice from her dad; her mother would’ve said I told you so a dozen times.
Her father’s advice, however, had left her slightly confused. He’d said something about fate stepping in, putting Cal in her path. When she did see him she’d apologize, which she wanted to do anyway—she just wasn’t sure how or when. She hoped he’d ask her out again. The only alternative would be to make the first overture. She didn’t know if she could.
“There’s a man who needs stitches in the surgery,” Sally Lynch, the LPN, said.
Linnette grabbed the man’s chart. She’d taken one step into the small surgery when she read Cal’s name on the computer printout. Just a few seconds earlier, he’d been foremost in her mind. She remembered what her father had said, and her heart started to beat fast. If it was meant to be, Cal would come back into her life.
And here he was!
Maintaining a calm facade, she pulled the curtain aside and discovered tha
t the palm of his left hand had been sliced open. The wound had been prepped and was ready to be sutured. It was an ugly cut and no doubt painful.
“Hello, Cal,” she said, moving into the room.
He closed his eyes and turned his head; he didn’t acknowledge her greeting.
Ignoring his lack of warmth, she sat down on the stool to examine the cut. “I think we’re looking at ten or eleven stitches here.” She glanced at his face. “Do you want to tell me how you did this?”
“No.”
Linnette had the feeling that, given the opportunity, he would gladly have walked out the door. She wasn’t about to let that happen.
“Actually, I was hoping I’d run into you,” she said, reaching for the needle to numb his hand.
“I b-bet,” he muttered from between clenched teeth.
Linnette waited until she’d finished giving him the Novocaine. “I feel I owe you an apology.”
“None n-n-necessary.”
“You were nothing but kind to me and I was exceedingly rude.”
He didn’t comment one way or the other.
The first suture went in without a problem. “I’ve felt badly about it ever since,” she said, tying off the second stitch.
He remained uncommunicative while she continued to speak in even tones that belied her physical response to him. She wasn’t sure how to tell a man who worked in a barn how badly she missed his scent. She didn’t realize it until she caught a whiff of fresh alfalfa and what she suspected was a combination of man and horse.
Neither of them spoke during the next three sutures. Linnette wanted to ask if he’d thought of her at all, but she feared the answer even more than the question. After the cold way she’d treated him, he didn’t want anything more to do with her; she was convinced of it. Still, she felt she had to say something else.
“I, uh, wondered if I’d see you again,” she said as she tied off the last of the sutures.
Once more he left her comment hanging. She wrapped the wound and gave him instructions on taking care of it. Cal worked with his hands so he’d have to be extra careful to keep the cut clean and protected.
In his eagerness to escape, he all but vaulted out of his seat when she stopped speaking.
“Cal,” she said sternly before he could bolt.
Exasperated, he turned back. “What?”
“You’ll need a follow-up appointment.”
“Why?”
“I’ll need to remove those stitches and inspect the cut.”
He whirled away, prepared to leave again.
This time Linnette stepped in front of the door, blocking his exit. “It’s important to have that looked at in about a week.” He stood no more than a foot away. His presence nearly overwhelmed her and she thought her heart might stop beating. He seemed to be staring straight through her. She hoped he was; then he’d know she was sincere. If her eyes told him anything, she wanted it to be an apology—wanted him to know she regretted the things she’d said and done at their last meeting.
Neither moved until it became apparent that there was someone on the other side of the door. Linnette shifted as Sally came into the room and nearly collided with Cal.
“Sally, Mr. Washburn will need a follow-up appointment,” she said, her throat so tight the words came out sounding strangled.
“Uh, sure thing.” Sally regarded her closely. She knew as well as Linnette did that such appointments were handled by the receptionist and not the nursing staff. “Come with me, Mr. Washburn.”
“I’ll see you later,” Linnette forced out the words as Cal walked past her.
Again he didn’t respond to her or the unspoken plea evident in her remark.
When Cal strode into the waiting area, with Sally trotting behind him, Linnette felt she needed to sit down. Strangely, she yearned to run after him and demand to know if he’d kissed other women the way he’d kissed her. It was a ridiculous question and since she’d already made a fool of herself once today, she figured that was her limit.
Once she regained her composure, she walked out to the receptionist’s desk and looked over Marilyn’s shoulder. “Did Cal Washburn make a follow-up appointment?” she asked.
“The man who came in with the cut hand?”
“That’s him. He didn’t, did he?” Linnette wasn’t sure why she bothered to ask. She would’ve been shocked if he had. Cal had made it as plain as possible; he wasn’t interested in seeing her again.
“No,” Marilyn said. “Sally tried to talk him into it, but he said he could take the stitches out himself.”
“Linnette.”
Chad called her and, surprised, she turned to face him. “I was hoping to see you when you’ve got a free moment.”
“Right now is fine,” she said and even managed to sound professional.
Chad touched her shoulder, guiding her to the side of the hallway that led to the cubicles and the surgery. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while now.”
He didn’t quite meet her eyes, which told her this wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation.
“Is there a problem with my work?” This was her immediate concern, although she couldn’t think of a single incident in which her ability as a P.A. might be questioned.
“No, no, nothing like that.” Still he hesitated. “Perhaps we could get a cup of coffee after work.”
Had he asked her this as little as three weeks ago, she would’ve leapt at the suggestion.
“Is tonight convenient?” he murmured.
“Ah…I guess.”
“Hey, you can’t go back there.” Sally’s voice rang down the hallway.
Linnette spun around and saw Cal.
His eyes narrowed as he read the physician’s name tag.
Linnette straightened. Chad had kept his voice low in order to talk privately and she’d leaned close so she could hear him. Anyone happening upon them would’ve assumed they were deep in conversation—a confidential, perhaps even intimate, conversation.
“No p-problem,” Cal said, and with that he wheeled around and walked out the door.
Once more Linnette resisted the urge to run after him. She hated to let this relationship go, but no longer felt she had any other choice.
Thirty-Five
On Valentine’s Day, Grace drove out to visit Olivia rather than head home to an empty house. Jack had recently returned from the hospital where he’d had bypass surgery, and poor Olivia had her hands full. Apparently Jack wasn’t a good patient, which came as no surprise to Grace. Or Olivia either, Grace assumed.
She rang the doorbell and waited a few minutes before Olivia answered, flustered and unkempt, which was completely unlike her. She stared at Grace and her small bouquet of red carnations and seemed about to burst into tears.
“Looks like you’ve had a rough day,” Grace said sympathetically.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Olivia muttered under her breath.
Jack sat in the living room, arms crossed and eyes flashing defiance.
“Ah,” Grace said, glancing from one to the other. “Did I come at a bad time?”
“No,” Olivia insisted.
“Yes,” Jack countered.
“Perhaps I should come back later?”
“Absolutely not,” Olivia said, glaring at her husband.
Jack sighed his capitulation. “You might as well stay.”
“Jack Griffin!”
“Sorry, Grace.” He rolled his eyes. “I just wonder if you know how stubborn your best friend can be.”
“Olivia?” Grace feigned shock. “Never.”
“Et tu, Brute!” Olivia muttered.
Grace handed her the flowers and while her friend retreated to the kitchen to find a vase, she sat down across from Jack. “A little overprotective, is she?”
He snickered softly. “How’d you guess?”
“I know Olivia.”
“She’s become my shadow. I can’t even take a—use the bathroom without her running after me to
make sure I’m not going to keel over.”
“That’s a natural reaction, don’t you think?” Grace asked. “She nearly lost you, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“She’s suffocating me.”
Olivia poked her head around the kitchen door. “Are you talking about me behind my back?”
Grace wasn’t about to lie. “Of course.”
Olivia frowned. “Don’t listen to him. Jack’s trying to do too much too soon.”
“I’m following doctor’s orders,” Jack shouted. He turned his attention to Grace again. “Tell her to go back to work. I need some breathing space.”
Grace disagreed. “Let her fuss over you. She needs to do that.”
Jack regarded her, then slowly shook his head. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Grace, would you like a cup of tea?” Olivia called.
“Please.”
“I’ll take coffee,” Jack said.
“Green tea is better for you.”
He started to argue but apparently changed his mind. “Whatever you think, dear.”
This time Olivia came all the way out of the kitchen. She pointed at Grace. “What did you say to him?”
Holding back a smile, Grace said airily, “Oh, just that you love him.”
Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “I’m reconsidering that. In all my born days, I’ve never known a man as pigheaded as Jack Griffin.”
Grace would hear none of it. “You’re crazy about this man. You love him—you can’t help loving him.”
To her surprise, Olivia laughed. “I do, and he knows it.”
A smug look came over Jack. “The thing is, I love her, too.” He held out his hand to Olivia, who clasped it firmly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“Me, too.” She sniffled, then abruptly went back to the kitchen.
“We argue,” Jack said. “I don’t think she’s used to that.”
“She isn’t,” Grace told him. Her friend, the judge, liked order and control; she rarely raised her voice or lost her cool. Marrying Jack had changed all that.
“But we make up, too,” Jack added. “That’s the best part.” He jiggled his eyebrows for effect.
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