“But he can pick and choose now; that’s the secret. He only has to attend a few family business meetings a year. That’s the stress that was wearing down that heart of his. He finally could see what his brothers had already agreed to—that the nephews and nieces could handle things just fine. Let new blood take over.”
A shadow fell across the table and their words.
Mary Pisano stood at Nell’s elbow. The bed-and-breakfast owner wore her customary hospitable smile, one that also served her well in drawing out information for the local newspaper column she delighted in writing. “It was a perfectly lovely party, but it would have been better without someone stealing your jewels, Birdie,” she said. “Theft. It’s everywhere.”
Birdie just shook her head. “Mary, you amaze me. You know the unknown. I imagine you know the Sox score before the game is played. Surely you know who took that necklace.”
No, she said. She didn’t know that. But she wished she did. And she’d certainly work at finding out. And when she did, her thoughts about it would appear in her “About Town” column immediately.
The sound of shouting from down the street stopped Mary from the questions they knew she had on the tip of her tongue.
“It’s Archie Brandley,” Birdie said. She stood up and shaded her eyes against the sun. “It’s not like him to yell like that unless someone is spilling coffee on one of his books.”
Nell had already gathered her sweater and bag. “I’m headed that way. Let’s see what’s up.”
Mary tucked her laptop into a backpack and led the way across Harbor Road and down the block, the diminutive columnist moving as fast as her sneakers could carry her.
A small crowd had gathered at the end of the alleyway that separated Archie’s bookstore from Izzy’s yarn shop. Standing in the middle of the gravel road was a red-faced Archie Brandley, his hands on his hips and his booming voice shouting at a young man teetering at the top of a wooden ladder. “You’re not going to kill yourself in my alley, young man,” they heard Archie boom. “I won’t allow it.”
“Good grief,” Nell said, staring up the ladder. “What are you doing up there, Justin?”
Justin Dorsey looked down, a dimpled smile appearing instantly and one hand releasing its hold on the ladder to wave. “Hey, Ms. Endicott.”
“Hold on to that ladder. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“Nah. I’m good with ladders. I painted a whole house last summer. This is my first time at window washing, though. Can’t be that hard, right?”
“He’s a fool,” Archie muttered. “I don’t trust that kid farther than I can throw him. He’s already dropped a wet sponge on poor Hemingway’s head.” He looked down at his aging Lab, lying calmly in the middle of the alley. “Janie needs to get herself another project. This one is trouble, I guarantee it.”
“Does Izzy know you’re washing her windows?” Nell looked up the old ladder. A bucket of water hung from a rusty hook attached to its side. She wondered briefly about Izzy’s insurance policy. Perhaps it was indelicate of her, but she also didn’t want Izzy’s baby to be subjected to any stress that an accident might incur.
Justin shifted his weight and Nell held her breath as the ladder moved, creaked, then settled back against the two-story building.
The side door slammed and Izzy appeared on the steps. “What’s going on out here?” She stared at the crowd, at Nell, Birdie, and Archie, and then at the wooden ladder leaning up against her building. Her eyes moved up until they locked into Justin’s.
“What are you doing up there, Justin?” Worry lines creased her forehead.
Justin started to wave again, then thought better of it and held on to the swaying ladder with both hands. “Sorry to cause such a commotion,” he shouted down. “I just wanted to help Janie.”
“Janie?” Archie demanded.
“Janie?” Nell and Birdie said together.
“Oh, jeez,” Izzy said. She looked at Birdie and Nell. “I was going to tell you about it. Janie Levin is moving into the apartment above my shop. That little house out on the highway that she was renting is up for sale.” She took a step back and looked again at the young man on the ladder, then over at a beet red Archie.
“I guess he thought the apartment needed cleaner windows. He’s probably right. He’s not so bad, Archie.”
Archie’s thick eyebrows pulled together, his frown telling Izzy what he thought of her personality assessment. But before he could articulate it, a metal bucket plummeted to the ground, its contents spraying old Hemingway and Archie Brandley’s new khaki slacks.
The ugly gray stain was demonstrable proof that Izzy’s windows did, in fact, need cleaning.
• • •
A call from Dr. Virgilio’s receptionist told Izzy that her morning doctor’s appointment had been interrupted by the birth of three babies. Izzy agreed to come by after work the next day instead—a better time, anyway, since her shop closed at six on Tuesdays.
Nell was fine with that, too. Perhaps they’d have more time with the doctor. Although what they would do with it, Nell wasn’t sure. Izzy had seemed better the past couple of days. And Sam had told Ben that she was sleeping better. No worries, Sam said. And Ben brought the message home forcefully.
“So, my Nellie, you need to throw that worry right out the window. Right now,” Ben had said the night before, wrapping his arms around Nell and trying to understand her concern for such a natural happening.
Maybe it was because her own efforts to have a baby had never been realized. The years of trying, of miscarrying, of having an adoption fall through, had been put to rest over the years, relegated to a quiet corner of Nell’s heart. But now, in the time it took for Sam and Izzy to show up on her doorstep with the news that she was to be an aunt again, they reared up—the worries, the fears, the wondering. All overshadowed by enormous joy, but still there, lingering at the edges of her happiness.
Ben suggested it wasn’t fair to Izzy for her to hover. He was right. Did all mothers go through this when their daughters announced a pregnancy? But she wasn’t Izzy’s mother, and even Izzy’s own mother didn’t seem to share Nell’s anxiousness. Nell’s sister called her once a week, but mostly Caroline talked about nurseries and showers and baby names for her first grandchild. Not anxieties.
She’d finally decided it was Izzy herself who was making her anxious. She and her niece were so closely connected, and some days she felt Izzy’s mood shifts as acutely as if they were her own.
“Aunt Nell?” Izzy’s voice intruded, pulling her from her thoughts. They were standing at the door to the Virgilio Clinic.
“Where did you go? You were far, far away. . . .” Izzy smiled, searching Nell’s face. She rested one hand on the doorknob, then leaned over and brushed Nell’s cheek with a kiss. “I love you,” she whispered. “Thank you for being with me.”
A push from the other side of the door caused Izzy’s hand to fall from the knob and they looked up into the smiling face of Tamara Danvers, her husband, Franklin, right behind her.
“Greetings, ladies,” Franklin said. He nodded slightly, then took Tamara’s arm and ushered her down the steps as carefully as if he were carrying a basket of eggs.
A long black car pulled up at the curb and a uniformed chauffeur hopped out and opened the door. Tamara looked back at Izzy and Nell and offered a small wave. She lifted one shoulder slightly as if apologizing for her husband’s unnecessary gallantry—but the smile was more one of an Olympic swimmer winning a gold medal.
The door closed and the car sped away.
“Laura says her uncle is crazy with joy,” Izzy said. “He insisted on extra tests, precautions, recording blood types, all sorts of things, even though Dr. Lily assured him that the drugstore pregnancy test was fine this early in the game.”
“Well, I suppose when you’ve waited this long, you want to be sure everything is covered.”
Izzy watched the car disappear around the corner. “I suppose, although I think of
having a baby as a more natural happening, something that shouldn’t be weighted down with all of that.”
Nell listened, her own thoughts about Franklin’s odd behavior filtering into the mix. Rumors had surrounded Franklin Danvers over the years, something that often accompanied great wealth. It seemed all that had come from his previous marriages were tales of wives’ infidelities—not children. Perhaps history and experience colored a person’s approach to events, even to the natural order of things, like childbearing.
It was certainly true in her own life.
She followed Izzy into the waiting room and closed the door behind her.
• • •
Once the great home of a sea captain, the Virgilio Clinic still held a grandeur and spoke of the ocean. On every wall were framed paintings of Cape Ann’s heritage—majestic storms, stately schooners, and brave, weathered fisherman. In the reception area, soft couches were angled discreetly, offering a sense of warmth and comfort—and privacy. At the far end of the room, Janie Levin stood behind the reception desk, looking down at a computer screen.
She looked up as the door clicked shut, and almost immediately her face flooded with apologies. The news of Justin’s recent escapade had clearly made its way to the clinic. “I don’t know what he was doing today. I’m so sorry, Iz. Justin doesn’t think before he acts.”
“He could have fallen,” Nell said. “That was the concern, Janie. The ladder was ancient. Justin found it in a shed behind the bookstore.”
“And simply helped himself to it,” Janie said. She looked around to be sure no one was within earshot, then lowered her voice. “It’s a pattern with him. Do you think he’ll learn?”
“A pattern?” Nell said.
“He’s been in trouble his whole life. But no one ever tried to help him or give him a chance. I thought I could make up for some of that.” She leafed through a few papers on the desk. “Sometimes I bite off more than I can chew, but I really thought I could help him. He can be so charming—when he isn’t trying to think up ways to get rich. Having money is so important to him, but I guess when you’ve never had any, maybe you think it’s an answer to all your problems, I don’t know.”
“Well, Justin was right about one thing—those windows were filthy,” Izzy said.
“Like he thought I needed clean windows? You’re so generous to rent me that beautiful place, Iz—I’d love it if it had no windows.”
She bit down on her bottom lip. A slow flush of frustration worked its way to each cheek. “Tommy is upset with me. He’d like to wipe Justin off the face of Sea Harbor, if not the earth.”
“Justin’s heart is in the right place,” Izzy said, trying to coax a smile back to Janie’s face.
“But that’s the problem. Sure, he means well, and he’s really smart—he’s a genius with computers and he loves all the lab stuff. He even won some science awards in high school before he dropped out, if you can believe it. But he still acts like a kid—he’s nineteen!—but he does really dumb things. He always seems to be a step removed from the real world, like he’s living in this dreamworld or something, making up his own rules, coming up with silly schemes to get rich fast.” She sighed. “I can’t imagine that a pail of dirty water on Archie and his beautiful dog is going to endear him to anyone in town.”
“Archie will be fine,” Nell said, waving away her worry. “And so will Hemingway.”
Janie brushed a handful of hair from her forehead and picked up a folder from the desk. She glanced over her shoulder toward the offices. “I shouldn’t be dishing on him. At least he showed up for work on time.”
“Justin’s here?” Nell asked.
“He works here. Dr. Lily has him doing odd jobs around the clinic. He fixes things—jammed printers, computers. He’s great at details, keeping files and reports and papers in the right place. But washing windows? Not so much. Now, on to other things.” Janie’s voice was dismissive as she turned back into the efficient, in-charge, competent head nurse of the Virgilio Clinic. “This is about you, Iz. It’s time to hear baby Perry’s amazing heartbeat.”
She held open the door to the inner offices, then led them through the maze of hallways that defined the old house. On the other side of the building, Dr. Alan Hamilton and a younger partner ran a family practice, sharing some offices and a dispensary. On this end the hallways wound around examining rooms, offices, and a library that housed Dr. Lily’s busy obstetrics and gynecology practice. Unlike some other old structures in Sea Harbor that had suffered through many renovations, the clinic still stood tall and proud; the most recent architect had done a masterful job of keeping the quaint touches, the curving hallways and tall windows that looked out onto the sea, the wide stairways to the upper floor and a winding, narrow one that led to a widow’s walk at the very top of the house. But instead of dark corners and the smell of ships and stormy seas, the walls were white and bright and smelled slightly of antiseptic, freshly laundered linens, and soapy creams.
Nell followed her niece around a corner, her eyes lingering on Izzy’s rolling walk. The newfound sway on her tall, well-toned niece was still unfamiliar to Nell, making her wonder if she’d recognize Izzy if she were behind her on the street. She’d heard it called a waddle, a result of the ligaments loosening for the baby to be born. But that word didn’t resonate with the lovely sway her niece had adopted. To Nell, it was beautiful.
As they turned another corner, Nell glanced through a half-open pocket door into a small office. Martin Seltzer, dressed in a white jacket, stood near a window, murmuring in a low monotone. His hair was bright white, his shoulders narrow and pushed slightly forward. He turned his head, words still falling from his lips, then spotted Nell before she could turn away. White eyebrows lifted, as if in surprise at seeing a woman watching him. Slightly embarrassed, Nell smiled and murmured something about having a good day.
The doctor smiled back—a grave smile—as if clouded by thoughts that he needed to get back to. As Nell began to turn away, she noticed someone else in the room and realized the doctor hadn’t been murmuring to himself. It was Heather Gruen, a young woman Nell knew from the hair salon. Heather was pregnant with her first child and openly nervous about every change her body was undergoing. She waved to Nell, then turned her full attention back to Dr. Seltzer and he to her, releasing Nell to hurry down the hall after Izzy.
The man was certainly an enigma, so uncomfortable in social settings, yet obviously patient and understanding with anxious mothers-to-be. She and Ben saw Martin around town often, but he never encouraged long conversations and sometimes bordered on rudeness.
Birdie thought Nell misjudged the man. He was simply a loner, she said. Some people found pleasure in being alone. Or maybe, Birdie said, he simply hadn’t met anyone interesting enough to befriend. At that Nell had laughed and given in. Birdie was often right about such things. And he’d certainly seemed comfortable with Heather Gruen.
She followed Izzy into an empty examining room and waited while Janie chatted, carefully recording Izzy’s weight on the chart.
When Lily Virgilio walked in, a bundle of professional efficiency, Janie headed off toward a ringing phone.
“The receptionist went home early,” Dr. Lily explained. “Janie is wearing several hats today.” She gave Nell a hug. “I’m so glad you came with Izzy. It gives me a chance to gush about that wonderful event. I’m still overwhelmed by the amount of money raised for the free health clinic. This town is simply wonderful. My thanks to all of you who made it happen.”
“It was a great evening—and a great cause. Besides, we love an excuse for a party.”
Lily laughed, then turned toward Izzy and patted the paper-wrapped exam table. “So—let’s see what’s going on with you, Izzy. Sleeping any better?” She wrapped the cuff around Izzy’s upper arm and began pumping air into it. She watched Izzy’s face, reading it with practiced eyes.
“Somewhat better. Running helps. Except for . . .” Her words fell off.
“Exce
pt for what?”
Images of the empty car seat flashed before Izzy’s eyes. She blinked them away. “Except for the fact that I eat everything in sight.”
“You can afford it, Izzy. No worries there.” Lily released the air and watched the needle flicker as the cuff deflated. “Still a little higher than I’d like it,” she said, scribbling a note into the record.
“Dangerously high?” It was Nell asking the question. Izzy’s eyes were on the open window, as if the darkening sky was dramatically more important than talking about her vital signs.
“No,” Lily answered, her voice reassuring. “Not dangerously high and there’s nothing that needs to be done. Blood pressure often rises in doctors’ offices and that may well be what’s going on here. I am just being overly cautious. Izzy seems a little stressed sometimes so I’m keeping a close eye on her.”
“Without reason,” Izzy said, rejoining the conversation. “It’s all silly. It will pass. It’s just a feeling—like a sixth sense that developed along with my pregnancy. Things just don’t seem quite right. I don’t want my baby coming yet, not until things are peaceful.” Her arms instinctively circled her belly.
Lily sighed. “You want a perfect world to bring your baby into. Wouldn’t that be nice? I’m afraid you might have to wait a long time.”
Izzy just smiled.
Nell watched the look that passed over Izzy’s face. She meant it; she sensed something and it didn’t matter if it sounded silly or manufactured or crazy. To Izzy it was real.
Until Izzy got pregnant, Nell always thought the similarities between her niece and her sister, Caroline—Izzy’s mother—were confined to their tall, slender builds and glorious thick hair. But pregnancy unearthed a few more. She remembered Caroline saying similar things during her three pregnancies. She was vehemently protective of her unborn baby, wanting to keep the baby safe inside until she declared the world ready for him or her. Nell had listened to Caroline with a certain wonder, marveling at the miracle she considered each pregnancy to be and whatever that fierce protective instinct was. And now she saw it in Izzy, too, that sureness that she knew what was right for her unborn child.
Angora Alibi Page 4
