by Diane Moody
“Good. I’m glad to hear it.”
For the next 20 minutes she reiterated much of what she’d said in our meeting on Tuesday, with an occasional direct question thrown in. I wasn’t too sure why this one-on-one meeting was necessary, but I suppose she thought it would drive home her message by making it more personal to us.
“Shelby, I’ve accepted your apology and outlined what’s expected of you. But do not forget that you are still on probation. The next time—well, just know that you won’t be given another chance if there’s ever a next time. Are we clear on that?”
I swallowed hard. “Yes, Mrs. Baker. Absolutely clear. And you have my word. There won’t be a next time.”
Later, as Sandra and I made our way to my car in the employee’s parking lot, we compared notes about our one-on-ones. All the girls had them. Not just the Shameful Seven, as we’d come to call ourselves. To be honest, I was tired of the whole subject and asked Sandra if we could talk about something else on the way home.
Instead, she talked me into stopping for an early dinner at Buntyns, a small restaurant right by the railroad tracks near the MSU campus. We had to wait in line for almost fifteen minutes, which I found odd since it was only 4:45 when we arrived. I soon found out why.
The restaurant was nondescript with booths covered in blue vinyl, tables covered in worn red Formica, and not a lot in the way of decor. But whatever was lacking in ambience was more than compensated by the most incredible home-cooked food I’d ever tasted. Sandra had recommended the chicken and dumplings, and after just one bite I thought I might just die and go to heaven then and there. I’d never tasted anything like it. Meals came with the most enormous yeast rolls I’d ever seen. To tell you they melted in your mouth would be a scandalous understatement. I could have made a meal of them.
“Sandra, you have to stop taking me to places like this. I’ll be the size of the entire BMH complex if you don’t. But first pass the jam, okay?”
She handed me the small dish of peach preserves then closed her eyes, savoring another bite of the creamy chicken. “This has to be sinful. There’s no way it’s not.”
“So when are we going to start jogging? We keep talking about it but so far that’s all we’ve done. Talk won’t get these pounds off.”
“Oh! That reminds me! I knew there was something I wanted to talk to you about. My charge nurse, Lori Ann, told me today one of her rentals is available. It’s near the campus, so maybe we can drive by after we finish here.”
“Yeah? What did she tell you about it?”
“It sounds perfect, Shelby. Two bedroom, two bath, hardwood floors, all new appliances, and she just had the kitchen and bathrooms updated. I think it’s probably a little smaller than our townhouse, but she promised me she’s never had trouble with mice.”
“That’s all I need to know. But can we afford it?”
“Two-fifty. I know it’s a little more than what we’re paying, but think how much we’ll save on gas living so much closer to town.”
“Well, it sounds great. Let’s go check it out. Can we get inside?”
“Not tonight, but Lori Ann said if we’re interested she’ll meet us there this weekend to give us a tour.” Sandra waved her hand. “Waitress?” When the uniformed waitress stopped by, she ordered two cherry cobblers ala mode.
I wiped my mouth. “Sandra! I’m stuffed! Why would you order dessert?”
“Two reasons. One, Buntyns’ cobbler is life changing. You’ve never tasted anything so delicious in your life.”
“And two?”
“And two, we’re going to be living near MSU. We can get up and run their track every morning before work. So the cobbler is our celebratory farewell to unwanted extra pounds.”
“Your logic makes no sense.”
The waitress returned with the biggest bowls of cobbler I’d ever seen, each with a huge scoop of vanilla ice cream drizzling over it.
It only took one bite. “Oh, yeah. Now I get it.” I wanted to put my face in that concoction and just eat without restraint, but I refrained. It was amazing.
Later, we drove to the address Lori Ann had given Sandra for the rental. The house was adorable, with a wide front porch stretching the entire width of the house. Four concrete steps led up to it from a sidewalk lined with hostas and impatiens. Two rocking chairs and a swing graced the porch. The house was painted a pale sage green with white shutters on each of the front windows. A bright red door with a brass kick plate stood ready to welcome us to our new home.
Just as we got out to look around and take a peek in the windows, a car pulled up behind us. A woman in a white nurse’s uniform stepped from the sedan.
“Sandra! I was hoping I’d catch you.”
“Lori Ann, we love it! Can we see inside?”
“Of course you can. I was just stopping by to make sure they finished painting the bathrooms today.”
Sandra stopped and turned back toward me. “Oh, I almost forgot. This is my roommate, Shelby Colter. Shelby, this is Lori Ann Trussell, the charge nurse on Eight.”
I extended my hand to her. “Nice to meet you.”
“Ah,” she said, shaking it, “you’re the one dating Dr. Thompson, right?”
Huh? How on earth did she know that? I shot a look at Sandra who shot me back a look of innocence.
“I’ve just seen you two in the cafeteria a lot, that’s all. We love Dr. Thompson up on Eight.”
“Oh, I see. Well, Tucker—I mean, Dr. Thompson and I are just friends. Really.”
“Ah, well. Whatever you say,” she said, chuckling. “Now come on in. Let me show you around.”
I couldn’t believe how perfect the house was. If I had the money, I would have bought it on the spot. If I’d built it myself, I would have designed it exactly the way it was. Sandra and I each claimed our bedrooms then started planning how to arrange our furniture in the living and dining rooms.
“When can we move in?” Sandra asked, doing her little dance.
“Any time.”
“After the mouse problem we’ve had at the townhouse, our landlord does not want to cross us, so I’m guessing we can get out of our lease by the end of the month.”
“Perfect,” Lori Ann said. “I’ll have the papers drawn up, and we’ll make it official.”
As we drove home, we talked non-stop about our new home and all our ideas for fixing it up. But as we drove up to our complex and stopped by the drive-by mailboxes, I had to ask.
“Sandra, I don’t get why everyone thinks Tucker and I are dating. It’s not like we’ve been going out every night or paging each other all the time. Why is everyone at Baptist so into everyone else’s business? I have to say, it’s really annoying.”
“Clearly you’ve never worked in a hospital before,” she said, throwing in a sarcastic laugh as I handed her the wad of letters and junk mail.
“Obviously I haven’t.”
“It’s just the nature of it. Actually, it goes on everywhere, but it’s just amplified at hospitals. Like all those hospital soap operas on TV. Probably because we work with people who are sick and in critical situations. It’s all very dramatic,” she said, waving her hand for emphasis. “Makes for a melodramatic work environment. Don’t let it bother you.”
“But it does! I get that we’re all caring for people who are sick and suffering. But that doesn’t give everyone we work with the right to stick their noses into our private lives.”
We got out of my car and walked toward our townhouse. “That may be, but why are you so embarrassed about people knowing you and Tucker are dating?”
I opened my mouth then slowly closed it.
I had no idea. Not a clue.
Chapter 25
By Saturday afternoon, I was a mess. I couldn’t believe how nervous I was about this “fancy” dinner date with Tucker, and it was making me a little crazy. I didn’t want to be nervous, but the more I fought it, the more jittery I became. I had to reapply my mascara twice because my hands were shaking so
badly. I growled out loud when I did it a third time.
“Again?” Sandra called from her bedroom.
“Don’t even start with me”
She drifted into my bathroom, arms folded across her chest. “You’re only making it worse. Let me help you.”
“Help me how?”
“Sit.” She shoved me to sit on the closed toilet and told me to tilt my head back. When she picked up the mascara wand, I held up my hands.
“Oh, no you don’t! You’ll have me looking like one of those Solid Gold Dancers.”
“Hey! Give me a little credit here, will you?”
“Just promise me you won’t bring in the ice blue eye shadow.”
“You have my word. Now hold still and just relax.”
I took a deep breath and tried my best to calm down. “This is so silly. It’s not like I’m going out with Robert Redford. It’s Tucker, for crying out loud. I’ve known him all my life. Why on earth should I be so jittery? I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”
Sandra continued brushing my lashes with mascara. “Hold still!”
“I am!”
“If you want my opinion, I think you’re afraid you might just like Tucker Thompson more than you want to. You have this absurd notion that you all can’t possibly connect on any other level than those kids you used to be who were always at each other’s throats. You’ve got to get over that, Shelby. Tucker is a good guy. One in a million. And he obviously likes you—”
“But don’t you think it’s a little soon for that? It hasn’t been that long since we witnessed his nasty little breakup with Cassie, remember?”
“Do I need to remind you that it hasn’t been that long since you had a nasty little breakup with a certain sailor? Not that I knew you then, but how many long talks have we had about Will and everything that happened?” She nudged my face, focusing on the eyelashes on my left side.
“But that’s different.”
“How is that different? You were both recently engaged. You both recently broke off your engagements—”
“He didn’t break off his engagement. He was dumped.”
“I just don’t see what difference any of it makes. Go out. Have a good time. It’s not like he’s going to propose or anything.”
“Sandra!” I swatted her arm.
“Stop that! You almost got a streak of black up your cheek! Now hold still.”
I took a deep breath and blew it out before tilting my head back again. “The difference is, he’s on the rebound. He has to be. And I don’t want to . . . I just don’t want to . . .”
She leveled her eyes at me. “You don’t want to get hurt.”
“I don’t want to get hurt again,” I whispered.
She moved my chin with her finger, finished applying the mascara, then recapped the wand. “And you won’t. Shelby, just look at this as an elegant dinner at a beautiful restaurant with an old friend. Nothing more. You’ll be fine. I promise.”
I blew out another breath and nodded. “I’ll try.”
“Now then. What are you wearing?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Pajamas?”
“What?!”
I had to admit I felt good in the little black dress Sandra dug out of my closet. She loaned me a beautiful matching shawl and helped drape it over my shoulders. She talked me into wearing the only pair of black heels I had, which were a little high for my personal taste, but they really did complete the outfit, especially paired with black hose. I was just putting on my lipstick when the doorbell rang. I capped the lipstick and headed downstairs to answer the door.
“Wow, Moonpie. You look . . . amazing.” Tucker seemed surprised by my non-uniform ensemble. “I’m speechless here,” he breathed.
“Oh, please. I put on a little extra lip gloss. No need to get tongue-tied.”
He smiled and I felt my heart rate jump. He’d taken a pass on the scrubs, choosing a handsome black sport jacket, gray slacks, and a white button-down oxford shirt. I had to chuckle when I realized his tie had tiny golf balls and clubs on it.
“Why am I not surprised you golf? Do they teach that in med school?”
He looked down at his tie and laughed. “Absolutely. Second year. Mandatory. You can’t graduate unless you’re a scratch golfer.”
He closed the door behind me, and we walked out to his car. “You look really nice tonight, Shelby. I mean that.”
“Yeah? Well, you look pretty good yourself, Dr. Thompson.”
He helped me into his car, and we chatted all the way downtown. I couldn’t believe I’d fretted all afternoon, so nervous I almost made myself sick. Thankfully, the nerves had settled, and I was actually enjoying just being with him.
We turned onto the interstate. “Any more mice?”
“Oh, funny you should mention that. We found a house to rent. In fact, we’ll be living not far from you near the campus.”
“Really? That’s great! Where’s the house?”
I told him about the house belonging to Lori Ann Trussell. He knew Lori, of course, and seemed genuinely pleased we’d be living closer to his neck of the woods. “That’ll be great. Think how handy it will be when the mice show up. Your knight in shining armor will be just around the corner now.”
“No more mice, thank you very much. Lori Ann assures us the house is varmint free.”
“Bummer. I’ll have to come up with some other reason to stop by. When are you all moving? Need some help?”
“Don’t offer if you don’t mean it. Of course we’ll need help. I’d rather not have to ask Mom and Dad to drive up again. They need to know I can handle these things on my own.”
“Just say when, and if I’m not working, I’ll be glad to help. Maybe I can rope in Trevor to lend a little muscle.”
“That’d be great. I haven’t seen much of Trevor lately. Where’s he been hiding?”
“He was out of town for a while doing some research with a doctor up in Canada. Trevor’s a gifted surgeon. He’s already getting offers from all over the country. He can pretty much name where he wants to go when he’s finished his residency.”
“It’s so hard for me to comprehend that he’s a brain surgeon. Isn’t that at the top of the pecking order when it comes to medicine?”
“I beg your pardon?” he scoffed in jest. “Anesthesiology is hardly chopped liver. Hey, those brain guys got nuthin’ without us. How’d you like him digging around in that pretty little head of yours sans anesthesia? Huh?”
He had a point.
“Darn right. So let’s just say neurosurgery is somewhere to the south of anesthesiology on that linear list of yours.”
“Ok, then,” I muttered. “Touchy subject?”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Nah, I’m just playing with you. Trevor’s the best. And he’s got a lot more muscle than me, so I’ll make sure he shows up on moving day.”
We pulled up at the main entrance of The Peabody Hotel. A doorman, dressed in top hat and tails, opened the car door for me.
“Welcome to the Peabody,” he said with great flourish.
“Thank you.” I had to admit, I enjoyed the pampering. Tuck handed the valet his keys and took my hand as we walked through the doors.
I remembered visiting the Peabody when I was a child. Jimmy and I loved to come and watch the duck parades. Each morning at 11:00, five mallard ducks, along with their duckmaster escort, ride the elevator down from the roof, then walk the red carpet to the hotel’s Grand Lobby fountain. They spend the day there, floating and waddling along the fountain’s edge, never leaving the area. Then at 5:00, the duckmaster shows up and leads them back to the elevator, and back to their rooftop home.
The lobby was already crowded with tourists, all waiting to see the parade. Tucker took my hand and pulled me to a spot along the roped-off area. In less than five minutes, a man dressed in a red jacket showed up to gather his brood. A recorded message filled the air, explaining the daily routine.
Tucker leaned toward me, his mouth cl
ose to my ear. “Do you know about the history of the duck parade?”
“I’m sure I did at one time, but I’ve forgotten.”
“It all started back in 1932 when the general manager of the hotel and some of his hunting buddies came back from a hunting trip in Arkansas. As a prank, they put their live duck decoys in the fountain here. But the hotel guests loved it, and soon it became a popular attraction for guests and tourists. So they replaced the live decoys with five mallard ducks, and they’ve been doing it ever since.”
“Whoa, those are some really old ducks,” I teased.
He laughed. “Actually, they only work a three month gig, then they’re retired. Sent back to the farm they came from.”
Suddenly, John Philip Sousa’s King Cotton March began to play and the five ducks jumped out of the fountain waters. All of them shook their tails for good measure, splashing water on several of the tourists to the delight of the many children in the audience. Then, the five lined up and headed back down the red carpet and onto the elevator, their escort right behind them.
As the crowd applauded and began to disperse, Tucker and I made our way to the restaurant. Evidently we weren’t the only ones eating early. Apparently the duck parade brought in an early dinner crowd to the old hotel. The maitre’d seated us at a table in a quiet corner, close enough to see the tuxedoed piano player, but far enough that the music didn’t interfere with our conversation. Tucker pulled out my chair for me then took the one directly next to it instead of across from me. I liked that. A succession of waiters immediately began looking to our every need. I couldn’t help smiling at all the fuss.
“This is amazing,” I whispered from behind my menu.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. Feel free to order something other than fried green tomatoes. Though, now that I think of it, I don’t even think it’s on the menu.” He searched the pages of the leather-bound menu then finally shrugged. “Nope, not here.”
“Should we leave? Make a scene? What?”
