by Judy Baer
I went for the big guns. I reached into the closet and pulled out a scrap of red fabric with writing on it and dangled Hildy’s therapy-dog identification cape in front of her nose. She sighed, one of those deep, heartfelt, comes-from-the-gut sighs, that told me this was the most difficult decision of her life.
Bed or nursing home? Bed or nursing home? Which will it be? I could practically hear the struggle in her thoughts. Still, all the creature comforts in the world couldn’t keep her from the job she loves. Finally she rose and trotted to me to put on the uniform that displayed her official designation as a therapy dog.
“Come on, sweetheart, we don’t want to be late. Mrs. Olson will be waiting for you with doggie treats burning a hole in her pocket.”
River’s View Estates is only minutes away from Bradshaw Medical Center and overlooks the Minnesota River. Mrs. Mattie B. Olson had been new to River’s View when Hildy and I first came to visit the residents three years ago. They’d forged a bond that had helped the elderly woman “over the hump,” as it were, of loneliness and homesickness, while she adjusted to her new place. They’ve been friends ever since. When Hildy sees Mrs. Olson, she trots to her and lays her furry head in the old woman’s lap. She will stay that way indefinitely as Mrs. Olson strokes the soft silky top of Hildy’s head.
Some of the people at River’s View do not have family nearby so affectionate hugging or touching of another living being rarely occurs. The tactile experience of petting a dog provides immeasurable pleasure and connection. I should know. Hildy comforted me many times after I broke up with Hank. Frankly, as time passes and my vision clears, I see how mismatched Hank and I were. It’s apparent to me now that whoever I marry will have to share all my passions—including my life as a doula. If I can’t find that, other than for an occasional whiff of sour doggie breath, Hildy is a mighty fine companion.
“Hello, darling,” Mrs. Olson said. Only then did she look up at me. “And hello to you, too, Molly.”
“How’s your cold?”
“Much better, thank you.” She peered at me, a pretty lady, even at this age. She must have been stunning as a young woman. Her intelligent deep blue eyes were sharp and clear. “You look tired. Have you been up all night delivering babies?”
“I don’t deliver them,” I reminded her. “I just cheer them on as they come into the world.”
“When I had my children, I was alone except for the doctor. My husband, poor soul, didn’t have much of a stomach for medical things. He passed out on the floor on the other side of the door every time I gave birth. Once he hit his head on the corner of a table and got a concussion. We always joked that that was the most difficult birth I ever had—I ended up caring for both him and an infant. I could have used you back then.”
“How many children do you have?”
“Four. All doctors, if you can believe it. There are several generations of them. We tease each other about being related to Luke of the gospel. He was a physician, too, you know. A family tradition, I guess, including several pediatricians. The men in my family are all good with children. Most of my family is in the medical profession. My husband was an accountant, however, and the closest he came to the medical field was doing my siblings’ taxes.”
She patted Hildy on the head. “As much as I love talking with the two of you, I think you should visit room 209 today. There’s a gentlemen who recently moved in, and I think he’s feeling rather blue.”
I bent down to give Mattie a hug. “You’re always taking care of someone, aren’t you?”
“Like I said, I’m from a family of healers and nurturers.” She held tightly to my hand. Even in her late eighties, she was still strong. “Besides, you nurture me. You have no idea how much I enjoy your visits.”
“We’ll be back.” Of all the people we visit at River’s View, Mattie is my favorite. If we’d been contemporaries, I believe we would have been best friends.
“We’ll stop to see you again before we leave,” I assured her.
As we walked away, Hildy looked back longingly at her friend.
The gentleman in 209 was, indeed, lonesome, but after a long chat about dogs from his past, he was considerably cheered. It didn’t hurt that Hildy gently licked his hand as we were about to leave.
It was nearly six o’clock by the time we’d made our rounds, visited again with Mrs. Olson and found our way back to the nurses’ station near the front door. I was surprised to see a familiar masculine figure bending over the desk, reading a chart. What was Dr. Reynolds doing here, the place that represented the other end of life’s spectrum from the delivery room?
He glanced up, saw me and did a double take. He must have thought the same thing about me.
“What are you doing here? And what’s that?” He pointed to Hildy.
“We work here, thank you very much. This is my dog, Hildegard, and she’s a therapy dog. We hang out at River’s View quite a bit. The better question is this—what are you doing here? Surely not delivering babies?”
A faint smile quirked his lips and hinted at what it might be like to see the man actually smile. Dazzling, I surmised.
“I have friends, too, you know. Maybe I’m visiting someone.”
“You just moved here.”
“Perhaps I bond quickly with people.”
I’d opened my mouth to tell him that that was as unlikely as snow in August before I realized he was actually teasing me.
I, who can babble like a brook, suddenly couldn’t think of anything to say. The man’s presence was intimidating, not only because he had influence over my welcome at Bradshaw, but because he gave off an impressive aura—solid, impenetrable and capable of harboring secrets like Fort Knox shelters gold. I shuffled a little and Hildy looked at me inquiringly. “I guess we’d better get going. Nice to see you, Dr. Reynolds.”
He nodded curtly and returned to reading the chart, as if Hildy and I no longer existed.
We were almost home before I realized that I still didn’t know why Dr. Reynolds had been at the nursing home. It was curious, really. He’d just moved to the Cities, after all. How many people could he know here? He really was a man of mystery. Too bad he was also in the role of dream squasher for me. Otherwise I might have been intrigued, very intrigued.
When we got home, Lissy, Geranium and Tony were watching television in my living room. There were empty tortilla chip bags, soda cans, a carton of guacamole and a nearly depleted bag of red licorice twists on my coffee table. Geranium had her nose in one of the bags of chips, and Tony was eating a bowl of ice cream smothered in butter-scotch topping and walnuts.
Hildy trotted immediately to the table to see what she could lick clean. Geranium gave a squeal of protest when the dog nosed her out of the way but toddled off when Hildy wouldn’t back down.
“I leave this house for a couple hours and it’s vandalized. I’m going to have to move to a better neighborhood.”
“That’s the thanks we get for keeping Geri company?” Tony looked genuinely hurt, as if his eating all the groceries I’d purchased yesterday were no big deal.
“Oh, sorry. Thank you. I think.”
“You’re most welcome.”
“His date stood him up,” Lissy said, her eyes never moving from the television screen where some wannabe singer was auditioning for a panel of judges.
“She had appendicitis,” Tony corrected. “That’s not exactly being ‘stood up.’”
“Why aren’t you at her bedside making points and ensuring your place in history as the world’s most romantic male nurse?”
“That would be too pushy. I don’t want to scare her off.”
“When did this cautiousness come about?” Lissy inquired.
“I’m still waiting for Molly to admit she’s in love with me. I don’t want anyone else to get too crazy about me in the meantime.”
“Right,” I said with a laugh. “Have you seen anyone about your delusions? They have medication for that, you know.”
“‘Le
t me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments.’”
Tony grinned at me and went back to his butter-scotch-walnut sundae.
Lissy, who had coaxed Geranium to her with a potato chip and was using her as a footstool, inquired, “Why do people always name pigs after flowers? Geranium, Petunia…” She took a swig of her soda.
“Don’t forget about Miss Piggy,” Tony pointed out. “She’s no flower.”
“Geranium was named before I got her. If I’d purchased her as a piglet, I would have named her something else.”
“Like what?” Lissy leaned forward and scratched Geri behind the ear, and Geri grunted in appreciation.
“Piggy Sue.”
“I know what I would have named her,” Tony said dreamily.
We both eyed him warily.
“Spamela Anderson.”
A gusher of soda erupted from Lissy’s mouth and she started to cough. Tony helpfully slammed her on the back a few times.
Fortunately the phone rang, and I was able to leave the Two Stooges to clean up after themselves.
“Molly? It’s me, Mandie.”
“Are you…”
“In labor? No, but the baby is kicking up a storm. I just needed someone to talk to. My roommate is out on a date, and my mom’s not home.”
“I’m here for you.”
“I know.” There was a catch in her voice. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Sadly, the father of Mandie’s child, the one who should have been present for her, was a sore subject. He was, unfortunately, long gone. She didn’t even know how to reach him. God knew what He was doing when He instructed His children to wait for marriage to be intimate. Mandie is the perfect example of how things can go wrong when kids do it the other way around.
“What’s been going on?”
“I can feel the baby’s position in my belly. It’s weird to think of this little person inside me.”
“It shouldn’t be long now,” I said. “Have you got a bag packed?”
“Everything on the list you gave me. Are you sure you’ll be here in time?”
“Call me as soon as you notice anything different and I’ll be there.”
I often start with the mother at home and travel with her and her husband to the hospital. That leaves a nervous father to pay attention to traffic rather than be distracted by the huffing and puffing in the passenger seat.
“I feel better now,” Mandie said. “I just needed to hear your voice.”
“Anytime.”
“If you ever want me to give you a recommendation or anything, I’ll give you the best one ever.”
“You haven’t even had the baby yet,” I reminded her.
“I don’t care. You’ve already saved my sanity.”
As I returned to the living room, I thought about Dr. Reynolds. If only he would talk to Mandie, maybe he’d change his mind about my profession. Then I recalled the look on his face when he’d first seen me in Brenda’s birthing room. Or maybe not.
Tony must have read my mind, because as soon as he saw me he said, “I got some scuttlebutt on Dr. Reynolds today.”
“The Mount Rushmore of doctors?” Lissy sat up a little straighter and Geri trotted off. “Old stone face?”
“He does have a child, a little boy. The rumor mill was right.”
“When did he take time off to have a child?”
I poked Lissy with my finger. “Be nice.”
“He’s not nice.” She pouted. “Why should I be? I heard him order a midwife to get out of the room when she crossed him today. Fortunately he allowed her back in later, but…”
There was one lone chip left in the bottom of the bag on the coffee table. I shook it into my hand. “Maybe I could get a loan from the donated money to start a doula center somewhere else if Reynolds nixes it at Bradshaw. That wouldn’t be so bad. I probably wouldn’t need much out of pocket.”
“Put your own finances into a concept that would be perfect at Bradshaw? I don’t think so. They need you. It’s a wonderful, woman-friendly idea.”
“We’re covering the same territory again,” I reminded Lissy wearily, tired of talking and getting nowhere.
I turned to Tony. “A son, huh?”
“He’s about six years old and his name is Noah. That’s all I know. Apparently Dr. Reynolds is closemouthed about him, too. I wouldn’t even know this but his receptionist let it slip.”
“Aren’t you dating his receptionist—among others?”
Tony shrugged helplessly, as if he had no control over his bountiful love life.
Lissy sighed. “It’s just not fair. All I want is one good man, just one, and Tony has a whole field of flowers to pick from.”
“‘Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.’ That’s from Twelfth Night.”
“Maybe I should start quoting poetry. Right now the only way to describe my dating status is ‘This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home.’ Men! Bah, pigs!”
Geranium, seeming to recognize her species, raised her head and grunted.
“Sorry, Geri, I didn’t mean to insult you.” Lissy tugged at her hair. “I’ve been stood up twice this week—and not because anyone had a good excuse. I’d break up with the guy, but I feel like I should do it in person and he never shows!”
Lissy’s love life is the opposite of Tony’s. All the men she meets have issues of one kind or another. Watching Tony and Lissy navigate the dating world is reason enough for me to decide it’s not worth it. Come to think of it, I’m thankful Hank moved to Mississippi. If he hadn’t, we might have drifted into a longer, going-nowhere relationship before we decided we weren’t right for each other.
“I’d better leave,” Tony said. “Your food is gone, and I have to get up early tomorrow.”
“Me, too.” Lissy jumped to her feet and gave me a hug. “You’re a peach, Molly.”
I didn’t say anything, but the way I allow these two to run roughshod over me, I don’t think I’m a fruit at all. I’m a nut.
Lissy paused at the gigantic bulletin board I keep by my front door. It’s filled with baby pictures my clients have sent me. “Is there anything cuter than this?” She pointed to a chubby baby with three extra chins. “Or this?” Her finger landed on a pair of twins in pink ruffles that threatened to engulf them.
“You’ve got a great job and a wonderful service to offer,” Tony said as he opened the front door. “We have to figure out a way to execute your idea.”
Execute. Right. And Dr. Clay Reynolds is running the guillotine.
Chapter Six
If there were an Oscar for Performance by the Most Nervous Husband of the Year, Randall Summers would win hands down.
The man, all six feet, two inches, 165 pounds of him, quaked like an aspen leaf as he watched his wife, all five feet, no inches, 165 pounds of her, pant like a polar bear in Alabama in July. They reminded me of the “Jack Sprat could eat no fat” rhyme of my childhood. Honest to goodness, I heard his bones rattling inside his skin. He has no body fat to cushion his knees and they clattered like castanets.
Worse yet, Randall is detail oriented, and his wife, Ellen, in a momentary lapse of judgment, had handed him a copy of the birth plan we’d devised for her. He clutched it tightly, determined that it be carried out to the letter. Sir Randall, Knight Protector of the Birth Plan, was on the job.
“Is the room the right temperature? It says right here that my wife doesn’t want to be too warm.”
I checked the thermostat. “Just right.” The room, decorated in pale green and soft pink, was soothing, but it didn’t seem to do much for Randall. A small table with two chairs waited in the corner for the celebratory dinner the Summerses could share after the baby was born. If Randall made it that far.
“It says here that Ellen has requested that she be allowed to keep her long-wearing contact lenses on during the birth. Only if there is a serious emergency are you to consider asking her to put on her glasses.” He peered
down at her through serious pop-bottle lenses of his own. “I told you that you should have picked out new frames. What if you need a Cesarean?”
“Be quiet, Randall.” Ellen, looking both pale and annoyed, glared at him malevolently. She’d been tolerant of him the first hours of her labor, but it was obvious he was wearing on her. If dripping water can erode stone, then Randall was an incessant river running over all our patience. Soon there would be nothing left.
“She doesn’t like how she looks in glasses,” he explained to me, still blissfully unaware that his wife would happily have done mayhem to his person if she weren’t so busy giving birth. “Frankly, I think women look very intelligent when they wear glasses. Sophia Loren designs and sells frames, did you know that?”
“Be very quiet, Randall.”
Fortunately, at that moment a nurse bustled in and announced cheerily, “Dr. Reynolds is here, Ellen. He’ll be in to see you any moment so rest assured…”
My stomach took a roller-coaster dip. “Ellen, I thought your physician was Dr. Lannard.” I kept the panic I felt out of my voice. Was Dr. Reynolds stalking me, or what? I hadn’t mentally prepared for this.
“Dr. Lannard broke his leg earlier today,” the nurse informed me. “He fell off the roof of his garage while cleaning his gutters. Dr. Reynolds is filling in.”
“They say he’s very good,” Ellen informed me. “Isn’t he?” She suddenly looked worried.
“He’s fabulous,” I assured her. Fabulous for women giving birth to babies, yes. Those attempting to give birth to a doula program inside these hospital walls? Not so much.
“Her birth plan says she wants to be able to walk around during labor,” Randall read from the plan. “Shouldn’t you have her up and walking?”
“I changed my mind,” Ellen said. “I don’t want to walk.”
“And she specifically has requested no pain medications. She wants to savor the entire experience, don’t you, dear?”
