by Judy Baer
I wandered, stunned, to the nurses’ desk where I was met with pitying looks.
“I heard he didn’t like doulas, but I didn’t realize he disliked you guys that much,” Lissy murmured, her eyes wide. I hadn’t even noticed her on duty when I’d arrived. “Sorry about that.”
“He’s right. This wasn’t a circumstance in which a doula could help.” I sat down on a hallway chair. “He just didn’t have to be so…firm…about it.”
“Firm? Don’t you mean harsh?” Ellen, one of the older nurses, blustered. “The man is Jekyll and Hyde! He’s amazing with his patients, but with everyone else…”
“His patients come first,” I said weakly. My knees had begun to shake, and I yearned for a glass of water. “Maybe I’ll go down to the cafeteria and get something to drink. I’d like to hang around to hear how Hillary does, so I’ll come up later and speak with her husband.” After Clay Reynolds has gone home for the night.
The room was empty and the only food to be had was from the row of vending machines along the wall. That suited me just fine. I had no desire to sit and chat with anyone. I get a coffee and a candy bar from the machines and retreated to a table in the far corner.
My shock at Reynolds’s response to me was turning into rage. How dare he talk to me like that? Excess baggage, a detriment, a danger to the birthing process? Those were fighting words—unfortunately I don’t have an ounce of fight left in me.
I put my head into my hands and closed my eyes, trying to lock out the look I’d seen in Clay Bradshaw Reynolds’s eyes.
I must have fallen asleep because I awoke with a start. The only sound in the large room was the hum of the many vending machines and a rather annoying clock on the wall which read—was it possible?—midnight.
I sat up and was assailed by a pain in my neck and shoulder from sleeping too long in an awkward position. I groaned and wobbled my head from side to side. A series of cracks and pops emanated from the area and, although it felt like my head was about to roll off my neck and fall to the floor, it didn’t. As I straightened, a small sound got my attention.
Across from me at the far end of the table was an exhausted-looking Dr. Reynolds. His usually perfectly combed hair was tousled, there were red rims around his eyes and a shadow of a beard was appearing on his chiseled jawline. His arms were crossed over his chest as he stared at me with the intensity of a hawk over a field mouse.
I gaped back at him.
“She’s okay,” he said, in monotone. “She had a baby boy. Healthy. Just over seven pounds. We were lucky that she didn’t go into convulsions. It was a severe situation and developed quickly.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I said bluntly. “You didn’t want me anywhere near her or even her room.”
“She asked me to. She wanted to make sure you’d stop by to see the baby.”
“I understand.”
He looked at me somberly. “Do you?”
“Do I understand about Hillary? Yes. About you? No. You’re as clear to me as a black hole in outer space.” What did I have to lose by speaking my mind? There was never going to be a doula center at Bradshaw. It was crystal clear just how strongly opposed Reynolds was to the idea. At least now I wouldn’t hold on to a futile hope that would never be realized.
“You aren’t the first person to tell me that. Only, I think the words they used were ‘black cat in a coal bin on a moonless night.’” He picked up the coffee cup that was in front of him. “I like to think of myself as inscrutable. It sounds better, don’t you think?”
“‘A rose by any other name…’” I quoted Tony quoting Shakespeare.
The man is a chameleon that changes colors in and out of a birthing room.
“I feel the need to apologize for what happened upstairs.” His brow furrowed and for a moment he looked the slightest bit contrite.
“No need. It was all honest emotion. You hate what I do and probably me, as well. You don’t believe in my profession. You think it could be dangerous if a patient’s situation deteriorates and I get in the way and you want nothing to do with a doula. I now have no misconceptions that at some time in the future you might ever consider supporting a doula program inside these walls. What’s more, I’m now completely convinced that I should not waste any more of your time or mine. I should think you’d be delighted.”
“Succinct, to the point and wrong.”
I sighed wearily. “Wrong how?”
“I don’t hate you. Far from it. I like you.”
“You have a funny way of showing it.” If it weren’t so late and I so tired, I might have minded my mouth a little better.
“Just because you are misguided doesn’t mean you aren’t pleasant.”
“Little ol’ pleasant, misguided me.” I stood, picked up my bag and turned my back to Dr. Reynolds. “Good night, sir. This evening wore me plumb out.”
He didn’t say a word as I walked through the cafeteria door and into the bright lights of the hallway.
Chapter Nine
The next afternoon I waited in the employee parking lot for Lissy to get off work, but it was Tony who dashed out the side door, still in his uniform, and jumped into the car.
“Pedal to the metal, Molly. We’ve got to get out of here.”
I automatically pulled away from the door like the driver of a getaway car in a bad B movie. In my rearview mirror, I saw Lissy and another nurse exit the building. Lissy was talking animatedly, but the other woman was frowning as her gaze scanned the parking lot. Her blond hair was poufed a little too high, her cherry-red lips were just a hint too glossy and her pink cheeks a shade too bright. She examined the parking lot like a policeman with a suspect on the lam.
“I have to go back and pick up Lissy.”
“No, you don’t. She’s going to meet us at the coffee shop a block from the hospital. Now turn the corner before she sees me!”
I turned the corner.
“Who are we running away from, by the way? The Black Widow? Lizzie Borden?”
“No, much worse.”
“Worse than an ax murderer?”
Tony, slumped down in the seat so his head didn’t show, muttered, “Maybe not worse, but bad, very bad. Wanda Wagner is after me.”
“Wanda as in ‘I could just gobble up that cute Tony DeMatteo’ Wanda?”
“One and the same. She broke up with her boyfriend, a phlebotomist, and now she’s after me.”
I burst out laughing. Wanda is one of the most forceful, opinionated, my-way-or-the-highway people in the world. When she decides she wants something, she gets it. The phlebotomist had never had a chance when Wanda set her romantic eye on him. And now she is single again and looking for Tony. I, too, might have preferred to run across Lizzie Borden and a newly sharpened ax.
“You should be flattered.” I watched Tony sink lower on the floor of my car as if Wanda could see through the door of my vehicle. “She’s pretty fussy about her men.”
“I’m going to be tracked like a wounded buck, hunted down in the field, dressed out, hung and eaten for lunch.”
“I don’t like your hunting metaphors, Tony. Too gory.”
“It’s going to be bloody. I have to work with the woman, and you know how Wanda is when she doesn’t get her own way.”
I’ve heard stories. If Wanda wants him to be her boyfriend she’ll make it happen or die trying. Tony may have finally met his match.
Tony made me drive around for fifteen minutes before heading for the coffee shop. Lissy was already there, drinking a latte and working the daily newspaper crossword puzzle. Lissy looked up and grinned when we entered.
“Scaredy-pants,” she greeted Tony and began to cluck like a chicken.
“Hah. That was pure self-preservation kicking in, like if I’d been attacked by a lion or an alligator.”
She clucked louder. When she stopped her chicken imitation she added, “Wanda’s crazy about you.”
“I suspect that she’s just plain crazy,” Tony said gloomily. “
How am I going to get her off my trail?”
“I hear Alaska is nice this time of year.”
“Very funny. Wanda is nice enough. If she weren’t quite so loud…or bold…or bossy…or controlling…or colorful…” Tony’s voice trailed away and he groaned. “I’m dead meat.”
“Tony, every girl you leave still loves you. Work your charm, and it will be fine,” I told him, not too convincingly. Wanda has many of the same attributes as a steamroller. It’s difficult to argue with a large piece of highway-paving equipment.
“Just stay out of her way until she sets her sights on someone else,” Lissy counseled.
“I’m supposed to take advice from a woman whose love life looks like a tornado’s swath of destruction? Lissy, you haven’t had anything but bad dates for the past two years.” Tony looked even more depressed. “Besides, there isn’t a hospital big enough to hide from Wanda if she’s looking for me.”
“Then stay busy,” I suggested. “Work every minute you’re there. No flirting at the nurses’ station, no cozy chats in the cafeteria.”
“You’re taking all the fun out of my life.”
“We’re trying to help you,” Lissy chastised. “Molly, Tony is busy every night this month, right?”
“With what?”
“We’ll figure that out so that when Wanda asks him out he can say he already has other plans.”
Wearily I turned to Tony. “Tony, would you come to my house for dinner every night this month? You can cook.”
A glimmer of comprehension flickered over his features. “I accept your invitation, and I’ll cook for you every night…”
“…that Wanda wants you to go out with her,” Lissy finished. “And I want you to cook at my place, too. Molly can’t have you every night.”
“I’m not sure I like your duplicity,” I warned.
“You asked him over, fair and square,” Lissy pointed out before swigging the last of her latte.
“Maybe I can get my schedule changed,” Tony muttered. “So Wanda and I aren’t on the same shifts.”
“I’ll let you two work that out.” I stood up. “I’ve got my own issues with Clay Reynolds. You’re on your own with Wanda.”
“A diversion!” Tony snapped his fingers. “Wanda thinks Dr. Reynolds is all right. She’d dump me for him in a heartbeat. All the single nurses would. They think he’s hot.”
“Dream on. That’s a lost cause. Reynolds doesn’t have a heart.” Then my conscience kicked in. “Forget I said that. It was harsh. I’m sure he loves someone—just not me or what I stand for.”
“There’s that Christian ‘turn the other cheek’ behavior in action,” Lissy commented
“The other cheek is bruised, too.” I sighed. “But you’re right. If this is a door that God doesn’t want opened at Bradshaw, I need to be okay with that.”
“When He closes a door, He opens a window,” Tony quoted. “My mother’s favorite saying.”
I put my hand over his. “Help me watch out for open windows, okay?”
Oil and water, fire and ice, daylight and darkness, that’s me and Dr. Reynolds, I thought as I knifed red and yellow oil paints onto the umber background I’d created with my palette knife. I like to work out my frustrations on canvas. Some of my best art has been done that way. My strongest emotions flow through me when I paint—joy, sorrow, frustration, anger, delight—and, thanks to Clay, this painting was going to be a humdinger.
My brother Hugh stretches canvases for me. He’s an art teacher at a local high school and owns all the necessary equipment. Because I like to paint on such big canvases—I have a lot of emotion, I guess—he saves me bucket loads of money. This is my largest painting to date, five feet by seven. At least Clay has done something useful for me. My frustration with him has pushed me on to bigger and better things—on canvas, at least.
I stood back and eyed my work so far. Something wasn’t quite right but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Why should I be surprised? My relationship with my inspiration isn’t right, either.
The doorbell rang, and my brother Hugh walked in. Geranium squealed and Hildy’s tail thumped on the floor. Geri loves Hugh, but it is primarily because he keeps peanut-butter-flavored treats in his pocket. Both Geri and Hildy love them. Frankly, I think he’s trying to steal her affection, but it isn’t going to work. I’m the one who provides her with clothes—rhinestone-studded jackets, a pink-and-powder-blue boa for her neck—and I also do her hooves. Hugh would never do that. Even if he did steal her, he’d bring her back to me within the week. Geranium, like Miss Piggy of the Muppets, is high maintenance. For one thing, he couldn’t afford her wardrobe, which is considerably better than mine or his.
He stood back and studied the painting with me. “What’s going on in your life? It must be significant. I haven’t ever seen you do anything this big.”
“What’s wrong with it?” I squinted at the canvas, attempting to see it through his eyes. The blackish background was a good foil for the orange, red and yellow that licked across the canvas like flame. I rarely use so much black or orange, my angry colors, in my paintings.
“Too irate. Needs some balance. Greens maybe, or blue. It’s going to be good when it’s finished, though. If you get your issue settled that is.”
“Some people can read things from one’s handwriting. You read my paintings.”
He kissed me on the cheek. “You’re an open book, Molly. What’s troubling you?”
I summed up my encounter with Clay at the hospital.
“Sorry about that. I know how much you wanted your vision to happen at Bradshaw Medical.”
“It’s not the end of the world. I got my feelings hurt, that’s all.”
He eyed my painting. “I can see that. What are you going to do about it?”
“Rethink the plan. Rewrite the proposal I had planned to submit to Bradshaw. Paint all my feelings about Clay Reynolds out on canvas.”
And burn the canvas.
“I stopped by to warn you that Mom and Dad have decided it’s time for a Cassidy bash with all the aunts, uncles and cousins. Maybe you should leave town while you still have time.”
Cassidy and bash are two words which should strike fear into the hearts of all Cassidy progeny. My father is from a rowdy and prolific family that has family reunions that resemble political conventions—flag waving, debates, strong opinions and baby kissing. Fortunately, my mother’s is smaller. Otherwise these bashes would have to be held in a football stadium.
“Mother wants to have a ‘family meeting’ to plan the party.” Hugh opened my refrigerator and took out a bottle of root beer.
“I’m sure I’m busy that day.”
“You don’t know what day I’m talking about.”
“That’s okay. I’m still sure I’ll be busy.”
“She’ll plan it for the one moment in the day that you aren’t.” His voice grew muffled as he stuck his head into my deep freeze. “You’re the only one who takes notes when she plans one of these things.”
He pulled out the ice cream and two large mugs I keep there. “Where’s your ice cream scoop?”
“Do you just come here to have root-beer floats or do you really care about my well-being?”
“A little of both.” Hugh filled the mugs with ice cream and poured the root beer over it until it foamed up and ran down the outsides of the icy glasses. “How’s Lissy these days?”
“Same as always. She’s a great nurse with a terrible love life. The woman needs to find someone special but she’s got to quit choosing the wrong men.”
“What’s wrong with them?” Hugh is the brother who looks most like my father—sturdy and broad shouldered and with a naughty twinkle in his eye. With his untamed red hair, he looks like an oversize leprechaun ready to do mischief. He’s always interested in Lissy stories because he seems to have the same kind of luck with women as she has with men—mostly bad.
“Let’s see…. There was the race car driver who stood her up five weeks s
traight, the guy who borrowed five hundred dollars and disappeared into the ether, the coin collector who insisted she empty her billfold at dinner so he could check her coins, the guy who told her he was going for the Guinness World Record for most potato sausages eaten in a one-minute period…”
“Potato sausages?” Hugh shuddered. “I’m Irish and even I don’t like potato sausage.” He tipped his mug and drank the last dregs of his float. “At least I’m not alone in making bad choices.”
“Now what?”
“I thought I’d be nice and let my date pick the restaurant last night.”
“Uh-oh.”
“One hundred and seventy-five dollars later, after lobster and fillets, a salad made of goat cheese, cranberries and weeds picked from the parking lot, three desserts and a very large tip to a very patient waiter, I decided she isn’t for me.”
Hugh’s budget as a teacher doesn’t allow for goat-cheese salad, let alone lobster.
“Sorry, buddy.”
He shrugged cheerfully and stood up. “I have to go. Expect Mom to call you soon. Have your answer ready, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He scratched Geri behind the ear until she grunted, tossed Hildy a doggie treat and was gone.
Feeling better after my brother’s visit, I decided to go for a run. I pulled on some baggy shorts and a T-shirt. By the time I sat down to tie my shoes, Hildy had her leash in her mouth, waiting expectantly to be taken along for the run.
“Not now, Hildy.”
She looked at me and whimpered.
“Later, okay?”
She lay down, leash still in her mouth, put her head on her front paws and whined.
“Oh, all right, you big baby.”
Hildy jumped to her feet, wagging her tail, and trotted to the front door.
I’d been had again—as usual.
Chapter Ten
Our favorite path leads us to Lake Calhoun, part of the Chain Lakes on the shores of which Native Americans lived a hundred years ago. It is now a destination for fishermen, wind surfers and swimmers as well as people on in-line skates and joggers such as myself. I enjoy watching the people on skates the most. Some sail along as if they are skating on smooth ice, but it’s the less experienced ones I watch. Every crack in the sidewalk, clump of grass, walker or dog on a long leash presents a potentially life-threatening hazard for the novice. No matter how many knee and elbow pads one wears, it still hurts to wipe out.
