by Judy Baer
“I’d have a million of them if Daddy would let me.” He spread his arms wide and the green crayon flew out of his hand and landed on the floor. “Two million! A zillion!”
“I know of another Noah who liked animals, too. At least he must have—he shared his boat with them for more than two hundred days.”
That got Noah’s attention. “He lived with them?”
“On a ship called an ark.”
“Ark? Ark…ark..” Noah giggled. “Ark, ark, ark” he chanted, sounding a little like Hildy. “That’s a funny word.”
“Hilarious,” I agreed. “Do you want to hear about him?” We might as well pass the time pleasantly, I thought. It was bound to go downhill as soon as Noah’s father arrived.
“Okay.” Noah slid down from the chair and circled the desk to stand in front of me. “Can I sit in your lap?”
My heart melted. I opened my arms. “I’d like that.”
“Me, too.” He scrambled onto my lap, his slight body warm and smelling like soap and wax crayons. His childish body fit into the curves of mine and every maternal feeling I’ve ever had reared its head. Though I tried not to, I fell madly, wildly, crazily in love.
“There was a time, long ago, when the people on the earth were very bad. Everybody was doing awful things, things that God didn’t like.”
“My mommy knew about God,” Noah said.
“Oh?” He had to have been very small when she died, I thought.
“She left me a present, and God was in it.”
Now how did she manage that? “What was the present?”
“Books,” he said, looking delighted. “Lots and lots of books. My grandma says my mommy read them when she was a little girl and that she wanted her child to read them, too. Some of them have God in them. In one, He’s making the whole world and then somebody gets swallowed by a whale and this lake dries up and a whole bunch of people cross it and then Whoosh! the water all comes back and drowns the bad guys who are chasing them.” He turned to look me square in the eye. “Don’t you know about this?”
The Bible according to a six-year-old.
“I do. Your mommy must have had a book of Bible stories.”
“Yeah, that’s it.” Now that he’d gotten that settled, he returned to the subject at hand. “Tell me about the guy with my name. And tell me about his animals.”
By the time we’d gotten to the part about the dove bringing back an olive leaf in its beak to show the residents of the ark that the earth was drying, we were both so engrossed that neither of us heard the office door open.
“What are you two doing?”
Noah and I both jumped, startled, as if we’d been caught coloring in Clay’s medical books or unwrapping all his tongue depressors.
“Just telling your son the story of ‘Noah and the Ark.’ He wanted to hear it.”
“It’s good, Daddy! There were all these animals and Noah wanted to save them so he took them on his boat….” That triggered something else in the young but agile mind. “If he could take all those animals, why can’t I have a puppy?”
“You seem to be a bit of a troublemaker even during your off hours,” Clay commented, his voice pleasant but his eyes steely. “And what makes you think I want my son to know the story of ‘Noah and the Ark’?”
I hadn’t even considered that possibility. “I didn’t realize ‘Noah and the Ark’ was off-limits. Your son said his mother left him a book of Bible stories….”
Clay’s eyes, which had been cold and hard, suddenly changed, as if something very painful had just pricked his heart. He looked at his son again. “Yes, she did.”
“Hildy is a mal-a-mutt and a worming shepherd, Dad. Can we have one of those?”
“Malamute and German shepherd, not mal-a-mutt….” Clay looked at his son and smiled. “We’ll talk about it later. Right now Ms. Cassidy wants to talk to me. Why don’t you go ask my receptionist to take you to the cafeteria to get a soda?”
“And ice cream?”
“I suppose.”
“And candy?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
Noah raced to the door before his father could change his mind and we heard his childish voice pipe, “Dad says I can have soda and ice cream and maybe candy if I’m really good. Will you take me?”
Clay closed the door. “What is it you wanted to see me about, Molly?” He walked across the room and took the chair behind the desk.
I thought again of my conversation with Tony and chastised myself for being so stupid as to agree to this. “I wanted to clear the air between us,” I began, wishing my voice didn’t sound so reedy and thin in my own ears. “We got off to a bad start. I realize that you don’t like doulas—or anyone but necessary staff—around during deliveries, but I feel the need to understand why you have such negative feelings about doulas.”
“You get in the way.”
That was succinct. Still, I couldn’t leave it at that.
“This is the twenty-first century, not the nineteen-thirties. Back then they used to order bed rest for a new mother for days after. Things change.” I swallowed and added, “Sir.”
“You’re questioning my skill and knowledge as a physician?”
“No, I’m not, but if I understood why you felt the way you do, it would be easier for me to accept.”
He looked at me coldly, his handsome features imposing and a little daunting. “I have no need to explain myself to you.”
My mouth opened and closed like one of Noah’s saltwater fish. “No, you don’t, but all I’m asking for is the courtesy of—”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Cassidy, but I don’t feel like being courteous today.” He stood, rising to his imposing six-foot-something height, making me feel very small at five feet six inches. “Now I’d like you to leave my office.”
“I’m being kicked out?” Incredulity laced my voice.
“Only if you call it that.” He took a step toward the door and I scrambled out of my chair and dodged out of his way.
Outside, I leaned against the hallway wall to catch my breath. “That…that…man!” The only happy part about that little encounter was the fact that when Clay had stepped toward me, he’d ground Noah’s green crayon into his fancy Persian carpet.
Chapter Fourteen
“I can’t believe he actually said that to you!” Lissy dished heaping mounds of spaghetti onto each of our plates. Tony and I had decided to meet at my place rather than the burger joint. I’d called Lissy and Hugh and told them they could come for dinner if they would cook.
“Believe it. There’s a core of…of…”
“Ice?” Hugh offered.
“No, worse than that…there’s a core of titanium in him. He’s absolutely rigid and unbending.”
“Well, he’s the doctor,” Tony said philosophically. “At least you tried.”
“And how about you? Did you ask someone…unexpected…out on a date.?”
“What’s this ‘unexpected’ part?” Hugh asked before forking a meatball the size of a tennis ball into his mouth.
“Tony was supposed to ask out a woman—a beautiful poetry lover who’s smart, witty and has no interest in him whatsoever.”
“Where did you find her?” Hugh asked. “Maybe if she doesn’t want him, she’d be interested in me. I’m Tony’s polar opposite—short, red-haired, lacking in charm…”
We all groaned at that.
“And I hate poetry.”
Tony looked sheepish. “I went to the library at the junior college near my apartment. I figured that if a woman liked poetry, I might find her in with Keats or Shelly.”
“If she’s already with one of them, why would you want her?” Hugh asked.
We glared him down.
“And?”
“And I found a great book of sonnets. Unfortunately the only women at the library who were over twenty-five years of age were also over sixty-five.”
“You should have checked out the English department,” Lissy suggested.<
br />
“Full of bearded men with leather patches on their elbows. They all smelled like pipe tobacco.”
“Then you didn’t look hard enough. I know there’s more out there than the stereotypical professor.”
“I’m going to remain single for the rest of my life,” Tony said. “If I can’t have Molly I don’t want anyone.”
“And you can’t have her,” I assured him.
“We’re a fine bunch, all losers and misfits in love,” Hugh observed without rancor. “Will you pass the meatballs?”
My phone rang as I was getting ready for bed. Emily Hancock was on the other end of the line.
“How are you feeling?” I inquired.
“Like Methuselah. My friend had a baby shower for me and for her oldest daughter who is also having a child. I feel like I’m about to give birth to my own grandchild. All these enthusiastic young mothers were talking about jogging strollers, sports bras for nursing mothers and ‘getting their abs back.’
“My friends were talking to me about getting enough fiber after the baby is born, prune juice and those panty shapers that hold your tummy in. My friends kept staring at me like I was barmy and the younger mothers thought I was old as dirt.”
“Other than that, how are you feeling?”
Emily burst out laughing. “Good, actually. Dr. Reynolds says I’m doing ‘beautifully’ and that he expects no problems with delivery. He says I have the body of a twenty-five-year-old, which makes me feel a little better. He’s such a good doctor. I can’t brag about him enough….”
She noticed my silence. “Still having a disagreement with him?”
“More like out-and-out war, but I don’t want to talk about it. He is a good doctor. Just stubborn and old-fashioned.” And annoyingly cute when he’s not being difficult.
Emily seemed about to say more, but before she did, Hildy took a running leap and landed on the bed, knocking my phone to the floor.
Just what I need today, a real-life version of Family Feud, I thought as I watched the Hatfields and the McCoys—actually the Hendersons and the Morgans—go to their corners and prepare to come out fighting.
I knew it was going to be bad when the parents of the mother-to-be had asked me to keep “those people,” the family of the baby’s father, away from their daughter Marsha. Then, only minutes later, the parents of Ted, the father-to-be, had asked me the same thing. The only two who seemed unaware that World War III was brewing in the waiting room were the excited parents, a young woman of twenty and her equally youthful husband. They had, according to Marsha, eloped because their parents could not agree on a) a site for the wedding, b) a restaurant for the reception, c) a band, d) a baker for the cake, e) a florist, f) which of a myriad of nieces and nephews would be ring bearers and flower girls or g) a wedding planner. I didn’t think the argument over the wedding planner was necessary—who needs a wedding planner when there’s already so much input floating about? What they really needed was a referee.
Now, all the energy these two families had not been able to expend on a wedding had refocused onto the birth of one small baby, a boy, whom Marsha and Ted insisted they would name Chicago because that was the city in which he was conceived. They both ignored the fact that their families had lineages filled with the names Harvard Milfoil Henderson II, III, IV and V and James Paul Vincent Ogilvee Morgan Jr., Sr., etc. etc. etc. The infant wasn’t likely to arrive for a few more hours yet and already the grandparents were duking it out in the waiting room.
This is where a doula comes in handy. If you can’t get the National Guard to come to the hospital to supervise a birth, I’m the next best thing.
“Dr. Reynolds is right,” I told Tony when he stopped outside my client’s room. “I’m going to quit my job as a doula and do something easy for a change. Do you know much about negotiating peace treaties between warring nations? With my experience I should be able to pick up a job like that easily, or maybe something at the United Nations. Too bad the Cold War isn’t still on. I’ll bet I could warm it up faster than I’ll be able to thaw these two families.”
He eyed a balloon bouquet coming down the hall which nearly had the delivery boy airborne. It was being followed closely by a basket of teddy bears that would rival the FAO Schwarz bear collection on Fifth Avenue. They were, no doubt, heading for Marsha’s room as both families attempted to buy off the baby with extravagant gifts.
“A little competitive, I take it?”
“And the families can’t stand one another. Something about a business takeover twenty years ago. Apparently Marsha and Ted didn’t tell their parents they were dating until it was too late to break them up.”
“Ouch.” Tony winced. “I’m glad I’m going off duty in a few minutes. By the way, I’ve got a date tonight.”
“Wanda?”
“A woman from the college. I found her in the library stacks.”
“Just like a reference book? How lucky for you.”
“I’m holding fast to our deal. Now all you have to do is make peace with Dr. Reynolds.”
“Since when was that part of our deal?”
Tony took me by the shoulders and forced me to look at him. “You know that in your heart you are going to feel you failed with this doula thing unless you give it your best shot. And your best shot is Dr. Reynolds.”
“It’s over and done, Tony. I’m not beating my head against that wall anymore. He’ll never appreciate what I do. Forget it.”
“Then I’m canceling my date.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
He leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “Remember what I said.”
Tony was gone before I realized that Clay Reynolds had come into the hall and was staring at me. Why is it that every time Tony shows me any affection whatsoever the man turns up?
Fortunately we didn’t have to speak because Marsha Henderson’s father stormed up to him, his face dangerously red. If this delivery didn’t happen soon, they’d be treating a middle-aged male stroke patient in a birthing room. “I demand that those people not be allowed to see my daughter. They’re going to upset her. Shifty, devious, underhanded, business-stealing…”
“I heard that, Henderson,” Mr. Morgan said. “The only thing that will upset her is that you are out here making a fool of yourself. It’s not your fault you don’t know how to run a business. Why my son—”
“About that son of yours sneaking around dating my daughter behind my back? I should have gotten a restraining order….”
“You’re going to have to run interference, Ms. Cassidy.” Dr. Reynolds appeared thoroughly disgusted by the nonsense going on outside his patient’s room. “My patient doesn’t need to hear or see any of this.”
Oh, sure, now he needs me. Granted, I was supposed to be inside the room with Marsha but in the long run, I knew I’d do more for her out here, keeping her baby’s grandparents from pummeling each other.
“I’d like to tell her,” I said. I looked at the two bickering grandfathers-to-be standing nose-to-nose gesticulating furiously. “Then I’ll come out here and see what I can do.”
“Very good.” He hesitated briefly before adding, “Thank you.”
Suddenly, amazingly, Clay and I were on the same side of an issue.
Marsha and Ted gave me the go-ahead to marshal the impending war, relieved to let their parents be someone else’s problem for a while.
I returned to the hall and caught Mr. Henderson’s arm just as he was pulling back to pop Mr. Morgan in the nose. Sometimes having to deal with brothers is a definite advantage. I have skills honed in battle. I drew an imaginary line down the middle of the room. “Hendersons on that side, Morgans on this. There will be no crossing the line, no getting within two feet of the line. Talking is to be allowed only in civilized voices.”
“Young woman,” Mr. Henderson blustered, “do you know who I am?”
I studied the bellicose man across from me. Then I turned to the belligerent Mr. Morgan. “Actually, I see who bot
h of you are. You are parents who love their children yet can’t get over themselves long enough to realize a miracle is happening in there.” I pointed to the birthing room. “I also see people who want a happy, healthy grandchild to love. You guys are both on the same side, don’t you see that?”
It was deadly silent in the room. Finally Mr. Morgan began to scuff the imaginary line with the toe of his shoe. “If we’re on the same side, what did you draw this line here for?”
The question hung in the air until Mr. Henderson laughed. It was an unoiled-hinge sort of laugh, harsh and raspy, as if it hadn’t been in use much lately. Gradually the nervous, tittering laughs of others joined him.
When I tiptoed back to Marsha’s room, the opposing forces were shuffling their feet and looking foolish but the bomb had been defused, for the moment, at least. Time enough for a baby to be born before the skirmishes began again.
Clay caught me in the hall later, just as I was about to leave the hospital. He touched my arm and I felt a tingling shiver bolt up my arm. Static electricity, I hoped.
“Have I said thank you for handling that situation so well?”
“About a dozen times.” For once I’d proven my worth. Ted and Marsha and little Chicago had had nearly an hour of uninterrupted, nonhostile family time together before they all fell into an exhausted, happy sleep.
“Are you headed for the parking lot?” He fell into step with me. His walk was smooth and athletic, a glide, really—like a panther.
“Yes. I’m exhausted. That was more excitement than usual.”
“I’ll walk you to your car.” He looked as collected, pressed and starched as he had when I’d seen him hours earlier. While I, on the other hand, was limp and sweaty and looked as though I’d been sent through the wringer of an old-fashioned washing machine and hung out to dry.
We walked in silence and for once I actually almost felt comfortable with him. “Here’s my car.” My very un-Mercedes-like car.
“I’ll wait until you get in and get the car started,” he said gallantly, something one doesn’t see much of nowadays.
“That’s not necessary. I’ll be fine.”
