by Judy Baer
“Of all the artwork in this house, I picked out one painted by a pig?”
Our shoulders brushed as I looked up at him and grinned. “Do you want to guess which one is Hildy’s?”
He rolled his eyes. “Say it isn’t so.”
I pointed to a canvas that was done in all greens and looked like ferns in a forest. “She did it with her tail. Cool, huh?”
He stared at me as if I’d just touched down from a long-distant trip across the galaxy, collecting stars and exploring black holes.
“I’m beginning to worry about Tony.” Lissy sat in my kitchen holding a bottle of nail polish. Every time I waved the empty brush at her, she thrust it out so I could get another gob of Pink Nightie, Geranium’s favorite nail color.
I finished painting Geri’s last hoof. “Hand me the decals, will you? And that little box of rhinestones.”
“You spoil that pig.”
Lissy opened the container in which I kept Geri’s bling. I shop at the beauty-supply store, haunting the place for discounts on sparkly things for Geri’s hooves. It’s bad enough to have to paint ten human fingers or toes, but Geri’s four feet demand an even larger supply of nail enamel. I get her hoof moisturizer online, however, as it’s not a commonly called-for item.
I looked down at Geri as she sat between my legs, one hoof in my hand, patiently waiting for me to finish her pedicure. There’s nothing she likes better than lots of attention, and she is well behaved for any sort of beauty treatment.
“She’s not spoiled,” I retorted. “She just smells that way. Now what were you saying about Tony?”
“He’s turned into a wild man at work. He’s busy every minute. When he isn’t doing his own work, he’s doing someone else’s.”
“Hiding in plain sight,” I deduced, “from Wanda and her designs on him.”
“Exactly.”
“I still think he should take her out and explain that he’s just not interested.”
“Wanda isn’t the kind of person who takes no for an answer.”
I thought of the persistence with which Tony pursues me. “He isn’t, either.”
“Still, I’m worried about him. He looks stressed.”
I carefully pasted the last of the butterfly decals on Geri’s hoof and dried it a bit with my hair dryer. She trotted off looking very pleased with herself.
“Why don’t you ask him what’s really wrong,” I suggested. “I see him coming up the sidewalk right now.”
Almost before I was done speaking, the bell rang and the door flew open.
Lissy was right. Tony did look strained and frazzled, not his normally suave, confident self. He bolted into the house and closed the door behind him. Then he went from window to window in the front of the house and pulled the shades. Only then did he fling himself onto my couch and breathe a sigh of relief. “I don’t think she followed me.”
“Wanda is not that bad,” I reminded him.
“No? She wants to constantly feed me.”
“You should love that.”
“Sweet rolls on the front seat of my car, bundt cake in my locker at work and brownies in my mail box? I’m being stalked by a foodie!”
“Wanda is a good cook.” Lissy rubbed her flat belly. “I’d eat it if you’d give it to me.”
Tony’s expression of consternation didn’t fade.
I sat down next to him on the couch, right on the bad spring that I keep meaning to get fixed. “Now tell us what the real problem is.”
“Wanda…” He spread his hands helplessly as if she were a force of nature, not a person.
“She wouldn’t get to you if something else weren’t going on,” I pointed out.
He deflated like a punctured balloon. His shoulders drooped and his head sank toward his chest. “I just came from my sister Gina’s place. She’s a mess and it’s breaking my heart. All she thinks about is why she can’t get pregnant. Now she’s got this idea in her head that God has ‘abandoned’ her because she’s prayed for a baby that hasn’t come.”
“How long have they been trying?” Lissy handed me a cup of tea, sat down on the chair across from Tony and curled her feet beneath her like a cat tucking itself in for a nap.
“Over three years.”
“They’re still young. That’s certainly no reason to give up.”
“You tell her that. I’ve tried but she won’t believe me.” Tony scraped his fingers through his dark hair. “She’s really down. She’s convinced that she’s made to be a mother and this is killing her.”
“Hope deferred,” I murmured, more to myself than to Tony. “Proverbs. ‘Hope deferred makes the heart sick, But desire fulfilled is a tree of life.’”
“What does that have to do with Gina?”
“I believe that we should never give up hope and that things happen for a reason, that’s all. No matter how much we may not like it, it’s all about God’s timing, not ours. And it’s all about trust. He can do things that we can’t even begin to imagine.”
“It seems to me that God’s clock is off where my sister is concerned. She’s thirty-three and that biological ticking of hers sounds like a freight train in the house.” Tony scraped his fingers through his dark hair. “It hurts my entire family to see her blaming herself and God.”
I took a handful of animal crackers from the bowl on the coffee table and put down my tea. “Have you ever wanted something so badly that you could taste it and yet, no matter what you did or prayed for, it didn’t come?”
“A train set, for one,” Tony said, “but a train set and a baby are hardly the same thing.”
“I’ve always wanted a BMW,” Lissy chimed in. “But I’ve got a long way to go before my savings account will allow that.”
I ignored Lissy to press Tony. “Did you ever get a train set?”
“Yeah, but I was twelve and was more interested in sports by then.”
“So you did get what you’d hoped for.”
“But it was too late.”
“You mean you never played with the trains?”
“Of course I did. Not for myself so much, although it was enjoyable, but because it was something my little brother and I could do together. He’s six years younger and it was the one thing we had in common. We’d play for hours.” Tony grinned. “Sometimes I even let him be the engineer.”
“So you did have fun with the train?”
“I had fun because he was having fun. It’s part of the reason my brother and I have a close relationship today. Otherwise, without the trains, we’d likely have gone our separate ways.”
“So hope deferred isn’t necessarily a bad thing, is it? In your case, although you didn’t get it when you’d planned, it still worked out.”
“Probably for the better,” Tony admitted, “now that I think about it.”
“So even though you didn’t think God knew what He was doing when you prayed for that train and it didn’t come, the timing was actually perfect. It came at a time when something even more important could happen—you could build a real friendship with your brother.”
Tony scowled. It didn’t do a thing to mar his handsome features. “But a train set isn’t a baby. My sister won’t buy it.”
“Even if, in the end, the delay is for the best?”
“I’m not sure what better time there could be. Besides, no one likes taking no for an answer.”
“I do understand the impatience, Tony. I’m convinced that I’m supposed to begin a doula program at Bradshaw, but it’s not happening. Maybe God has a better place in mind, one I don’t know about yet.”
Tony leaned forward and brushed his index finger along the line of my cheek. “Molly Cassidy, the eternal optimist.”
“God’s in charge. How can we be anything else?”
Chapter Seventeen
I pulled into the parking lot behind the free clinic and was surprised to find an empty parking lot. Usually on Saturday mornings the place is packed like a sardine can.
Feeling rather fest
ive in the colorful skirt I’d purchased against Lissy’s better judgment, I swirled into the waiting room. I’d had a great night’s sleep, a long, hot shower and three cups of coffee so rich and black that it would, if my father’s old saying were correct, put hair on my chest. I felt ready for anything.
Well, almost anything.
“Where are all our patients?” I greeted Gretchen Sykes, a nurse I’ve worked with many times here at the clinic. I’m normally a receptionist, girl Friday and all around gofer. We try to pack in as many patients as we can with our usually short staff so when I’m not at the desk I might be counting Ace bandages or mopping the restrooms.
“We drove most of them away.”
“Did you stand at the front door and make faces as they came up the sidewalk?” I dropped my bag onto the desk chair. I always carry knitting with me wherever I go. Usually the desk is too busy to get too much done, but today looked promising. Maybe I could finish my sister’s hat.
“We’ve been giving away free tickets for the circus. Unless someone is desperately ill, they’re not coming in today.” Gretchen looked pleased. “These people need a diversion from hard times. The tickets were a great idea.”
“Who thought of it?” I began to straighten the desk to make room for today’s paperwork.
“Rumor has it that Everett Bradshaw made the decree.”
“The Everett Bradshaw? Chief Bigwig? I didn’t think he was here enough to pay attention to those sorts of things.”
“He may not be here, but he’s paying attention,” Gretchen said. “I work for Dr. Ogilvee. He says that Dr. Bradshaw has his finger of the pulse of everything concerning Bradshaw Medical, including the free clinic. ‘Eyes in the back of his head and wiretaps in every hall’ is the way he put it.”
“Sounds subversive and devious to me.”
“Not really. Dr. Ogilvee admires the man enormously. He runs a first-class operation and that’s the reason why. He calls Bradshaw a ‘benevolent dictator.’”
Subversive, devious dictator. Clay had inherited his grandfather’s genes except for the benevolent one.
“I’m positive there won’t be much happening this morning.” Gretchen glanced at her watch. “I’ve been here since 8:00 a.m. and haven’t seen a soul. Even the doctor hasn’t arrived yet. Would you mind terribly if—”
“I covered for you? I don’t mind if the doctor on duty doesn’t.”
“I checked it out with the office at the hospital. They said that it was okay with them if it was all right with you. It’s a free, volunteer clinic, after all. They know that most of the emergencies today will probably involve eating too much cotton candy and peanuts, which, by the way, the ticket holders also get free. If you need me, I’m only five minutes away. My husband and I are going on a cruise next week and I’d love to start packing.”
“Who’s the doctor du jour?”
“I don’t know. The new schedule isn’t up yet.”
“Go ahead, pack your bags. Even I should be able to handle an empty clinic.”
Gretchen gave me a hug. “You’re the most loyal volunteer we have, Molly. Everyone who works in the reception area says that without you to keep things together the clinic wouldn’t run nearly so smoothly.”
I hugged her back. “Then I’d better take advantage of this quiet day and get all the filing done.”
“You’re a doll. Holler if you need me.”
I watched her leave and, in a fit of orderliness, decided that today was the perfect day to redo the filing system.
Taking advantage of the quiet and the open space, I spread everything out on the floor in the waiting room and sat down in the middle of it to work. Horizontal thinker that I am, I always see things more clearly when I’ve got all of my work spread out around me. It drives my family crazy but it also explains why I’m both neat and messy at the same time. I think messy but am good at creating order out of chaos. One more complicated aspect of my personality, I guess.
I was at the peak of messiness—which comes just before I pull things into order—when the bell over the front door rang. I jumped to my feet but not before spilling a box of pens and a glass of water.
“I’ll be with you in a moment.” I grabbed for the paper towels and began to mop up. “Minor accident here. Nothing important got wet.” I turned toward the desk. “May I help…you!”
“We seem to be doomed to run into each other at every turn,” Clay Reynolds said pleasantly. He was dressed in casual clothes: body-fitting denim jeans and a polo shirt. A jacket was hooked in the crook of his finger and held casually over his shoulder. His hair still held a hint of dampness from the shower and curled haphazardly at the nape of his neck. “May I ask what you’re doing?”
I felt heat rush up my neck and into my cheeks. “Organizing the office.”
He studied the chaos around my feet. “So that’s what you call it.”
“It’s how I do it, that’s all. I’ll have it all picked up and filed before I leave. I’d never leave a mess like this….” My voice trailed away as I realized he was smiling faintly, as if catching me in a jumble vaguely pleased him.
A sigh escaped me. “And you don’t care a bit because you expect me to foul things up one way or another.”
“Now, did I say that?”
“Basically, yes.”
“That was about having you underfoot during labor and delivery. I don’t mind a bit if you make a mess in a receptionist’s office.”
It took everything in me to ignore the statement.
Clay glanced around. “Where are the patients? The doctor who was supposed to be here today came down with flu. He just called and asked me to cover for him.”
“‘Physician, heal thyself,’” I murmured.
Clay looked at me strangely but didn’t comment.
“They’re all at the circus.” I explained about the free tickets the clinic had been giving out.
“My grandfather is a generous man,” Clay commented. “And always thinking of others.” His expression changed. “I always aspire to be like him.”
Then you’d better start with a personality class. Learn not to be rude to doulas.
He glanced at me as if he were reading my mind. “I’m not doing so well in your book, am I?”
“I’m not sure there’s a good answer to that question,” I parried.
“Pleading the fifth. Good idea.” He shrugged into the jacket. “What have you got for me to do until a patient wanders in?”
I glanced at the floor. “This project I’d better finish myself.”
“I’m glad for that.” Distaste was plain on his face as he studied the jumble.
“It’s okay. No one expects the doctor to do anything but see patients.”
“There aren’t any patients to see.” He glanced around the office, still looking for a task to keep him busy.
“You could make labels for these files.” I handed him a pile I’d already sorted. “How’s your handwriting?”
“Silly question. I’m a doctor, remember? My handwriting is terrible.”
“Do they teach you that in medical school or did you miss penmanship in third grade?”
“Both. I can type, however.”
That was how Dr. Reynolds and I came to be working cozily side by side, waiting for patients that didn’t come.
There were two or three, of course. One boy needed stitches after falling from his bunk bed during a fight with his brother. Another family came in looking like albino rabbits, each sporting a severe case of pink eye. But Clay handled all of that with aplomb and promptly returned to his job making labels. By one o’clock we’d accomplished what would have taken me hours to complete if I’d had to do it alone.
It was surprisingly satisfying to close the last file drawer on a job well done.
“Thank you for helping me.” I smiled at Clay. “I really do appreciate it. Those files have been bothering me for weeks but when I’m here I’m usually too busy to make any headway with them.”
“You’re more than welcome.” He studied me appraisingly. “You really care about this clinic, don’t you?”
“I care about the patients and love the fact that they have a place to come for help.” I hesitated. “I care deeply about everything I do.”
He didn’t take the bait, so I continued. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a doctor in here who has actually paid any attention to what happens at the front desk. I’ve always wished they would, just so they could understand the amazing job the clinic is doing.”
“I see what you mean. I had no idea.”
Why couldn’t we get along like this all the time—civilly, courteously, amicably? I wondered. Of course, we probably could if I changed careers.
I bundled together my untouched knitting bag and prepared to leave.
Clay, who had been watching me, said, “How about lunch?”
“Me?” I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice. “With you?”
“I’ve heard of more ridiculous things.” He had that smile on his face again, half smirk, half grin.
But not many.
My head, completely apart from rational thought, bobbed an assent.
“What about Noah?” I stammered, hoping to extricate myself from what my body had decided without me.
“He’s with a sitter. They are visiting a great-aunt of mine. She and Noah enjoy each other. He won’t be home until later.”
“Where do you want to go?” I sounded as resigned as I felt.
“Do you usually do dessert first?”
I blinked owlishly. “How did you know?”
“Lucky guess, that’s all.” There was that grin again.
“But I’d better eat solid food today. I had cookies for breakfast.”
“Monster cookies?”
I nodded. He is getting to know me a little too well.
“Sushi okay?”
I shuddered and gagged. “Too raw.”
“Cajun?”
“Too spicy.” Did the man have a cast-iron stomach?
“Soup and sandwich?”
“Perfect. You lead with your car, I’ll follow.”
“No need. You can ride with me, and I’ll bring you back here to pick your car up.”
