Allie watched the infant a moment, the even rise and fall of her little chest beneath the cotton gown. “No, but I’m sure something is wrong. These hives are definitely not normal. And they’re spreading,” she repeated, just in case Nurse Hutton had missed that detail.
“Can you hold a moment? Dr. Reynolds just came in. I’ll ask what he advises.”
The classical music returned before Allie could voice a response. What would the doctor say? Maybe Eric was right. Maybe she was overreacting. But another glance at Joanie’s marred skin told Allie that she couldn’t risk doing nothing. Her anxiety mounting by the second, she tapped a finger on the back of the receiver pressed to her ear. The click of the nurse coming back on the line made her jump.
“Mrs. Harrod, Dr. Reynolds would like you to come by the office this morning. We’re pretty slow right now. How long will it take you to get here?”
A searing flash of alarm sent blood roaring in Allie’s ears. The doctor wanted to see Joanie immediately. He must think there was something wrong with her. Allie’s motherly instinct had been right!
An iron fist of fear squeezed her chest. If only it hadn’t been. “I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“That’s perfect. We’ll see you then.”
For a second after the line went dead, Allie didn’t move. Then she sprang into action. Running into the closet, she kicked off her bedroom slippers and jerked a shirt off a hanger. A handy pair of sweatpants lay folded on the shelf, and she hopped up and down as she jammed her legs into them.
Shoes, shoes. Where were her shoes?
All over the place, that’s where. But Eric’s were arranged in a neat row on his side, so she shoved her feet into his sports sandals and tightened the straps as far as they would go. She dashed back into the bedroom and scooped Joanie off the bed, blanket and all, then ran to the nursery. Stuffing a handful of diapers from the stacker into the diaper bag, she slung the strap over her shoulder and whirled toward the door.
Betty stood in the hallway, a quizzical expression on her face. “Are you going out?”
Allie didn’t have time to explain. She didn’t want to hear any accusations that she was overreacting, either. “Yes,” she said as she zoomed past her mother-in-law. “Be back in a while.”
Scooping up her purse from the coffee table on her way through the living room, she rushed out of the house.
Faint strains of the same classical music Allie heard on the phone filled the doctor’s waiting room. She spoke to the girl behind the reception counter. “This is Joan Leigh Harrod. We don’t have an appointment, but Dr. Reynolds asked me to bring her right over.”
Sparkly lavender fingernails flew over a keyboard while the girl watched her computer monitor. “Has anything changed since your last visit? Address? Insurance?”
“No, it’s all the same.” It had been less than a week since they were here last.
In a moment, the printer beside the girl spit out a form, which she picked up and slid in front of Allie. She plopped a pen down on top of the paper. “Sign this, please.”
While Allie scrawled her name in the box at the bottom, the door beside her opened. Nurse Hutton stood in the doorway, a manila folder in her hands. “Come on back, Mrs. Harrod.”
Allie cast a glance around the waiting room. Joanie was being seen immediately, though three people had arrived before them. This must really be serious. She bit back a rising panic. What a birthday present. From now on birthdays would hold none of their former joy. They would always remind her of the day she discovered her infant daughter had contracted a terrible disease. The familiar medical scent of antiseptic mixed with rubbing alcohol tickled her nose as she stepped through the door.
“Come right back here,” the nurse said over her shoulder.
Allie followed her down a narrow corridor on the left. But the examination rooms were straight back, behind the reception desk. “Aren’t we going into one of the rooms?”
“No, the doctor would like to meet with you in his office. Right in here.”
She stopped before an open door on the left and waited for Allie to enter. The room was small, one whole wall covered with bookshelves and crammed full. A plain wooden desk, not nearly ornate enough for a doctor in Allie’s opinion, sat in the center, its surface covered with folders and books and loose papers.
“Have a seat. Dr. Reynolds will be just a minute.”
Allie selected one of two chairs in front of the desk and slid into it, Joanie nestled in her arms. Ignoring the alarm klaxons going off in her mind, Allie tried to think of a reason the doctor wouldn’t want to examine Joanie in one of the regular rooms. Her gaze scanned the crowded bookshelf. Maybe what Joanie had was so rare that he needed to compare her to a picture in a reference book?
Or maybe . . . Allie swallowed. Maybe he didn’t believe there was really anything wrong with her. Maybe the only reason he’d asked them to come in was because Allie had sounded panicky on the phone.
Maybe Eric was right.
“Good morning, Mrs. Harrod.” The doctor swept into the room and closed the door behind him. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
He smiled at her, looking over the top of his glasses as he tossed a folder on the cluttered surface of his desk. His doctor’s coat, with Patrick Reynolds, MD embroidered over the left breast pocket, was blindingly white, as always.
“Th-thank you for seeing us.” Suddenly she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to be here.
He held out his hands toward Joanie. “May I?”
Allie transferred the baby to Dr. Reynolds. He held her expertly, one hand supporting her neck and head, the other cupped beneath her diaper. Her feet, covered by the drawstring gown she wore, rested on his chest. “Good morning, little Miss Harrod.” He spoke in a soft voice, one Allie had noticed he reserved for babies and not their mothers. Wide eyed, Joanie stared at the face hovering above hers.
“Do you see those marks?” Allie asked. “All around her nose.”
He leaned against the edge of the desk and turned Joanie slightly in his hands, examining her face from all angles. Then he smiled down at her, and tucked her into the crook of his arm before facing Allie.
“Mrs. Harrod, there is nothing wrong with this baby.”
“But those marks—”
“Are scratches. It is not uncommon for infants to scratch themselves. It happens all the time. They try to get their fingers into their mouths and they miss. In your daughter’s case, it probably didn’t even hurt her or you would have heard her cry. Do you own a set of baby nail clippers?”
Allie gulped. Heat crept up her neck. “Yes, but I thought . . .” She stopped. She couldn’t go into what she thought. It sounded too stupid.
Dr. Reynolds’ smile was kind. “If you’re nervous about using them, you might consider infant mittens.”
Allie couldn’t meet his gaze. “Are you sure? What if you’re wrong?”
Standing upright, he handed Joanie back to Allie and then circled the desk to sit in his chair. He picked up the folder he’d tossed down, opened it, and flipped through the pages inside. “Your baby is just under six weeks old, and you’ve had her in this office three times in addition to her two-week checkup. Once for spitting up. Once for loose stools. And once because you thought her sternum protruded abnormally.”
Allie touched the bump in the middle of Joanie’s chest and mumbled, “It looked weird to me.”
“In addition,” the doctor continued, “you’ve called the office five times with a variety of complaints including peeling skin, irregular breathing, thinning hair, crying, and a case of gas at two in the morning.”
Tears prickled Allie’s eyes. Hearing them in a list like that made her sound like some sort of maniac. She really had been sorry about the middle-of-the-night emergency call. “How was I to know eating French onion soup would give her gas? I’ve never nursed a baby before.”
“I know, Mrs. Harrod.” The tenderness in his voice made Allie risk an upward glanc
e. His gentle smile brought the tears forth. “I don’t mind you calling whenever you have a question. That’s what we’re here for. I’m not chastising you. The reason I wanted to talk with you this morning is for your own peace of mind.”
She sniffled. “What do you mean?”
“I want to assure you that your baby is completely healthy. I’ve examined her multiple times, and I promise you there is nothing wrong with her. I rarely make predictions, but I’ll make an exception in this case. Barring unforeseen accidents, I predict that Joan Leigh Harrod will outlive both of us by decades.”
Waves of relief washed over Allie as the doctor’s words sank in. She drew in a deep breath and smiled down at her beautiful, healthy daughter.
Then she looked up and included Dr. Reynolds in her smile. “Thank you. I feel much better.”
He placed both hands on the desk and stood. “I’m glad. Now go home and enjoy your baby. And trim her nails.”
“I will,” Allie promised as she got to her feet.
The doctor opened the office door as she scooped up the diaper bag and her purse, and patted her shoulder as she left. “I meant what I said about calling if you have a question. If you’re really worried, don’t hesitate.”
“Okay.” She avoided the nurse’s eyes as she made her way down the hallway.
Out in the parking lot, she laid Joanie in her car seat and snapped the shoulder straps in place. Deep blue eyes stared up at her, bringing a smile to Allie’s lips. She traced a finger lightly over the scratches, which didn’t look so bad now.
“When we get home,” she told her daughter, “you’re getting a manicure. And we don’t have to tell Daddy about this visit to Dr. Reynolds, do we? It’ll be a secret, just between us girls.”
7
“Tori’s here!”
Allie leaped off the sofa where she’d been watching the driveway through the window and ran to the front door of Gram’s house. She still thought of it as Gram’s house, even though her grandmother didn’t live there anymore. Instead, Gram lived in an assisted living center on the other side of town, a snazzy place as fancy as a country club. Joan and Mom still lived here, in the house where Allie had spent her teenage years. A good thing, since Allie couldn’t imagine a family celebration anywhere else.
Mom came out of the kitchen, an eager expression on her thin face as she wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “I’m so glad she made it. She’s been working long hours lately. I was worried she wouldn’t get out of the office on time tonight.”
Allie shook her head. “She wouldn’t miss my birthday dinner.”
The door flew open, and Allie’s baby sister burst into the house. She stopped just inside the threshold, threw her arms wide, and struck a pose. “Here I am! The party can start now.”
Mom took a step toward her youngest daughter, but Allie jumped in front of her with a playful grin. “What do you mean, the party can start now? I’m the birthday girl, you know. Tonight, it’s all about me!” Their childhood competition to be the center of attention had become a long-standing family joke.
Tori tilted her bright blonde head back and her playful laughter filled the room. “You know I’m just kidding, Allie Gator. Happy birthday!”
She threw her arms around Allie, and Allie hugged her baby sister for all she was worth. Petite Tori’s short hair, artistically moussed to look mussed up in a sexy, little-girl way, tickled Allie’s nose. The subtle woodsy scent of what was probably an outrageously priced perfume lingered in the air when Tori left her embrace and stepped into their mother’s.
“It’s always good to see my baby.” Mom’s eyes behind her brown-rimmed glasses danced with pleasure as she hugged her youngest. “You make every gathering special when you come home.”
Allie agreed with Mom’s sentiment. Since Tori moved to Lexington, every homecoming seemed like a party. Allie and Joan had both settled in their hometown, so they saw each other all the time. But when their lively younger sibling came home, it was the three Sanderson sisters, together again. Sort of like the Three Musketeers. Or maybe Huey, Dewey, and Louie.
“Speaking of babies, where’s my namesake?” Tori peered into the living room, her face lighting when she spotted Joan in the recliner holding Joanie. She swept in that direction, tossing her handbag to the floor, and stood in front of Joan with her arms outstretched. “Give her up. It’s my turn.”
Joan’s arms tightened around the infant as she turned a mischievous grin upward. “Whose namesake is she?”
“Ours.” Tori conceded the point with a quick eye roll. “Your first name, my middle name. But you get to spend quality aunt time with her every day if you want, so tonight I am claiming my rightful share. Hand her over.”
“Oh, alright.”
Joan transferred Joanie into Tori’s arms, and Allie watched her little sister coo into the baby’s face.
“Is that Tori?” Gram called from the kitchen.
“It is.” Tori moved carefully in that direction, whispering to the baby as she walked.
Allie followed, and Joan rose from the recliner to fall into step beside her. Mom joined them, all the Sanderson women crammed into the small kitchen. Tori, holding the baby close to her chest, leaned forward to kiss Gram’s wrinkled cheek. Tori always looked professional, like she just stepped off a fashion runway. She’d cinched her belt in to accent her tiny waist, and the form-fitting gray skirt showed off slim hips without an ounce of excess bulk. Though the baby of the family had always been petite, and Allie more curvy—voluptuous, Eric generously called her—she had never felt the slightest hint of jealousy. They were different. All three of them.
Never, that is, until now. At that moment, looking at her little sister’s slim figure, Allie felt like a giant blubbery walrus next to a sleek dolphin.
On the counter sat a tray of goodies Gram had prepared to serve after dinner. Allie snatched one and thrust it toward her sister. “Here,” she said. “Have a cookie.”
Tori didn’t even look up. “No thanks. I don’t want to spoil my dinner.”
“It’s chocolate.” Allie waved the tempting morsel under Tori’s nose. “You won’t spoil your dinner. We still have to wait for Eric and Betty.”
“Ken’s coming too.” Joan glanced at her watch. “He should be here any minute.”
“Hey, I think she’s wet.” Tori hefted Joanie up and down in her arms to test the feel of her diaper. Her eyes gleamed as she grinned up at Allie. “Can I change her?”
“Sure. The diaper bag’s back in the spare bedroom.” Allie tossed the cookie back on the tray as Tori headed down the hallway, her eagerness for diaper duty apparent in her wide smile. Mom followed, and Gram, with the aid of her walker, turned toward the stove to stir a pot.
“It won’t work, you know.”
Allie peered sideways at Joan. “What won’t work?”
A smirk played at the edge of Joan’s lips. “Fattening Tori up with cookies won’t make you look thinner.”
Darn. Joan always could read her like a book. Allie widened her eyes with what she hoped was an innocent expression, and raised her chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Joan lifted a shoulder. “Whatever. Listen, if you’re worried about fitting back into those size 8 jeans, you should run with me in the mornings. We could bundle Joanie up and take her in that fancy stroller Mom bought. I’ll even come to your house a couple times a week, if you want.”
Allie didn’t meet her sister’s eye. She didn’t want to admit that the size 8s were so far out of her reach she’d considered donating them to the Salvation Army. She’d be ecstatic to fit into a 10. Twelve was a more reasonable goal. But running? All that jiggling and bouncing? Fine for Joan, who was fit and trim and had always been the most athletic of the three sisters. To Allie, it didn’t sound appealing.
“I don’t run in public.” She tightened her lips. “Not since I hit puberty.”
Joan laughed. “They make sports bras, you know. The things work wonders.”
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br /> “Thanks, but no thanks.” Allie gave her sister a smile to show she really did appreciate the offer. “I just need to cut back on the sweets, that’s all. Starting tomorrow. After my birthday.” She pinched off a chunk of chocolate chip cookie, popped it into her mouth, and winked at Joan before she left the kitchen.
“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Alllllliiieeeeeeeee. Happy birthday to you!”
Allie giggled at her sisters’ awful attempt at harmony. Beneath the table Eric squeezed her left hand while Mom set a chocolate layer cake in front of her. Twenty-eight candles glowed in the darkened room, creating a ring of light that illuminated the faces around her. Joan’s boyfriend Ken looked a little bemused at the exuberance of this birthday celebration. This was his first family birthday with the Sandersons, and Allie knew they could be a little overwhelming when they got together. She cast a quick glance at Betty, seated on Eric’s left. Her mother-in-law wore a completely blank expression, though she watched everything from the depths of those sad-looking eyes. From what Eric had told her of his childhood, big, loud, noisy family gatherings were completely alien to Betty. What must she think of theirs?
“Make a wish!” Tori said.
Mom stood behind her right shoulder, cake knife in hand. “Hurry, honey, the candles are melting onto the icing.”
Allie closed her eyes. She didn’t place much stock in birthday wishes, not since her fourteenth, when she wished Mom and Daddy would stop arguing and love each other again. But tradition was tradition, so she needed to pick one.
I wish . . . I wish I’d become the bestselling Varie Cose consultant in Kentucky!
No sense wishing small. Might as well go for the gold. She sucked in air until her lungs burned and then blew out every candle. First try.
“Yay, Allie!” Joan clapped her hands, grinning. “You’ll get your wish.”
“I hope so,” Allie said as Mom flipped on the overhead light. Mom whisked the cake away to the kitchen counter, where she began pulling the candles off.
Age Before Beauty Page 6
