by Ann McMan
That last one had been super easy because Roma Jean had bought copies of the book for pretty much everyone in her family. Mama said it was a pretty strange stocking stuffer, but Roma Jean noticed she kept her copy on the nightstand next to her bed.
“Okay, smart aleck.” Syd hauled another cardboard box up from the floor. “I’ll bet you a hot dog and a Diet Coke you can’t get these right.”
The first two were real posers. It didn’t help that Miss Murphy told her they came from the same person. One book was a dog-eared hardback copy of something called Deutsch Aktuell, and the other was an oversized paperback called The Moosewood Cookbook, Revised Edition. Roma Jean pondered. Who did she know who read books in German and cooked weird hippie recipes from about a hundred years ago?
A lightbulb went off.
“Dr. Heller!” she cried.
Miss Murphy’s face lost its smug expression. She sighed dramatically and dropped the two books back into their box. “So what do you want on your hot dog?”
Roma Jean felt ten feet tall. It wasn’t usual for her to get the best of Miss Murphy. It was a change in the way their relationship was developing.
There were other changes, too.
For one thing, Miss Murphy kept asking Roma Jean to call her Syd. As much as Roma Jean tried to remember, the informality of that just felt . . . weird. It was hard for her not to remember the days when she’d ring up Miss Murphy’s—Syd’s—groceries at Food City. She thought back on those days with mortification—especially when she recalled how she’d practically pass out whenever Miss Murphy came in with Dr. Stevenson. Roma Jean had been so crushed out on the dark-haired, blue-eyed doctor. It was so embarrassing. She’d always acted like a moron around them both, too. Dropping things. Tripping over stuff. Making really stupid comments.
Well. She still said a lot of stupid stuff. That hadn’t changed much.
But she’d never understood how the two women had been able to see past her dorky behavior and take such a strong interest in her future. On her own, Miss Murphy had established a scholarship fund that pretty much paid for Roma Jean’s college tuition. And now she’d given her this part-time job driving the bookmobile on weekends and during the summer months, too.
She owed them both a lot.
But so did a lot of people in this town. Too bad not everyone was as grateful.
Everything that Gerald Watson had tried to do to them was awful. The things he said about their relationship—and her own with Charlie—had hurt a lot of people. Including her parents. It was hard for her to admit that there were other people in Jericho who felt the same way he did—people who believed that women who loved other women were ungodly or some kind of affront to nature.
But those people did exist, and a lot of them lived here. She could feel their eyes on her at church. Aunt Edna noticed it, too. One time, she even saw Aunt Edna take two of them aside in the church parking lot after services and give them a talking to. She couldn’t hear anything Aunt Edna said, but from the way she shook her head and pointed her index finger, she could guess. Later, at lunch, Aunt Edna told Roma Jean to ignore them. She said that Mr. Watson had freed them all up to show their ignorant butts in public, and, even though he was gone, his ilk was still out there sowing hate. It would take a while, she said, for their meanness to get siphoned off and sink back underground.
But she warned Roma Jean that it would never go away.
Roma Jean knew Aunt Edna spoke the truth because she’d had a lot of firsthand experience living with bigotry. Her decision to marry a white man more than thirty years ago and move back here with him to live had made sure of that. Roma Jean never even thought of them as an “interracial” couple. They were just Aunt Edna and Uncle Cletus. But she knew there were other people who didn’t see them that way. It wasn’t something her family ever talked about—not even Grandma Azalea, who didn’t hesitate to offer up opinions whether you asked for them or not.
But then, her family never much talked about anything difficult. It wasn’t their way.
Roma Jean’s relationship with Charlie had become one of those topics that never got discussed.
Miss Murphy’s relationship with Dr. Stevenson was another one.
That was mostly why Roma Jean never told Miss Murphy about some of the whispered comments she’d heard at a bookmobile stop out in the eastern part of the county. It was one of the days that Henry was riding along with her. The women clucked their tongues and talked about how Miss Murphy and Dr. Stevenson were committing a sin by raising James Lawrence’s little boy—about how immoral it was, and how right the mayor had been to say the law shouldn’t allow it.
It made Roma Jean furious. And it took all of her strength to hold her tongue in front of Henry, and not set those nasty biddies straight. When she told Charlie about it that night, Charlie laughed at her.
“Roma Jean, they’re already ‘straight’—and self-righteous. It’s a dangerous combination, and that’s part of what drives their hatred toward things they don’t understand.”
“Well, I don’t care what drives it.” Roma Jean was disgusted. “It’s wrong—and if they ever read the gospels, they’d know they need to sow less hate and be more Christ-like. Jesus never treated people so meanly. He taught us not to judge others.”
Charlie did not disagree with her.
She was sure Miss Murphy wouldn’t either, but she still wasn’t going to tell her about it. She just prayed Henry hadn’t overheard their whispers, too.
Her stomach growled. A hot dog was sounding pretty good.
Miss Murphy noticed. “Let’s just finish this one box and we’ll take a break to go and get some lunch.”
Roma Jean lifted another stack of books out and set them on the sorting table. They were mostly biographies. The top one was about the World War I pilot, Baron Manfred von Richthofen—“The Red Baron.”
Roma Jean stared at it for a minute before asking Miss Murphy, “Did you know Manfred Davis?”
Miss Murphy seemed surprised by her question. “Do you mean Charlie Davis’s father?”
Roma Jean nodded.
“I didn’t know him personally. He was gone many years before I moved here. But I probably know as much about him as you do.”
“I don’t really know anything,” Roma Jean replied. “Why did he leave Jericho?”
Miss Murphy seemed to hesitate. “Did you ask Charlie about him?”
Roma Jean shook her head.
The truth was that Charlie hadn’t explained anything else about the strange man who’d appeared last night—after her one revelation that he “used to be” her father. Her mood had quickly grown so dark, Roma Jean knew it wasn’t the right time to press her for details.
“I saw him last night,” Roma Jean added. “He came by Charlie’s house before she got home from work. He told me he was looking for ‘Charlene.’ He seemed kind of creepy, but harmless. Charlie pretty much freaked out when I told her about him. She wouldn’t say anything else after telling me he was her father.”
“Oh.” Roma Jean could tell Miss Murphy was trying to figure out what to say.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, Miss Murphy. I was too nervous to ask Charlie for any details.”
“No. It’s okay. I don’t know a lot about him, except that he was pretty brutal toward Charlie when she was growing up. I gather that Sheriff Martin was instrumental in getting him to leave town after some altercation led to Charlie ending up in the hospital.”
“He hurt her?” Roma Jean was stunned. “Bad enough to put her in the hospital? Why?”
“I don’t know many more details, Roma Jean—and I don’t want to offer conjectures. I think you should ask Charlie about it.”
That was going to be a lot easier said than done . . .
Roma Jean dejectedly continued sifting through her stack of books. One of them caught her eye: The Everything Bridesmaid Book by Holly Lefevre. She discreetly flipped it over to scan the back. This book can be your go-to compa
nion, the description proclaimed. The blurb went on to promise the book could provide readers “quick intel” on bridal showers and bachelorette parties.
Roma Jean thought about sneaking it into the discard pile before Miss Murphy saw it.
Too late. When she made her move, she realized Miss Murphy was watching her.
“What’s that one?” she asked.
“It’s some bride thing.” Roma Jean tried to wave it off.
“Ohhh, lemme see.” Miss Murphy reached out for it.
Roma Jean reluctantly handed it over.
Great. Now they’d have to spend their entire lunch talking about peach and prosciutto versus smoked salmon canapés—or whether white lilies were too somber for a spring wedding.
Miss Murphy was flipping through the pages of the book. “I think this one is a keeper.”
“I don’t know.” Roma Jean decided to give it a shot. “Do you think maybe you already have enough books about wedding planning? Too many could just make the choices more confusing.”
One shelf in Miss Murphy’s tiny office was already full of books stuffed with interlibrary loan tags—all of them about different aspects of planning weddings.
“Too many?” Miss Murphy sounded confused by her question. “Not at all. I want to be sure I make the best choices. A woman only gets to do this once.” She smiled. “Okay . . . twice, in my case. But you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, but the thing is . . .” Roma Jean stopped herself.
“The thing is . . . what?”
“Well. The thing is to . . . maybe . . . try not to go all . . . sort of . . . Real Housewives . . . on some of this stuff.” Roma Jean was floundering. “You know?”
Miss Murphy looked flustered. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“Well. Kind of . . . a little bit? Maybe? Just now and then.”
Miss Murphy sighed and tossed the book onto the discard pile. But Roma Jean knew she wouldn’t leave it there. She was pretty sure that later, before she locked up the library and left for the night, that book would join the others on the shelf in her office.
She’d bet another hot dog on it . . .
◊ ◊ ◊
When Lizzy arrived at the clinic on Thursday morning, she found a note from Maddie on her desk. For once, her handwriting looked relaxed and more than halfway readable.
Good morning, the note read. After you get settled, come by my office. I have some news to share with you. P.S. Bring coffee.
Lizzy smiled. She looked forward to these informal chats with her boss. They tried to arrange these coffee dates at least two mornings a week. Lately, however, the workload had escalated so much they’d been lucky to wave hello as they passed each other in the corridor. It wasn’t just that school was back in session and they were dealing with the inevitable surge in cases of stomach flu and head colds. The only other independent medical clinic in the county had closed its doors less than a month ago, and they’d been steadily taking on more new patients than they could reasonably handle. Something was going to have to change. She guessed this was likely part of what Maddie wanted to discuss with her. She hoped the “good news” meant the clinic would be acquiring another set of hands.
That was truer than ever since the grant that funded her position was set to expire at the end of the calendar year. Maddie would have to figure something out, and fast. Against all hope, Lizzy prayed Maddie would engineer a way to make her position permanent, but she was afraid to pin many hopes on that outcome. It just didn’t seem economically feasible. The reality was that she’d probably have to go back into hospital nursing, which she hated. And knowing this made it even harder for her to cobble together reasonable explanations for why she didn’t want to move to Colorado with Tom.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want a life with Tom. It was more that she wanted to have that life here. She’d never before felt the sense of belonging she’d inherited when she accepted Maddie’s job offer all those years ago. It was true what the old-timers said: Jericho, with all its quirks and provincialities, wormed its way under your skin and pretty much ruined you for life anyplace else. Jericho had become her home and she didn’t want to leave it—even if it meant she’d have to take a job she loathed to be able to stay here.
She just wished Tom felt the same way . . .
Lizzy checked her appointment calendar before heading to their tiny kitchen to fix a mug of coffee.
It was a few minutes past seven. Peggy wasn’t in yet. She didn’t usually show up until seven-thirty—thirty minutes before they started seeing patients. She and Maddie should have time for a decent chat before the onslaught of patients began.
Maddie’s office door was open, as usual, and she was seated behind her desk going over some printouts. Lizzy tapped on the doorframe.
Maddie looked up and smiled. She was wearing what Syd called her “nerd glasses.” They were horn rims with bright blue frames—a detail Maddie described as her one concession to fashion.
“Come on in.” She waved Lizzy toward the small sitting area opposite her desk. “Let’s get comfy.”
Lizzy sat down in one of the upholstered chairs and waited on Maddie to join her.
Maddie had some music playing at a low volume. It was something classical. Maybe Debussy? Lizzy regretted that her music education was so flimsy. She’d thought many times about asking Syd to give her piano lessons.
Asking Dr. Heller would’ve been a bridge too far. Although a likelier candidate for offering instruction, Maddie’s mother was just too . . . enigmatic. It was ridiculous, but Lizzy always felt a bit clumsy around Dr. Heller. She reminded Lizzy of her clinical master’s degree adviser at Vanderbilt, Julia Smyth Barroso. Dr. Barroso had been that same way. Reserved. Almost mysterious. The women were similar in appearance, too: both tall and patrician with impeccable posture and classic beauty. They oozed competence and confidence in equal measure.
Frankly, they scared the hell out of Lizzy.
Maddie was like her mother in a lot of ways—most ways, actually—but she had far less reserve.
“So.” Maddie had joined her and promptly propped her feet up on the small coffee table between their chairs—another difference from her mother. Lizzy couldn’t imagine Dr. Heller ever doing something so casual. “How’re things going with you?”
Lizzy demurred in responding. “Do you want the polite answer or the long version?”
“The long version, of course.” Maddie’s voice dropped into its more serious octave range. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Tom.” Lizzy chuckled. “Of course.”
“Uh oh.”
“Yeah. This one’s a doozie, too.” Maddie gave her time to continue talking. “I met him for dinner last night at Waffle House. He was an hour late . . . also not uncommon. And when he finally arrived, he explained that he’d been held up because he’d been negotiating a job offer.”
“Really? Isn’t that a good thing? He’s nearly finished with his program, isn’t he?”
Lizzy nodded. “Only nine more weeks.”
“So I take it the job in question is not to your liking?”
“You might say that. It’s in Colorado.”
Maddie’s face fell. Lizzy could’ve been mistaken, but she thought Maddie’s knee-jerk reaction to the news expressed about as much dismay as she’d felt herself when Tom shared it with her.
“Well, I’ll be damned . . .” Maddie searched Lizzy’s eyes. “I guess this means you’ve got to do some soul searching.”
“To say the least. I think I slept about forty-five minutes last night.”
Maddie was drumming her fingers against the arm of her chair. Her agitation was evident.
“I’m flattered that you seem to share my reaction to this news,” Lizzy observed. “But you seem to be nearly as frustrated by it as I am.”
“Well, that’s an understatement.” Maddie let out a deep breath. “Remember I told you I had some good news I wanted to share?”
Lizzy nodded.
Maddie set her coffee cup down on the table and folded her hands. “Guess there’s no time like the present. I’ve run all the numbers and have concluded that the clinic can now support adding your position, adding you, full time—as a partner in the practice. That is, if you’re interested. I mean,” she hastily added, “as you consider this other . . . possibility.”
Lizzy was too stunned to speak. Maddie was offering her a permanent job? And a partnership in her clinic . . . her father’s clinic?
Maddie leaned toward her. “It’s okay to speak. It’s not like I offered to give you my left kidney or anything.”
Lizzy laughed. “It’s actually pretty damn close. You have no idea how much I’ve dreamed about being able to stay on here after my grant runs out. I thought it was impossible.”
“Not so much, as it turns out. And by the way, that was always my dream scenario, too. You’ve been an incredible asset to this community, Lizzy. I’d be crazy not to move heaven and earth to keep you.”
“But are you moving heaven and earth? Can the practice truly afford to do this? Are you sure it won’t become untenable down the road?”
“Truthfully, none of us knows what manner of dragons lurk down the proverbial road. As we know, the only other private clinic in the county just shut its doors after thirty-five years. My thought is that by having you join me as a partner in this journey, it’ll be up to both of us to be sure we can face whatever changes lie ahead. I’ve always been an optimist, although Syd tells me I’m actually more clueless than hopeful. But she agrees that making this commitment to you and to a shared future taking care of people in this county is a no-brainer.” Maddie smiled. “And as you know, I always do what she says.”
That made Lizzy laugh. Her head was still spinning.
“Would it be okay if I took some time to think it over? Just for a little bit?”
“Of course you can. In fact, I have a preliminary contract drafted for you. Take it with you and go over it. Have an attorney examine it, too. And mark it up with any questions or changes. I was just looking it over when you got here.”
Lizzy struggled to find the right words to express all she was feeling. It was a tall order because she honestly had no idea how she felt. Right now, there were simply too many variables and they were all slamming into each other like cars in a demolition derby.
