Stone Cold Blooded

by Catherine Dilts

“You need a break,” Sarah said. “And I want to soak in the tub.”

  “I’ll take good care of her,” Morgan said.

  * * *

  Russ and Sarah lived on the edge of Sioux Falls, where neighborhoods faded into prairie. Russ had found their dream home, a fixer-upper on twenty acres.

  Sarah opened the guest room door. “Something’s wrong with the duct system. The air conditioning settles into the bedrooms. It’s especially cold in the guest room, but if we turn the temperature up, the rest of the house roasts.”

  “The guest room will be fine.” Morgan had been sleeping on Bernie’s sofa for weeks. A real bed, even if the room was chilly, would be a welcome change. “Let’s see about dinner.”

  None of the casseroles lovingly prepared by the Sioux Falls church ladies interested Sarah. Morgan finally enticed her daughter with childhood comfort food of a grilled cheese sandwich and canned tomato soup, but Sarah didn’t have much of an appetite.

  While Sarah ran bathwater, Morgan shared the sofa with an oversized Labrador mix named Darby. Rubbing the dog’s blocky head made Morgan miss her temporary foster dog Hawthorne. She had dozed off by the time Sarah emerged from the bathroom. Sarah smelled of lavender oil and looked refreshed.

  “I was hoping for one of those underwater births,” Sarah said, “but no such luck.”

  It was the calm before the storm. Any restful moments now would give Sarah the strength she would need later during the birth.

  Sarah pulled a towel off her blond hair.

  “What a rat’s nest.”

  “Let me comb it out,” Morgan said. “Do you have any detangler?”

  Morgan’s original plan had been to arrive after the baby’s birth, but as she combed Sarah’s hair, she realized the present moment was equally precious.

  “How are things in Golden Springs?” Sarah asked.

  Morgan updated her daughter on the local gossip. Sarah only knew people who had lived there the last time she’d visited her Uncle Kendall and Aunt Allie six years ago, but she knew Bernie and Kurt through Morgan’s descriptions.

  “During your summer visits,” Morgan asked, “did you ever meet the neighbor up the hill, Eustace Day?”

  “I was just a kid,” Sarah said. “I didn’t even know there were neighbors.”

  By the time Morgan had her daughter’s hair combed through and braided, she had told Sarah about the explosions, and the note from Day’s granddaughter.

  “What did she say?”

  “I haven’t called her yet,” Morgan said. “I should do that now.”

  But Rosemarie and Russ pulled up before Morgan retrieved her phone. David followed in his truck. They crowded around the kitchen table, the real heart of any home. When Russ started for the coffee maker, his mother stopped him.

  “What you need is a glass of wine. It will settle your nerves and help you sleep.”

  Morgan had heard contrary opinions about whether alcohol made falling to sleep easier or worse, but Russ was clearly on the ragged edge of his one last nerve. A glass of wine might enable him to relax enough to fall asleep.

  When David offered to make a run to the liquor store, Morgan realized with shock that her son had been old enough to buy alcohol for over a year now.

  While he was gone, Sarah decided to turn in. Morgan went to the guest room to unpack, giving Russ and his mother a few quiet moments, as she had just enjoyed with Sarah. When she heard David return from the liquor store, Morgan returned to the kitchen. Russ drank his glass of cabernet unaccompanied by anyone else, making it seem medicinal.

  “This might be my last night before I become a father,” Russ said. “I hope I’m ready.”

  David clasped a hand on Russ’s shoulder. “You’ll be a great dad.”

  * * *

  In the middle of the night, Morgan tiptoed out to the living room to tug an afghan away from Darby. The guest room was as cold as Sarah had warned, while summer heat filled the rest of the house. The lumpy futon was just another sofa. Morgan wondered when she would ever have her own place again.

  Saturday came and went with no new developments. Sunday morning, Morgan drove to church by herself. Sarah had a fear of her water breaking in a public place. Of course, Russ wanted to stay with her. David declined attending church to take advantage of making overtime at his construction job.

  Morgan drove Sarah’s car. She had just stepped through the front door when Franny Gundersen waved a plump hand at her. The housewife and perpetual volunteer grabbed Morgan’s arm and led her into the small hall that served as the church’s community room.

  “I heard you were in town.” Franny said. “I didn’t want to call your cell phone and bother you during this happy time. Joan! Look who’s here!”

  Joan Sundheim had abandoned hair coloring. An artistic veil of gray hair tumbled past her shoulders. She wore no makeup, and her batik tunic suggested a lack of foundation garments. Joan would have fit in with Golden Springs’s park hippies.

  “Morgan, it’s so good to see you again.” Joan gave Morgan a perfunctory hug. “Are you a grandmother now?”

  “Not yet,” Morgan said. “Soon, I hope. I’m only planning to be here for a week.”

  The introit music began. After a service comforting in its familiarity, the three friends resumed their conversation in the small hall. Morgan caught them up on her recent adventures. When Morgan told them about Kendall and Allie’s return from the jungles of Central America with their adopted daughter, the inevitable question arose.

  “Are you moving back to Sioux Falls?” Franny asked.

  “I’m not planning to,” Morgan said. “Besides, Dot leased out my house to a young family for the next year. I’d have no place to stay, and no job. Is Dot here?”

  “She had an open house today,” Franny said. “But she wants the old gang to get together before you leave.”

  “I was just here in May,” Morgan said. “I don’t want you to make a big deal of my visit.”

  “Give her a call,” Joan said. “Dot’s itching to have a barbeque on her new deck.”

  Morgan did, on her drive back to Russ and Sarah’s.

  “Your tenants have been perfect,” Dot told Morgan. “They pay their rent on time, and take care of the house as though it were their own. Are you going to be in town this weekend?”

  “I fly home Saturday.”

  “Home? Oh, you mean Golden Springs. Okay, how about Wednesday? That’s short notice, but I can throw together a little something in the backyard.”

  “If I make plans, maybe the baby will decide to disrupt things.”

  * * *

  Monday morning, Morgan borrowed Sarah’s car for a trip to the grocery store to buy ingredients for a salad to take to Dot’s barbeque. Faintly Nordic accents peppered the aisles, and Morgan even heard an “uff da,” a vague Scandinavian expression that seemed to mean whatever was necessary for the occasion.

  While perusing locally grown lettuce, Morgan’s cell phone chimed. Caller ID showed it was not Sarah or Russ. No grandbaby yet.

  “How’s it goin’, Cowgirl?” Cindy asked.

  “For all the trouble Sarah had earlier in her pregnancy,” Morgan said, “now the little guy seems to have become quite attached to his current home.”

  “Babies decide when they’re ready.” Cindy gave a rundown for each of her six children. Which were late, which were early, and the one who arrived precisely on his due date. “But the reason I called wasn’t to give you my health history.”

  “Is Adelaide okay?” Morgan worried the aging donkey might have problems with her delivery.

  “She’s fine and dandy. I dropped by the shop today, and Del and the kid were working alone.”

  Morgan nearly squished the tomato she was holding. “Kendall promised he’d run the shop while I was gone.”

  “Don’t fly all off the
handle. I jumped in to help. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Morgan minded that Kendall didn’t keep his promise to her.

  “I’m glad you could help,” she said. “I hope you kept track of your hours.”

  “Beatrice told me Kendall applied for the pastor position here and didn’t get it,” Cindy said. “I think your brother might be feeling a little low.”

  “Pastor? At our church?”

  “Yep. Golden Springs Community Church. The only reason they didn’t hire him was because he doesn’t have a college degree. If Kendall had gotten the job, he could have moved into the parsonage.”

  And Morgan could have moved back into the rock shop’s living quarters. Darn.

  “Oh, and one last thing,” Cindy said. “None of my bee’s wax, but Beatrice asked who that pretty black lady is who’s hanging around Kurt. ‘Cause she sure ain’t his sister.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Morgan knew she could count on Beatrice and the Golden Springs gossip grapevine to keep her informed about Kurt and Zulina, but she wasn’t sure she wanted every juicy detail. She had just calmed down from her conversation with Cindy, and was elbow deep in lettuce at Sarah and Russ’s kitchen sink, when her phone rang again. Morgan’s heart sank a little to see Bernie’s name on the caller ID, not Kurt’s. She stepped outside.

  “Well, Kurt’s done it again,” Bernie said.

  Scenarios ran through Morgan’s imagination of a public fistfight with Erwin Sylvester. She wouldn’t let herself imagine any scenes with Kurt’s Hollywood ex-wife.

  “What’s he done?” Morgan asked.

  “He printed a letter to the editor.”

  “He does that,” Morgan said. “Kurt is a newspaper editor.”

  “This was from some crazy who claimed to see aliens on Hill Street. He signed the letter ‘Elrond’ if you can believe that.”

  Elrond, owner of the music store. He had seemed quite comfortable playing music with the park hippies. Maybe people would chalk up his alien sighting to something he had smoked.

  “I know who he is.” Morgan also knew exactly what Elrond had seen. Well, not exactly. She had only caught glimpses. “Did he describe it?”

  “How can you describe something you didn’t really see?” Bernie asked. “Any way you want to! In this case, the alien wasn’t green, though. I’ll give Elrond credit for that.”

  “It had no fur,” Morgan said. “Except for a tuft of white on top of its head. It was small. The size of a squirrel.”

  A long silence came from Bernie’s end of the phone. “It sounds like you’ve seen it,” she finally said.

  “I saw what is most likely a hairless rabbit that escaped some kid’s 4-H project.”

  “Well, after Kurt published the letter, a bunch of alien enthusiasts have joined the throngs of hippies in the park.”

  “Just what we need.”

  “That’s not the worst of it. Chief Sharp won’t take down the blockade on Hill Street, which means they end up hanging out—”

  “At the rock shop,” Morgan finished for her. “I can only hope they spend lots of money and don’t clog up the plumbing.”

  Morgan called Kurt and left another message, not letting on that she knew about Elrond’s letter to the editor.

  After a dinner that Sarah and Russ barely touched, Morgan packaged the leftovers. She cleaned up the kitchen, then sat on the sofa with Darby the Lab and tried to read a book. Sarah paced, pressing her hands to her lower back, while Russ chewed on a hangnail.

  Her daughter and son-in-law were suffering under a nearly unbearable weight of anxiety, and all Morgan could think about was Kurt and his glamorous ex-wife. Morgan chided herself for being selfish and pathetic.

  She tried to make herself useful by offering Sarah a cup of herb tea, which she refused. Then a back rub, also refused. There was no point in telling a woman who felt three and a half years pregnant that it would all be over soon, and that she and her husband would look back on these days fondly through the blurry lens of memory. That kind of talk could result in homicide. Which made Morgan think of Golden Springs, and the mystery of her hermit neighbor’s demise. Then her thoughts strayed once again to Kurt, who might be working on the case. Or maybe he was working on his ex. Which brought Morgan’s thoughts to homicide again, at which point she gave up and retired to the icy guest room.

  If Russ didn’t get the air flow problem fixed, they would never suffer a guest who wouldn’t leave. Morgan shivered as she crawled under the thick layers of blankets and throws. It might as well be winter in the room, which perfectly matched her spirits right about now.

  * * *

  A rapping on the guest room door woke Morgan. She squinted through heavy eyelids.

  “What? Who is it?”

  “Morgan,” Russ said. “Mom. It’s time.”

  Russ had never called her ‘Mom’ before. That, more than the shock of being awakened in the wee hours, jolted her to consciousness.

  “We’re heading to the hospital,” Russ continued.

  “Okay.” Morgan rolled off the futon and onto her feet. “I’m coming.”

  “We’re leaving right now,” Russ said.

  Morgan padded into the living room on bare feet, following Russ. Sarah stood, one hand resting on the back of the sofa, the other pressed to her lower back.

  “It’s probably just another false alarm.” Sarah’s voice faltered over a sob. “You should go back to bed.”

  She sounded so miserable and exhausted, Morgan nearly choked up herself. But someone had to have a clear head.

  Sarah’s breathing was shallow and rapid. Morgan remembered the panic that had accompanied her first pregnancy, which had resulted in Sarah. Morgan had faced the primordial terror of the loss of control of her own body, and the fear that it would all end in disaster, despite the doctor’s reassurances that the baby was fine. Now her daughter had to face that same universal travail, and accept the natural process of bringing a baby into the world. Nothing in childbirth class could completely prepare parents.

  “Remember your breathing,” Morgan told her. She turned to Russ. “Where’s her bag?”

  Russ froze, a panicked expression on his haggard, whisker-stubbled face.

  “The hospital bag,” Morgan said. “Where is it? Russ.”

  He shook his head. “Breathing. Right. And the bag.”

  While Russ rushed around in circles, hunting for the bag, Morgan changed from pajamas into her jeans, sneakers, and T-shirt, and tucked the novel she’d been reading into her purse. She grabbed Sarah’s hospital bag from beside the front door.

  “Give me the car keys,” Morgan told Russ. “I’ll drive. Your only job is to help Sarah. Grab a blanket and a pillow.”

  He supported Sarah as they followed Morgan to the car.

  “Both of you sit in the back seat. Russ, do you remember the breathing exercises you learned in childbirth class?”

  Morgan’s adrenalin, and waking at three am according to the car’s clock, made her fuzzy-headed. She forced herself to drive at a reasonable speed, just a bit above the limit. When she pulled up to the emergency room entrance, the young couple finally seemed focused.

  “I’ll meet you inside,” Morgan said. “I’ll bring the bag.”

  This was no false alarm, and Sarah was admitted to the maternity ward. Russ called his mother Rosemarie, who brought enough Hemstads to fill a Viking long boat. As large as the family was, it was difficult to imagine them excited enough about another baby to get up before dawn to occupy a hospital waiting room. Morgan was grateful for the coffee and homemade Norwegian kringla pastry one cousin distributed. The Hemstad family really knew how to attend a birthing.

  * * *

  Gregory Samuel Hemstad arrived at seven thirty am Tuesday morning with a bald head, blue eyes, and a set of lungs worthy of an opera singer.

&n
bsp; As soon as the nurse provided them with the statistics for the healthy baby boy, Morgan phoned the rock shop. Kendall and Allie surprised her by being at the shop, working. As Morgan relayed the news to them, it occurred to her that she had not thrown Allie a baby shower. Morgan vowed to herself to remedy that when she returned home.

  David was on a job site. Morgan left a message in his voicemail to come by the hospital after work. Then she called Beatrice, knowing that was the fastest way to spread the news of Gregory’s birth through Golden Springs. Beatrice was scrupulously silent on the topic of Kurt and Zulina, and Morgan didn’t want to ruin her happy news by asking. Next she called Del, then Cindy, and finally Kurt.

  He hadn’t returned any of her calls since she arrived in Sioux Falls five days ago. The call went to his voice mail. Perhaps he was out of cell phone range, bouncing down whitewater in a river raft with his sons. She hung up. The birth of her first grandchild deserved better than a message on his phone.

  By mid afternoon, Morgan was exhausted. Sarah and the baby were sleeping. Morgan tugged on Russ’s sleeve. All the young man’s fear had been washed away by joy.

  “Russ,” she whispered, “I’m going to your house to take a nap. May I borrow the key?”

  “That’s a great idea. The nurse showed me how to unfold this chair to make a bed, so I’ll be napping soon, too.” He dug a keychain out of his jeans pocket and worked a key off the ring.

  * * *

  The dog was overjoyed to see Morgan. Darby had been forgotten in the rush to the hospital, and had an urgent need to go outdoors. Morgan wanted nothing more than to collapse on the sofa and sleep, but instead she took Darby for a walk around the pasture.

  South Dakota was a different landscape entirely than the Colorado foothills. Colorado’s higher elevation meant there was less atmosphere to filter out the intense blue sky. The afternoon sky over Sioux Falls seemed anemic by comparison. Yet there was a quality to the countryside that Morgan found soothing. From a gentle hill in Russ and Sarah’s pasture, Morgan could see city in one direction, and wheat fields in the other. The openness was something she had not appreciated during her years in South Dakota.