by Beverly Long
“I’m pretty sure. Aunt Genevieve just showed up with them one day, said she got them from the pound. I think if there had been a third dog, he’d have come home with her, too. Is something wrong, George? Have the dogs been bothering you?”
“No. I like dogs,” he said, rather absently. “I do.”
He was acting odd, but she couldn’t really blame him. He’d had very little choice about coming with her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you don’t want to do this.”
“It’s fine. We need the pulley.”
So he was going to pretend that he didn’t know what she meant. Fine. Two could play at that game. “I suppose when the pump stopped working you learned some Spanish that can’t be repeated in mixed company.”
That got her a small smile. “How did you know?” he asked.
“I’ve spent more than one harvest working side by side with Arturo. There’s nothing like having a truckload of grapes ready and the crusher stops working to get the old vocabulary going. The air practically turns blue.”
George turned his head to look out the window. “There’s more to growing grapes than a person might think,” he said.
She flipped on her turn signal and took the Napa exit. “It can make a sane person crazy. First of all, there’s the climate. It’s either raining too much or not enough. Too sunny or not sunny enough. Then there’s the soil—is it fertile or not? Is there too much slope or not enough? What about drainage and erosion? The list is endless.”
He turned to look at her. “I’ll never look at a grape the same way again.”
“You know the French have a word for it. Terroir. It’s that unique magical combination of natural factors that makes every vineyard different. Our grapes are different from our neighbor’s grapes. That’s what makes our wine different.”
She pulled up behind a line of cars that were waiting to make a turn at the light. She looked at her watch. “Peterson’s Plumbing is on the far-east side of Napa and my doctor’s office is just a few blocks north. It took a little longer than I thought to get here. Do you mind if we do my appointment first?”
“That’s fine.”
She watched the road carefully. “I’m sure there’s a McDonald’s or something around here. I know you already ate what Bessie packed, but maybe you could grab a cup of coffee and some cookies to go with it.”
When he didn’t respond, she looked over. “Okay?” she asked.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Just watch these cars.”
Melody handed him a slip of paper that she’d stuck in the empty cup-holder. “I wrote the building address down. Can you read it off to me?”
He did and she drove another block. “There,” she said. “It’s got to be one of those four buildings.”
“You don’t know where you’re going?” George asked, sounding concerned.
“I sort of know,” she said. She pulled into a lot between two of the buildings and parked her car. “And you’re in luck. The golden arches are almost just across the street. I’ll come get you when I’m done.”
She opened her door and got out. She started walking toward the building. He caught up with her in a few steps. “If it’s all the same to you,” he said, “I’ll stay with you until you’ve found the place.”
There he went again—taking care of her. It should have been confining and overwhelming but it felt sweet. “This is a good neighborhood, George,” she felt compelled to explain. “I’m not going to get mugged.”
He didn’t answer. He simply fell into step next to her and she was surprised at how natural it felt—like they’d been walking side by side for years.
When they got inside the first building, she consulted the directory on the wall. “I was right,” she said. “Fourth floor.” She pushed the elevator button and the silver doors slid open.
It startled her when she heard a sound come out of George’s mouth—like someone had punched him in the stomach. “Are you all right?” she asked, as she stepped into the elevator.
“Oh, sure.”
He didn’t sound very convincing and he looked like he was about to be ill. And for a man who just minutes before didn’t seem to want to leave her side, he now seemed rooted to the spot. “Coming?” she asked.
He took a giant step over the threshold of the elevator.
“Step on a crack, break your mother’s back,” she teased.
He didn’t laugh. Instead, when the elevator doors closed and it started to move, he sort of threw himself into the corner and braced his hands on the walls on both sides.
Oh good grief. Was the man afraid of heights? Had she found his Achilles’ heel?
When the door opened, she stepped out. He followed without a word. Just a few steps down the hall, she located the doctor’s office door and opened it. There was a receptionist at the front desk.
“Melody Song for Dr. Thacker,” Melody said.
The young woman entered the information into her computer. “First appointment,” she confirmed.
“Yes.”
“Excellent.” She held out a clipboard with a stack of papers attached. “Fill these out. And I’m glad to see that you brought your husband. Dr. Thacker likes to have a conversation with Dad.”
“Oh, he’s not—” Melody stammered.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Staying?” George interrupted. “Of course I will.” His smile took in both Melody and the receptionist and he took the paperwork from the receptionist’s outstretched arm. “Much obliged, ma’am,” he said. He walked over to a set of purple chairs at the far side of the room.
She followed, feeling like some kind of sad puppy. A sad, fat puppy whose thighs were starting to rub together. “I didn’t know,” she said. “They never said anything about you being here when I scheduled the appointment.”
He handed her the clipboard and then picked up a magazine off the table next to her. “If we’re going to pretend that we’re married and this baby is mine, then we stick to the story. At all times.”
He was right. She felt sophomoric and careless. For all she knew, the receptionist and her grandmother got their hair done at the same place and she’d be outed during a wash and blow-dry.
Could this get much worse?
She realized it could when George flipped the page and the article was titled Pregnancy and Constipation. She grabbed it out of his hand, ignoring his startled look. She turned to the index, scanned it, and turned to page 73. “Here.”
She desperately tried to ignore him while he dutifully started reading about pregnancy and the benefits of a good walk. She worked her way diligently through the stack of papers and had barely finished when the nurse called her name.
The young woman in the pale yellow smock dotted with cute little ripe strawberries and matching red pants led them down a hallway. They stopped in front of a scale and Melody dutifully stepped on and tried not to cringe when she saw the number. Then they continued on until they reached a small room. The nurse motioned for Melody to take a seat on the exam table and for George to take the chair in the corner. Then she took Melody’s temperature and her blood pressure. She was still making notes in the chart when there was a discreet knock on the door and an older man, probably close to sixty, wearing a light blue coat, entered.
“I’m Dr. Thacker.” The man extended his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Johnson.”
It was the first time someone other than George had referred to her as Mrs. Johnson. It startled her. Her first thought was Who is Mrs. Johnson? and then, as the words seems to hang in the air, her second thought was, Whew, thank goodness it was Mrs. Johnson who’d now gained a total of twelve pounds and not her.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, finally recovering. “Uh. . .this is my husband, George Johnson.”
George stood and the two men shook. Then the doctor picked up her file and looked through it. After a minute, he said, “I appreciate you having Dr. Jetille forward on your records. That always makes it a little ea
sier.”
She nodded.
“It looks like you’ve had a pretty uneventful pregnancy so far. Still having the morning sickness?”
She stopped to think. “You know what, I haven’t thrown up in three days.” She looked at George and he smiled at her.
“Good. That’s the way it works sometimes. It’s like somebody flips a switch.” Dr. Thacker motioned for her to lie back on the table. “Why don’t we have a look?” he said.
She saw George start to move to the door. Dr. Thacker looked up and smiled. “You don’t want to miss this, Dad. Have a seat.”
She could see the indecision in George’s eyes but he nodded and returned to his chair. Then Dr. Thacker helped her lie back and lifted up her shirt. The doctor took a tape measure and measured both the length and width of her stomach. “Looks fine,” he said. “Let’s have a listen.” He took a tube, squeezed out some clear gel, spread it across her stomach, and then placed the transducer on her belly. And suddenly, as plain as day, amidst the gurgles and slurps of her stomach, was the unmistakable sound of Jingle’s heart.
She thought her own heart might burst with joy. She heard George’s chair scrape the tile and suddenly he was there, standing beside her. He was pale and his eyes were suspiciously bright, like he might have blinked away tears.
She reached for his hand and she felt the calluses on his palm. Together, they listened.
And all felt very right with the world.
After a minute or so, the doctor stepped away. “Sounds good but I think it would probably be a good idea if we took an ultrasound today.”
Her other doctor had never even mentioned an ultrasound. “Is something wrong?” she asked, before turning her head to look at George.
He squeezed her hand.
The doctor shook his head. “I have no reason to think so. Ultrasounds are perfectly routine and just give us a more accurate way to assess the baby’s development.”
“Will it be painful for her, this ultra sound?” George asked, saying it like it was two words.
“Absolutely painless for both mom and baby. Actually, it’s sort of fun. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Fifteen minutes later, she and George got their first glimpse of Jingle. He or she was curled in a ball. “There’s the spine,” the doctor said. “And that’s the heart. Look, you can see all four chambers.”
It positively took her breath away. “Can you tell if it’s a boy or a girl?” she whispered.
The doctor looked at her. “Do you want to know?”
Melody looked at George. A bead of sweat was working its way down the side of his jaw. He smiled at her and when he swallowed, she could see the muscles in his throat work.
“What do you think, George?”
“Well, I never was all that fond of the name Jingle,” he said.
Melody sucked in a deep breath and turned to her doctor. “Tell me.”
Dr. Thacker shrugged. “It’s never a sure thing but I’d say there’s about a ninety percent chance you’ve got yourself a little girl.”
A daughter. She was going to have a daughter. If she could have managed it, she would have kicked her feet.
“And she’s okay?” Melody managed to ask.
The doctor nodded. Then he fiddled with the machine and some measurements flickered across the screen. “All the data matches up with the early September due date that Dr. Jetille established.” He held out a hand to help Melody sit up. “Do either of you have any questions for me?”
“She’s been having some leg cramps at night,” George said. “Should we be concerned about that?”
She was amazed that he’d remembered and it was a good reminder that George Tyler didn’t miss much.
“Fairly common, I’m afraid,” Dr. Thacker said. He picked up her chart and wrote something down. “Avoid sitting with your legs crossed or in one position for too long a time. Take a short walk every day. Also, sometimes a warm shower or bath before bed can help.” He made another entry into her chart. “There’s an old saying that the leg cramps and the frequent need to urinate at night are nature’s way of preparing both Mom and Dad for the sleep disruptions that are coming their way once the baby is born.”
There was no Mom and Dad. She and George wouldn’t be sharing midnight feedings. There’d be no gentle arguments over whose turn it was. He’d have returned to his old life, a few dollars in his pocket, and that would be the end of it. His sleep would be undisturbed. A year from now, if he happened to wake up in the middle of the night, would he even remember her?
Would she ever forget him?
Dr. Thacker stopped writing, closed her chart, and reached for the door. It was now or never.
“I have a question,” she said.
Dr. Thacker stopped. “Yes.”
“What about sex? As in having sex?”
George made the same sound he’d made when the elevator doors had opened. Melody kept her eyes on the doctor.
“Continuing to have sexual intercourse is perfectly acceptable.”
There was no continuing here. It wasn’t a marathon that she’d been training for. This would be the first time in a while that she put on her running shoes. “We. . .uh. . .haven’t exactly been having much sex,” she said. “I didn’t feel all that great,” she added. “So it would sort of be like starting up again. Does that make a difference?”
Dr. Thacker shook his head. “It’s not that unusual, especially when you’re experiencing typical morning sickness symptoms, to temporarily lose interest in sex. Many couples in the middle stages of pregnancy find great satisfaction in resuming a normal sex life. From a practical perspective, as you get bigger, you may find that it’s more comfortable if you’re on top.”
She made the mistake of looking at George. He was staring at her. The tip of his nose was pink and his eyes were big, the pupils very dark.
She couldn’t look away. Her throat felt dry and it seemed hard to breathe. Energy, barely contained, seemed to sizzle around them and her skin felt hot. Her nipples hardened and pushed against her thin bra and shirt.
Dr. Thacker cleared his throat, causing both her and George to jump. “Generally,” he said, looking amused, “we like for our patients to wait until they get home.”
***
When Melody parked in front of Peterson’s Plumbing, George could hardly remember why they were there. There was no room in his head for rational thought. One, he’d just seen a child inside her mother’s womb. No one in his time had even conceived of such a notion. The picture had been so clear that Melody now knew she was having a daughter. It was staggering.
Then, on top of that, Melody had asked the doctor about sex. She’d been bold as could be and if not for the chair that he’d grabbed onto the back of, he’d have slumped to the floor and cracked his damn head open and Dr. Thacker would have had a second patient.
Christ, if all the women were as bold as Melody, why weren’t all the men walking—no, make that strutting—around with big smiles on their faces? He knew the answer. It was no doubt because men hadn’t changed all that much in a hundred-plus years and they still weren’t sure what to do when a woman came sniffing in their general vicinity.
Men were dumb when it came to women. Maybe because all the blood pooled in their cocks, leaving their poor brains to muddle along without fuel.
“George?”
And now she had the nerve to act like what she’d asked the doctor was of no consequence. As if she’d begged for a tonic to soothe a sore throat.
“Are you getting out?” she asked.
He stared at her. “You’re good with the questions today, aren’t you?”
Her eyes widened at his tone. It made him feel bad but he couldn’t stop, not when what he had to say needed to be said and he wasn’t sure he was a strong enough man to say it later if a sheet was the only thing that separated them.
She shrugged. “Dr. Thacker asked if I had any questions. I did. I figured it was the time to ask.”
“
You might have given me a little warning.”
“Look, George, I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. It’s not that big of a deal.”
Now that made him mad. “Oh, really.”
She sighed. “He said I could do it, not that I had to. And by the way, nobody is holding a gun to your head.”
But she had his balls in the palm of her hand. “It would be a mistake,” he said.
“Why?”
Because I’m waiting for the footprints to take me home. Who knew how much time he had left here? He’d known many men who could spend the night in a woman’s arms and move on in the morning without a backward glance. He’d never been one of them. And even though it had only been a few days, he felt fairly confident that she’d be the type to be devastated if they were intimate and then he up and deserted her.
“Well?” she prompted.
“Because it wouldn’t be right.” He grabbed the door handle.
“Says who?”
Christ, she needed to let this go. “Says anyone with half a brain in their head.” He opened the door. “Let’s go.”
She shook her head. “I’d rather not.”
It had to be ninety in the shade but there was severe frost all around. “Come inside. It’s too hot for you to stay out here.”
She didn’t look impressed with his logic. She pointedly looked at her watch. “You’d better hurry. Maybe you’ve forgotten that Grandmother is celebrating our marriage tonight.”
“Damn it, Melody,” he said. “This is not my fault. It’s not yours either,” he added hastily when he saw the storm clouds gathering in her pretty violet eyes. “But it’s the way it is.” He swung his legs out of the car.
“Because you’re not staying?” she accused, stopping him. “You’re going back to North Dakota?”
That and more. He belonged in 1888, in Bluemont. “That’s right.”
She pressed her lips together. “You don’t have to go,” she said, her voice tight.
He could perhaps leave his position and his time but he couldn’t forsake the promise that he’d made when he’d stood over Hannah’s grave. He’d promised her that the men who’d taken her from him would pay. Two were dead. A third still roamed free. And while George had no way of knowing who that man was or where he lived, it didn’t mean that at some point, there might not be another clue, something that would lead him to the bastard. But how could he explain all that to Melody?
