Nate gestured around the corner. “Can I talk to you over here, please?”
He stalked away and Gemma followed him, her annoyance growing as they moved out of Yvette’s earshot.
“Eggs instead of competent medical care?” He shook his head again as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Who’s going to monitor this ‘crazy egg diet,’ which, by the way, is sounding increasingly crazy?”
“I will, of course. This diet was created in the 1950s by Dr. Tom Brewer and has helped thousands of women, tens of thousands. By this time tomorrow morning, Yvette will be much better.”
Nate frowned at her. “The Brewer pregnancy diet. Yes, I’ve heard of it, but it’s no substitute for medical care. I can’t, in good conscience, let you take a chance with her life.”
“This will save her life, and you can’t force her to go to the hospital.” Gemma flung her hands wide. “She’s almost hysterical at the prospect.”
“It’s still the right thing to do.”
Gemma regarded him for a few seconds. He was as angry and convinced of the rightness of what he was saying as she was convinced of what she was saying. “Listen, Nate. I’ll take her home and get her started on this right away. Lisa and Carly will come, too. If there’s even the slightest hint she’s in more distress, we’ll take her to the hospital ourselves or call an ambulance. I’ll take a blood sample and send it to the lab in Toncaville to be checked, and then another one in the morning to show the improvement and confirm that the crazy egg diet is the right choice.”
Nate’s eyes were narrowed, his lips fixed in a straight line.
At that moment, Carly returned with a plate of deviled eggs and a glass of water. Gemma nodded toward where Yvette waited.
“So you’re starting it already?” Nate asked, following Carly.
Gemma marched along right behind him. “She has to eat something and it might as well be eggs.”
“I want to do this egg thing, Dr. Smith,” Yvette said as she picked up half a deviled egg and took a bite. “If Gemma says it will help.”
Nate looked from Yvette to Gemma, then he picked up his medical bag. “I guess I know when to quit,” he said. He fixed his angry gaze on Gemma. “But you call me if she gets worse in any way and I’ll make arrangements for her to be admitted to the hospital in Toncaville.”
Yvette emitted a faint squeak of distress, but Nate turned on his heel and walked away. Gemma stared after him.
CHAPTER SIX
THE NEXT MORNING, Yvette waved goodbye to Gemma and Carly, shut her front door, then went down the hallway to the full-length mirror to look at her ankles. They were almost back to normal and her face no longer looked like a balloon. Her headache was gone and her blood pressure was in the acceptable range. Gemma had told her to get a blood-pressure cuff at the drugstore and check her pressure every day.
She had become pretty sick of eating eggs, but it had paid off just as Gemma had promised. Gemma had awakened her every couple of hours to feed her more eggs—boiled, scrambled, fried...she’d had them every way possible. The blood sample Lisa had taken to the lab this morning had proven the egg strategy had worked.
Returning to the kitchen, she picked up the diet that Gemma had printed out for her. Good-quality protein, fresh fruits and vegetables in abundance, milk, lots of water and salt in reasonable amounts. She was supposed to eat twenty-six hundred calories a day and gain more weight. The women in her family had always been skinny—mostly because they were more interested in drinking than in eating. She was no exception even though she never touched alcohol. Skinny was the way Cole liked her, too, but she had to ignore any complaints he might have. Her heart gave a nervous flutter at the idea of defying him so her thoughts skittered away from that and focused on the paper in her hands. Beef, pork, chicken, turkey, oily fish, white fish.
“Yvette, the vegan ship has sailed,” she murmured. A trip to the grocery store was called for.
She put down that list and picked up the one Gemma had written of the classes she was offering. Prenatal and antenatal care, preparing for childbirth, controlling pain during childbirth and breast-feeding.
Yvette wanted to take them all. Some were offered during the day. She could go to those because Cole would be at work. After she took a few classes and felt more confident, she would tell him, though. She would.
As grateful as she was for the care Gemma and Carly had given her, as well as Dr. Brewer’s pregnancy diet, she was even more grateful that she now had a couple of friends. Three, actually. After Tom Sanderson’s nephew, Luke, had carried her to Lisa Thomas’s car. Lisa had driven her and Gemma home, where it had taken both of them to get Yvette out of the car. The memory made her smile because all of them had ended up in hysterical laughter. In the meantime, Carly had delivered the blood sample to the lab thirty miles away. Yvette was touched that someone she barely knew was willing to drive so far and then come back to spend the night. Lisa didn’t stay overnight but promised to rush back if needed.
Yvette envied how the three of them had fun together. From what she could tell, it had been going on their entire lives. They told stories of their childhoods that made her laugh even as she longed for such happy memories. When she had asked about memories of Cole, they had gone silent for a minute, exchanged a look, then Carly had told her about the springtime tortoises he had collected until his mother had found some in the bathtub and ordered them all back down to the creek. That sounded exactly like something her mother-in-law would do. Pets outside were fine, but forbidden in the house.
This was the house in which Cole had grown up and it was still decorated exactly as his mother had done it. Her in-laws had built a bigger, fancier place a couple of miles away and let Cole have this one. He wanted nothing changed. All the walls were icy white and scuffed in many places. The carpeting was beige, every stick of furniture was some shade of brown. The sofa was beginning to show its age and was dotted with spills and stains, compliments of Cole’s drinking buddies. She had tried to scrub out all the marks, but they resisted her efforts, mocking her with their stubbornness.
Because she’d grown up in a family usually teetering on the edge of poverty, in badly maintained rentals or in foster homes where nothing belonged to her except the clothes on her back, Yvette had yearned for a home of her own. She’d never thought about a career, only a job that earned enough for her to have a place of her own, no matter how humble, that she could make beautiful. She knew how to sew. It was the only way she’d been able to afford decent clothing during her teenage years. When she’d first seen Cole’s house, she had immediately begun making plans, envisioning ways to make it inviting, even cozy, with fresh paint, curtains, throw pillows and slipcovers.
She might as well have saved those dreams for another lifetime, she thought.
Cole had forbidden her to paint the nursery, even though she had already purchased the paint, a cheerful shade of blue, and all the supplies. He said white had been good enough for him growing up, and it would be good enough for his son. And now the room was filling up with the ugly, outsize furniture Margery had bought.
Yvette wanted color in her life, so she had turned to gardening. She rested her hands on her belly and stared dreamily out the window at the yard. The roses were blooming, as were the gladioli, warm splashes of color against the green. She had cut armloads of them and displayed them all over the house. She didn’t know much about gardening, but she wanted to learn, and to plant a vegetable garden.
Carly had told her about the organic vegetables she grew, harvested and sold, and about the shop her two best friends had convinced her to open. She planned to sell the furniture and accessories that she collected and refurbished, as soon as she found someone whom she could hire to help her out. It sounded fun. Yvette wished she could be that employee.
Now that she was here in Reston County, living in a sturdy, tho
ugh unglamorous, house, married and expecting a baby, she should be happy. Sometimes she was, but lately, she’d begun to realize that safety and security weren’t what made happiness. There were many other aspects to being happy that she hadn’t found when she’d married Cole. Because she hadn’t seen respect and unquestioning support displayed in a marriage, she hadn’t known to expect them, but she knew there had to be something more than what she and Cole had.
The rattling of the back doorknob had her stuffing the papers from Gemma into the waistband of her slacks, smoothing down her top and turning to see Cole coming in with an enormous teddy bear wearing a cowboy hat.
Cole looked so proud of himself that Yvette couldn’t help smiling as she said, “Is he going to require his own room? Because we’re running short of space in the nursery.”
“Nah, he can have a corner. Someday, when our kid is being a brat and has to sit in time-out, they can keep each other company.”
Cole removed his own cowboy hat and hung it on a peg by the back door, then sat the bear in the middle of the kitchen table, where it loomed, smiling, as he took Yvette into his arms and kissed her. He was careful to turn her slightly sideways first so he didn’t squash the baby.
Yvette leaned into him, realizing how much she had missed him. “I’m glad you’re home. How was the rodeo?”
“Let’s just say the country’s bronc riders don’t have to worry about my cousin Jarrett. He got bucked off in three seconds flat.”
“Is he okay?” She didn’t know much about bronc riding—or “busting broncs” as Cole usually called it—but she knew it was dangerous, and that the rider was supposed to keep his seat for eight seconds.
“Yeah. Only thing hurt was his pride.” He paused and studied her face. “It’s a good thing you stayed home, though. A rodeo arena isn’t the place for a pregnant woman, what with the hard seats and dust. Were you okay here? How was the Sandersons’ party?”
“Fine,” she said with a smile, resting her head on his shoulder. This was the man she had come to love, the one who showed concern for her. She knew this was the moment when she needed to tell him everything that had happened last night before he heard it from someone else. This was when she needed to tell him how Gemma had saved her and his son. He had a right to know about it, and about the classes she planned to take—while he was in a good mood and was glad to see her.
“I met some nice people. It was fun.” She stepped from his arms. “Let’s see if we can find a place for Cowboy Bear.”
“Good name for him. Maybe I should get him a Dallas Cowboys T-shirt so little Cole Jr. will know which team is the best.” Hooking one arm around the bear and the other one around her, he urged her down the hallway to the nursery, talking all the while about the rodeo, the traffic in Tulsa, what he’d had for dinner the night before and the hard bed at the hotel where he and his parents had stayed.
Yvette decided it would be rude to interrupt him.
* * *
COLE GLANCED OVER his shoulder at the blanket that was neatly folded and placed at the end of the sofa, and the pillow that rested atop it.
Someone had been here.
Yvette never sat on that sofa because of the stains she’d tried and failed to get out. For a girl who’d grown up in poverty she could be really prissy about some things, and that couch was one of them. It looked like someone less squeamish had slept there. But who?
Jealousy kicked at him, but he fought it down. She wouldn’t cheat on him. She was seven months pregnant with his baby. Besides, she knew she had a good thing going here—the nicest place she’d ever lived, on a hill that looked down on Reston Lake, and money like she’d never had before.
But who had been here?
* * *
“YOU’RE ALREADY STARTING your classes at the birthing center?” Carly asked, giving Gemma a sideways glance as they drove back toward Reston.
“I made the decision last night while I was up cooking eggs. There are other expectant mothers like Yvette who don’t know what’s going to happen, and reading all the books in the world isn’t as good as talking to other mothers and getting the benefit of their expertise.”
“Not to mention getting information from an experienced midwife. Do you think she’ll call you when she’s ready to deliver?”
“Not if Cole has anything to do with it. And she’s got a good doctor.” Gemma turned in the seat and propped up her knee as she leaned against the door. “In fact, he might not even let her come to the classes.”
She yawned and looked over at her friend, who appeared fresh and bright as a dew-covered rosebud. Carly, who could fall asleep anywhere, had made herself comfortable on the living room sofa, after covering it with a sheet, but Gemma had slept little in the recliner. She had been monitoring Yvette’s condition, preparing eggs for her and watching her eat them, while attempting to report in to Nate every few hours. She had managed to check in a couple of times, but another storm had kicked up during the night, so cell-phone service was even worse than usual.
Gemma tugged at the skirt of the sundress she’d been wearing since yesterday afternoon. She covered another yawn as she said, “Yvette is petrified of going to the hospital, though, and I don’t know what she’s going to do when it comes time to deliver. The classes might help.”
Carly nodded and continued driving.
They talked about other things and Gemma nodded off, waking only when Carly’s truck bumped over the unpaved driveway to the Whitmire property.
* * *
“IT WILL BE a while before this place sells, Nate, even with the cleaning and painting you’re planning.” Lisa ran her hand along the banister, once kept highly polished by Nate’s mother, but now dull with grime.
Nate nodded. “I know, but there’s nothing I can do about that. It’s the price of living in a town where the median income is low.”
“You’re right.” Lisa shrugged. “I’m sorry, too, about how long the roof repairs took.”
“That couldn’t be helped. We’ve had so much rain, it delayed everything.”
“As long as you’re not worried, I won’t be, either.” She held up some of the more flattering photos she’d taken of the place. “I’ll leave these on the table by the door, in case you want them. When the place is ready for showing, I’ll take more photos and make up flyers, and I’ll contact you when someone wants to see the property.”
She departed with a friendly wave and Nate was left standing on the staircase, where he’d been tacking down a loose section of the carpeting. He didn’t want anyone catching a heel in the loose carpet and taking a tumble. But he was stalling and he knew it. Soon, he would have to hire someone to do all of the cleaning, repairing and painting. Nate turned and sat down on the stairs as he thought about it. He knew there were local people who could use the work, but he didn’t want them in the house yet.
In spite of the Sandersons’ efforts to befriend him and make him feel welcome at their barbecue, and Gemma’s apparent desire to shield him from the town’s ire, he felt out of place. At the town meeting, he had learned that the people of Reston still resented his father’s crime. In turn, that made him reluctant to let them in the house. He knew that didn’t make sense because they would be trooping through by the busloads once he put the place on the market, if not to seriously consider buying, then to simply look at what had once been Virginia Smith’s pride and joy.
Nate looked down at the worn, dirty carpet that she’d had steam cleaned twice a year, then over at the carved banister whose intricate design had been a stranger to dust during his formative years. She’d rarely hired help except for big jobs. He could recall the immense satisfaction on her face when she’d achieved the exact amount of shine she wanted on the brass andirons in the formal living room. He could never recall her looking at him with that kind of satisfaction.
“Oh, get ove
r it, Smith,” he muttered. “Time to let go.”
Once the house was spruced up, he would never have to come here again. All the paperwork would be handled at a title company. And after it was sold, all his energy could go into the hospital and building up his medical practice.
He had emptied the house of everything except the few items he wanted to keep and three boxes from his mom’s closet that he hadn’t yet sorted through. They were waiting by the front door. Standing up, he went down the stairs, crossed the foyer and picked up a couple of packed cartons. Now was as good a time as any to put them in his car.
With some maneuvering and rearranging, he wedged all of the keepsakes he was saving into the backseat and the trunk. He was done, but he needed to make one more walk-through to make sure everything was out.
He climbed the stairs and walked through his old bedroom, where rectangles of unfaded wallpaper showed the places his sports and heavy-metal-band posters had been. He couldn’t remember now why he’d loved heavy metal so much except that his dad had hated it. At the time, that had seemed like a good enough reason.
The guest rooms and his parents’ room were empty. He closed those doors and moved on to Mandy’s room, where he hesitated with his hand on the knob. Except for the thorough cleaning his mother did a couple of times a year, she had left it untouched, a memorial to her only daughter. Nate had felt as if he was betraying both of them when he’d cleared it out.
Turning the knob, he stepped inside and took a slow walk around the room, coming to a stop by the window, which overlooked the weed-filled backyard. Then he turned back to view the world his sister had created for herself.
This room looked as if it was from an entirely different universe, not simply from another family. At some point during her last year in high school, Mandy had torn off the wallpaper and repainted every wall, the trim and the door. The colors she had chosen were bright yellow and neon orange. Maybe it had been an attempt to warm up this house, or at least her corner of it. She had also filled her room with posters of the rain forest. She had sewn burlap curtains and brought in pots full of plants, which horrified their mother, who feared water damage to the furniture.
At Odds with the Midwife Page 8
