She'd do it in spite of a hospital board that couldn't see beyond its balance sheet. Someone had to have a bigger dream, why not her?
“I'll get it.” The next morning Elaine swung the front door open with a smile.
“Registered letter for Elaine Giovanni.” The courier held out a clipboard. “Sign right there, Mrs. Giovanni.” He looked down at the dog yapping at her feet. “Hey, Doodlebug, you sure are a good dog.”
Doodlebug nearly turned himself inside out with wiggles, then barked again as if proving he was in charge.
Elaine signed the clipboard and handed it back. “Yes, he thinks he's a Great Dane and tough enough to take on Goliath up the street.”
“I don't trust that dog at all. When he stands beside Mrs. Tungsten, he's up to her waist and just stares at me, like he's daring me to make a wrong move. You ever seen him lift just one lip? Makes me want to stay in the truck. But she is so nice.”
“I know, but once you are in his house, that big harlequin body just rolls over and begs you to rub his belly. He's all show.” She took the letter without glancing at the address.
“Well, I tell you, he's made a believer out of me and every mail carrier or meter reader on this route. We all give him a wide berth.” The slender man with the ready smile turned to leave. “You take care now.”
Bug barked once again as she swung the door closed and read the return address. “Who could this be from?”
Doodlebug put tiny paws up on her leg and whimpered, then yipped when she ignored him.
“Hush, Bug, I don't have time right now.” She slit the envelope open with the pewter letter opener on the walnut entry table that had been in her family for four generations, one of the few pieces she really cared about. Most of her other antiques had been purchased at estate sales and on her travels. She set the opener back in the inlaid wood tray and, pulling out the letter, read as she made her way back to her office.
“Good grief, the old bat turned this over to a lawyer after all. The nerve of her. Now I'm going to have to gather all the correspondence from the power company and everything, and then send it all over to Frederick. Why we didn't buy her out years ago is beyond me.” She glanced down at her whimpering dog. Doodlebug looked as if she'd been beating him, ears low, tail dragging on the floor, eyes imploring her forgiveness. She scooped him up as she sat down in the leather chair behind the desk. “It's not you, silly dog, it's Bumblehead and Bootsie next door. Why can't I just call dear hubby and dump this all in his lap? No, in this house /call the lawyer, /have to be the one to search out the papers.” She pulled out the file drawer from the credenza behind the desk and withdrew a folder that contained everything that had transpired regarding the fire. Knowing the old broad from prior incidents, she'd been prepared, but still, it was the thought of the whole thing. Maybe if George had gone over there years ago and laid down the law…
“He'd most likely have gotten his head beaten in by those cretins.” She rubbed the dog's ears with one hand, while flipping pages with the other. “Huh, Bug?”
Pushing the numbers on the phone with one French-manicured nail, she patted the dog now curled in her lap as she waited.
“Yes, hi, Darcy, is Frederick available? This is Elaine Giovanni. No? No, just have him call me. If not in the next hour, then after five. I have a couple of errands to run. Okay, thanks.”
“One more delay.” She stuck the file back in the drawer and shut it. How many times has that woman sued us, or at least threatened to, over the yearsì Youd think her attorney would be sick and tired of it, but then he makes good money off her. Shaking her head, she set to making a list: fabric store, grocery store, dry cleaners. She tapped the end of her pen on her chin. One more thing…ah, post office. Tucking Bug under her arm where he liked to ride, she headed for her sewing room to pick up the list she had tacked on the cork board. One of these days she needed to go to a real fabric store, like the warehouse in East Portland. She added Celine's Attic to her list. Perhaps she'd gotten more antique laces and doilies in. Some of Elaine's most sumptuous pillows had come from unique finds at Celine's.
The phone rang as she was about to go out the door. “I'll get it,” she called to Juanita. Thinking it to be Frederick, she said, “Thanks for returning my call so quickly.”
Silence. “Uh, Mother?”
“Oh, Ramsey, dearest, I'm sorry, I thought it was Frederick. How are you?”
“Why would he be calling you?”
Elaine sighed. “Long story involving guess who?”
“Mrs. Smyth up to her old tricks?”
“Of course. This time she is accusing us of negligence because the power lines fell in her backyard and started a fire.”
“So?”
“So she says our trees broke the lines in that awful windstorm we had this spring.”
“And did they?”
“No, the electric company said the lines were old and the wind snapped them. But you know Mrs. Bumblehead.”
A chuckle. “Mother…”
“I swear she and that dog look just alike, back and front.”
“I don't know why you and Dad don t just sell that house and move somewhere else.”
“Your father move? Think of whom you are talking about here.”
“What are you and Dad doing this weekend?”
“Uh, nothing much that I know of. Why?”
“I thought I'd fly home Friday and stay until Tuesday, if that's all right.”
“Of course it's all right. Since when do you need permission to come home?”
“Well, since I want to bring someone with me.”
“Oh.” A guy? A girl? Whan that sound in his voice?
“I hope you'll like her.”
Love, than what it is. “I… I'm sure we will. Have you known her long? Does she have a name?”
“A few months and yes. Her name is Jessica Freewater.”
“And you have a break now?”
“I can take one. I'm between rotations. I go to surgery next, so Dad will be happy. I need to get going, just wanted to check with you.”
They said their good-byes and Elaine hung up the phone. A girlfriend. While Ramsey had dated in high school and college, he had never cared for any woman deeply enough to want to bring her home. You should be excited, she scolded herself, not looking at this encounter with trepidation. Surely he would choose someone who would make a good doctor's wife. Someone with the patience of a saint.
She knew George dreamed of his son coming into practice with him, not necessarily as a surgeon, but not a family practitioner either.
Specializing would add to the years before Ramsey could do that. Had they talked about such things, these two men of hers? Obviously not in her company.
“I'm leaving now,” she called as she opened the door to the three-car garage. “Is there anything else you can think we need?”
“No, all is well,” Juanita responded.
All is welly now wouldn't that be a switch. Elaine opened the door to her silver BMW. She glanced over at the SUV and decided to stick with the BMW. She could put the top down if the sun came out, which looked like a strong possibility. A ride with the wind blowing her hair might do away with the thoughts of Mrs. Bumblehead. She checked her watch. While she'd allowed plenty of time earlier, the phone call had eaten away at it. Now she needed to hurry to meet Kit and Teza down at Myrna's Fabric Hut so they could choose fabric for the cancer quilt. Surely nothing else would slow her down now.
SIXTEEN
“Eat worms, red worms skinny worms.
Beth heard the tune and tried to burrow farther under the covers. She shuddered at the thought, but the tune sung in Garths strong baritone made her giggle.
“Garth, go away.”
He leaned closer to her ear, and his breath tickled the hair curling around it.
Why can't I ignore the itch? Finally she dashed at her hair and rolled over to sit up. “Not fair.” Blinking failed to dispel the sleep from her eyes, eyes that felt raw,
as if they never got enough rest. That could be because the last time she glanced at the clock she saw a red five and two other numbers on the clock radio face. Now it said nine. Garth must have gotten up not long after she finally fell asleep.
“You've had your run?” Her voice cracked from lack of water.
“And weights and breakfast and.
She put up a hand to stop his litany.
“And I brought you coffee just the way you like it, vanilla cream and one teaspoon sugar, well stirred.” He picked up the mug from the bedside and wafted it in front of her face.
Inhaling the heavenly fragrance brought her closer to fully awake.
“Isn't there a commandment against torturing your wife?” Beth scooted the pillows up behind her and pressed against them, reaching for the mug as soon as she was situated. While the fragrance could be compared to ambrosia, the first sip always brought a smile to her face. She closed her eyes again, this time in bliss.
Garth sat on the end of the bed, studying her through eyes that assessed rather than loved.
She took another swallow before resting the cup on her thigh. “All right, what is it?” I know I'm not going to like what he has to say. She tried to read him, but his intense concentration set up a barrier. “Garth.”
“I made an appointment for us with Doctor Kaplan. He's a Christian psychiatrist, a former pastor who has gone into counseling. I've known him for some time and”—he shifted under her steadily deepening glare, the pace of his speech picking up—“and I'm hoping and praying he can help us.”
“By usyow really mean me
“Honey, whatever is going on with you is mortally affecting us, and now it is beginning to affect my ministry as well. I can't concentrate on the things I need to do when I'm so worried about you.”
So now I'm single-handedly destroying not only my own life but the whole church. She felt like digging her fingernails into her scalp and ripping her hair out. Instead, Beth put the mug to her lips and drank two swallows, nearly gagging on the offered bribe. Get me in a good mood so you can drop a bombshell on me, than whatyou've done.
“You can go if you want, but I'm not.”
“Beth, please. Something is eating you alive, and you won't let me help. I don't know what else to do. Your mother even called me at the office she is so worried about you.”
“Everything will be fine when I get pregnant.” She stared at the coffee mug in her lap.
He let the silence stretch, and she could feel his gaze boring into the top of her head. All she wanted was to go back to sleep. Tired. She was so terribly tired.
Beth set the mug on the nightstand. “Excuse me, I need to use the bathroom.”
After flushing the toilet, she turned on the faucet and squeezed toothpaste onto the toothbrush, scrubbing her teeth savagely, as if she could scrub away the words she wanted to hurl like spears in his direction. How dare he make an appointment without consulting me first She could hear the two men: “Yes, I need help for my little wife. She's got a touch of depression.” She rinsed her mouth and watched the water circle and gurgle down the drain. If only problems could be dealt with like spit: Just wash them down the drain. After washing her face, she took the brush from the drawer, returned to the bedroom, and sat on the edge of the bed as far away from her husband as she could get. She meticulously pulled the tangles out of her naturally wavy hair, cut slighdy longer than shoulder length. Her hair had been the envy of her friends growing up, and now she kept it long because Garth loved it this way.
Maybe I should get my hair cut so I dont have to spend so much time with it. Maybe I could just crawl back under the covers until…
She could feel Garths gaze piercing her back.
“I think we should go.”
He'd tempered his voice again, using the tone that said he was trying to be reasonable, so why couldn't she try to be agreeable.
“Please, it's only an hour, and if you don't like him, we won't go again.”
No, you'll find someone eke and then someone eke, and they'll try to dig out my whole life, and then youll know and youll hate me forever. “Please, Garth, give me a little more time. I'm sure I can beat it with a bit more time.”
He shook his head. “I don't think you can. I've watched you, prayed for you, and made excuses for you, and all I see is you getting worse and worse.”
“I went to the WECARE meeting with Mrs. Spooner. And yesterday to the quilting group—twice. I even volunteered to collect money for the supplies. I really like those women.” / cook and clean and do laundry and. She had to stop. Which of those things, those necessary parts of her life, had she been doing with any regularity lately? She ran her inner eye over the past week. Ever since the Fourth of July, other than going to Kit's house, all she could see was the bed or the sofa and her sleeping on one or the other.
“I know you're finally making an effort, but I can't handle this anymore.”
The defeat in his voice ripped at her heart. YOU can't stand it? What about me? Its not like this is something I choose to do. Beth had to stop again. You did choose. Those years ago, you made the choice. She surged to her feet, heading back for the bathroom. Garth caught her midway to her destination and wrapped his arms around her. He held her close while the tears spurted forth again like an artesian oil well, bathing everything in black, a harbinger of death, not life like a spring of water was meant to be.
“Beth, I'm getting afraid you will do something to injure yourself.”
She shook her head, but the words she needed to say clogged her throat. She stepped back from his embrace, her knees so weak she wasn't sure if they would hold her up. “What time is the appointment?”
Please dont whistle. Sitting beside Garth in the car on the way to the appointment several hours later, Beth tried to ignore the stabbing headache behind her eyes. The shower hadn't helped clear her head. All she'd wanted was to go back to sleep. At least when she was sleeping, the pain went away, if the nightmares didn't sneak up and throttle her. She rubbed her forehead and tried to close off her ears.
“Headache?”
She nodded gingerly. Movement aggravated it, and the motion of the car added nausea to the mix.
“Be sure you tell him how often the headaches come. Perhaps there is a physical reason. That's why I wanted you to see a doctor.”
“I don't have a doctor yet.” Nor a dentist, nor a hairdresser, nor a friend, nor a— Actually what she knew she needed most was a friend, a nearby friend, not like Shawna, who lived so far away. But building friendships took time and…and she rubbed her head again, wishing she could just rub the thoughts away too. It was all her own fault.
“The doctor will see you now.” The friendly woman behind the desk smiled as she motioned them toward the door. “Go right on in.”
Garth rose and handed her the clipboard with the form he'd been filling out. “Thank you.” He took Beth's hand and led her to the door.
She wanted to pull back, say she'd wait for him out there, run from the room, anything but go toward that huge, dark, heavy door.
It opened just as Garth put his hand on the knob, and a man stood in the entry.
“Garth, good to see you. This must be your lovely wife, Beth.” The man shook Garth's hand and extended his to Beth. “I've heard such good things about you. I'm James Kaplan.”
“Good to meet you.” She forced the words past trembling lips.
“Please, sit down.” He motioned to three chairs set somewhat in a circle. “Take your pick.”
While the two men exchanged further small talk, Beth took the burgundy leather wing-back chair that looked safe enough to hide in. She glanced around the room. Books filled some shelves, teddy bears, trucks and dolls occupied others, and a ten-gallon aquarium with several bright orange swordtails sat on a table in one corner. The room was decorated in earth tones set off by an abstract painting ranging from darkest midnight to the palest sky blue, and by a cobalt blue bottle on the windowsill. The windows revealed a bird feeder
hanging from the eaves and overlooked a small garden. A concrete bird bath sat amid the spiky leaves and golden trumpets of daylilies. Altogether a placid spot.
Dr. Kaplan himself would be lost in a crowd of medium: medium height, medium brown hair, medium face with no distinguishing features except the warmth of his eyes. They flashed with life and beckoned confidences. His voice was deep of timbre yet gentle, like the kiss of a mother healing an owie.
Beth wrapped herself in her arms and tried to disappear into the leather comforting her skin. How well did he and Garth know each other, and how often had they discussed his poor little wife who couldn't get over the death of her child? She stared out at a goldfinch flashing his bright feathers as he dipped and fluttered in the bath. A tiny rainbow played hide-and-seek with the droplets he threw so vigorously about. A silence and the feeling she'd been asked a question brought her abruptly back to the room.
She looked to Garth, who was staring at his shoe tops, hands clasped, elbows on his knees. No, not he. Then to the doctor, whose gaze rested quietly on hers. “I… I'm sorry. Did you ask me something?” She swallowed. “I was…was just watching your birds out there.” Her voice trailed off.
“They are a pleasure, are they not?” The doctor turned to smile at their entertainment. He straightened again and nodded toward her. “I just asked if you would like to tell me about yourself, help me to know a bit more about you.”
Beth glanced at Garth. Same position, same closed-off look, as if he'd drawn away from her, left her stranded to— She could feel her heart rate pick up, her breath come more quickly.
“I… I…” She shrugged, not an easy task due to the grip of her elbows by her hands. “What do you want to know?”
“Oh, perhaps something ypu like to do.”
“I love to sew, to quilt, to keep a good home for Garth.” She paused, hoping he would ask her something else. Her mind screamed around a track like stock cars in a dead heat. She waited, but this time she couldn't pull the silence in around herself and hide in the chair.
The Healing Quilt Page 13
