The Baby Bump

by Jennifer Greene

  “This is supposed to be tough?” He figured they’d have this licked in ten minutes flat.

  The song on her cell phone temporarily interrupted any further conversation. She tracked down the phone in the front hall, and from what little eavesdropping he could manage, he guessed she was talking to the bank manager.

  Once she used Lydia’s name, he realized it was a serious call, so he dove into the grunt work. Right off, he realized that sorting the patterns was only half the job. All the dumb dishes would have to be washed. They weren’t germ-dirty, just plain old dusty, so he scooped a bunch on a tray and carted them into the kitchen. Piece of cake, he figured.

  He rooted under the sink for some dish soap, started filling the basin, then went back to get another load of cups and stuff. Ginger was facing the far window in the living room, still talking—he couldn’t make out the words but she didn’t sound stressed, so he headed back to the kitchen.

  The first cup he pulled from the soapy water to rinse was somehow broken. Chipped in two places. He looked at it in horror. Then pulled out another cup—and found the handle broken off.

  For Pete’s sake, he’d been careful. He knew china stuff was expensive. In itself that didn’t matter, because he’d replace it no matter what the cost. But to let Ginger think he’d been careless with something important to her?

  Guilty as a thief, he wrapped the two broken cups in paper towels and buried them way deep under the trash. He checked the rest of the china in the soapy water. All okay. But he still jumped half a foot when Ginger entered the kitchen.

  “That was Lydia Trellace on the phone,” she said immediately. She came up behind him, saw what he was doing and foraged for a fresh linen dish towel to dry. “I gave her a proposal for a business plan a few days ago. She called to say that she’d talked to Louella Meachams—that’s Gramps’s attorney. Apparently I have to go to court—through Louella—to get legal and medical and financial rights over Gramps’s life before we can really deal with the farm plan. Lydia said that Louella said that wouldn’t be a problem. It just has to be done. She couldn’t give me a yes or no on the business plan until then. Sheesh, Ike.”

  “What?”

  “You really did a ton of work during the short time I was on the phone.”

  “Hey, I’m not just a pretty face.”

  That started her chuckling. “You’re coming to my tea party, aren’t you?”

  “That depends.”

  “On whether you have patients, or whether you have to dress up?”

  “Why would I have to dress up? I could come, and just say that I was fresh from some medical emergency, so that—”

  “Nope. No excuses. I’m talking real shoes. A shirt with a collar, preferably white. Dark pants. Haircut. Shave.”

  He looked at her, aghast.

  “I know it’s tough, but just like you said, Ike, you’re not just a pretty face. You’re more than capable of going the long mile.”

  “That’s just mean,” he grumped. “A white shirt? I don’t think I own a white shirt.”

  “It’s a formal tea.”

  They were bickering like married people, he thought. Her being bossy. Him making out like dressing up for her was an imposition.

  He reached for her—not in a big physical way, more like pulling her into his arms for a dance. A slow dance. Married pairs had that advantage. They could use sex to tease their partner into a better mood, to offer a smile, an argument, a sense of fun, a sense of wonder—everything and anything—just not with words. With touch.

  She knew that slow dance. Her arms slowly slid around his waist. She tilted her head up. His lips fit just right on hers, no frantic crazy rush, no push, just the kind of soft kiss that evoked memories. He knew her lips. She knew his. He knew exactly what made her eyes close. She knew exactly what knocked him to his knees.

  And she did. Knock him to his knees. It was the way she yielded, the way she shared, the things she promised, the things she feared. She opened her heart to him with her kisses. Making it impossible for him to stay sane or sensible or careful.

  But then she stepped back, opened her eyes, took a long breath and said softly, “I can’t do this, Ike.”

  “Can’t do what?”

  “Love you. Be in love with you. When this whole town knows I’m in trouble.”

  “The town has nothing to do with us.” He wanted her back in his arms. And she was close enough to grab her, to pull her in. To claim her again. But the anxiety in her eyes stopped him.

  “You’ve been rescuing me since I got here. And I sure as sam hill needed rescuing. You’re a white-knight hero through and through, Ike. But I didn’t know, at the start, that I was going to end up living here. Or that the whole town would be watching us, have eyes on us.”

  “I couldn’t care less.”

  “I know. You don’t care what people say. And I wouldn’t normally, but there’s a difference between us. You’re already a hero for them. So if I stayed with you—especially once my stomach started to seriously pooch out—if you even considered marrying me, they’d assume you were doing the right thing. I’d be stuck with the role of damsel in distress. Only I don’t do damsels. I need to build my own reputation, my own way. I need to earn respect, Ike. Theirs. And yours.”

  “You’re nuts, Red. I do respect you.”

  “I’m not sure of that. I don’t know how to be sure of that. You’ve seen me at my worst, over and over. But I haven’t had one chance, even the slightest chance, of being at my best when I’m around you.”

  He frowned. “Ginger, you don’t need to change anything about yourself, in any way, for me to respect you. I don’t know how I could have given you any other impression.”

  She was so ready with her response. “Unlike all the other doctors in our lives, Ike, you don’t put yourself first, ever. You put others first. But right now, I feel I’m lumped in with those others. If you want us to be together, in any way, I want to stand next to you. I don’t want to be carried by you.”

  Well, if that wasn’t the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. But when he opened his mouth—not that second certain whether he wanted to talk or kiss her—his pager abruptly went off.

  He said hoarsely, “Just hold for one short second.” He listened to the message, feeling his gut squeeze acid-tight, looked miserably at Ginger as he punched it off. “It’s a kid. Practicing football after school, collapsed out of the complete blue. I—”

  “Get out of here. Right now. I don’t need the details. Go.”

  “Ginger—”

  “I told you. I totally get it. You need to go. But I need you to understand me the same way. I have to stand up on my own, Ike. I’m not ashamed of making mistakes. But I can pick myself up. I can’t be a leaner.”

  “You’re not.” But then...damn it. He had to go. “It’s a kid,” he said again.

  As if giving up trying to talk to him, she just motioned him toward the door.

  * * *

  When Ginger climbed downstairs, it was twenty minutes before the guests were scheduled to arrive, and she was more nervous than a trapped mouse. She’d checked everything she could check, prepared everything she could prepare, but she still wanted to give it all one last run-through.

  She stopped at the antique mirror in the front hall. Except for the worried eyes, nothing looked wrong about her appearance, at least yet. She’d opted for a soft ivory top and her grandmother’s favorite pearls, the knotted single strand. The black slacks didn’t button anymore, but no one could see that under the loose top. Subtle makeup was obviously the only choice for a formal tea party, but she’d done her best to make her hair behave with a pair of ivory combs—also her grandmother’s.

  The toughest thing to shape up had been her hands—all the cleaning had destroyed her nails—so she’d been stuck wasting time on a m
anicure that morning.

  Good thing, since Gramps insisted she wear her grandmother’s cameo ring.

  That was another lucky omen—or so she was determined to believe.

  She traipsed around the downstairs, fretting, checking, fussing.

  Gramps and Cornelius were stationed in chairs at the front door, both wearing white shirts and bow ties and shined shoes. They had two jobs: to greet everybody and to behave. They couldn’t wait.

  Outside—just to make the party more worrisome—a storm hovered over the coast, bringing swirling winds and ominous dark clouds. Ginger turned off overheads, switched on soft lamps in every room. This morning the house had been crazy-busy, with people showing up to help or bring food or participate in any way they could see.

  Ginger had been stunned with all the help. She hadn’t felt part of the town since she left years ago—she’d believed then that she was leaving, for good. It was startling to hear that folks considered her one of theirs.

  Still, she’d set up most things herself—because she needed to. Every space in the downstairs had a function. Every room had different displays. The living room had a station for a formal Japanese tea ceremony, where thick cushions were placed on the floor around a low, round inlaid table. In the opposite corner, an old card table had been judiciously draped with red velvet, where Ruby—when she got here—was going to “read tea leaves.”

  She glanced out the front door side windows again. No Ike. No one yet. She pivoted around and started prowling again.

  The front hall had a massive display of various tea implements—like yixing teapots and infusers, tea cozies and the guywan, which was the Mandarin Chinese word for the traditional tea bowl with no handle. A collection of caddy spoons and sugar tongs was displayed on ivory felt. Lydia Trellace had sent over four massive bouquets of fresh flowers. Louella Meacham had literally sent over a man, whom she’d hired to participate in the washing and later cleanup.

  By accident, Ginger glanced outside again, just in case she might see Ike driving in.

  Still, there was no one—just more clouds and gloom, more thunder.

  Well, she had more to check on. Specifically the food—the most terrorizing threat to put together. The kitchen was set up for a breakfast tea—strong black tea, Gautier Breakfast blend—augmented by pastries served with local wild berry spread and a cherry French toast casserole, sliced in small squares.

  She’d used the library to set up a traditional afternoon tea—which meant it was by far the most elaborate. There were a half dozen choices of fragrant teas—all Gautier-grown, of course—and then tiers of accompanying food choices: cucumber and cream cheese finger sandwiches, fresh fruit, lemon meringue pie and strawberry tarts, scones and clotted cream. Since she’d done all the last-minute arrangement less than twenty minutes ago, it didn’t look any different than the last time she checked.

  A flash of lightning in the west made her jump. It was five minutes to four. What if no one came? Where was Ike? What if they lost electricity?

  What else could she find to worry about?

  She touched, straightened, fussed. There’d been no place left to set up an evening tea, so she’d just shaken out an Irish linen tablecloth and used some of her favorite teapots with the oolongs and greens. Everywhere she could, she’d set out little parchment cards for those who wanted to know more about tea in general, Gautier tea specifically, or anything and everything about tea customs. Truthfully, all that prep had been fun.

  She still thought it was a good idea, for the guests to be able to mill around from setup to setup, not be trapped in any one spot. They could sample as much or as little of anything they wanted. She’d wanted to illustrate what her family had been up to for the last couple hundred years—the teas, the culture, the background and tradition.

  Would Ike be proud of her? Or would he be bored out of his mind?

  What if everyone was bored?

  “Would you stop fussing?” her grandfather grumped. “You look beautiful. The place looks beautiful. There’s enough food to feed an army. A big army.” He glanced out. “And there we have it. The first car’s coming up the drive. And oh, my. I’m afraid there is a pile of cars coming all at once.”

  She flew to the window. Gramps was right. Cars were turning into the drive, filling every spot on the driveway and onto the side. Naturally, the sky took just that moment to open. Rain came pouring down, sloshing down in noisy buckets. People ran, raincoats over their heads, all laughing as they came inside.

  But still no sign of Ike.

  A frenzy followed. Thirty people must have kissed her in the next few minutes as she greeted them and took their wet coats and showed them around. She tried to put Ike out of her mind. He’d never promised to be early. He could have been caught up with patients. And it wasn’t as if she needed him. It was just that once, just once, she wanted him to see her as a capable woman and not such a needy one.

  The house filled up...and then filled up to nearly bursting. Ginger kept watching the door, not just for Ike but for Ruby—who’d been so excited, and planned to dress gypsy-style, as she played the role of reading the tea leaves.

  And just that second she saw Ruby pelting through the door—hustling two strangers with her.

  “I was worried something may have happened,” Ginger said as she took Ruby’s jacket—and got a wet hug in return.

  “Something did happen. Ginger, I want you to meet Ike’s mom and dad. They just arrived unexpectedly. They’re on their way to Charleston, hoped to visit a bit with Ike—but Ike is nowhere to be found. I couldn’t track him down. So—”

  “I’m so glad you brought them. Dr. and Dr. MacKinnon, I’m delighted to meet you!” That was honestly true—although Ginger felt a fresh qualm of nerves after all Ike had told her about his parents.

  The nerves didn’t last long. Ike’s parents were as easy to be with as old friends. Walker MacKinnon was ultra tall, with keen eyes and a tenor voice. June had glossy auburn hair and sharp blue eyes and a gorgeous smile. They were wearing traveling clothes, comfortable shoes—good quality all, but nothing pretentious or fancy.

  “Delighted to meet you, too, dear.” June took both her hands in greeting. “Thankfully Ruby filled us in that you’ve been seeing Ike. He never said a thing to us.”

  Ruby added, “His last patient was at two-thirty. One canceled after that. It’s the last I’ve seen of him.”

  Walker added, “I hope we’re not intruding. We could have waited at Ike’s place. He’s bound to come home sooner or later. So if we’re in the way—”

  “Nonsense. I’m absolutely delighted you’re here. Please come on in, make yourself at home....”

  They were nothing like she’d expected. They’d met many of the townspeople before, were equally friendly to rich and poor, young and old.

  Walker admitted, “We don’t often call before coming to see Ike. I’m sure that seems odd. But his reality is the same as ours. We’re all so busy. So if we get a few days free, we generally try to get away, pop in, see if any of the kids have time for us. If we call ahead, then the kids feel they have to do something, clean, get in food, make a fuss.”

  “I think it’s a great idea. And Ike should be coming here...so it makes great sense for you to just relax, enjoy yourselves.”

  An hour passed. Then almost another. Nothing went as she expected. First, because she never dreamed so many people would show up, be so interested. And then because she assumed people would wander around, stop out of curiosity, take in some food, be on their way. Only no one left.

  Nothing could possibly have gone better...except for Ike’s absence.

  And then, just before six, an unexpected visitor arrived who changed everything.

  * * *

  When Ike ushered out the last patient for the day, he hit the ground running. He had a plan—a plan
he’d been refining and revising for days. The first step was to unlock the back garage where he kept the Volvo—the truck was his regular vehicle because of Pansy. But the cherished old Volvo was his baby.

  His siblings had teased him to no end about Volvos being cars for fuddy-duddies. He’d thought so, too, until riding in this one. The engine purred, she loved curves and she hid a whole lot of passion and power inside the modest exterior. Last time she’d been out, he’d been doing a favor for Tucker...that was a few months ago. She wasn’t that dirty, but he still washed and polished and rubbed her to a sheen.

  That took longer than planned. Unfortunately, he didn’t get back upstairs to his place until after four. He’d never expected to be early for her tea party, anyway. He wanted to be late.

  He needed to be late. He wanted everyone to see what he was doing. He wanted to prove—to Ginger, to anyone who happened to look—that he wasn’t with her out of kindness or responsibility. He was certifiably, hopelessly in love, desperately hooked, crazy about her.

  Next, he took a good shower, did a serious shave, then went the extra mile. He had shirts, but he’d still bought a new white one, one that looked starched and formal. Did the real shoes thing—the kind that actually had to be buffed. Chose pants that weren’t jeans or chinos.

  That took another heap of time. Who knew he was normally such a slob?

  He couldn’t find the guy cologne. He knew he had some somewhere, but it was past five now, and he still wasn’t done. Then there was the tie issue. He’d worn a tux for his brother’s wedding, but otherwise hadn’t had a suit and tie on since...hell, he couldn’t count that far back.

  Still, he had a tie collection at the back of the closet, most dating back to high school or college or Christmas presents from relatives he didn’t know. Every single one was ugly, but he had to pick.