by Arlene James
“That doesn’t mean your tumors are identical. Treatment has advanced significantly.”
She flew off the table, rounding on him with blazing anger in her eyes. “I won’t put my s—” She stopped and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I won’t subject myself to what my mother went through. I have no money, no insurance, no home. I don’t even have a car right now!” She folded her arms tightly, as if holding herself together. “I just want to die on my own terms. Is that too much to ask?”
“I don’t know,” he told her honestly. She looked away, and he made himself go on. “So far as the job is concerned, it’s yours.” She shot him a surprised look, so he hastened to add, “As for everything else, I have to pray about it because I just don’t know.”
She threw out a hip and parked a hand on it. “I’m not sure what you mean by ‘everything else,’ but I’ll thank you for the job and my van.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I just did, though. Now this is the part where you say, ‘Why, you’re welcome.’ Then I go clean up the break room and shut down the transcription desk like a good employee. See? There’s a rhythm and routine to these things.” She made a churning motion with her hands, which elicited a smile from him.
“Okay, um, I need to make a couple of phone calls then we can go.”
She walked around the exam table and stepped into her shoes. For some reason that reminded him of his promise to Magnolia.
“Uh, there is one other thing,” he told her. “One condition.”
She looked up sharply, then her old insouciance slipped into place. “Yeah? Something fun, I hope?”
“I think so,” he stated firmly, not at all sure that she would agree. “The Chatam sisters...and I...would like you to attend a meeting tonight.”
Suspicion threaded her tone even as she quipped, “Brain tumors anonymous?”
“Prayer meeting.”
She lifted both hands and stacked them over her forehead. “Really?”
“They’re giving you free housing and meals, Eva. It’s little enough to ask.” She threw up her hands. “They believe it will help. And so do I.”
Sighing dramatically, she acquiesced. “Well, I don’t suppose it can actually hurt. Much.”
He breathed a silent sigh of relief and took himself off to do something not quite ethical, after all. As soon as he’d called in her prescriptions, he prayed in a very concentrated manner, then he called the doctor whose name was on the original bottles, identified himself as Eva’s new physician and had a chat with that elderly gentleman. The fellow was about to retire and sounded greatly relieved that Eva had found another medical provider, offering to send along her records and saying that Brooks could mail the necessary signed form later. Brooks decided that was a subject he would broach with her on another day, reasoning that it wasn’t as if he’d asked for the records. Something just didn’t feel right about this diagnosis, but without running tests himself, he could only check what the other doctor had done. At least he would have those records now. The rest was a matter for more prayer, as he’d told Eva earlier. Much prayer.
* * *
Prayer was to be the theme of the evening, it seemed. Eva had barely walked back through the sunny yellow door of Chatam House than the Bluebird of Happiness descended, accompanied by her Easter egg husband.
“We’ve been worried,” Odelia confessed, wringing her hands, “wondering what was taking so long. We were praying you hadn’t had a relapse.”
“No, no, nothing like that,” Eva rushed to tell her. “What I have is—”
To her surprise, the doc interrupted her with, “Boxes to be carried in.”
“Oh, perhaps I can be of assistance,” Easter Egg offered, the old gallant.
At the same time, Bluebird chirped, “I’ll get Chester.” She fluttered off down the hallway, adding, “Then we can try on coats!”
“Coats?” Eva echoed, only to feel Brooks’s hand at her elbow, his head bent near her ear.
“Let me handle the job issue, will you please?”
He lifted a forefinger to his lips in the universal sign for silence before quickly following Kent out onto the porch. Flummoxed, Eva tilted back her head, frowning at the painted ceiling. She imagined the gates of Heaven opening just beyond and thought, Well, why not? Everyone else around here seemed to think prayer a perfectly normal activity.
“So, do you know what’s going on here?” she asked in a conversational tone, striking a pose with one hand propped on the curled newel at the end of the staircase.
“Of course, I do,” said a voice quite close behind her.
Eva jumped, whirling to find Magnolia smiling up at her. “Penny Loafers, you scared fifteen minutes off my life,” she declared, slapping a hand to her chest, “and I really haven’t got ’em to spare.”
Nodding, Magnolia pulled in a deep breath. “We feared as much.”
“Uh, the Kindred Spirit mentioned something about coats.”
Magnolia put on a thin smile. “Indeed. We thought the ballroom would be the best place for that.” She beckoned with her hand. “Follow me.”
Off they went down the far hallway, past the library and music room to an honest-to-goodness ballroom, where double pocket doors stood open.
“Wow.” Eva stuck her nose inside, intent on taking it all in, only to draw up short when she came to a rolling rack of clothing—coats, to be exact. Surprised to see that the other two sisters, seated on matching lyre-back chairs, seemed to be waiting for her to join them, she stepped through the door, overcome with curiosity. “What gives?”
Silk-and-Pearls smiled. “Odelia mentioned that you are lacking an adequate winter coat, so we’ve gathered several we think might suit you.”
Eva strode farther into the cavernous room, focusing on the rack of garments. “You call this a few?”
Hypatia spread her hands. “Without knowing your size, we felt it necessary to err on the side of excess.”
Odelia clapped, urging, “Choose some and try them on.”
Torn between wanting to play along and sheer pride, Eva dithered. She wandered over to the rack and took the first garment from the hanger, a double-breasted gray wool, which proved too small, as did a brown nylon car coat and military-style bomber jacket. The fashion show went on, however. She tried on a long navy trench coat with short sleeves, a frumpy tweed that swallowed her, a silky belted job that felt like a bathrobe and a bright yellow raincoat with a zip-out liner. So it went until she’d worked her way through the whole collection. The most workable was a shiny black vinyl, three-quarter length A-line with a wide brown faux fur collar and cuffs.
Then there was the cape, a completely impractical off-white wool lined with some silky fabric that swirled around her ankles and made her feel like a medieval princess, especially with the hood up and the metal fastener closed at her throat. She lusted after that cape. It was so classy. She glanced around the ballroom and reasoned that it must be affecting her judgment for she could suddenly see herself with her hair up, and of course she wore a gorgeous gown and clung to the arm of...
No way. She wasn’t going there. Every other female in Buffalo Creek, Texas, could hanker after Doc Gorgeous, but she wasn’t going to be one of the throng ever again. Even if she had a future to waste on such stupidity, she’d learned her lesson the hard way. The guy that all the girls wanted was also the guy who got all the girls he wanted—and he lied when he told you that he’d only ever want you.
Regretfully, she took off the cape and returned it to the rack. “I’ll take the vinyl with the fur collar.”
The sisters traded looks. Hypatia crossed her ankles and tucked them beneath her chair.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, the cape suits you better.”
“You have very long arms,” Odelia pointed out.
Eva held out the offending appendages. “No! Really? I hadn’t noticed.” She made a show of looking over her arms then winked and said, “Actually, the only coat I’ve ever owned that truly fit me was made for me, a luscious red fox. My ex gave it to me, then he pawned it, but I found the ticket and redeemed it then sold it for the down payment on my van.”
Again, the sisters did that glance-glance thing. Eva parked her hands at her waist. “What is that? Some sort of mindreading thing you three do? It’s like you talk without speaking.”
Magnolia chuckled. “When you’ve lived together as long as we have, you hardly have to speak to know what the others are thinking.”
“Yeah? And that would be?”
Magnolia folded her arms. “You should take both the coat and the cape. Provided...” She glanced at her sisters again.
Eva copied her pose. “Provided what, Penny Loafers?”
“Provided you attend prayer meeting tonight after dinner.”
Dropping her hands to her hips again, Eva cocked a knee. “Boy, you dames don’t mind employing a little manipulation, do you?”
Hypatia cleared her throat.
“Oh, don’t give me that silent scolding, Miss Silk-and-Pearls,” Eva said. “I’ll go to your precious prayer meeting, for all the good it’ll do.” Turning on her heel, she snatched the coat and the cape from the rack, hangers and all, as she strode for the door, only to find the doc lounging there against the jamb, his own arms folded.
“Actually,” he drawled, “it’s a toss up as to who might be doing the manipulating here, as you have already made a deal with me to attend prayer meeting tonight.”
“No,” she said sweetly, sauntering past him, “it’s only a matter of who the better manipulator might be.”
“No comment,” he rumbled.
“I would think not,” she returned, blissfully aware that he watched as she sashayed, literally, down that hall, “considering what you traded for my attendance.”
“Dinner in half an hour,” Magnolia called behind her. Eva lifted a hand in acknowledgment, hearing the old girl say, “You’ll join us, won’t you, Brooks dear?”
“Absolutely,” he replied.
Eva smiled, even as she felt the scorching heat of his gaze on her back. She knew that she was lucky to escape without being burned to a cinder and that antagonizing him was foolish, all things considered, but at this point she only had so much to lose.
After stowing her things, she changed into clean clothes, choosing the skirt, a T-shirt and a shawl with which to disguise it, along with her cowboy boots. Then she brushed her hair into a ponytail caught against the nape of her neck, took her new coat and handbag and went downstairs, ready for dinner. She found the doc awaiting her in the parlor. He rose to his feet when she entered.
“I was about to come looking for you.”
“Whatever for?”
“The aunties are punctual about the dinner hour, especially on Wednesdays.”
“I’m not late.”
“You’re not early,” he said, turning her by the arm back into the foyer. He took her handbag and hung it by the strap over the newel post, slung her coat over that and caught her hand, towing her down the hallway on the left side of the staircase and through the door of a large dark room with ugly wallpaper and an enormous table surrounded by heavy chairs. Even the fireplace was fronted by heavy, dark wood.
The sisters and Kent were all seated at one end and on one side of the table, so that everyone but Hypatia had their backs to the door. They craned their necks to peer around or over the backs of their chairs as Brooks shook free of Eva’s hand. She glared at him—she hadn’t grabbed him, after all—and smiled at the others.
“What’s on the preprayer meeting menu?”
Odelia blinked owlishly, but the Easter Egg answered, “Beef and barley soup and soda bread.”
“Smells great.”
She followed Brooks around the table and reached for a chair, only to realize that he had pulled out one for her. Affecting her best lady-of-the-manor manner, she lifted her chin, slid onto the seat and gave him a nasally, “Thenk ewe, my good man.”
He gave her back an impatient glance and took the chair between her and Hypatia, snapping his linen napkin open across his lap. Eva spread hers and reached for a slice of the steaming soda bread. At the same time, Hypatia cleared her throat, rather violently, and Brooks dropped a quelling hand on Eva’s knee.
“Oops,” Eva quipped, withdrawing her hand. “Pre-preprayer meeting meal prayer. Right?”
“Something like that,” Magnolia muttered.
At the same time, Brooks leaned over and whispered, “Behave.”
“Relax,” she muttered out of the side of her mouth, bowing her head. Kent voiced a wordy prayer over the meal. As soon as he said, “Amen,” she slapped Brooks’s hand away and reached for the soda bread.
“Mmm-mmm. Smells delish. Either that or I’m starved. Or both. Hey, what is soda bread, anyway?”
“Obviously, it’s bread made with soda instead of yeast or baking powder,” Brooks told her as Odelia began ladling thick dark soup into bowls from the large tureen on the table.
“It’s an Irish recipe, I believe,” Hypatia added.
Chester came into the room just then, carrying a plate of deviled eggs and pickled beets, which he placed in front of Kent. He returned a minute later to set in front of Eva a steaming deep-dish apple pie and cheese board.
She looked up at him and said with all solemnity and seriousness, “I adore your wife.”
“Well, that makes it unanimous,” announced Brooks.
“I’m warning you now,” Eva said, taking her filled soup bowl, “I’m going to pack a lunch to work, and if I catch you stealing it, I’ll prosecute.”
She didn’t realize until she’d dipped her spoon and was blowing on the rich dark soup in preparation for eating it that the table had gone completely still and silent. Only then did she realize what she’d said. Grimacing, she dropped the spoon back into the bowl.
Brooks sighed and said, “It turns out that Eva is a gifted medical transcriptionist, so she’s going to work for me temporarily.”
A veritable chorus of “Oh, dears” went around the table.
Hypatia reached for his hand, while Penny Loafers frowned at Eva, and Odelia leaned against her husband, who wrapped a comforting arm around her plump shoulders.
“Brooks, dear, are you sure about this?” Hypatia asked, her brow furrowed.
All Eva could think was that they feared for her health, so she shrugged, and said, “Hey, I won’t be typing with my skull. It’ll be fine. Really.”
They ignored her to a person, all eyes fixed on Brooks.
He squeezed Hypatia’s hand, spread a smile around the table and said, “Dear hearts, I’m forty-four years old. I think I can manage this, but bless you all for loving me enough to be so concerned.”
“You’re like one of our own, you know,” Hypatia told him in a shaky voice.
“I know. I count on it.”
“We just want you to be happy.”
“I am happy.”
“We want you to stay that way,” Magnolia stated bluntly, glancing at Eva.
“Hey,” Eva said, “I’m really good at what I do. It’s not like I’m going to mess things up.”
To her utter consternation, his hand landed on her knee again. She snapped at him. “Will you cut that out?”
“Will you pipe down?” he shot back. Taking his hand from her knee, he added, more sedately, “Eat your soup.”
She shook her head, aware that she was missing something, but too hungry and confused to care at the moment. Sitting forward again, she started to eat. The soup was very good, though she’d never before eaten barley, and the soda bread was even better, espe
cially with butter. The pie, though, defied description, especially with the cheese melting on top of it.
“Mmm,” she hummed, waving her fork over it, “the next time you want me to go to prayer meeting, just promise me this pie. I am now officially a pie wh—er, hog.” She slid a look at Brooks out of the corner of her eye and found him pinching the bridge of his nose. “Interior monitor,” she muttered.
“Is a little slow.”
She shrugged and shoveled in another bite. “But on the job.”
“Uh-huh.”
After licking her fork, she dropped it to the plate and pushed the plate away, then sighed happily. “So,” she asked, “am I going to have to confess my gluttony at this prayer meeting of yours?”
The sisters traded exasperated looks and began getting to their feet.
“Of course not,” Magnolia said.
“We’re going to pray for your health,” Odelia told her brightly.
“Oh, well, that and two bucks will get me a cup of coffee. Somewhere. Probably.”
Brooks sighed, and Hypatia announced briskly, “It’s time we were going.”
“You go on,” he said. “Eva will ride with me.”
The poor old thing looked almost stricken. “Are you sure?”
“Trust me,” he said, nodding.
She looked at Eva before turning away. “We’ll see you there.”
“We’re right behind you,” Brooks promised, but when Eva moved to stand, he slammed that hand down on her knee again.
“What is your prob—” she began, but he quelled her with a squeeze of his hand, nothing painful, just enough to let her know that he wanted her to shut up. She counted to ten, picturing her van in her mind’s eye to remind herself why she should bite her tongue.
As soon as the oldsters exited the room, he was in her face, nose to nose with her. “Listen,” he said softly but firmly, “you may not believe, and that’s fine, but they do, and I won’t have you making fun of their faith, not after the generosity and concern they’ve shown you.”
“I was just joking,” she defended weakly, knowing he was right.
