The Best Medicine

by Anne Marie Rodgers

  “When did you start having contractions?” she asked.

  “About an hour ago,” Robin said. “I called you right away.” Tears rose in her eyes. “After what happened the last time, I was afraid to stay at home for a single minute.”

  Candace had gotten some additional information from Robin about her first pregnancy, and the child who hadn't survived. It had been a horribly sad yet simple birth defect in the baby's heart that had not been apparent in utero. Labor, however, had stressed the tiny, damaged heart beyond bearing. Candace understood exactly why Robin was afraid, although exhaustive prenatal testing had revealed no heart troubles with this baby.

  The obstetrician made a note on the chart she held. “And how far apart are your contractions now?”

  “At first they weren't very regular, but now they’re about five minutes apart.” She squirmed in the chair. “My back is killing me.”

  Dr. Carpenter smiled. “You’re definitely in the early stages of labor,” she told her patient. “It's a little earlier than I would have liked, but I don't think we have too much to be concerned about. Here's what I’d like to do, though.” She proceeded to explain the procedure involved in slowing Robin's labor and administering drugs to speed the development of the baby's lungs.

  Robin looked a little panicked by the idea. “I know it would be good for the baby,” she said, “but will you really be able to slow down my labor? And what happens when you’re ready to speed it up again?”

  Dr. Carpenter talked to the couple at length, reassuring them and explaining exactly what medical procedures would occur and what the desired outcome would be. After a few more minutes, Robin nodded. “Let's get started. The sooner we do, the better the baby's chances are for optimal lung development.”

  Candace smiled to herself. Robin clearly had been absorbing all the “medical speak” she’d heard.

  As Dr. Carpenter left the room, Candace explained to Robin that they were going to admit her to a regular room until it was time. Hopefully, the Overings would be able to get some sleep tonight. If her labor began again tomorrow afternoon, Robin might be a mother before the end of the day.

  Candace monitored Robin closely for the next two hours. The young woman's labor did indeed stop; and soon afterward, the medication for the baby's lungs was administered.

  “I’m going to go home now,” Candace told the young couple before she left the unit. “The evening and night shift nurses are terrific; they’ll take good care of you.”

  “When will you be back?” Robin was trying to look calm, but her eyes were huge and worried.

  “I come in at seven in the morning,” Candace told her. “But I’ve left word that if something happens, and you go into labor, they’ll call me right away. I don't live far; I can be here pretty fast.”

  “Have a good evening,” Robin said. “I want to see Brooke again, all grown up.”

  “She’d love that and she’d love to meet your little one,” Candace said. “Brooke adores babies.” She walked to the bed, bent and hugged Robin, then squeezed Andrew's shoulder. “I’ll see you two in the morning. I can't wait to meet the newest member of your family.”

  The Church of the Good Shepherd was holding a fellowship evening and potluck dinner at the pavilion on the church grounds each week over the course of the summer. So after work that day, James made brownies and a taco salad to contribute to the food offerings, and the family hopped in the minivan for the trip to the church.

  Their church was a large brick structure trimmed in gleaming white paint. The congregation was equally large, and there was quite a crowd buzzing around when James parked the family's van in the handicapped spot in the parking lot.

  Good Shepherd was fortunate. When the church had been built, there was a sizeable additional parcel of empty acreage next to them. Owned by a church member, it had been deeded to the church after his passing.

  Now it contained a large picnic pavilion, two small playgrounds, a softball field, a volleyball court, and a basketball court. There also was a small restroom and storage building with water fountains, although it wasn't heated during the winter. The church youth group often held retreats during which the kids slept and communed in the church's social room and used the outside area for group activities. Other churches in the area even rented the land for their own gatherings.

  James glanced over at the pavilion, where picnic tables already had been covered with paper. Anabelle had said she and Cam probably would be here, but he didn't see her.

  He brought Fern's walker around to her side of the van and helped her stand. Then, knowing she didn't like when he hovered, he signaled to Gideon to keep an eye on his mother's progress. Although the lawn was quite smooth and newly mown, it was still far more uneven than walking around in the house.

  Gideon was becoming a wonderful help in situations like this. Fern would accept his company at her side more easily than she did James's. Fortunately, Gid didn't mind assisting his mother, and his mature attitude impressed James. Scouting had been partially responsible for that, James was sure; but he liked to think that Fern and he also had something to do with the compliments they often received on their well-behaved, friendly sons.

  As James retrieved the large picnic basket with the food and joined them, Fern waved him on. “Go ahead and get that over to the food table,” she said. “Gideon will keep an eye on me.”

  Over her head, James winked at Gideon, who flashed him a thumbs-up behind her back. “All right. If you’re sure…”

  “I’m sure.”

  James still didn't see Anabelle, but he knew a great many others. He was thanked for donating canned foods, recruited for the softball game to take place after the meal, and reminded that he had agreed to substitute teach for the third and fourth grade Sunday school class next month.

  Finally, he delivered his dishes to the proper table and turned to find his family's table.

  Standing right behind him was Kirstie Scott, Anabelle's daughter about whom he had heard so much recently.

  “Hello, Kirstie,” James said.

  “Mr. Bell!” she said, her blue eyes warm and welcoming as she gave him a spontaneous hug. She looked a lot like Cam, James thought, except her delicate features made her extremely pretty. “Hello. I haven't seen you in ages.” She chuckled. “I bet you go to the earlier service at church. I can barely make myself get up in time to get to the ten forty-five service.”

  James chuckled as he nodded. “We usually do attend the nine fifteen service.” He held her at arms’ length. “How are you?”

  “I’m great. How about you?” She lowered her voice. “Are you worried about the hospital closing?”

  “We’re all worried,” James told her. “But I guess your mom probably has told you about the Wall of Hope. We’re trying to stay positive.”

  Kirstie's eyes dropped, and her smile faded. “I haven't seen much of my mother lately.” She sighed. “In fact, I’m a terrible daughter. I’ve been avoiding her.”

  “You’re not a terrible daughter,” James said. “Trust me, I’ve met some children I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, and you don't even come close.”

  Kirstie laughed as she studied his face. “She needs a new project,” she told him, “to draw her attention and energy away from me.”

  James's eyebrows rose as he realized she wanted him to casually pass that thought along without Anabelle knowing where the suggestion came from. “A new project?”

  “Maybe something involving children.” Kirstie warmed to her theme. “Particularly children with handicaps.”

  The statement triggered a memory from several weeks earlier. “You know,” he said, “I may have just the thing. I’ll look into it.”

  Suddenly, Kirstie dodged to one side. “Uh-oh, there are my parents.” She gave him a quick hug. “It was good to see you, Mr. Bell.”

  “You too, Kirstie.” He expected her to head for her parents’ car, but instead she turned and walked the other way, putting the crowd between the
m. Chagrinned, James realized the rift between his friend and her daughter was more than a simple misunderstanding.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  HEY, MOMMY, LOOK WHAT I MADE AT DAY CAMP!” Candace was barely through the door before Howie pounced on her, eager to show her the rhythm instrument he had made from a potato-chip can and rice kernels, some paint, and heavily glued construction paper with the help of his camp leader.

  “This is beautiful,” Candace told him. “I can see you worked hard on it.”

  “Uh-huh, and everybody in my whole group has one.”

  “And did you all play them at once?” Candace looked over her son's head and made a “silent-scream” face at her mother as she envisioned a dozen preschool-aged kids all shaking those things.

  Janet turned away, shoulders shaking as she tried not to laugh.

  “Yeah,” Howie responded, oblivious to the adults’ amusement. “We all shaked ’em while we sang the Days of the Week song. Wanna hear it?”

  “For the hundredth time,” murmured her mother.

  Candace grinned at her as she clapped and sang along with her son. “Go take a break, Mom. I’ll do his bath.”

  As her mother disappeared into the family room, Candace shepherded Howie toward the stairs.

  Brooke came out of her bedroom when she heard her mother. “Mommy!” She rushed to Candace and threw her arms around her. “I didn't think you’d get home before bedtime.”

  Candace nodded. “The lady who's having a baby is going to sleep all night, so I got to come home.” She stroked her daughter's long, silky hair. It was so fair it looked white in many lights, just as Dean's often had. “How was your day, baby?”

  Brooke considered it as seriously as she did nearly everything else. “Pretty good,” she finally said. “My summer book club order came in. I forgot you let me order four books last time!”

  “Have you started one?” Her daughter was a voracious reader, and she read well above her grade level. Candace was constantly searching for age-appropriate material that would keep Brooke interested.

  The child nodded in response to her question. “I’ll let you read them all when I’m done,” she offered.

  “Thank you. Have you had your shower yet?”

  Brooke shook her head. “I was waiting until after Howie got his bath.” Because, in the Hierarchy of Chronological Age, an elder sibling absolutely couldn't get ready for bed earlier than a younger one, Candace knew. It was a rule.

  “All right,” she said, “I’m going to get your brother in the bath right now. As soon as you hear the water stop running, you start your shower, okay?”

  Brooke nodded. “Okay. Just as soon as I check my AllyKatzz.” She was referring to a social networking site frequented by the girls around her age. It was a safe, parent-approved site, and Candace often sat with her when she was on the computer just to keep abreast of what the kids were talking about.

  “All right, but just check. Five minutes.”

  Brooke nodded. “And then shower. I promise.” She started down the hallway, hesitated and turned back. “Is your lady going to have her baby in the morning?”

  “I don't know.” Candace knelt to hug her daughter fiercely. “But she told me she wants to meet you, so maybe one day after she and her baby are home, we’ll go see them.”

  “Oh, goody!” Brooke twirled in a circle, suddenly more care-free and giddy than she usually was. She loved babies, and Candace knew there would be no forgetting this conversation until Brooke got to see Robin's baby.

  It had been a long day. Candace got both children in bed, ate a late bite of supper while she caught up with her mother and then tumbled into her own bed, almost too tired to give proper attention to her Bible study.

  Just before she turned out her light, she turned onto her side and smiled at the framed photo of Dean that she kept on her bedside table. It was a close-up, taken one day when they had been vacationing along Lake Michigan. His hair was blown into odd tufts by the breeze, and his blue eyes sparkled with love. She had been the photographer, and he had just told her he loved her. It was a memory she cherished.

  “Good night,” she murmured as she snapped off the lamp. “I love you too.”

  Robin did not have her baby the following day, because Dr. Carpenter decided to try to hold off her labor for at least another twenty-four hours.

  Andrew went to work after speaking with the doctor during rounds, although he made Candace promise to call immediately if anything changed. He was looking the worse for wear after getting very little sleep in the reclining lounge chair in Robin's room.

  “I hope you don't work with machinery,” Candace teased him before he left. “I’d be afraid you might cut off a finger.”

  “Nothing more dangerous than a pencil,” he said. “I’m a loan officer at a bank.”

  The day was a busy one. Candace noted that Robin had plenty of company from family and friends, so she didn't worry about checking on the young woman too frequently.

  She went in to say good-bye again before she left, and Andrew already had returned after cutting his workday short.

  “You can't stay away, can you?” she asked, chuckling.

  “I might,” he said. “Tonight I’m going home to sleep in my own bed.”

  “Which you desperately need.” Robin was out of bed, standing in front of her window looking out. “You’re going home, too, aren't you?” she asked Candace. “I wish I were!”

  “I’m sure you do. Try to relax, though. Remember that the longer the baby stays in the womb, the better. It may not be wildly wonderful for you, but every hour is helpful at this stage.”

  Robin nodded. “I know. Dr. Carpenter told me to stay off my feet. I’m just anxious.”

  Andrew looked solemn. “We’ll be anxious until our baby is born living, breathing, kicking and healthy,” he said. “It's worse this time, in a way, because now we know what can go wrong.”

  “Your baby is healthy,” Candace reassured them. “This labor is going to be fine.” She stopped, deliberately rolling her eyes in an exaggerated manner. “If labor can ever be called ‘fine.’”

  Robin and Andrew both laughed, and then he took her hand. “Come sit down, honey. I’ll let you trounce me at backgammon again.”

  “Let me? You wish,” she retorted as he tried to tug her toward a seat.

  It was nice to see their banter.

  That was something she missed so much. She and Dean had teased each other with gentle humor.

  “Hey, honey? You’ve got something on your lip.” Dean's blue eyes looked so earnest and innocent.

  “Where?”

  “Right here.” And before she knew it, Dean had flicked her face with a jam-smeared finger, and then she really did have something on her lip.

  Now his eyes were laughing as they gazed into hers. “Guess I’ll just have to get it off.”

  “Ahhh! I fall for that every time!” But she was giggling, as he leaned forward and gently laid his lips against hers.

  The memory was all the sweeter, because she had forgotten how Dean had teased her. She was so gullible, and he’d always been tricking her into kissing him in one way or another.

  It had been nice being part of a couple. Now that she no longer was, she was acutely aware of all the little things she once had taken for granted.

  Candace left the couple as they were laughing, Robin playfully slugging Andrew on the shoulder, to tend to her other patients.

  Several hours later, Candace was approaching Robin's room near the nurses’ station when she noticed Elena hailing her from behind the counter.

  “Hey, Candace, guess what?”

  “What?” She smiled. Her friend was, as usual, radiating enthusiasm.

  “You’ll never believe how much money we’ve raised.”

  “What were we up to the last time you told me? Seventy-couple thousand, I think. And now it's even more?”

  “We hit the hundred-thousand-dollar mark today.”

  “Wow!” Ca
ndace stopped in her tracks. “That's terrific, Elena.”

  “I know. The Dispatch ran the first one of those interviews with a former patient, and there's been a spike in giving since then. If we see an increase every time Valera puts another of those interviews in the paper, I can't imagine how much we might make in donations.”

  “Donations for what?”

  Candace and Elena both turned. Robin stood in the doorway of her room. “Sorry,” she said. “I overheard you talking, and I’m just bored enough to be rude.”

  Candace laughed. “You’re not being rude. We weren't exactly having a private conversation.”

  Elena said, “We were talking about the donations we are receiving for the Wall of Hope campaign the hospital is running. Are you familiar with it?”

  Robin nodded, putting both hands up to massage her back. “Just what I’ve seen in the paper. Although I didn't see the interview you mentioned.”

  “You were a little preoccupied yesterday,” Candace reminded her.

  “I guess I was.” She looked at Candace. “I did see the article with the picture of you. You donated a brick in memory of your husband. And, oh! You were in it too.” Robin turned to Elena. “But I don't remember who your brick was for.”

  “It's in memory of my parents,” Elena said.

  “That's so nice.” Robin's voice was sincere. She looked over her shoulder. “Andrew's going home soon to get the mail, so he’ll be bringing the papers in too. I’ll read the article then.”

  Dr. Carpenter had taken Robin off the drug designed to hold off contractions late on Saturday. The night and the following morning had come and gone uneventfully, as Candace learned when she arrived at three on Sunday. She had switched shifts with another nurse who needed the evening free. “Are you still here?” she teased, as she stuck her head into Robin's room to say hello.

  Robin grinned. “You can't get rid of me.”

  “So Dr. Carpenter's satisfied everything's going fine?”

  The young woman slipped out of the bed, stepping into her slippers. “She told me it could be anytime, or it could be days yet. Weeks even. She said she's seen it happen infrequently, but she's had women whose labor was stopped who didn't go into labor until their babies were full-term, and—oh!”