Stiff Penalty (A Mattie Winston Mystery)

by Annelise Ryan

  To burn off some calories and hopefully some of my nervous energy, I took Hoover for a walk. We ventured into the woods, and I let him lead me wherever he wanted to go for the first ten minutes. But after standing by and watching him sniff and then mark every leaf, stick, and clod of dirt, I started tugging him in a different direction so I could take another peek at David’s new house. I thought I might see a dark sedan parked there—and realized later that I had no idea what I would have done if there had been one—but I struck out. I chalked up my car paranoia to yet another hormonal quirk of pregnancy, and after walking around the place and building up a good case of resentment over David’s palatial structure, Hoover and I headed back home.

  I was bored, and even after my walk my fattest fat pants were feeling uncomfortably tight, so I decided it was time to bite the bullet and pay a visit to The Mother Hood, the only store in town that carried maternity clothes. I knew I risked word getting out about my condition, but I figured I was safe given that Hurley would be back in town soon and Izzy and Dom already knew. I made a mental note to call and give the news to my sister and my mother later tonight so they wouldn’t hear it from someone else first.

  The Mother Hood was owned by a woman in her mid-thirties named Priscilla McDaniel, a native Soren-sonian who because of her skinny genes often wore skinny jeans and looked good in them. I’d known Priscilla—or Miss Priss, as we used to call her in high school—since we were both kids. Her choice of businesses seemed like a logical progression in her life. She had earned the nickname Miss Priss because of the remain-a-virgin-until-I’m-married mantra that she’d started spouting in the sixth grade. Unfortunately, Billy McDaniel had other ideas, and Miss Priss had missed her senior year in high school because Billy got her pregnant. They got married, and Priss spat out five more kids over the next six years. Since she always managed to return to her rail-thin state after each one, I could only assume that she had elastic in places where the rest of us have skin. Sadly, I think my body is made up of something that more closely resembles memory foam.

  My arrival at The Mother Hood was announced by the tinkle of a little bell over the door and the sound of Brahms’ Lullaby filling the air.

  Priscilla was seated behind a counter reading a magazine, and when she looked up at me, her expression was one of incredulity, as if she couldn’t believe what her eyes were seeing. She blinked real fast several times and then broke into a big smile. “Mattie Winston! Long time no see.” She tossed the magazine onto the counter and jumped up. She was wearing a tailored white blouse over . . . you guessed it . . . skinny jeans. Her straight, brown hair shone with high- and lowlights, and it was cut at shoulder length and tucked behind her ears. “What brings you in today?” Then she cocked her head to one side and put her hands on her hips. “Is your sister pregnant again?”

  “No, I am.” There. I’d said it. The news was officially out.

  Again Priscilla blinked several times really fast. It was like the blinking somehow powered her comprehension. “Are you?” she said with a tone of puzzlement. “Well, congratulations! I didn’t know you’d remarried already.”

  “I haven’t.”

  “Oh.” She dragged the word out into two syllables—oh-oo—and her eyes got really big. “You have a new beau then?”

  “No, I’m not seeing anyone right now.” This was basically the truth, although before he left town, Hurley and I had “seen” each other in every way possible.

  “No one knows yet,” I said, anxious to move on and willing to tell this little white lie. “I’ve been keeping it to myself up until now.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I’d made a huge mistake. Priscilla’s eyes grew huge. Being the first person to know a juicy tidbit of gossip is like instant fame in Sorenson. I knew that the first chance she got, Priscilla would be triggering a phone tree that spread news faster than a packed room full of sneezers can spread a cold. “Please don’t tell anyone yet,” I begged. “Can you wait until Tuesday at least?”

  She gave me a noncommittal smile and shrugged. “Who’s the lucky daddy?”

  Like I’d tell her that now. “No one you know,” I said with a dismissive wave, thinking this one might not be a lie. I mean there was a teeny, tiny, snowball’s chance in hell that she didn’t know Hurley, though I suspect his arrival in town was widely known minutes after his first appearance. A handsome, single guy like Hurley would have better luck sneaking into Fort Knox unnoticed than he would into Sorenson. I was willing to bet that within days of his arrival, all the single women in town were looking at him as if they’d been starving for months and he was a huge hunk of cheesecake, all the married women in town were looking at him as a potential dalliance or some entertaining eye candy, and all the men in town were probably looking at him like they wished they could either kill him or be him.

  “Well, let me show you some things,” Priscilla said, letting the prying go for the time being. She propped her elbow in one hand, her chin in the other, and eyed me from head to toe. “You are so . . . tall. I might have to special order some stuff for you. But let’s see what we can find.” She spun around and headed for the racks of clothing. Then, proving that Priss knew a big challenge when she saw one, she said, “Let’s start with some tops before we try to tackle the pants.”

  The first tops she showed me were made from stretchy, knitted fabrics that clung to the body. “Priscilla, I never wore clingy stuff before I was pregnant, and I don’t want to start now. Don’t you have something that hangs loose?”

  Priscilla eyed my ample chest with a frown, and after a few seconds, she said, “Maybe we need to get you some new bras first. You always were big-busted, and being pregnant only makes them bigger.”

  “Tell me about it,” I said, rolling my eyes. I put my arms in a chicken dance position and ran the backs of my hands along the sides of my boobs. “And they’ve been aching lately,” I said. “Is that normal?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “And it will get worse.” Priscilla dragged a measuring tape out of her pocket and proceeded to hug me as she tried to get the tape around my chest. To say it was awkward would be an understatement, but I held my breath and forced myself to tolerate it, knowing that in a few months I’d be losing any sense of privacy and dignity I ever had when I hit the delivery room.

  Priscilla then steered me into a back area where there were dozens of different bra styles on display. It was quite an assortment, with materials that ranged from soft and stretchy to sleek and shiny. There were colored ones and patterned ones, and most were bedecked with tiny flowers or ribbon decorations of some type. They were very feminine and sexy-looking. Unfortunately, Priscilla zipped right past all of these and went straight for the industrial-strength, no-nonsense bras that came in basic white and looked like they could contain a nuclear blast.

  “Here we go,” she said, grabbing something that looked like the slingshot Goliath should have had when he met David. “You might as well invest in a good nursing bra.” Then she arched her brows again and said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t assume anything. Are you planning on breast feeding?”

  “I hope to,” I said.

  “Oh, good.” Priscilla sounded relieved. “Breast milk is so healthy for newborns. It gives them immunity and nutrition that no formula can provide.” She leaned and dropped her voice to a whisper. “And nursing will help you shed those pregnancy pounds so much faster.”

  That alone was reason enough for me. But I hadn’t sorted out all the logistics yet. “I’ll be able to take some time off after the birth, but eventually I’ll need to return to work, so I suppose I’ll need one of those breast pump thingies.”

  “Got you covered,” Priscilla said, and then she disappeared through a door that led into a storage area at the back of the store.

  Despite all my years of working as a nurse, I’ve never done obstetrics other than a rotation in nursing school that lasted a few weeks. For many of my fellow students, obstetrics was the ultimate dream job. To me it was the last plac
e on earth I’d want to work. The women in labor screamed. The newborn babies screamed. Working an obstetrics unit was an endless cycle of screaming and crotches. I did help my sister some after each of her children were born, but it was mostly a token effort. Desi seemed born for motherhood, and she took to it as naturally as I took to ice cream. Consequently, I had no idea how to use a breast pump. I knew they existed because other women I’d worked with had taken breaks to go and pump, but beyond that I was clueless.

  So when Priscilla returned armed with several boxes that had pictures of scary-looking contraptions on the front that resembled miniature versions of the life-sucking machine from The Princess Bride, I felt more than a little intimidated.

  Priscilla grabbed a box and held it out to me. “This double pump is my top-of-the-line model and the one I used with my kids. It retails for three-ninety-nine, but I can let you have it for three-seventy-five.”

  “Four hundred bucks for a breast pump?” I said aghast.

  “If you prefer the manual type, they’re less than a hundred. But they don’t get the job done nearly as well.”

  “I think I’m getting ahead of myself here,” I said. “Let’s stick to clothing for now. I’ve got plenty of time to think about breast pumps.”

  “Very well,” Priscilla sniffed. She looked hurt. I didn’t care. “Why don’t you go into the dressing room and try that bra on?”

  I did as instructed and took the bra she’d given me into the dressing room. Surprisingly, it fit quite well, although the little trap doors in the cups threw me for a few seconds. I kept it on, pulled my blouse back on, and stuffed my old bra into my purse. Then I headed out to try and appease Priscilla’s hurt feelings. “This is perfect,” I told her. “Do you have another one?”

  “Not here in the store, but I can order you as many as you like,” she said. “You might want to wait before buying too many of them, though, because your cup size is likely to change several times in the coming months.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “Let’s go look at some more tops.”

  She gathered up some cute tops with empire waists that had plenty of free-flowing material beneath the bust line. But by the time I found one that fit my bust, the bottom part looked like a tent. “Look at this,” I said in a disgusted voice, grabbing handfuls of all the free-hanging material around my gut. “I could hide a Bedouin, his harem, and all his camels inside this thing.”

  Priscilla gave me a patient, tolerant smile. “It’s not that bad,” she assured me. “Right now it looks like a lot of excess, but by the time you get into your third trimester, it’s going to seem downright snug.”

  Snug? Really? I stared at the billowing yards of material in horror.

  I finally opted for four tents, one tight, stretchy screw-it-I’m-pregnant-and-not-afraid-to-show-it T-shirt that I wouldn’t wear until my pregnancy was more obvious, and a double tank top so I could continue my workouts. I also tried on and bought one dress. I don’t have too many occasions to dress up, but I thought I should have at least one option to start with.

  We moved on to the pants. Priscilla had an impressively varied selection, including a number of tall sizes. She wisely started me off with some elastic-waist jeans that had the little front panel that’s made to expand along with one’s tummy. When I tried these on with one of the tops I’d picked out, the panel was well hidden, and the overall look wasn’t too bad. Then I made the mistake of trying on a pair of dressier slacks made out of some thin, stretchy material that clung to every nook and cranny of my legs. When I turned around to look at the rear view and lifted the top I had on, I nearly cried.

  I headed out of the dressing room and displayed myself to Priscilla. “I’ve been working out at the gym for months in an effort to manage my weight and get in shape. And this,” I waved a hand around my butt, “is what I get for my efforts? My ass is so big if they shot me into space I’d trigger an eclipse.”

  “That’s just pregnancy butt,” Priscilla said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “It happens to everyone.”

  I looked at her with an expression of disbelief, trying not to cry.

  “That particular material might not be the best choice,” she admitted. “Go try the gray ones. I think they will work better for you.”

  I scuttled back into the dressing room and stripped off the offending pants, tossing them onto the built-in seat. I also took the top off and hung it on a hook. When I bent over to put on the gray pants, I felt a gas bubble shift in my gut. As I pulled on the second leg and straightened up, the bubble shifted again. But it felt different somehow, more intentional, more purposeful, less random. And then it hit me. I’d just felt my baby move for the first time.

  Goose bumps raced down my spine, and a swell of love and amazement overcame me. Smiling like an idiot, I burst out of the dressing room and practically yelled to Priscilla, “I just felt it move for the first time!”

  Unfortunately, I had forgotten to put my top back on, so all I was wearing from the waist up was my new bra. And just as unfortunate was the fact that my mind was so overwhelmed with emotion that it didn’t register the tinkle of the bell, or the sound of Brahms’ Lullaby playing. Priscilla was no longer alone. As I stood staring at her and the male sales rep who had just entered the store, they stared back, all of us speechless. That’s when one of my bra’s little trapdoors—its hook apparently loosened by all my twisting and turning—decided to fall open.

  I had just created a whole new nipple incident.

  Chapter 14

  I quickly slapped a hand over my exposed breast, muttered some half-assed apology, and slunk my way back into the dressing room. I fixed the bra and put on my own clothes. Then I sat down on the built-in seat and waited. I wasn’t coming out of that dressing room until the salesman left, even if it meant I had to live in there for a few days.

  After what seemed like an eternity, and after I’d dug through my purse looking for anything I might be able to use to pee in, I heard Brahms start to play again. Moments later Priscilla hollered, “You can come out now.”

  Miss Priss was wearing an amused smirk on her face, but it didn’t look malicious. “That’s another thing you’ll have to get used to,” she said. “Embarrassing moments are a dime a dozen both during pregnancy and once you have the kids.”

  “I’m scared to do this with one kid,” I told her. “How on earth do you manage things with six?”

  Priscilla shrugged. “Sometimes I think kids are like dogs: it’s easier when you have more than one, though I have to admit that Billy and I might have exceeded the number where the advantages outweigh the disadvantages. And then there’s the expense. It seems we can never get ahead on our budget. Just when we think things are starting to look better, one of the kids needs new clothes, or some medicine, or the car dies. I keep thinking I should close down the store, or hire someone to manage it so I can stay home with the kids, but we need the extra money the store brings in, and hiring a manager will eat all my profits.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better about this?” I said, picturing tired, bedraggled-looking Mrs. Fitzpatrick in my mind.

  Priscilla shrugged and smiled. “Parenting is the most rewarding job you’ll ever do, but don’t be mistaken; the demands are never-ending, not just on your money but also on your time and your sanity. It was easier when the kids were all little because I could just bring them here for the day and let them play in the store. But now that they’re all in school, they want to participate in sports and after-school activities. Every one of those requires some type of financial investment. And then there’s the mechanics of just getting them all to where they need to be. My eldest just got his driver’s license, so that helps a little because he can help with some of the logistics . . . not that he wants to,” she added with a roll of her eyes. “But we had to buy another car so he could drive the kids around. Between trying to run this place and getting to all the parent teacher conferences, the PTA meetings, the class trips I get ca
joled into chaperoning—it never ends. If it wasn’t for friends and family, Billy and I would have lost our minds years ago.”

  “Any regrets?”

  She shook her head and smiled. “Not a one. Every one of my kids is special in their own unique way, and I can’t imagine my life without any of them.” She nodded toward my tummy. “You felt it, didn’t you? That first quickening changes the way you feel about everything.”

  I nodded and smiled. “A definite emotional high,” I said. I handed over the stack of clothes I was holding and added, “Now ring me up and bring me back down to reality.”

  While Priscilla bagged my purchases, I went outside and pulled my hearse into the alley that ran behind the store. I didn’t want anyone who might be driving by to see me exiting The Mother Hood with what was clearly a new wardrobe. Yes, the news would travel fast, and I had my doubts about Priscilla’s ability to wait until Tuesday to start spreading it, as I’d asked, but I figured it was better to do all I could to prevent any speculation. Even if Priscilla could hold out until Tuesday, it would only be if no one asked her anything. If someone saw me leave her store and called her to ask why I was there, I knew she wouldn’t be able to stay mum about me becoming a mum. Loading my purchases behind the store was my version of an antibiotic, an attempt to slow the spreading infection of gossip. Unfortunately, gossip behaves more like a virus, and my efforts were likely to be a waste of time, much as treating a virus with antibiotics is a waste of time.