by Peggy Jaeger
“You’d better eat something just the same. You’re way too skinny. I can feel your bones through your clothes. I know Mom’s worried about that too, so if you don’t want to start an inquisition about why you’re not eating, gag something down.”
With a pout, she said, “Steps told me the same thing. I don’t think I’m that thin.”
He stopped and looked down at the face identical to his own. “Yes, you are,” he told her. “And it’s not attractive.”
“You’re mean.”
“No, I’m truthful.” He kissed her hard on the forehead. “Welcome home, sis.”
Chapter Two
Dinner was more difficult than she’d thought it would be.
Serena, as always, made enough food for an army of hungry men. But Moira’s stomach rebelled at the first whiff of the delicious grilled steak, fingerling potatoes and garden raised asparagus, all her favorites. There were also baked, homemade rolls, and Moira was silently thankful she could eat those and keep them down. Serena served everyone, piling enough food on each plate to satisfy someone starved for days. The men in the family ate with gusto while Moira shunted the food around on her plate and tried to sneak some of it to Rob Roy, who’d come to nestle in his old, familiar place at her feet. When one of Serena’s eyebrows rose dramatically to her hairline, Moira felt her face grow hot, embarrassed she’d been caught.
Through tired eyes, she realized just how much she’d missed them all.
Seventeen-year-old Alastair, or Steps as they’d always called him, had grown into an affable, charming and witty young man like his older brothers. He was thrilled to be on the baseball team, and Moira couldn’t tell who was happier: her brother or their dad, Seamus. Like all the Cleary kids, Steps had midnight-black hair and crystal blue eyes gifted from their mother. Twenty-one-year-old Dennis, home on break from college, was even taller than their father, at almost six five. A total techno-geek, he planned to turn his lifelong love of computer games and programs into a career in computer science. He’d already automated their father’s veterinary practice, Pat told her, to the point where billing and hand recording were now things of the past. Dennis was currently developing a new system to track needed medicines and supplies into an automated reordering program.
The only girl in the family, and the oldest of them all by a scant three minutes, Moira was comfortable being the quiet one at the table. Her brothers, all enthusiastic talkers, took over the bulk of the conversation. Several times though, Moira caught her parent’s surreptitious glances. Twice she’d seen them look at one another and each raise an eyebrow. She knew her appearance, her lack of appetite and her silence were red flags, but she was hopeful they wouldn’t grill her about it during the meal.
At one point, Seamus pointed his fork at her and asked, “Want to come by the clinic tomorrow and see the improvements? A lot has changed since you were last home.”
“I’d love to,” she told him.
“There’s a new equine surgery and recovery center that’s Quentin’s baby,” Pat said. “He designed it and oversaw the construction himself. Spends most of his time there.”
“He always wanted his own facility onsite.” Moira smiled. “Last time I was home it was all he could talk about.”
“It still is,” Seamus said. “That boy’s as crazy about horses as you used to be.” He reached over and took her hand. “I can’t tell you how many times I bet your mother you were going to follow me with your brother into the practice. Your gift with horses was always amazing. But your talent with the piano overshadowed everything else.”
Moira’s heart stopped. No one at the table had yet to ask her the reason for her sudden arrival home. She didn’t want this to be an opening into a discussion she didn’t want to have. Not now.
If she could wish it, not ever.
To make sure it wasn’t, she asked her father, “What time do you leave in the morning? I’ll drive in with you.”
“Tomorrow’s my call day,” he told her, with a shake of his head. “I’ll be making rounds from five A.M. until I’m done. If all goes well I won’t be at the clinic until after three. You’re welcome to come along.”
“Ugh. No thanks. I’ll find my way there, somehow, at a more decent hour.”
“You can go in with me,” Pat told her. “I’m usually there by seven,” he added, with a teasing smile.
For an answer she just stared at him.
“Spoiled, just like always,” her twin said, not bothering to hide his smile behind his glass.
“I can drop you off on my way to school,” Alastair offered. “But you need to find your way home ’cause I’ve got practice ’til six.”
“I’ll think about it,” Moira told him. In the next instant, without any warning, she cried out and fell forward onto the table. Painful cramps spasmed in her upper abdomen and, like a rolling tsunami, spread downward, undulating with a nauseating pitch and roll. Tears sprang from her eyes as she gripped the table with one hand, her stomach with the other.
Serena and Seamus were up and at her side in a heartbeat.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” Serena cried. “What is it?”
“Are you having cramps?” Seamus asked. He squatted next to her and took her face in his hands. “You’re sweating like crazy.”
“It’ll pass,” she told them through shallow breaths. She hated the concern etched on their faces. “Pat, I’ve got some antacids in my purse. It’s on my bed. Can you get them?”
He shot up from the table, up the stairs and was down again in seconds.
“Here.” He handed her the opened bottle.
She dumped four out and swallowed them whole, gulping the glass of water Serena pushed into her trembling hands.
All eyes were lasered onto her face as she sat, willing the pain to pass.
When it finally did, she let out the breath she’d been holding and sat back in the chair again, her hand still rubbing her abdomen.
“How long has this been going on?” Seamus asked.
“More importantly,” Serena said, her voice firm and intractable, her jaw clenched, “what’s causing it?”
Moira took a deep breath, resigned to the fact she had no choice but to answer them. “It’s been going on a little over a month,” she told her father. “I don’t know why,” she added to her mother. “But the antacids help.”
“Did something happen in Europe?” Serena asked. “Did you eat something bad, or get a bug?”
“I don’t think so, but I don’t know for sure,” she told them. “I think it’s just stress. Always eating out at restaurants or having room service. Food preparation’s different in each country. Plus,” she removed her hand from her slowly quieting stomach, “this has been a very difficult tour. Emotions and tempers have been running rampant. I really just think I need a rest. This is why I didn’t want to go on to Asia.”
She stared at each of their faces, again detesting the anxiety she knew she put there. She looked into her mother’s distressed eyes and, in an attempt to lighten the mood, said, “I really think all I need is mom’s good home-cooking to get me back on track again. I’ll be fine.”
Neither parent looked convinced, but they didn’t press. “Don’t eat if you’re not up to it,” Serena said.
Moira’s eyes widened.
“I never thought I’d live to hear you say those words,” Seamus told his wife with a hug before sitting back down at the head of the table.
The rest of the meal passed without any further incidents, but Moira was acutely aware they were all watching her with wary and questioning eyes. She pleaded travel exhaustion and was off to bed soon after the dishes were done, with a kiss for each of her parents and brothers.
Like a shadow, Pat followed her up the stairs, into her room, and plopped down on her bed. He crossed his feet at the ankles, folded his hands behind his head, and looked, for all intents and purposes to her, like he was settling in for the night. Rob Roy jumped onto the bed as well and snuggled down next to him
.
“What are you doing?” she asked, as she pulled a T-shirt and pajama bottoms out of her suitcase.
“Out with it, M,” he said, piercing her with a hardened glare which told her he was, indeed, settling in until he got answers to the questions she knew he wanted.
Moira rolled her eyes, went into her connecting bathroom, and shut the door. Through it, she said, “When I open this door, you’d better be gone.”
She changed, tossed her clothes into the hamper, washed her face, getting the water as hot as she could, and brushed her teeth. When she opened the door, her brother was in the same position she’d left him in.
“Really, Pat?” She crossed to her vanity, pulled her hair out of the braid she’d woven it into before supper and began to brush it. Pat’s pensive reflection stared at her in the mirror, his mouth flattened into a resolute, hard, take-no-prisoners line, so like their mother’s.
“I want to know what happened in Europe.”
“Well, I want to go to sleep. But I can’t because, hello, you’re in my bed.”
“Moira.” His voice was low and soft, but tempered steel forged through her name.
“Back off, Pat.” She yanked the brush from the top of her head to the ends of her hair in one angry pull. Tired and irritable, all she wanted now was sleep, not to argue with her twin.
He sat up and tossed his legs over the edge of the bed, his arms resting across his thighs. The dog lifted its head, snorted, and then stretched out on its back, taking up most of the bed.
“If you won’t tell me what happened, then I’m going to tell mom and dad about the Valium I found in your purse.”
She whipped around to face him, and almost fell off the chair. “You goon! You snooped through my things.”
“No snooping.” He shook his head. “When you asked me to get your antacids, I saw the bottle lying next to them in your purse. The half empty bottle, Moira.”
A deep, bone-weary exhaustion seeped through her, shoving the anger away. When her shoulders sagged and she put the brush on the vanity top, Pat pushed off the bed and squatted next to her so they were eye level.
“Why do you have Valium? You’ve never had trouble with nerves or anxiety in your life. Dad’s always said you’re the calm in the storm. And he’s not wrong. Something happened.” His eyes softened when he took her hands in his. “Something bad happened to you, Moira. You’re gaunt and your color is awful. I’ve never seen you so pale and washed out.”
She looked down at their hands, her brother’s so big and powerful, yet holding hers in the gentlest of clasps, and stayed silent.
“Tell me,” he said.
“I will.” She nodded. “Just not now.” She turned her gaze up to his and her heart broke at the deep unease she saw in his eyes. “The Valium was just something that helped until I could come home. I haven’t taken any in a few days. Not since I made the decision to leave the company. Don’t worry if I’m addicted or anything, because I’m not. It served a purpose at the time and now I don’t need it any more.” She squeezed his hands and added, “Don’t tell mom and dad. I know they’re worried enough about how I look. They don’t need to worry about this too, especially since it’s a non-issue. Okay?”
“Moira.”
“Please, Pat. Just give me a few days to rest and feel better. Then I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
He didn’t say anything, just kept holding her hands. After a moment he said, “Just tell me one thing now.”
Her shoulders sagged again as she sighed. She shot him a weary glare. “If I do, will you stop being such a pain and go away?”
His mouth swept into a quick, perceptive grin. “Promise.”
“Okay. One thing. Shoot.”
“Are you pregnant?”
Whatever she’d thought he was going to ask, it wasn’t this. Moira’s mouth fell open. “What?”
“Answer me.”
With a violent shake of her head she said, “No. God, no. Where did you pull that from?”
“It would explain a lot about the way you look and how your stomach’s been acting,” he said. “I am a doctor, you know.”
“Of animals, not people. What do you take me for? An idiot?”
Pat shook his head. “No, Moira, not an idiot, but it’s apparent something is physically wrong with you. A pregnancy isn’t so out of the ballpark for me to assume.”
“Yes it is, for me, and you know it.” She blew out a breath, and sliced a slitted glare at him. “I am not now, nor have I ever—ever—been pregnant. I’m not a stupid teenager, Pat. I know how to prevent getting pregnant. I have since I was twelve. You make me crazy.” She shook her head again and stood, pushing him out of her way. “I repeat, I’m not pregnant and never have been. Okay?” She crossed to the window and opened it. “What a question. Will you go away now so I can get some sleep?”
Pat stood to his full height and stared across at her. “You’ve never kept anything from me before, Moira.”
“And I’m not keeping anything from you now. I just don’t want to talk about it right at this moment. Can’t you respect that?”
“I can, but you know you can tell me anything, right? Anything.”
She nodded, staring into his anxious eyes. Silently, she moved into his arms and hugged him.
He held her for a few moments, the room silent, except for the subtle sonorous snores coming from Rob Roy.
“You’ll come by the clinic tomorrow?” he asked.
“Yes.”
With that, he bent and kissed her cheek.
In bed, with Rob Roy stretched along the length of her body, Moira closed her eyes and prayed for the strength to get through another day.
Chapter Three
Jet lag, time zone differences, physical and emotional exhaustion all melded, causing Moira to slip into a deep, much needed sleep. When her eyes finally opened, the angle of the sunshine as it filtered into her room told her it was midmorning. Rob Roy was stretched out next to her, flat on his back, his ancient legs pointing straight upwards. His tongue lolled out the side of his mouth and a thin whistle blew from him with each slumberous breath he took. Moira’s heart turned over with love and she reached across his barrel chest and woke him with a hug. His tongue skimmed across her cheek and she would have sworn on a stack of bibles he was smiling at her.
She took a long, cleansing, and refreshing shower, steaming all the exhaustion from her system. A pair of old, faded jeans she found in the bottom of her dresser hung loosely on her hips, but she decided to wear them since most of the clothes she’d come home with were performance ones. With a glance in her vanity mirror, she shrugged, knowing the circles would disappear from under her eyes with a few more nights of good rest and went in search of her mother. Serena was in her attic studio and the offer of her car was all the invitation Moira needed. After a quick cup of tea, which, thankfully, caused no stomach pains, she was off.
When she walked into the veterinary clinic, Moira was immediately hit with a sense of heartwarming nostalgia. The waiting room had been expanded, big enough now for several small animals to walk about freely and explore without tripping their leash-holding owners. An empty cat carrier sat open on the floor next to an elderly, white haired woman who was silently rubbing the scruffy neck of an aged calico nestled in her lap. Two seats down from her a small boy held a cage with a hamster peering through the bars, its eyes darting right and left as if secretly planning its escape. Two dogs, one bullmastiff, one cocker spaniel, were engaged in a verbal barking match no one in the room seemed bothered by.
Pat emerged from a door behind the massive check-in desk. Clad in a white lab coat that fit his broad shoulders to physical perfection, he held a shaking miniature Yorkie in his arms. Its hair was tied back from its face and out of its eyes with a large blue bow.
“Napoleon will be fine in a few days, Mrs. Reynolds.” With a smile for the dog’s owner, he transferred it to her arms. “Remember, one pill twice a day for a week. And please don�
��t hesitate to call with any questions or concerns.”
“Thank you so much, Dr. Cleary. I’ve been so worried.”
“You’ll both be fine,” he told her, patting her arm. When he looked up, he caught Moira’s eye and smiled.
“Finally got out of bed?” He enveloped her in a hug when she walked up to him.
“Don’t be snide. I had jet lag.”
“That’s one word for it,” he said, peering at her. “But you do look like you slept a little. Still haggard, though.”
One eyebrow lifted almost to her hairline. “Don’t make me regret coming down here,” she told him. “Do you have a few minutes?”
“Sure.”
Pat took her along the inside of the new veterinary offices and Moira was impressed to see how different it looked since the last time she’d been home. The indoor/outdoor kennel with an exercise run was new for the dogs, as was the feline emergency area.
“This place looks great,” she said. “You guys have made so many changes. It’s amazing. You must really be busy.”
“We’re the only veterinary hospital in three towns,” Pat said. “That makes for a lot of business. Quentin is doing more farm calls than our fathers ever did. The local breeders trust him and no one else to care for their horses. He’s on call twenty-four/seven for them.”
“Speaking of,” Moira said, “where is this new horse center you guys told me about last night?”
He was about to show her when one of the veterinary techs stopped him. “Dr. Cleary, Mrs. Atkins is waiting for you in room two. She’s getting a little anxious. So is her dog.”
Pat smiled at the young girl. “Okay Sheila, tell her I’ll be right there.”
“Like I said, you guys are busy. Just point me the right way. I’ll get there.”
Armed with directions, Moira strolled to the back of the building and out the exit doors. The veterinary clinic sat atop three acres of prime Connecticut Valley real estate. The original owners, David Stapleton and Martin Lennox, had opened the business over thirty-five years ago. Small at first, it quickly grew, as the two young and eager veterinarians built their practice. With Martin’s death, David took in a new partner, Seamus Cleary, and the practice continued to increase in size.
