Girls of Summer (Shelter Rock Cove - Book #2)

by Barbara Bretton

  “Probably not.” She hesitated. “Of course not.” If only she sounded more certain.

  “When will you know for sure?”

  “Two weeks,” Ellen said. “Not that I think there’s anything to worry about.” Two long weeks.

  “No offense, but how in hell did you of all people forget to use protection?”

  It was too late to say it was none of Deirdre’s business. They wouldn’t even be having this conversation if she had been able to keep her big mouth shut.

  “I thought he’d had a vasectomy, but I was wrong.”

  “There’s more to worry about these days than pregnancy.”

  Didn’t she have this conversation yesterday with sixteen-year-old Tori Dietrich? “We were both tested awhile ago.” And they had both been celibate since. She felt a rush of empathy for all of her patients who had endured her relentless grilling. It wasn’t much fun being on this side of the discussion.

  “And what’s wrong with him? I suppose he forgot he didn’t have a vasectomy, too.”

  “Deirdre, it wasn’t the way you’re making it sound.”

  “Does he know you’re worried?”

  “He knows.”

  “And—?”

  “He says he’ll be there for me no matter what.”

  A long silence fell between them.

  “You always were the lucky one,” Deirdre said.

  * * *

  “Katie Glassberg delivered her daughter,” Hall said as he passed Ellen in the hallway two mornings later. “Eighteen inches long, six pounds eleven ounces, great lungs.”

  “Katie’s okay?”

  “Beaming,” he said.

  “How about the father?”

  “He didn’t show,” Hall said.

  “Did she call him?”

  “I didn’t ask. Her mother and sisters were there and a couple of friends.”

  “Good,” Ellen said. “At least she wasn’t alone.”

  “Lindstrom?” he asked, gesturing toward Room 2.

  “She asked for an epidural when she hit two centimeters.”

  “No surprise there,” said Hall. “I’ve seen her ask for painkiller during a consultation.”

  Ellen laughed. “Tedesco called. She was sent home with Braxton-Hicks yesterday, but she thinks this might be the real thing.”

  “It’s the full moon,” Hall said. “Babies love being born during the full moon.”

  “The full moon was three days ago,” Ellen said as she continued on her way to the delivery room. “I call this a downright epidemic.”

  He was still grinning when he reached the office.

  “You’re looking cheerful,” Janna observed as he slipped into his lab coat.

  “Katie Glassberg delivered her daughter,” he said, checking his pocket for his glasses.

  Janna beamed at him in delight. “A blonde like her mother?”

  “Bald,” Hall said with a laugh.

  “Not even some peach fuzz?”

  “Like a billiard ball.”

  Janna hurried off to write out a card to Katie and her new daughter while he headed into his office. At least Janna had stopped giving him the fish eye every time he spoke to her. She still cast the occasional speculative glance Ellen’s way, but even that was beginning to wane. Gossip in Shelter Rock seemed to have the life span of deli cold cuts. By the end of a week both had pretty much run their course. The appearance of Ellen’s flamboyant harp-playing sister Deirdre and her giant dog had gone a long way toward diverting attention away from the juicy topic of sex to the even juicier topic of other people’s families.

  He remembered it well, that feeling of being at the center of every conversation that went on in town. He had grown up with it, worn it like a medal, carried it before him like a shield. Poor kid, they used to say. How can James and Felicia leave him alone that way? You wouldn’t think the only child of one of the wealthiest men in town would end up being pitied, but life never seemed to follow the script. His parents were a terrific couple, great dinner companions, swell letter writers, the kind of people you’d love to meet on a cruise ship and exchange home phone numbers with. They were warm and witty, generous to a fault, the most loyal friends you could ever ask for. Unfortunately they were also the lousiest parents on the planet. Not unkind. Never intentionally cruel. Just clueless.

  “We weren’t planning on having children,” they used to say to anyone who would listen. “If we hadn’t drunk so much champagne at the Hawthornes’ anniversary party, Hall wouldn’t be here at all.”

  On good days he was their little surprise. On not-so-good days he was the biggest mistake of their lives.

  He tried to capture their interest with his accomplishments, offering up A-plus report cards and awards of excellence to the gods of parental indifference. He lettered in track, bulked up enough to play quarterback on the football team, won a full scholarship to Harvard Medical School, then relinquished it to someone who needed the money instead.

  His parents smiled absently and murmured, “That’s nice, dear,” then booked their semiannual cruise to Bermuda.

  He had made plenty of mistakes in his life, but at least he had managed to get it right with his daughters. He had no patience with the latest slang or the newest music. He had issued a global ban on tattoos and body piercing and—God help them all—thongs on the beach. His two oldest girls said he was stuck back in the twentieth century and needed to catch up with the times, but they laughed when they said it in a way that told him he was on the right track. He knew how to love, how to be there when they needed him, how to listen when they wanted to talk, and how to talk when they needed to listen. And he could recite Green Eggs and Ham from memory.

  He had done it well four times and considered himself blessed to have four bright and beautiful daughters. That was enough glory for any man.

  But what if Ellen turned out to be pregnant? What if they had made a baby together Sunday night in his big wide bed with the moonlight spilling across her lovely face? What if—?

  Hell, no.

  Five would be pushing his luck. You didn’t need a degree in math to figure that one out. Five healthy, happy children would be tempting the gods.

  If there was one thing he had learned along the way it was that the gods rarely asked your opinion before they pulled a fast one on you. Every time you thought you were getting a handle on things, leave it to them to throw a banana peel in your path.

  The timing was wrong. The situation couldn’t be worse. The last thing they needed was for Ellen to be pregnant with his child.

  Which, considering the gods and their perverse sense of humor, meant that nine months from now they just might give Shelter Rock Cove a whole lot more to talk about.

  Chapter Thirteen

  By Thursday morning Stanley’s interest in their twice-daily walks into town had dimmed considerably. He sat down, quite without warning, in front of the town library, and Deirdre quickly discovered that when a one-hundred-and-fifteen-pound dog decides to make a statement, his human had no choice but to listen. Fortunately Stanley was clever as well as stubborn. The doughnut shop was less than twenty feet away, and Deirdre managed to scare up fifty cents from the depths of her crocheted hobo bag to buy him a raspberry jelly.

  “We’re splitting this,” she said as she broke the doughnut into two pieces. “You’re getting away with murder as it is.”

  Stanley inhaled his half. Deirdre wasn’t too far behind. Ellen’s fridge was the culinary equivalent of a cloistered monastery: nonfat milk, bottled spring water, containers of yogurt without the sugary fruit preserves at the bottom, which was the whole point of eating yogurt in the first place.

  “Okay, Stan,” she said in what she hoped was a firm, masterful voice. “Let’s go.” She knew the dog preferred romps on the beach to these leashed strolls along Shore Road, but what better way to mask her ulterior motive than behind Stanley’s cardiovascular health. Her car was still being held hostage in the repair shop, and this gave her a casual,
spontaneous reason to pop in and see how they were faring in the search for parts.

  Jack, the owner, grinned as she and Stanley approached the bay where he was working on the biggest, reddest truck she had ever seen in her life. That grin had grown progressively wider as the week progressed. He gestured toward the back room. “He’s in the office. I promise I’ll knock before I barge in.”

  She assumed that was mechanic’s humor and smiled pleasantly. There was a reason girlie calendars hung from the walls in every auto mechanic’s shop from Maine to California, some connection between gas fumes and testosterone. Not that she had noticed any pinups visible on the walls of Shore Coast Auto Repair, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

  Her Hyundai still occupied the last bay, forlorn and forgotten. It took all of her willpower to keep from scrawling FIX ME in the thick layer of dust that graciously obscured the score of dings and dents that she liked to believe gave the car character.

  Scott was hunched over the desk in Jack’s office. The phone was wedged between his shoulder and ear while he clicked his way from one Web site page to another. She rapped on the molding and stepped inside.

  “I hope you have some good news for me,” she said as Stanley led her into the small room. The smell of motor oil hung heavy in the air. It was probably catnip to men, but it made her long for a bubble bath.

  He motioned her to wait. “A master cylinder... yeah... no... yeah, that’s right... a Hyundai... you’re sure... maybe you could... yeah, that’s the way it goes, alright. Thanks for your help.” He hung up the receiver and turned to her. “Another dead end.”

  “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  “I told you it was going to be a bitch.”

  “Yes, but I thought that meant it might take a day or two to locate the part.”

  “Maybe it would take a day or two to find the part for a ninety-six or ninety-seven. We’re talking ten years older than that. I should quit calling parts places and start calling graveyards.”

  She glanced out the window at his disreputable-looking truck. “And I suppose that’s a Caddy you’re driving.”

  “Auto graveyards,” he said. “Damn. I probably should have started there. I might have saved a hell of a lot of time.”

  “I have to be in Bar Harbor tomorrow afternoon or lose my job. And in case I didn’t spell it out before, that’s not an option I can live with.” Especially if he expected to get paid for the work he hadn’t done yet.

  “You’ll get there.”

  “How? I can’t afford to rent a car. My sister needs her Cruiser. Unless you plan on driving me up there, I’d better start walking.”

  “So I’ll drive you.”

  “Not funny,” she said, moving Stanley away from the used coffee cup he was investigating. “Just fix my car.”

  He settled that unreadable gaze of his on her, and she resisted the urge to look away. Let him be the one to break the connection this time.

  “You could always give me a loaner,” she said, their gazes still locked.

  There it was again, that now you see it now you don’t grin that almost made her forget what she was doing there.

  “The loaner needs a new tranny. It hasn’t been high priority.”

  She started to laugh. “Annie said this was the best auto repair shop in town.”

  “We’re the only auto repair shop in town. Best, worst, we’ve got it all covered.”

  Stanley snuffled his way around the desk and pushed Scott’s hand with his nose.

  “He’s crazy about you,” Deirdre said, smiling as Scott awkwardly patted the top of the dog’s head. “I told you Stanley was a pussycat.”

  “The dog’s not going to Bar Harbor, too, is he?”

  Her smile widened. “Fix my car by tomorrow morning and it won’t matter.”

  * * *

  Scott heard Jack call out a goodbye to Deirdre and steeled himself for the inevitable.

  Five... four... three... two... one!

  “She’s hot for you,” Jack said from the doorway. “I’m telling you I know the signs.”

  “She wants her car fixed,” Scott said, turning his attention back to the computer.

  “Showing up here twice a day like clockwork isn’t going to get it done any faster.”

  “Time’s running out. She’s supposed to be up in Bar Harbor tomorrow to start a new job.”

  “She better have an extra set of wheels hidden someplace because there’s no way that heap’ll be ready to roll tomorrow.”

  “You’re a real optimist,” Scott said over his shoulder. “No wonder Susan—” Shit. Shut up while you still have a job. Talk about sports, cars, and politics, but stay the hell away from marriage. Susan’s outburst the other night at Cappy’s. Jack’s bewilderment. Deirdre’s curiosity. His own deep embarrassment. Stay away from all of it. He knew how it felt to be on the bad end of a marriage in trouble, and he wouldn’t wish it on a dog, much less a good guy like Jack.

  “I’ve been meaning to say something about the other night.”

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Scott said. I’ll work free for a month if you promise you won’t say anything.

  “She’s not usually like that.”

  “Hey, you don’t owe me any explanations.”

  “She hasn’t been herself lately.”

  Tell me something the entire town doesn’t know. He considered launching himself through the monitor, but with his luck Jack would follow him.

  “I think it’s menopause.”

  That tore it. He was going headfirst through the monitor.

  He felt Jack’s eyes boring a hole through the back of his shirt. The guy was waiting for him to say something, and all he could think of was the way Susan had looked when the two doctors headed off to the hospital and left the rest of them to split their lobster between them. She had been staring at Hall Talbot like he had hung the moon, the way Megan used to look at him when they were just beginning to see a future rising from the heat.

  Yeah, he knew that look. He had felt its power once, a long time ago. And he knew where it could lead.

  The guy had big trouble, bigger even than he probably knew, and there was no way in hell Scott was going to say one damn thing about it. Jack would have to find out for himself.

  * * *

  “There she goes again,” Claudia said as Deirdre strolled past the window of Annie’s Flowers. “I’ve never seen anyone spend so much time walking a dog in my entire life.” The young woman waved and she waved back reluctantly. “And I can’t count how many times a day she pops into Jack’s. Doesn’t she know how to use a telephone?”

  Her former daughter-in-law reached for the wire cutters. “Maybe she’s worried about her car. She has that job up in Bar Harbor waiting for her and she needs transportation.”

  “She’s certainly made herself at home around here,” Claudia observed. “She was actually waiting on the sidewalk for me to open up yesterday morning.”

  Ellen Markowitz’s sister, who was inexplicably named O’Brien, had made a habit of dropping in for a little chitchat during her rambles. She seemed pleasant enough, if a bit less polished than her older sister, but there was something about the young woman that worried her.

  “Did you see that ridiculous outfit she was wearing today?” She nipped an inch off a stem of delphinium, held it up to the arrangement she was working on, then nipped off a little bit more. “You could practically see through her blouse.”

  “So don’t look,” Annie said. “I love the way she dresses. I think it suits her.”

  “She looks like she shops at a thrift shop.”

  “Kind of funky and feminine. I like it.”

  “I thought harpists were delicate and refined.”

  Annie sighed and tossed the wire cutters down on the worktable. “Claudia, we both know you don’t care if Deirdre wears a hoopskirt and a thong. What is this really about?”

  “I think Jack is having an affair.”

  Annie’s laug
hter exploded into the room.

  “I’m glad you see some humor in the situation, Anne.”

  “Jack?” Annie said, wiping her eyes with her forearm. “Are we talking about the same Jack Aldrin who worships the ground Susan walks on?”

  “That little redhead is throwing herself at him, and he’s just the right age to feel flattered.”

  “Let me put your fears to rest. If Deirdre is flirting with anyone, it’s Scott.”

  “Scott?” Claudia frowned. “That silent young man Jack hired?”

  “That gorgeous silent young man Jack hired. I saw the sparks fly the second they met.”

  “So you don’t think she’s set her cap for Jack?”

  Annie’s lovely eyes twinkled with amusement. “No, I don’t think she’s set her cap for Jack. I don’t think she knows Jack is on this planet.”

  “Well, something’s wrong just the same.” She lowered her voice so that gossipy Sweeney woman from the Artists’ Coop couldn’t hear her. “I was told there was some trouble between them the other night at Cappy’s.”

  “Susan and Jack?” Annie’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Charlie told me,” Claudia said, “He said his mother burst into tears at the table when Jack said something to that Deirdre person.”

  “That’s not the way I heard it,” Annie said. “Sam bumped into Jack at the bank, and Jack said he was in the doghouse for something he said about Ellen.”

  “Ellen?” Claudia began plucking blossoms from the delphinium.

  “Not really Ellen,” Annie amended. “He remarked on how happy Hall has been since Ellen joined his practice, and Susan—”

  “Burst into tears.”

  Annie nodded. The two women locked eyes over the deep blue mass of delphinium piled on the worktable. Neither one said a word. The truth spoke loud enough for both of them. Twenty-five years ago Claudia would have been on her knees in church thanking God that her daughter had finally exhibited the good sense to fall in love with Hall Talbot. Now all she could do was pray he didn’t love her back.