Tainted

by Tess Thompson

  Mary smiled up at him. “I doubt there’s a cookbook just for pregnant ladies.”

  “Don’t worry,” Doctor Freddie said. “You’re going to be a great partner to Mary.”

  “I’ll do my best,” he said.

  Mary was quiet as they walked out of the office and down to the garage. She declined his offer of a nice lunch, opting for a sandwich instead. When they were on the freeway headed home, she slouched against the car door with her jacket pulled tight around her waist and stared out the front window. Rain drizzled from a gray, dreary sky. His windshield wipers, set to low, made an intermittent whoosh.

  Since she’d told him that the physical relationship between them was over, she’d slept in the guestroom. She was usually gone by the time he woke in the morning and slinked off to her room shortly after returning home in the evenings.

  “You want to talk about it?” he asked.

  “Not really.”

  The car ahead of them changed lanes without using a blinker. Lance hated that. It was bad enough to drive like a maniac on slippery roads. The least one could do was tell the car behind you what idiot move you were about to make.

  “People should use their signals,” she said.

  He chuckled. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  The drizzle cleared. His wipers squeaked across the window.

  “I’m afraid to get attached to the baby,” she said.

  “The heartbeat was strong. Doctor Freddie knows what to do.”

  She let out a long sigh.

  “I’m scared too,” he said. “But seeing the flutter of her little heart made me feel a lot better.”

  “Meme had that too.” She pulled her jacked tighter. “Until it stopped.”

  “We know this time. Doctor Freddie is a specialist. And we have Jackson practically in our backyard.”

  She nodded and closed her eyes. “I guess.”

  “You tired?”

  “Exhausted.”

  “Take a nap. We’ll be home soon enough.”

  “I need to go into work. We can’t keep the store closed all day.”

  “About that. I think we should hire some help. Just until you’re feeling better.”

  Surprisingly, she didn’t argue. “You’re the boss,” she said, sleepily.

  “I could make you soup for dinner. And a big salad with all kinds of nasty greens that are supposedly good for you.”

  “You know how to make soup?” she asked.

  “I know how to buy it from the grocery store.”

  She smiled. “Maybe you better get it from The Oar instead.”

  “Does this mean you’ll agree to have dinner with me instead of hiding in your room?”

  “I’m not hiding.”

  “Seems like it to me,” he said.

  “I’ll have dinner with you tonight, okay?”

  “But like sex, it’s just dinner. Doesn’t mean anything, right?”

  She turned in the seat to glare at him, her arms crossed over her chest. “Has it ever occurred to you that it’s hard for me to be around you without wanting to end up in the bedroom?”

  He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. What did he say to that? For that matter, what did it mean?

  “Don’t you see how this is going?” Mary asked. “I’m already hurting you. I should never have allowed it to get this far.”

  “Allowed it? What does that mean?”

  “It means you’re too charming. You make me feel things I don’t want to feel.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes. And it makes me mad.”

  “Wanting me to take you into my bed makes you mad?” he asked. “I don’t get it.”

  “I’m not talking about sex. God, Lance, I’m just saying…I don’t know what I’m saying.” She turned away in a huff and slumped against the door once again.

  He wanted to smile but held back. She could tell him all day long she didn’t have feelings for him—that it was just sex for her, but it was a lie. He must continue to be good to her. Eventually he would break down her resolve to remain single. Slow and steady wins the race. Be the tequila.

  They drove in silence for a few miles until Mary turned to look at him. “Doctor Freddie reminds me of no character from any book I’ve ever read.” She leaned closer to the dash and fiddled with her air vent. “It bothers me. I can always place people. Not her. Does that worry you at all?”

  “Should it?”

  “Yes, everyone should be able to be described as a character in a book,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “You love your spreadsheets, right? It’s the same for me. I like to classify people—put them in a category, so to speak.”

  “Are you admitting to being as weird as me?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” she asked.

  “So, what we’ve got here is a confession. Excellent.” Cheered by the sparkle that had returned to her eyes and hoping to distract her, he proposed a game. “I’ll throw someone out and you tell me who they remind you of.”

  “You’re just trying to distract me.”

  He grinned. “True. Okay, Brody.”

  “It’s a tossup between Snape and Darcy.”

  “Oh my God, Snape? No way. He’s totally Darcy. Intense, somewhat brooding, but the heart of a hero. That’s the real Brody. Misunderstood, just like Darcy.”

  “Is this what it’s like when you defend me to them?”

  “You’re misunderstood, yes.”

  “I’m sorry you have to do that. Defend me, I mean.”

  “Don’t be. Anyway, Brody’s a hero to so many. Including me.”

  “You weren’t ever jealous of him? All the attention? All the women?”

  “I was jealous of the women. Now I’m jealous of his relationship with Kara.”

  She turned away and looked out the window. “I’m jealous of that too.”

  “You could have that. With me.”

  She visibly stiffened. He slowed for a curve in the road. It wasn’t until another straight section of road that she spoke.

  “Give me another one,” she said.

  “Kyle.”

  “That’s easy. Pip.”

  “Wow, yes. That’s perfect.” The seeker of fortune after a stark childhood. “Zane?”

  She appeared to ponder this for a moment, before snapping her finger and thumb. “Got it. Almanzo Wilder. Can’t you see him driving into a snowstorm to bring back wheat for the starving town?” Mary asked.

  “You lost me.”

  “The Little House books.” She waggled her finger at him in mock judgement. “Lance, you’ve got to commit to the stack.”

  “It’s a big stack.”

  “So you say.”

  “What about Jackson?” Keep her talking about books.

  “Jackson’s so obvious,” she said. “Atticus Finch.”

  He smacked the steering wheel, happy with himself. “I’ve read that one.”

  “Thank God I’m not married to a complete illiterate.”

  That afternoon, Lance was at the desk in the office above the shop when he heard Mary calling to him. He went quickly to the stairway. “Are you all right?”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “Yes, yes. I’m fine. However, we have a problem. You need to come down here.”

  He trotted down the stairs. Immediately, he understood. A ragged dog with gray fur and black, floppy ears lay on the floor next to Mary’s desk. When Lance approached, the dog raised his head, smiled, and wagged his tail. His face was spotted with black, especially his nose, which gave the impression of freckles.

  “This guy followed that mean preschool teacher in—you know, the one Violet got in a fight with because she was late to pick Dakota up?”

  He nodded, as if he followed, which he most certainly did not. “Go on.”

  “I figured he was with her, but when she came forward to buy a book, she was quite clear the dog did not belong to her. In fact, she hates dogs. Too needy. Her words. She prefers cats if she had
to choose, which she has no interest in doing because animals do nothing but ruin furniture and stink up a person’s house. No wonder Violet hates her.”

  Was this story going somewhere?

  “Anyway, this guy just flopped on the floor and refused to leave. And, he keeps smiling at me,” Mary said. “Which is very disconcerting.”

  Lance held back laughter as he knelt to examine the mangy mutt. No tags or collar. “Let’s see your paws, old guy.” As if he understood, the dog raised his right front paw. The pads of his feet were worn, like he’d come a long way to arrive at their store. He scratched behind the dog’s ears. “Where’d you come from, buddy? Did someone drop you off and leave you?”

  “He smells terrible.” Mary smiled indulgently at the dog, despite her words to the contrary.

  He did smell awful. Now that he looked closer, Lance realized the dog’s fur was closer to white than gray.

  “What do we do?” Mary asked. “He can’t stay here. He’ll drive customers away.”

  “In his current state, yes. But after a bath and some grooming, he might actually bring them in.”

  “Dogs and books do go together,” Mary said. “Everyone knows that.”

  They did?

  “I’ll take him over to Rosie’s. She’ll get him fixed up.”

  “I presume Rosie is a seventy-year-old groomer who works out of her house?” Mary asked.

  “That’s right. How’d you know?”

  “Because that describes half the people in this town.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Lance got to his feet. “I’ll go out and get a leash and some food.”

  “Wait a minute, we’re not keeping him, are we?”

  “What else would we do?” Lance asked. “He needs a home. We have one.”

  “Because it’s crazy. We just met him. How do we know he’s not dangerous?”

  “Does he look dangerous?” Lance asked. As if he understood his cue to look adorable, the dog wagged his tail and smiled wider.

  “He has the sweetest face,” Mary said. “But I don’t know anything about dogs.”

  “And I don’t know anything about babies or books, but you don’t see that stopping me, do you?”

  “Do you know anything about dogs? This is perhaps the more relevant question.”

  “We always had dogs growing up. My dad loved them,” he said.

  “Do you love them?”

  “I do. I’ve wanted one for a long time. And old freckle face here seems just right.”

  “What if he’s lost and his owners want him back? What if we get attached to him and they snatch him away?”

  “Given his state, he hasn’t had a home for a long time.”

  Mary clasped her hands together and stared at the dog. “We don’t even know his name.”

  “Freckles.”

  She burst out laughing. “There’s something the matter with you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “No one says yes to everything. Not normal people.”

  “Normal people are so boring.” He winked at her before turning his attention to the dog. “Come on, Freckles. Let’s get you some chow.”

  Freckles rose to his feet, spry as could be. This was a young dog, he felt certain. On impulse, he grabbed Mary and kissed her cheek. “We’ll be back in a few.”

  He strode across the shop and out the door, Freckles at his heels. Out on the sidewalk, he leaned over to speak closely with his new friend. “Now listen, buddy, you’ve got to do your part and convince her what a great guy I am, okay? And you’ve got to be super lovable, so she forgets to worry so much about the baby. Can you do that?”

  A short bark and spirited wag of his tail gave Lance the answer he was looking for. “All right then. Let’s go make you pretty.”

  Chapter Eight

  Mary

  * * *

  FOR MARY, the weeks after her first doctor’s appointment passed without incidence, other than the arrival and subsequent takeover of the house by one spoiled dog. That first night, Freckles came home from the groomers sporting a fresher scent, trimmed fur, and a San Francisco Sharks dog collar around his neck. He wasted no time making himself right at home, snarfing his meal of kibble before snuggling into his new doggy bed with a happy grin.

  Lance hung a bell on the front door, hoping to teach him to ring it when he was ready for a bathroom break. There was no need. Apparently, before abandoning him, Freckles’ previous owners had taught him the finer points of bell ringing. The first morning in his new home, he trotted to the door and rang the bell with an elegant push of his paw, then sat on his haunches with that silly smile and waited for a gloating Lance to take him outside.

  What was it about Lance Mullen that made everything look easy?

  Now, Mary stood at her bathroom sink brushing her teeth. When had mint toothpaste become disgusting or was there something wrong with this tube? Did toothpaste expire? A wave of nausea rumbled through her stomach. She set aside her toothbrush and stood for a moment, hoping for the queasiness to subside. No such luck. She stumbled to the toilet and heaved into the porcelain goddess.

  Sweating and lightheaded, she washed out her mouth with water and tried again to brush her teeth using the horrible toothpaste. No go. Nine weeks pregnant and morning sickness had descended with a vengeance. She needed Lance.

  He was at the kitchen table, staring at the screen of his open laptop. Steam rose from his mug of coffee. Damp hair and the scent of his aftershave told her he’d already been out for his run and had showered. Freckles lay near his chair, sleeping with his head on his paws. They both startled to their feet at the sight of her. “You don’t look so great,” Lance said.

  “Morning sickness has arrived.”

  “What do I do?” Lance asked.

  “I need different toothpaste. One without a hint of mint.” Freckles jogged over to her and stared up at her with a concerned expression.

  She patted the top of his head. “Don’t worry, Freckles. It’s just the baby causing trouble.” He cocked his head to the side and whined.

  Lance peered at her, like he was trying to translate a foreign language. “You’re the same color as the white walls.”

  “I feel awful. Ironically, the only thing that will make me feel better is food.”

  “You rest. I’ll make you something. Eggs?”

  An image of runny yolks oozing over a piece of toast brought a new wave of nausea. She brought her fingers to her mouth. “No, just dry toast, please.”

  He escorted her to the couch and insisted she curl up with a pillow and a blanket. “You want cartoons?”

  “Huh?”

  “When Brody and I were sick, Flora always let us watch cartoons.”

  “That would be adorable if I weren’t so sick,” she said feebly.

  Another sympathetic whine erupted from Freckles as he curled into a ball under her feet. He wasn’t allowed on the couch. Lance had trained him, somehow, that he was not to jump on the furniture. His devotion to Freckles’ education boded well for his skills as a father.

  Lance tucked a blanket around her legs. “Just rest. I’ll be right back.”

  She obeyed, closing her eyes. They were tired and scratchy, despite having slept close to eleven hours. Sounds of Lance moving around the kitchen soothed her, despite the nausea. She drifted off for a few minutes. Next thing she knew Lance was next to her with a plate of dry toast and a mug of what appeared to be weak tea. She sat up and took a tentative nibble of the toast. “I swear I can taste every one of these eleven grains.”

  “Twelve, according to the package,” he said.

  She finished one piece of toast and waited to see if it stayed where it belonged. “I feel a little better.”

  He encouraged her to sip from the cup of tea.

  “How did you know this is what I needed?” she asked.

  “I texted my mom,” Lance said. “She told me weak tea was the only thing she could stomach when she was pregnant. That and ging
er ale.”

  “I didn’t have any of this with Meme. I felt great the whole time.” What a fool she’d been. She’d nested and daydreamed about the three of them living together as a happy family. Meanwhile, Chad had been sneaking his barista girlfriend into his office. In truth, she didn’t know if they’d met in his office for their trysts. She’d never asked him. After he’d left, she’d never spoken to him again. Instead, for months afterward, she’d spent sleepless nights wondering and imagining how such a clandestine affair happened right under her daydreaming nose.

  Lance jumped up from his spot on the coffee table. “I’m going to the store for toothpaste and ginger ale.”

  Kara called shortly after he left. Mary didn’t want to answer. She didn’t have the energy for a stilted, awkward conversation. She did it anyway.

  “Hi Kara.”

  They exchanged pleasantries, then moved on to how they were feeling. Kara was pleased to say she felt completely normal, like she wasn’t even pregnant. Mary shared about her onset of morning sickness.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Kara said, sounding sympathetic. “The girls and I were talking and thought it might be nice to have a little wedding-shower-after-the-wedding-type of get together. But only if you’re up for it.”

  She wasn’t. However, Lance wanted her to forge friendships with the wives. She had to try. “I’d love nothing more. Let’s have it here at the house. Lance is dying to show it off.” Was that even true? How easy it was to lie once one started.

  They agreed on a date for the following week. Before they hung up, Mary asked for one favor. “I don’t suppose it can just be us and not Janet or Flora?”

  Kara chuckled. “I think that can be arranged. But you know, they’re going to be all over a baby shower.”

  “Right. I suppose they will.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m here for you. I’ve got Flora’s number, so you let me deal with her. I have stories about her that’ll make you laugh. You remember I was initially hired to work as her replacement when Flora had her surgery. Remind me to tell you about the time I made wheat germ and carrot muffins. Now when she comes over, I pretend I don’t know how to cook certain dishes, so she still feels like the boys need her. That’s what she calls them. The Boys. I always think of it with a capital B. I know she can be annoying but try and remember that until she found Dax and Cameron, they were all she had. She feels like Brody and Lance are her biggest accomplishments. She’s invested in everything they do. Too invested.”