Down by the River (10 page)

“Look at her,” he said. “She’s grinning ear to ear. She likes riding in the back of the truck.”

June gasped. “You didn’t!” She had strictly forbidden that.

“I didn’t,” he said. “Something smells wonderful. I didn’t know you could cook,” he teased.

She slapped his arm with a damp dish towel and a little cloud of sawdust puffed up. “I’m a better cook than you! Hey, you’re dirty. Get a lot done today?”

“A real lot. It’s damn near habitable.” He pulled his shirt inside out over his head to capture the sawdust and dirt, and the sight of his bare chest took her breath away, like usual. Grace Valley was a town of strong men; June had grown up with them. But every time she saw Jim with his shirt off, she wanted to melt into his arms and never leave. She leaned against the counter, arms crossed above her swollen middle, and just gazed at him while he washed his hands and talked to her.

“I can see what Chris was thinking when he
bought the place,” Jim said. “It has great possibilities, and Chris is a good builder, a good carpenter. You should see what he’s been able to do since some of us are helping him. He’s taught me a lot. I don’t know what kind of judge Judge Forrest is, but he’s good with wood, and Chris is just that much better. We moved the boys into one of the bedrooms and did everything but lay carpet in that great room.” She handed him the towel as he turned away from the sink. “Any news on the café burglary?”

“Not that I heard.”

“Any word on that Davis guy?”

“Seems he abandoned his family,” she said. “Sam said he called social services on their behalf.”

“They’re better off.” He went to the chili pot and gave it a stir, took a taste. “Damn,” he swore in appreciation. “Not bad for a gringo. Won’t this give you heartburn or anything?”

“Naw. I have an iron stomach. Let’s sit on the floor by the fire.”

They filled bowls and put them on trays. June broke a French baguette in half and put it on a breadboard with butter and a knife, which she handed to Jim. She followed him into the cozy little living room and watched as he deftly lowered himself to the floor. Sitting cross-legged before the fire, he took a couple of giant spoonfuls of chili and yummed appreciatively.

June stood there in total consternation. She lowered herself to one knee, then two, but there was
no way she could lower herself to the floor. Her stomach was just too big. When had that happened? She placed her tray on the floor in front of her, and attempted to brace herself with her hands, but there was a problem. She could reach the floor in front of her so she balanced on hands and knees, but when she kneeled upright and tried to reach for the floor behind her, her stomach became this ungainly giant mound that swayed out in front and threatened to topple her with its weight. She was back on all fours again, and tried the other direction. The result was the same. She thought about letting herself just drop to the floor, but realized that probably wasn’t such a good idea.

On her knees, she wobbled to the couch, grabbed one of the larger throw pillows, then wobbled back to where her dinner waited. She applied the pillow to her butt, and with all the grace of a water buffalo, let herself drop the short distance to the floor. She immediately rolled too far to the left and had to catch herself before doing a complete backward somersault. When she sat upright, she saw that Jim was frozen, his unchewing mouth full of chili, as he watched this performance.

He slowly swallowed and said, “When it’s time to get up, you let me know. Okay?”

“Yeah. Sure. Okay.” She crossed her legs and reached for her tray, which she was going to put on her lap. Was. There wasn’t really much lap there. But not to be discouraged, she simply picked up the
bowl, took a dainty spoonful and said, “From now on, we’ll be eating at the table.”

“I guess so.” He laughed. “Jesus, June, look how pregnant you are! Were you this pregnant this morning?”

“No,” she said, making a face. “And I’m less pregnant right now than I’ll be tomorrow morning.” She took another bite. “And so forth.” She rested the bowl atop her belly, and as he watched, it jumped slightly.

“Oh, man, did you
see
that?”

“Yes,” she informed him.

“This is so fun,” he said in a childlike way. This great, big, strong, dangerous man sat on the floor, laughing at her belly.

“You’re a dolt,” she told him, and ate her chili.

Deep in the night she was awake. At first she thought it was heartburn, but knew too quickly that it wasn’t the chili. And it didn’t feel like those harmless Braxton-Hicks contractions common in the last trimester of pregnancy. She wasn’t even in the last trimester, just almost.

She got up, used the bathroom and went to the living room to sit alone in the dark for a little while, just to get a grip. She was too far along for miscarriage, not far enough for a safe birth. Her best guess was that she was approaching six months. And these were contractions.

She called John, described her symptoms and
then woke Jim. He snuffled awake in the middle of a snore. “Jim, I have to go to the hospital,” she said.

“’S’okay. Wake me when you get back.” He rolled over and presented his back to her. Sadie, on the bed again, snuggled in closer.

It took her a moment to realize he thought she was going out on a call. She tapped his shoulder again, more sharply. “Wake up. You have to drive me.”

He rolled onto his back. “Why?”

“Because I’m having contractions. Labor pains. And it’s too early for this.”

That did it. He was on his feet instantly. He found his jeans, shrugged into them, got on shoes without socks and pulled his jacket over his undershirt. He picked up the truck keys from the dresser top.

Once in the truck he began asking questions. “What’s causing this? Was it the spicy chili? The little bump to the floor? Are you working too hard? Should we have had the ambulance come? Should we call your dad? Does this happen often? Are you all right? Can you feel the baby move?”

“Jim,” she said, but she said it in her quiet voice. “Please don’t talk right now.”

“How can I not talk? Tell me what’s happening!”

“Shh,” she said.

She was deep inside herself. This wasn’t something she had been formerly trained to do, but learned for survival as a doctor. When something threatened to topple her, cause her to collapse and render her unable to perform, she would have to control her
emotions so completely that she was almost not in her own body. Usually this was a state she went into automatically when she saw a horrific accident, or maybe some mind-boggling violent abuse of a defenseless woman or child. Never did she think she’d have to protect herself from herself.

But, of course, that’s what it was. If she allowed herself to think about what might be happening, the chances were excellent she could make it worse. What she wasn’t thinking about was the fact that she was pregnant late in life with a baby that was probably a long-shot pregnancy. She was almost thirty-eight and surprised. She’d had unprotected sex far too many times for a physician, and there had never been a pregnancy. If this baby didn’t make it, would there be time to try again?

And those were just the biological facts…how about the emotional ones? She felt this little baby girl move inside of her. She felt this baby’s father’s large and strong hand on her firm and hardening abdomen as they drove and she
wanted
them! Wanted them both with every fiber of her being. She could not let herself cave in to the weakness of fear. Not now.

“Just tell me…are you in pain?” he asked.

“Shh. No. Just drive very carefully. John will take care of everything. He’s an OB genius.”

“Okay, then,” he said, and let her have her silence. But he kept his hand on her middle. He wished the baby would kick him, but she didn’t.

John met her outside the ER with a wheelchair. He had on his game face. He wasn’t going to let her see any of the justifiable concern over labor at six months, and she knew it. “Have a little tummy ache, do you? The way you eat, this is no surprise.”

“Ha-ha. It’s not a tummy ache. It’s a uterus ache and I expect you to fix it.”

“Certainly, June. Certainly.” He wheeled her into the hospital. A couple of nurses waved as she passed. An ER tech said, “Hang in there, June. You’ll be all right.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

John stopped and looked over his shoulder to where Jim stood indecisively just inside the ER doors. John suspected he would never see this giant of a man look that meek again. “Come on,” John said, and Jim nearly ran after them.

John must have phoned the OB ward ahead because they were all set up for an exam and ultrasound. He asked a few questions. Bleeding? Location of the cramping? Leakage of amniotic fluid? Then he spoke in a soft and comforting tone, explaining everything he was doing as he did it. “Nice heartbeat. No effacement or dilation. Big baby. Who knew you could grow a baby this big on bear claws?” Finally, he ran the ultrasound.

“June,” he said, leaning over her and looking deeply into her eyes. “You’re fine.”

“What?”

“You’re fine.”

“I’m fine?”

“You’re totally fine.”

“But…” She grabbed his hand and pressed it to her hardening abdomen. “I’m having contractions!”

“That’s not a contraction,” he said with a smile. He knocked on top of the metal ultrasound monitor, making a loud rapping sound. “
That’s
a contraction.”

“What’s this, then?”

“A little one. Practice. Braxton-Hicks.”

“I’m a doctor!” she told him, outraged. “I know the difference between a contraction and a Braxton-Hicks.”

He shrugged. “Apparently not.”

Jim, who stood behind the examining table at her head, let his head fall till it reached her shoulder and he buried himself there, making a huge sigh of relief.

She, on the other hand, let the control go and a couple of tears slid out of her eyes. All she could say was “Thank God.”

“Well, there is one thing wrong,” John said.

Jim was upright, June was attentive.

“Show her,” John told the nurse. She turned the monitor. With a pencil John pointed to the image, to a protuberance, on the image. A fairly large protuberance, at that. “The next town doctor isn’t gonna be a girl. This is a guy.”

“No way!”

“Way,” he said. “A fairly common mistake. It doesn’t often go the other way, but mistaking boys for girls? It happens.”

She cried a little again. Tears of relief. “What can I say? I feel stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. Happens all the time.”

“Well…then, I feel somewhat inadequate.”

“Okay, that’s a good place to start. Maybe now you’ll let me be the OB on this case. Huh?”

J
une was fine and the baby was fine. There was no danger of complications as long as she took care of herself. But John did think it had presented a good opportunity to make a few changes that would benefit all involved, not the least being the baby.

First of all, he wanted her to work part-time, beginning with taking the next day off. All day.

“During flu season?” she protested.

“We’ll get help. Susan is practically running the clinic these days. Your dad would love to see patients a couple of mornings a week and I think we could get some part-time help from some doctors from neighboring towns like Blake Norton or Dr. Lowe. We’ll make it work.”

“But if I’m perfectly fine…?”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if you stayed that way?”

He told her to go home, unplug the phone, sleep in. Stay in bed late. Put on soft music. Finish a book
she’d started reading six months ago and hadn’t found the time to open since. Or how about her needlework? Susan had told him June was a master of petit point and quilting. “If all else fails, June, why not throw caution to the wind and make plans for the future? The baby is coming in three months or less.”

Between Jim and John, there would be no argument. Jim took her home and put her to bed. Her body was tired, but her mind was awake and giddy with relief. She lay there, feeling the baby swim around, trying to picture a boy instead of a girl. She didn’t find sleep until the very wee hours. And then, per custom, she was awake before the first streak of dawn.

Beside her the bed was empty, but a light shone from the kitchen and the smells of coffee and breakfast were delightful. Okay, she thought. This could be good. A little something to eat, a little reading, a little leisure time with the man I—

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Jim said, interrupting her fantasy by entering with a tray. He was fully dressed, down to the boots that clomped into the room. He placed the tray on the bed and hurried out again. On the tray she saw eggs, toast, fruit and juice. The coffee had been for
him?
After the baby was born, she was going to drink seven pots of coffee in a row. She might have to forgo breastfeeding for that reason. “Here you go,” he said, coming back to the bedroom with his arms full of things for her to do: her stash of needlework in the canvas bag that had
an accumulation of dust on it; four unread magazines, specifically
not
medical journals; two books with markers in them after the second chapter; a crossword puzzle and pencil.
Pencil?
Had he no faith in her?

“How long have you been up?” she asked.

“About a half hour.” He kissed her head. “I have to go. The Forrests are expecting me. You want to keep Sadie for company?”

“You’re leaving me? What am I going to do?”

He put his hands on his hips. “Relax. Enjoy a day off for once. Want me to put on some music for you?”

“Um, yes, please. My records. Frank, Steve and Barry.”

He made a face. “It’s really better if you spend the morning alone with those guys. I’ll leave Sadie to keep you company.”

“You say that like you’re leaving your dog with me,” she accused.

“Not at all, June. It’s just that I’ve been taking her to the Forrests’. The boys like her.”

And that was how it began, with a nice breakfast, terribly bereft of sugar, Frank Sinatra doing it his way on her old stereo in the living room and a pile of diversions on the bed beside her. The last time she remembered a setting like this, she was nine, had strep throat and had to stay in bed long after the penicillin had kicked in. Then it was her mother who brought her quiet things to do. So there she was,
feeling fine if restless. Even at nine she remembered feeling she shouldn’t be still and unproductive for so long.

While Frank crooned to her, she picked up that long-unread novel. She’d have to just start over, she decided. She read three pages, then took her dishes to the kitchen and washed them. She went back to the bed, read three more pages, then lay her head back for a little snooze. She woke up feeling enormously refreshed. That’s what she’d been needing! A nice, long nap! She checked the time—it was now eight-thirty.

Sadie, betrayed, sat staring at the front door, squeaking miserably. She did not like being left behind with an invalid.

June picked up her crossword puzzle and filled it in. She read three more pages of the novel, checked the petit point, but that was something you had to be in the mood for. She decided to shower, and for once she could do so leisurely. Take her time with her thick, wavy hair. Maybe have a good hair day for once. She could actually put on makeup!

All that was done by eight forty-five. And she had taken her time!

At nine she called the clinic. “Hi, Jessie. How’s everything?”

“Fine, June. How are you?”

“Fine. How many patients do you have waiting?”

“Sorry, June. John told us you’re not to be given any information about the clinic.”

She felt her back stiffen and her cheeks grow hot. “Is that so? Well, does he know whose clinic it is?”

“Yes, he knows. Would you like to talk to him?”

“Yes!”

She was put on hold. On hold! Long enough for her to start to get her dander up. Finally, after actual minutes had passed, he came on the line. “This is Dr. Stone.”

“And this is Dr. Hudson. Just what do you think you’re doing?”

He moved the phone away from his mouth. “I win.”

“Win
what?
”

“The ‘how long can she last’ bet. I was second earliest at 9:00 a.m. Susan actually thought you’d make it till noon because you’ve been complaining of fatigue.”

“This is starting to piss me off,” she muttered. “So, how many patients do you have waiting?”

“June, have a day off. We’re fine here. Your father came in—he’s going to spend the morning with us. Brought his own nurse, Charlotte. And the afternoon looks very light.”

“I could make your hospital rounds,” she offered.

“No.”

“John, I’m bored.”

“June, it’s only nine.”

“But I’ve already had breakfast, read, had a nap, a leisurely shower and primp and worked half the crossword. It’s more stressful sitting around the house with nothing to do than working!”

“Then do something, just make sure it’s not strenuous, fattening or stressful. Susan said for you to buy some wallpaper for the baby’s room. Jessie said you should visit friends without your medical bag for once. And your dad said to get—Never mind what he said.”

She knew what he’d said. “I hate this,” she told him.

“You can come in tomorrow. Half day. Goodbye, June.”

She seethed. It really fried her that Charlotte Burnham, her old nurse who was recovering from a serious heart attack, was allowed in the clinic with Elmer, but she, a perfectly healthy pregnant woman who’d had a few minor Braxton Hicks contractions, was being ostracized.

“Well,
fine,
” she said to no one.

She went shopping.

June had often wondered if she was missing a chromosome somewhere. Shopping had never appealed to her the way it did most girls. She headed for the coast towns—Rockport, Westport, Fort Bragg—in search of shops, department stores and strip malls that would cater to her new lifestyle. She then thought that maybe she should take the opportunity to buy some actual maternity clothes, maybe baby clothes, as well. But she
dreaded
it. She had absolutely no idea what she was supposed to do, what she was supposed to buy.

She went through four dress shops and a depart
ment store, fruitlessly, a glazed look in her eyes. She knew how to deliver babies, not clothe them. She could do an emergency C-section, but which items to buy for a nursery was beyond her. In the largest department store she had browsed through, there were nine cribs alone! Not to mention all the other things—bumper pads, strollers, changing tables, high chairs, swings, car seats, mobiles, playpens… John thought this would relax her? It was nearly noon, her legs were beginning to ache, she was starving again and she thought she might cry. She was goddamn
sick
of crying! Why did
everything
translate to tears during pregnancy?

“June?”

She whirled around and found herself face-to-face with Nancy Forrest. She sniffed before a tear could actually wedge its way out of her eye. “Nancy. The last person I expected to run into!”

“Oh. Well, the physical therapist is at the house, the visiting nurse is due, there are four men there working—one of them being your Jim, as a matter of fact. And Chris is home so I could escape and run over here for more sheets and sheepskin to prevent bedsores.” Nancy smiled a kind of sentimental smile. “Aw, shopping for the baby?”

That did it. First she’d thought she might
lose
the baby, then she’d been ordered to
relax,
an interminable torture, and now here she was trying to do something useful in motherhood and she was at a total, dense loss! Tears filled her eyes. “Shit,” she said.

“June, what is it?” Nancy asked, a terrified look creeping into her eyes.

“If it turns out I know as much about taking care of a child as I know about shopping for one, this kid is doomed.” Large tears spilled down her cheeks. “Plus, I’m
starving.
I’m
always
starving and I’ve been ordered to stop getting so fat!”

Nancy Forrest used June’s cell phone to call her husband’s cell phone. She told him that he’d simply have to see that the boys were taken care of through the afternoon. She had to do something very important for a good friend. When he pressed her for an explanation, she said she would explain later.

“First, we eat,” she said.

Sometimes having an eccentric older sister could be tiring. Myrna called the clinic looking for Elmer when she couldn’t find him at home or at the café or out helping the men at the Forrest house. She needed to see him, to talk to him about Thanksgiving.

“We’ll have turkey,” he had said into the phone.

“Don’t be ridiculous! I know what we’re going to eat. I have to tell you about someone who will be coming to dinner.”

“Who?” he asked.

“That’s why I want to speak to you. In person.”

“Aww, Myrna…”

“Come at the martini hour, Elmer. And don’t be late. I’ll hold off until you get here.”

Tiring, yes, but seldom dull, he thought as he drove up the long drive to the front of Hudson House. Sometimes Myrna would call him or June to the house to listen to a new book idea. Sometimes she’d have a scheme for a big party. And sometimes she’d be in trouble with the law. You just never knew with Myrna.

As he was pulling up, he caught sight of Harry Shipton just leaving the house, headed for his old station wagon. He waited for Elmer.

“She having a Tupperware party or something?” Elmer asked. This made Harry grin. “You’re not here on some urgent pastoral mission, are you?”

Harry stuck out his hand for a shake. “If I were, I couldn’t tell you, could I? And since I’m a man of the cloth and can’t lie, I’d have to try to change the subject in such a subtle way you’d never catch on. Sorry I missed you out at the Forrests’ today, Elmer. I had business down in the Bay Area. A family matter.”

“I wasn’t there, either,” Elmer said. “John Stone insisted June have a day off, so I took some of her patients.” He put a hand to the small of his back and gave a stretch. “Now I know why I retired. A lot of complaining goes with flu season. You had your shot yet, Harry?”

“No. I don’t go in for flu shots much.”

“You come in tomorrow and get one. On the house. You’ll thank me later.”

“If not tomorrow, maybe the next day,” Harry said. “June’s all right, I hope.”

“Perfectly fine. But John’s right to make her slow down now, before advanced pregnancy makes it imperative.” He chuckled, that impish gravelly chuckle. “According to Dr. Stone, being forced to rest and relax had the effect of making my daughter rather gnarly.”

He gave a short wave and trudged up the steps to Myrna’s front door while Harry got into his car and started the engine. Elmer turned suddenly, only just realizing Harry had deftly steered the subject away from his sister’s spiritual well being. He knocked on the door. Myrna opened it at once.

“Thank heavens,” she said. “I thought you’d never get here.”

He looked at his watch. “It’s only five-thirty!”

“You know I like to have my martini at five.”

“Why didn’t you have it with Harry?”

“Just come in, Elmer. Now that I’ve made up my mind, I can’t wait to tell you about it.” And off she toddled, toward the back of the house.

Hudson House, where they had grown up, was a remarkable place. As huge as it was, it was never drafty or difficult to keep at a moderate temperature. In summer it was cool and airy; in winter it could be toasty warm. He followed her into the large kitchen. A fire blazed in the hearth, some soup simmered in a pot on the stove—probably prepared by one of the Barstow twins before she left for the day—and fresh buns sat inside a warming basket on the counter. Myrna sat down at the small table in the breakfast
nook. On the tray were two glasses with olives in them, a glistening pitcher of gin with a dash of vermouth and a bowl of Goldfish crackers.

“I’m joining you, am I?” Elmer asked.

“You might as well. Unless there’s something else I can pour you?”

He sat down before his glass. “You must think I’m going to need it.” He couldn’t wait to hear what she was going to lay on him this time.

While she poured, she said, “I’m going to have a gentleman guest over the Thanksgiving holidays. For an as-yet-to-be-determined length of stay.”

That got his attention. Since Morton had departed some twenty years ago, he hadn’t known his sister to have a gentleman friend other than at the poker table. Maybe he would have a small sip of that martini, after all.

She told him all about Edward, her long epistolary relationship with him, what good friends they had become and how they’d never managed to meet in person. She even explained how, at first, the mere thought of this visit had her overwrought. Though she was the type that nothing could get to her—at least on the outside—her nerves were fairly frazzled at the thought of a gentleman visitor. But now, thinking about it, she thought it was high time she began seeing men again.