“Doesn’t he get them online or something?” Amy asked.
“Not August Miles. He dreams them up himself for free, which is why I let him do it. The old fart is a word sadist. Listen to this clue: ‘A Levantine coffee cup, fourth letter is F.’ What the hell is that?”
“Zarf,” Amy said. She spelled it for him.
“And how in the hell do you know that?”
“I was a barista for a while during college. Coffee was my business.”
Jeb shook his head and penciled in the word.
“You could just look stuff like that up online,” Amy said.
“That would be unethical,” Jeb said.
“At least I know I can trust you.”
“With all your darkest secrets,” Jeb said.
Amy took a leap. Actually it was more like it came out of her mouth before she could stop it. “Jeb, I need some lingerie.”
“Me too, but Clem nixed it. I bought her lingerie one Christmas. She got mad at me. She said it was more a present for me than for her.” He shrugged. “She was probably right.”
“So, this time you bought it… where’d you get it in Fenton?” Amy inquired.
Jeb smiled. “Parker?”
Amy could feel her cheeks warming. “Who else?”
“Go to Bette’s Boutique. She’ll do you up.”
“I got some clothes there a while back, but I didn’t see any lingerie,” Amy said.
“It’s in the back room.”
Amy blanched. Back rooms made her think of perverts and porn. That wasn’t exactly what Amy had meant by lingerie. Jeb looked at her face and chuckled.
“It’s not rated X. Bette had to put it back there because there was an influx of teenage boys ogling the goods. You have to remember, in these parts the Victoria Secret catalogues are the closest thing to Playboy a young man can get his hands on. I apologize for the vagaries of my gender.”
“I’m the one looking for sexy lingerie,” Amy said.
“Let me call Bette. She’s an old friend. I’ll tell her to get looking for you. It’ll speed things up.”
Amy started to protest, but it was too late. Evidently, Jeb had Bette on speed dial. “Hi, Bette, Jeb here. I need some help with lingerie.” He laughed. “No, it’s not for me, it’s for Amy Warner. Oh, you were wondering when she’d be coming by,” he said, winking at Amy.
Amy turned beet red. She should never have inquired. Parker had seen her last night wearing her standard bedtime attire—a T-shirt and boxer shorts. Why had she said anything to Parker about lingerie?
Because she wanted this first time to be special and it would be something they could look back on when they were eighty and sitting in their rocking chairs, that’s why.
Jeb clicked off. “She’ll be expecting you later this afternoon.”
“Thank you,” Amy said.
Jeb picked up his pencil and frowned down at the crossword. “What’s a type of coffee, begins with A? Seven letters?”
“Arabica,” Amy said.
***
“It’s perfect,” Bette said, standing back and studying the silky, cream-colored camisole with matching panties. It was the nicest piece of lingerie Amy had ever had on her body. Actually, it was the only lingerie she’d ever had on her body. She imagined Parker moving her hands down her shoulders, the straps of the slip falling from them... She snapped herself back into the present. She shouldn’t be thinking of sex while in a store.
“I know exactly what you want,” Bette had told her. “You’re the classy type.”
“As opposed to?” Amy had asked.
“Hot slut,” Bette had said. “Not that hot slut doesn’t have its place, just not on the first date.”
“Is that for later, when we need to pep up the relationship?”
“Yes, and the hot slut remark is never to leave this room. Besides, I have a feeling you and Parker won’t be in here for a while with that particular need.”
***
The next morning, Amy was back at Brookside. Her mother was still asleep. She watched Susan take her mother’s pulse.
“Is she all right?” Amy asked.
“She’s just resting.”
“She’s been sleeping more and more,” Amy said. “Is that normal?”
Susan replaced her mother’s chart back in the tray. “We should talk outside,” she said.
Amy had noticed changes in her mother. They’d walked in the rose garden on Monday and she’d seemed tired then. She and Amy sat on the bench under a silver maple. This was another day when her mother didn’t speak anyone’s name, not Jean’s or Amy’s. She’d talked about this nice man who used to take her for car rides in the country where they’d have a picnic lunch. “We had such fun talking about everything, everything in the world,” Mary had said.
Her mother had been talking about Amy’s father. He’d told Amy those stories of his and Mary’s courtship. It seemed lately that her mother didn’t know anyone’s name—they were people she vaguely recalled, like a dream you half remembered, but faded as you awoke. Her mother no longer knew how these faces fit into her life. Mary seemed happy to hold Amy’s hand and chatter away even if she didn’t know Amy was her daughter.
Amy and Susan stood in the hallway. “She’s going fast, isn’t she,” Amy asked, trying to keep her voice steady. Part of her couldn’t bear losing her mother, but another part wanted it to be over to ease the suffering. It was that last part that made her feel so guilty.
Susan met her eye and nodded. “Her condition is rapidly deteriorating. Soon she’ll lose her ability to perform basic life functions. Her mind will forget even how to do those things. It’s difficult for the families, first to see their loved ones no longer able to recognize them, and then to see them lose their privacy when others have to care for them; feeding, toileting, walking. They see it as a loss of dignity. And that’s the hardest. It’s something we all fear.”
Steeling herself against the hot tears she felt building, Amy only nodded.
“You have to remember that you got to spend time with her,” Susan said gently.
“I wish I hadn’t run out on her when I was younger. There was a good chunk of my life that I couldn’t be bothered. I wanted to forget my life here. When she’d call me in New York, which wasn’t often, we had such a difficult time finding things to talk about. It seemed that after my dad died, we were both lost. He was the glue, you know? After he was gone…”
“Amy, children move away. It seems there is always one child who suffers wanderlust and with that comes regret over the missed family events, the closeness that the ones who stayed behind take for granted.”
Susan was right. A lot of the people she’d known in New York were transplants. They spoke little of the families they’d left behind. Amy had been the same, even her lovers knew nothing of her past, except the bare minimum.
“If it’s any consolation, I’m the wanderlust child in my family,” Susan said.
“How’d you get here?”
“How else, I followed my heart, lost it, and stayed.”
Amy cleared her throat. “Speaking of which, how is Tess?” Amy asked.
“Good. Really good. We’re getting there,” Susan said. Then amended, “Slowly.” She studied Amy’s face. “And Parker?”
“Same thing,” Amy said.
They both smiled.
Amy motioned toward her mother’s room and asked, “You think it’s okay if I go sit with her?”
“Of course,” Susan said.
***
Parker was hanging the new cupboard doors in the kitchen. She and Jose had loaded them into the kitchen before he rushed off to see his wife and help change diapers.
“Bet he likes that,” Amy said. She ran her hands along the smooth cabinets, marveling at the feel of new wood.
“He’s putting a good face on it,” Parker said, screwing in the hardware. “You can tell he’s madly in love with the babies already.”
“These cabinets are beautiful. I ca
n’t believe you made them yourself.”
“One of my many talents,” Parker said, grinning.
“Obviously. I mean, look at this kitchen. You’ve done so much with it.”
“That’s not what I was talking about,” Parker said, putting the screwdriver down on the counter.
“I know,” Amy said, lowering her eyes. She couldn’t believe she was acting this way. She felt like some kind of coquette straight out of a Harlequin romance.
Parker pulled her in close. “Are you shy?” she asked. She ran her hands down Amy’s back. Then she kissed her.
It was a bold kiss. One that sent shivers of delight running down Amy’s back. She felt places in her body heat up, come alive.
There was a tap on the doorframe. “I don’t want to interrupt anything,” Steph said.
“Then don’t,” Parker said. Amy pulled away and hid her face so Steph wouldn’t see her embarrassment.
Steph crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. “I heard about your romantic rendezvous last night.”
“Hmmm… I wonder who told you,” Parker said, picking up the screwdriver.
“Listen, I stopped by to invite you to a get-together at the house. Susan and Tess will be there.”
“I sense an ulterior motive here,” Parker said.
“Us? Never,” Steph said. She stepped into the kitchen and surveyed it. She nodded her head in obvious approval.
“You’re checking up on us, is what you’re doing,” Parker said.
Steph ignored her. “You’ve done a really good job. I love the kitchen island. Are you going to need help painting?”
“No, I’ve hired painters. They’ll do the entire house,” Amy said.
“I’m grilling stuffed pork chops. It’s one of your favorite dishes, if I recall,” Steph said.
Parker looked at Amy and said, “What do you think? Can we tolerate questions into our private lives in order to have grilled pork chops?”
“Depends,” Amy said.
“On what?” Parker asked.
Amy looked at Steph and squinted one eye. “What’s for dessert?”
Chapter Eighteen
Steph was in the backyard picking herbs. Thinking of her friends as they fell in love brought Steph back to remembering her own courtship with Rosa. Rosa hadn’t been easy to catch. She was elusive. But Steph didn’t mind. She liked the chase. It made the reward all that much sweeter.
“What are you smiling about?” Rosa asked as she stood on the back deck. She was still in her police uniform and held a bottle of beer in her hand.
“That is not a good look,” Steph said.
“What?”
“A police officer holding a beer,” Steph said.
Rosa flipped her the bird. “I’m going to change.”
“I love you,” Steph blurted.
Rosa stopped and looked at her. “I love you, too.”
“No. I mean… I really love you. You’re my soul mate.”
“Phish, you silly romantic,” Rosa said. She turned to go, but then changed her mind. She set her beer down on the table and walked to Steph. She took her in her arms and kissed her. “And you’re my soul mate, too.”
“I keep thinking, what if we’d never met?”
“In a town the size of Fenton? It’d be hard not to,” Rosa said.
“But what if you’d never moved here? If that thing hadn’t happened to you in Kansas City,” Steph said.
The thing in Kansas City was something they didn’t talk about.
Rosa’s partner had died in her arms after a seventeen-year-old kid, hopped up on PCP, took her down with an .25 caliber Saturday night special. Her fellow officers shot the kid point blank. It was more than Rosa could handle. She had felt like she was on the verge of cracking up when a job in Fenton had opened up. She had put in for the transfer and moved two weeks later. As it turned out, Fenton was a perfect fit for Rosa.
Rosa kissed Steph again. “Now, before you continue down memory lane, I’m going to take a shower.”
“Need help?” Steph asked.
“That might have been an option, except that we have dinner guests arriving soon,” Rosa said.
Steph stuck out her lower lip in a childish pout
“Now, that is not a good look for a big, strong firefighter.”
“Go shower,” Steph said, giving Rosa a playful slap on the butt.
A hummingbird buzzed past Rosa’s head as she made her way back to the house. “Those things are dangerous,” she said, swatting the air.
“Ha, big, bad police officer, afraid of a tiny bird,” Steph said.
“Yeah, well, next time I venture into the garden, I’ll be sure to put on my SWAT helmet.”
“Speaking of which, have you been wearing…”
Rosa interrupted, “Yes, I wear my vest.” It was something Steph had asked her a hundred times.
“You better not be lying.”
“Hon, it’s Fenton, not Kansas City,” Rosa said.
“That’s no excuse. Bad things happen everywhere.”
“I wear it on most calls. And it’s always nearby. Now, go pick your herb things.” Rosa turned and went inside the house.
Steph sighed. The wearing of the bulletproof vest was a sore spot between them. As far as Steph was concerned, Rosa should always wear the vest. Yes, it was hot, bulky, and uncomfortable. It left bruises above Rosa’s hipbones where it constantly rubbed. But it might save her life, and that was something Steph thought was worth a few bruises and sweaty days.
Steph went back to picking her herbs and reminiscing. She had fallen hard and fast for Rosa. When she met Rosa, Steph had recently ended a two-year relationship with a co-worker. She knew dating a co-worker was a no-no, but lust had prevailed. They kept it quiet. She supposed that was half the fun of it—the clandestine meetings, the passionate lovemaking during stolen moments, the long weekends where they’d sneak away… But after the infatuation stage wore off, Steph wanted more. Her lover had not. And like they say in the cartoons, “That’s all, folks!”
Not long after the break up, Steph met Rosa. It was at the scene of a car accident. The fire department arrived first. The driver had been drunk and crashed her car into the median, flipped it, and landed upright in a sugar beet field. When Steph had arrived at the scene, the drunk woman was weaving around in the field, crying and pleading hysterically, “My baby, where’s my baby?”
“Sweet Jesus,” Steph said, looking around frantically.
Her fellow firefighter, Eric stuck his head in the car and exclaimed, “There’s a fucking car seat in the back!”
Steph looked at the car windshield. It was so crushed that it was hard to tell if anything had gone through it. She remembered chastising herself. It wasn’t a thing, it was baby.
Steph ran to the woman who was now crawling on all fours in the field. She picked her up.
The woman kept sobbing and screaming, “My baby, my baby!”
Steph shook her. “Was the baby in the car?”
The woman nodded.
“Eric, get help! There’s a baby out here somewhere. We’ve got to find the baby!” Steph yelled.
That was when Rosa came running across the field. Together, the police and the firefighters, scoured the field. It was Rosa and Steph that found the tiny baby girl sprawled limply in the sugar beets, her tiny neck broken, her face cut to shreds.
Steph’s knees unhinged and she sank to the the ground. “I’m going kill that woman,” she had said, tears streaming down her face.
Rosa tightly wrapped her arms around Steph and held her fast. “No, you’re not. She’ll punish herself more than you ever could. She’ll have to live with this the rest of her life.”
Rosa led Steph away from the baby so the paramedics could do their job.
The woman ran toward them screaming, “My baby, you found my baby! Give her to me.”
Rosa caught the woman up in her arms. “Not now. Let’s get you fixed up first. We’ll take care of the baby. Okay
?”
Steph watched in amazement as Rosa coaxed the woman away from her dead child and led her to a nearby ambulance.
It was at that moment that Steph fell in love with Rosa, though she wouldn’t realize that until much later. That night, as she lay shivering in bed alone, reliving that day’s horrific scene, she thought of Rosa and was warmed by her compassion and caring.
The next day Rosa came by the fire station to check on her. After that, Steph spent weeks courting this woman with the enormous heart. Finally, she cooked her way into Rosa’s heart, and soon thereafter, her bed.
Out of such sadness had bloomed the love of her life. Was the same thing happening to her friends? Susan had been dumped at the altar. Tess lost her lover to ovarian cancer. Amy was struggling with her mother’s Alzheimer’s. And Parker, poor, misunderstood Parker, her trust in women was so broken she’d curled up into herself.
Steph was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Susan walking up behind her.
“That’s a lot of basil,” Susan said, looking down at the basket Steph used to collect her herbs.
“Crap,” Steph said. “I wasn’t paying attention. I was in another world.” She looked at her overflowing basket and laughed lightly. “Guess I’m making pesto with the pork chops.”
“I like pesto,” Susan said simply.
“Good thing because there’s going to be a lot of it.”
“I’ll take some home.”
“You’re such a good problem-solver.”
“What were you thinking so hard about?” Susan asked.
“Just stuff,” Steph said, not meeting her eye.
Susan cocked her head. She knew Steph almost as well as Rosa.
“I was thinking about how Rosa and I met,” Steph admitted.
“And what brought on this walk down memory lane?”
“You all,” Steph said.
“As in?” Susan asked. She stepped away from one of the feeders as a Rufous hummingbird whizzed by. “A person could lose an eye with those things.”
“So I’ve been told,” Steph said, hoping to deflect Susan’s question.
Heart to Heart Page 18