Age Before Beauty

by Virginia Smith

  Eric leaned forward, arms on his knees, a flicker of excitement in his eyes. “Allie, I’m okay with that. Remember, I was raised by a stay-at-home mom. I would love to be able to provide that kind of atmosphere for our kids.”

  Stunned, she stared at him. Was he saying he wanted her to be like his mother? Like that mild-mannered, passive-aggressive woman currently residing in their guest room? Surely not. Not her Eric.

  “But . . . but . . .” She swallowed, trying desperately to gather her thoughts into something sensible. “We can’t afford to lose my paycheck.”

  “It would be tough, and we’d have to tighten our belts, but I think we could swing it.”

  Her mouth completely dry, Allie simply stared at him. What had possessed this man she thought she knew so well to suggest such an outrageous idea? Did he really think she could stay home and do . . . what did stay-at-home moms do with their time, anyway? Make cupcakes? Run the vacuum cleaner?

  Cook pot roasts?

  Her voice sounded tight in her own ears as she spoke through a constricted throat. “I don’t want to just swing it, Eric. I intend to keep working, paying my half of the bills. I just want to refocus my efforts in another direction, that’s all.”

  He studied her a moment, his expression guarded. Then he gave a single, slow nod. “Alright, Allie. If you really want to do this, I’m with you.”

  A weight lifted from her chest at his words. “You mean it?” She jumped up and flew across the two steps between them to throw herself into his lap. “You don’t mind the five hundred dollars?”

  His arms wrapped around her as she snuggled into his embrace. “Like you say, it’s a start-up cost.”

  “Uh, I might need a little more than that. I’ll probably need some new clothes so I look professional.”

  “What’s wrong with the closetful of clothes you have now?”

  She squirmed, glad her face was pressed against his neck so she didn’t have to look him in the eye. “They don’t fit so well since the baby was born.” The cinnamon roll weighed heavily on her conscience.

  “I’m sure we can afford a few new clothes. I’ve been wondering what I could get you for your birthday.”

  She stiffened. “Eric! My birthday is tomorrow and you haven’t gotten me anything yet?”

  His arms tightened around her. “I’ve been looking for the perfect gift for my beautiful wife.”

  “You still think I’m beautiful? Even if I’m fat and my clothes don’t fit anymore?” She pressed her lips against the soft skin behind his ear.

  “Are you kidding? You’d have men lining up around you if I wasn’t here to fight them off.”

  She pulled away slightly so she could look into his eyes. “I love you, you know that?”

  The smile that curled his lips was too good to resist. She covered it with hers.

  6

  Allie’s eyes flew open. Red numbers on the clock told her the time was 6:15. Why hadn’t the baby cried? She always woke up at five for her early morning feeding.

  A terrible fear tried to take root in Allie’s mind as she threw off the comforter and raced from the room. Heavy silence nestled throughout the house. In passing, she noted a line of light beneath the guest room door, meaning Betty was awake. How could she stay in there, while right next door in the nursery her granddaughter might be—

  Allie pushed the horrible thought away before it could take hold. She choked back a sob as she burst into the nursery and raced to the crib.

  Joanie lay sleeping, her little chest rising and falling beneath a white receiving blanket. Tiny veins lined the fine skin of her eyelids, the blonde lashes fluttering as though in response to the pulse pounding like a drum in Allie’s ears. Joanie was okay. Not dead, not suffocated. She was just sleeping.

  Limp with relief, Allie leaned over to rest her cheek against the crib railing as her heartbeat returned to normal. Joanie’s last feeding had been at one thirty, which meant she’d gone almost five hours without eating—a record. Next thing they knew, she’d be sleeping through the night.

  Something on the baby’s face caught Allie’s eye. Squinting in the dim glow of the Winnie-the-Pooh nightlight, she tried to make out what looked like a small discoloration to the right of her dainty nose. Allie ran across the room and flipped the light switch, then returned to peer anxiously into her daughter’s face. There. She wasn’t imagining it. A small red mark marred the soft infant skin. In fact, there were a couple on the other side of her nose as well. Allie licked her finger and rubbed one. The splotch didn’t come off and it felt rough, like a welt. Red welts, on her baby’s face!

  She snatched Joanie out of the crib and ran toward her bedroom.

  “Eric! Eric, wake up.”

  Eric mumbled in his sleep.

  “I said, wake up!”

  She flipped on the lamp beside the bed, and Eric, moaning in protest, pulled the comforter over his head.

  Allie jerked it down. “There’s something wrong with the baby. Look at her!”

  “Huh?” Squinting, Eric cupped a hand over his eyes to shield them from the bright light. “S’rong ’th ’er?”

  Joanie began to wake. She raised little arms above her head and stretched. Allie gripped her tighter.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with her.” Tears clogged her throat, making her voice come out in a squeak. “She’s got a terrible rash. Look!”

  Eric struggled up on one elbow, peering at the baby through sleep-heavy eyes. “Where? I don’t see anything.”

  “On her face. Right there, and there.”

  He studied the tiny face for a moment, then shook his head. “That’s not a rash. It’s just a few red marks.”

  “What do you think a rash is? It’s red marks! This is probably the beginning of something terrible. It’ll probably spread. What if—” She sucked in a breath, horror creeping over her. “Eric, what if it’s measles? Babies this young can die from measles, can’t they?”

  “It’s not measles.” He lay back on his pillow. “Measles are practically nonexistent these days. They wiped it out with vaccinations.”

  “Then it’s something else. Maybe she has an allergy.” Allie wracked her brain. What had Joanie encountered that was new? “Maybe she’s allergic to something in your mother’s pot roast and I passed it along to her in my milk.”

  “First of all, neither of us have al—”

  “Or wait! Maybe it’s your mother.”

  Eric’s stare became hard. “You think my daughter is allergic to my mother?”

  The sound of his voice and the sudden set of his jaw told Allie she was edging up close to a line she didn’t want to cross this morning. “Not your mother, but maybe her perfume or something. After all, she held the baby last night for the first time.”

  His lips tightened for a moment before he spoke. “Allie, this is ridiculous. That is not a rash. You’re overreacting.”

  Outrage stiffened Allie’s spine. “Overreacting? Our daughter’s life could be threatened, and your advice would be . . . what? Ignore it?” She took a step backward, clutching Joanie to her chest. “I’m going to call the doctor.”

  Eric ran a hand through his already-rumpled hair. “For crying out loud, it’s not even six thirty in the morning. Don’t bother the doctor.”

  “I’m not bothering him. It’s his job.”

  With a resigned sigh, Eric sat up in bed and reached toward the nightstand to turn off the alarm clock before it buzzed. “Why are you being bullheaded about this? It’s almost as if you want something to be wrong with her.”

  She gave him a resentful look. “That’s a terrible thing to say. Of course I don’t want anything to be wrong.”

  “Then relax. The baby is fine.”

  A touch of doubt crept in as Allie looked down at the tiny face. Joanie whimpered and turned an open mouth toward her, searching for breakfast. The red splotches didn’t look as angry as they had a moment before, but what in the world had caused them to appear? A thought made her breath
catch in her throat. What if there were more? Why hadn’t she stripped off Joanie’s clothes immediately and checked her over?

  She whirled toward the door. “I’m going to go change and feed her now,” she said over her shoulder.

  “Hey, wait a minute.”

  She paused in the doorway and looked back. Eric smiled sleepily. “Happy birthday.”

  “Hey, Mother, could you come in here a minute?” Eric called from the nursery door.

  Seated in the rocking chair with the baby, Allie’s head jerked up as she gave him an angry look. Mother came from the kitchen immediately, drying her hands on a towel. She’d obviously been up for a while, long enough to dress, fix her hair, and cook a stack of pancakes for breakfast. His stomach bulged uncomfortably beneath his belt buckle. He wasn’t used to eating more than a bowl of Wheaties in the morning. If Mother stayed much longer, he was going to have to tell her to stop cooking such big meals.

  Of course, if she stayed much longer, he might find himself minus one wife.

  Maybe he could force an alliance by emphasizing a common bond—Joanie. He took his mother by the arm. “Could you take a look at these spots on Joanie’s face? Allie’s worried she might have an allergy or something.”

  Reluctance flooded Mother’s features, and he practically had to pull her across the room toward the rocker. Allie stopped rocking and visibly clutched the baby closer, a stubborn set to her jaw. He bit back a sigh. What was it with these two? You’d need a chain saw to cut the tension between them.

  He gave Allie a stern look. She slowly loosened her grip on the baby enough that they could examine the sleeping face.

  Mother peered, and then shook her head. “That’s not an allergic reaction. It looks to me as though she scratched herself.”

  “What?” Disconcerted, Allie looked down at Joanie.

  Eric smiled. “I’ll bet that’s it.”

  Mother reached down to pull one little hand from beneath the blanket. She splayed Joanie’s fingers, and then turned a look of disapproval on Allie. “Look at those nails. When was the last time you trimmed them?”

  Allie stiffened, and Eric winced at the accusation in his mother’s voice.

  “Uh, I don’t know,” Allie replied defensively. “Maybe two weeks ago.”

  Mother sniffed. “She drinks nothing but milk. That makes her nails grow. You need to check them often. She relies on you to keep her safe, you know.”

  Eric grimaced. Even to him it sounded like Mother had just accused Allie of being incompetent.

  “Mother,” he said in a voice full of warning, “Joanie is perfectly safe. Allie is a terrific mom.”

  One of the small, cold smiles he remembered so well took her lips. “I’m sure she is.”

  She left the room, and Eric reluctantly met Allie’s furious gaze.

  “I won’t take that from her, Eric.” Her whisper came out in a hiss. “I don’t care if she is your mother.”

  His heart in the pit of his stomach, he leaned over and planted a kiss on the top of his wife’s head. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll speak to her tonight when I get home from work.”

  Eric pulled his pickup into a space between the two vehicles already parked in the small 911 Dispatch Center lot. He paused at the door, watching the traffic drive past on Fourth Street. Motorists were behaving themselves today, no doubt due to the presence of a police car parked conspicuously midway down the hill from the Dispatch Center. Probably Officer Lewis. That was one of his favorite stakeout locations when it came his turn to use the radar gun.

  “Good morning.” The other daytime dispatcher, Molly Green, called a greeting from the control room when he stepped inside.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” He went into the small kitchen and stowed his lunch bag in the half-sized fridge. Plastic containers filled up the brown paper bag so he could barely close the top. One thing for sure—his lunches had been a lot more interesting the two days since Mother arrived. He stuck his head into the boss’s office on his way to the control room. She bent over her desk, a donut in one hand and a pen in the other. “Morning, Kathy. Everything okay today?”

  She lifted her head from the paperwork in front of her to give him a distracted smile. “Fine. Quiet night, even quieter morning.”

  Eric wisely didn’t comment on the donut, though just two days before, she’d mentioned that the doctor told her she needed to drop some weight or risk another heart attack.

  “Hope it stays that way,” he said. “I could use a stress-free day.”

  As he slipped into his chair and adjusted the brightness on the three big monitors on his desk, Eric thought how true that statement was. Coming to work today felt almost like a vacation. He’d rather deal with county disasters than get caught in the daggerlike looks flying around his house between Allie and Mother.

  The radio squawked its familiar static for a second, then a voice said, “Four fifty-seven, ten-eight.”

  After three years on the job, Eric knew the officers on the Danville police force by badge number better than by name. He glanced at the giant clock on the wall. Officer four fifty-seven—Chad Palmer—was a few minutes early for work this morning.

  From the desk behind him, Molly acknowledged the transmission. “Ten-four, four fifty-seven. Have a safe day.” She swiveled her chair around to smile at Eric. “So did you figure out what you’re giving Allie for her birthday?”

  Working in such close quarters, he and Molly couldn’t help but know most everything there was to know about each other. He’d worked second shift for the first three years. Shortly before Joanie was born, an opportunity finally came to move to first, and he jumped at it. He’d worked with Molly several times over the years, but after two months sitting three feet away from her for eight hours a day, he’d learned all about the challenges she faced as the single mother of two lively boys who always managed to be in trouble at school. And she knew he’d been trying to come up with the perfect idea for Allie’s birthday present.

  “Yeah, I think so.” He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out the phone book. “She told me last night she wants some new clothes.”

  Molly scrunched her face while she fiddled with a lock of dark hair that hung free from the ponytail she wore every day. “Never try to pick out clothes for a woman. It’s not a good idea. Maybe you ought to get her a gift card somewhere.”

  He shook his head as he shuffled through the pages. “Too much like handing her cash. I made that mistake the first birthday we were together.”

  The memory of Allie’s furious face hovered before his mind’s eye. How was he to know that the Sanderson family made such a big deal out of birthdays? In his family, a birthday meant cupcakes for the kids in his class and money to spend however he wished. Later on, the cupcakes disappeared, and the amount of birthday money increased.

  But not in Allie’s family. They went all out for birthdays—sort of like Christmas, only just one person got presents. Lots of them. The gift certificate fiasco was not one he cared to repeat.

  She had been so down on herself since the baby’s birth that he really wanted to give her something special, something that let her know he’d put a lot of thought into the selection. Something just for her, to make her feel good about herself.

  The radio squawked again. “Four twenty-three, ten-seven.” Anderson, announcing he was coming off his shift and heading for home. A brief pause, and then Officer Baker’s deeper voice informed them that he was officially on duty with, “Three eighty-two, ten-eight.”

  “Then I highly recommend jewelry,” Molly said before she acknowledged both transmissions.

  “Nah, I got something better than that. The perfect gift for Allie.” Smiling to himself, Eric found the page he wanted and jotted down the number. He’d make the call when the radio settled down for the morning.

  Allie slipped into her bedroom and shut the door with a quiet click behind her. She spread a baby blanket out in the center of the bed and placed her sleeping daughter on it. Then she p
ositioned a pillow against the headboard and picked up the telephone on the nightstand. She dialed a number without looking it up.

  “Danville Pediatric,” said a familiar voice on the other end.

  “Hello, this is Allie Harrod.” She spoke quietly, with a quick glance at the closed door. Betty was in the guest room on the other end of the house, but Allie didn’t want her to overhear. “I need to speak with the nurse, please.”

  “One moment.”

  Classical music played in Allie’s ear as she sat on hold. She watched the baby sleep, the tiny nostrils flaring ever so slightly with each breath. Her gaze was drawn again and again to the terrible marks marring the tender skin around Joanie’s nose. No matter what Betty and Eric said, Allie didn’t think they looked like scratches. Those were welts of some sort, maybe hives. What if they were an indication of something terribly wrong? She could just see the doctor’s sad expression, shaking his head as he said, “If only we’d caught it early.”

  A click on the line, and then a female voice. “This is Theresa Hutton.”

  Ah, Dr. Reynolds’ regular nurse. Good. Allie straightened, leaning forward away from the pillow. “Hello, this is Allie Harrod. I’m worried about my baby.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Harrod.” The nurse’s voice was pleasant. “I have Joanie’s file right in front of me. What seems to be the problem this morning?”

  “She has a terrible rash.” Her words tumbled over each other. “Or maybe hives. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s horrible.”

  Nurse Hutton’s tone contained an ocean of tranquility. “Where is the rash?”

  “On her face.” Allie leaned forward to get a better look at the marks. Was that another welt, a new one? Worry tightened her throat so her voice came out squeaky. “All over her face. And it’s spreading.”

  “Does she have a fever?”

  Allie had remembered to check. “No.”

  “Is she eating well and wetting her diaper regularly?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about her breathing? Does it seem labored or at all difficult for her?”