“I have a client at one and another at three.” Mary felt her face contorting to mimic her friend’s. “You look miserable.”
Dakota huffed out a breath and pushed off the stool. “I am. And I need to pee. Again!”
Mary chucked as Dakota heaved her pregnant belly, along with the rest of her, off the stool and rounded the corner. The sound of her friend walking up the stairs had Mary shouting, “You have a bathroom downstairs.”
“This is the only exercise I’m getting these days.”
Mary opened her mouth to argue and snapped it closed.
With the squeak of the floor above her for company, Mary moved around the kitchen island to look out at the backyard. It looked a lot like hers, only with more flowers. It was a postage stamp, like most of those in Orange County. Add the fact that they were in a townhouse condominium development, and that yard became even smaller, bumped up to the attached condo on one side. Mary knew it was only a matter of time before Dakota and Walt . . . along with Junior, moved to a bigger place.
Just the thought of her best friend moving away left her empty inside.
She allowed herself a half second of self-pity before shaking away the cloud that had started to form over her head.
Hearing the sound of a toilet flushing, Mary forced herself to smile. If Dakota saw her staring out the back window with poor me written all over her face, she’d put her friend in an awkward place. The last thing Mary wanted was to dampen Dakota’s joy at being a new wife and soon-to-be mom.
“You know, Mary . . .” Dakota called from the stairs.
Mary started to move around the dividing wall from the kitchen to the living room when Dakota yelled.
“Son of a—”
A horrendous thud followed Dakota cussing and had Mary running toward her friend.
Dakota sat crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, one hand on her belly, the other on her leg.
“What the heck?”
“Oh, damn. Oh . . .” Dakota started to rock back and forth, her eyes closed and her face squished in pain.
Mary managed to put her cup on the floor as she knelt down beside her. “What hurts? Did you fall?” Stupid question, but Dakota didn’t call her on it.
“Slipped,” she said, gritting her teeth.
Mary glanced at the stairs, noticed liquid on the surface of the polished wood.
“Did you spill something?”
Dakota finally opened her eyes and pulled up the edge of her pants on her right leg. It was already turning red.
“Damn . . . just, son of a bitch!”
“Are you okay?”
“No. I think I broke it.”
Mary’s heart leapt in her chest. “Really?” She peered closer.
“Oh, damn.”
Mary swept back her hair and tried to catch Dakota’s eyes. “Should I call an ambulance?”
Dakota shook her head.
“I’ll call Walt.”
“No . . .”
“What?”
“Yes. Oh, God it hurts!”
“Your leg?” Mary glanced down again.
“No.”
“Your leg doesn’t hurt?”
“It. All. Hurts!”
Mary stood quick enough to feel a little dizzy. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
“No, Mary . . . Walt will freak.”
Mary didn’t listen and found the cordless receiver sitting on the counter in the kitchen. She dialed 911 and hurried back to her friend.
“Mary, I’m okaaay.” Dakota winced as she said it and closed her eyes.
“Nine one one, what’s your emergency?” The operator sounded bored.
“Yeah, my friend fell down the stairs.”
“Is your friend awake?”
Dakota started to pound her fist on the floor beside her. At first Mary thought maybe it was a tactic to end the phone call, then she noticed the grimace on her face.
“She’s awake.”
“Any visible injuries?”
“Her leg. But she says everything hurts.”
It took Dakota moving her hand from her leg to her belly for Mary to report the obvious. “She’s pregnant. Nine months pregnant.”
“Is she in labor?”
“No . . . uhm.” Once again the liquid on the stairs had her pause. “Dakota?”
“What?” Her friend bit the question out.
“Did your water break?”
“No my water didn’t—” Dakota didn’t finish her sentence. They both looked down at the same time.
“Oh, shit.” This time it was Mary cussing. And Mary didn’t cuss out loud.
“Ma’am?”
“Uh, yeah. Her water . . . yeah, she’s in labor.”
“How far apart are her contractions?” The monotone questions coming from the operator sounded as if they came from a computer and not a person.
“How far apart are your contractions?” Mary repeated the question.
“How the hell should I know?” Dakota barked.
Mary tilted the receiver to her mouth. “She doesn’t know. It all just happened. Is an ambulance coming?”
The operator confirmed the address and told her the paramedics would be there within four minutes. When Mary tried to end the call, the operator continued to ask questions. Are the contractions coming fast? Was the baby crowning? Mary’s eyes moved to the wet spot on Dakota’s pregnancy pants.
“What are you staring at?”
“They want to know if the baby is coming out.”
Dakota shook her head as the sound of an ambulance rang closer.
“Thank God,” Mary muttered as she left Dakota’s side and moved to the front door. As soon as she saw the lights, she thanked the operator and hung up.
The small fire medic truck pulled into the drive just as the full-size truck rounded the corner onto their street.
The medic stepped from the truck without rushing.
“She’s inside.” Mary forced her breathing to slow.
The fortysomething man offered a nod and followed her in while the second medic went to the back of the truck to grab some kind of box.
Another siren filtered into the mix while neighbors started to emerge from their houses.
Within the course of ten minutes the medics had cut Dakota’s pants away, splinted what did appear to be a broken leg, gotten up close and personal enough to know the baby wasn’t flashing the color of its hair, and had loaded her friend onto a gurney.
After a brief argument as to which hospital the medics were going to take her to, Dakota finally met Mary’s gaze.
“Call Walt.”
The medics extended the gurney and started to roll her out of the house.
“And grab my purse. My overnight bag is by Walt’s side of the bed,” she yelled.
“I got it.”
“And lock the door.”
Mary smiled. “I’m right behind you.”
“Call my mom . . . but don’t tell her about the fall.”
She’s going to find out eventually. “Okay.”
“Mary?”
“Yeah?”
“Hurry.”
“Right behind you!”
Dakota let out a long string of expletives as the medics bumped the gurney over the threshold of the home.
“It’s going to be a long day!” Mary whispered to herself.
Chapter Two
Thank goodness someone had the sense to invent the hands-free car phone. By the time Mary had packed up all of Dakota’s things, she was a good ten minutes behind the ambulance. It didn’t help that Mary had to run across the street and tell Leroy the plumber to lock up when he left.
Instead of calling the ER directly to catch Walt, she went for his personal cell phone. He answered on the fifth ring. “Dr. Eddy.”
She’d been practicing this call for a good five minutes in her head. “Who is going to be a daddy today?”
Silence met her ear.
“Walt?”
“Mary?”
“Well, now that we have the names straight, I thought you might like to know that Dakota’s in labor.”
She heard him suck in a breath before blowing it out.
“Labor?”
Mary felt a smile teasing her lips. “First there is sex, then there is conception . . . nine months of baking . . . then labor. Didn’t they teach you this in medical school?”
“Okay . . . yeah . . . all right. Labor. Okay. I’ve gotta . . . damn it . . . is she there? Let me talk to her.”
“Nope, she’s in the ambulance. I’m behind her by ten minutes.”
“Ambulance? Why? Was she delivering?” Poor Walt was working himself up.
“No.” Mary looked over her shoulder and attempted to merge into traffic. “She couldn’t walk.”
“What? Why?”
The BMW behind her wasn’t letting her in without a little persuasion. She nudged the nose of her Honda into the other lane in hopes the other driver would show a little compassion. “She fell down the stairs.”
The Beemer ignored her like she wasn’t there. “Thanks, dude.”
“Fell down the stairs?” Walt’s voice elevated.
Looked like the Subaru was going to cut her a break. “Yeah, broken leg. I’m sure she’s fine. Broken, but fine.”
“What the hell! Back up, Mary. What are you talking about?”
Now that she was in the correct lane to merge onto the freeway, which would bring her to the hospital faster, Mary focused on the conversation. “Dakota’s water broke, she slipped, fell . . . she thinks she broke her leg.”
“You’re serious.”
“Yep.”
Walt offered a few expletives before asking which hospital the medics were taking his wife to.
“I’ll call your parents and Dakota’s. Just get to the hospital.”
It sounded as if Walt was rushing around the ER, barking orders while carrying the phone pressed to his ear. “And call Monica. Let her know what happened, that she and Trent need to take the conference call without me.”
Monica was a new friend to her and Dakota, and a nurse practitioner who worked alongside Walt with his Borderless Doctors and Borderless Nurses organization. Trent was Monica’s husband and one of the Fairchild brothers who owned Fairchild Charters, a private jet and helicopter company that had recently started working with Borderless Doctors for humanitarian relief.
“I’m on it, Walt. Just stay calm and drive safe.”
He paused on the line. “I’m going to be a dad.”
Mary grinned as she exited the freeway. “Get a hustle, Daddy.”
“Right, right . . . I’m on my wa—” He didn’t finish his sentence before the line went dead.
Dr. and Mrs. Eddy were quick to answer the phone and tell her they would be booking flights and awaiting word.
Dakota’s parents weren’t as easy . . . well, not Elaine in any event. “She isn’t due for two more weeks.”
“Tell that to the baby.” Mary was attempting to find a parking spot in the elevated structure.
“Well, that is very inconvenient.”
There were some times Mary realized not having any parents could be a blessing. “I’m not sure what to tell you, Mrs. Laurens, your daughter went into labor, and I think she could use your help after the baby arrives.” And if Dakota had in fact broken a leg . . . then she’d take all the help she could get. Including her uptight mother.
“Well, bless her heart. Who goes into labor early on their first baby?”
Mary rolled her eyes.
Once again, Mary gave Elaine the hospital information and asked that she inform Dakota’s sister.
“We’ll do our best to get a flight in the next day or so.”
“That would be great.”
“Leave it to Dakota . . .” Elaine’s voice trailed off as she hung up the phone.
Mary squeezed her car between a long-bed dually truck and a minivan. There wasn’t much space between the cars. The truck looked relatively new, giving her the sense that maybe the owner would be extra careful not to ding a door when sliding inside. The minivan, on the other hand, was oxidized and a couple of decades old. Mary went ahead and backed out of the space and pulled back in a little closer to the truck.
She left the engine running while she fumbled through her contacts in her phone in search of Monica’s number. On her third time through her list, it dawned on her that she hadn’t replaced all the numbers when she’d upgraded her cell earlier in the year.
She considered calling Walt back, then decided against it. The man would be stressed enough. If he didn’t know Monica’s number from memory, he’d be fumbling with a cell phone while on the highway.
Mary tapped her fingers along her phone as she debated. There was one person she could call who would have Monica’s number, one someone whose number she’d memorized months ago.
A chill went over her body when she considered her options.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she dialed.
In a completely childish act, she chanted in her head that the call go to voice mail. On the fourth ring she held her breath.
“Hello?”
One simple greeting and her insides did the wobble. “Hi, Glen.”
“I saw your name pop up on my screen and thought, no way. After all this time she finally calls.”
His words made her pause. “Y-you were supposed to call me.”
“I was?”
She squeezed the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. “Yes, you . . . never mind. That isn’t why I’m calling.”
“Of course not. Because if you were calling for that reason, you would have done so before now.”
She remembered the words he’d said to her the last time they’d had a private conversation. The invitation is always open.
“So there is a statute of limitations on your invitation,” she said, her voice clipped. “Good to know.” Not that she’d planned on taking him up on said invite.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Whatever! I’m calling to get Monica’s number. Do you have it?”
“I do have it.”
She waited.
“Well?”
“Well what?” He was playing coy.
“Monica’s number. What is it?”
“Don’t you have it?”
She wanted to bang her head on the steering wheel. “I do, at home. I have a new phone. I didn’t transfer her number into it.”
“Oh.” He had a lift to his voice. “But you transferred mine?”
“No!” The man was exasperating. “I knew your number.”
“You memorized it?”
“Yes. No . . . darn it.” She hadn’t meant to tell him that. “Can I have her number, please?”
His soft laugh had her gripping the steering wheel.
“Glen!”
“Am I the only one who finds it interesting that you memorized a number you had no intention of using?”
“Am I the only one who recognizes how huge your ego is?”
He laughed. “I think there are a lot of people who know that about me.”
“How proud you are.” The reason it would never have worked between them.
“Life is short, Counselor. Insecurity doesn’t move one forward in life. You should know that.”
“Of course I know that.” I don’t always practice it, but I know it. “Now are you going to give me Monica’s number or not?”
“Someone is upset.”
“Someone is infuriating.”
He laughed again. “Do you have a pen?”
She opened the glove compartment in her car and pulled out a notepad and pen. “I’m ready.”
She jotted down the number Glen finally surrendered.
“What’s the big hurry?” he asked.
“Dakota’s in labor. Walt asked me to call your brother and Monica so they could take a conference call or something.”
“So Junior is finally here.”
“Soon, in any even
t.”
“Give my best to Mom and Dad.” He sounded sincere.
“I will.”
She paused, waiting for him to say something . . . good-bye, great talking to ya . . . something.
Silence.
“Glen?”
“Yeah?”
The man made her crazy. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Okay, go then.”
“I will . . . I’m going.”
He didn’t hang up.
“Glen?”
“Yeah?”
“You make me crazy!” she all but yelled. “I’m deleting your number from my brain.”
He laughed. “No, you’re not.”
“I am.”
“Good luck with that.”
“I’m hanging up now . . .”
No click on his end.
Mary’s thumb hovered over the cancel button on the steering wheel of her car.
When it became obvious he wasn’t going to say anything, she let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m . . . oh, forget it.” She hung up to his laughter.
Glen leaned back in his office chair, his feet resting on the edge of his desk, and stared at the cell phone in his hand.
She’d called.
Took the woman damn near a year, but she’d called.
Sure, the excuse about needing Monica’s number was handy, and maybe she actually did need Monica’s number . . . or maybe Mary wanted to open a conversation between them and wasn’t sure how to do it and save face.
He thumbed through his contacts and dialed his brother.
“Hey, Glen.”
Gotta love cell phones. Everyone knows who’s on the line before they answer.
“Trent, you sound good.”
The youngest Fairchild was the most allergic to the office. He only came in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and avoided that whenever he could. Didn’t mean the man didn’t work, he simply didn’t do it at a desk.
“I was just there yesterday.”
“But it feels like forever.”
“Bite me.”
Glen laughed. “Listen, I just got a call from Mary, she’s trying to get ahold of Monica.”
“Monica’s on the phone with her right now.”
So that part wasn’t a lie. A twinge of disappointment fluttered in his head. “Good, good.” Glen searched for an excuse to stay on the line. Maybe get a tidbit about Mary he didn’t already know.
Not Quite Perfect (Not Quite Series Book 5) Page 2