A Peach of a Pair

by Kim Boykin

  “Thank you,” the girl said, the last word dissolving into a whine before she fled upstairs.

  Remmy barely made it to the hospital on time. The facility was impressive and Cecil was happier than a punk in a pickle patch showing Remmy around, bragging every five seconds over the latest medical equipment. The hustle and bustle of the place, the pretty nurses. Just prior to catching up with Cecil, Remmy had spent an hour interviewing with Dr. Cheatham, the chief physician, hearing more of the same, except for the part about the nurses. Then Remmy and Cecil ended up in the cafeteria downstairs where the food was actually good, and Cecil’s claim about the nurses was verified.

  “Now that you’ve seen the inside of a real medical facility again, what do you think?” he’d asked, all puffed up, knowing this was exactly what Remmy had always wanted.

  Remmy shrugged, surprised he wasn’t bowled over by the place, even though it really was top notch. “It’s nice.”

  “Nice?” Cecil pushed his plate away, lit up a cigarette, and took a long draw. “Sport, you’re a surgeon, not some damn country doctor. You’re wasting yourself on Camden when you could be here, doing what you were meant to do.”

  Remmy’s father had balked at the idea of Remmy specializing in anything other than family medicine. By that time, Remmy was at the top of his class and it didn’t matter what his father thought. He’d do whatever he damn well pleased, and he was meant to be a surgeon. That’s what the teaching physicians had said during his residency in Charleston; that’s what he knew in his bones. And yet his bones were in Camden, right where his father said they would be if he had anything to do with it.

  “You said the job doesn’t start until July; I’ll give it some thought.”

  “Well don’t think too long; they’ll be making a decision in three weeks, four at the most. You’re not the only candidate they’re looking at, sport, but maybe this isn’t your first interview to get back into surgery.” Cecil shrugged and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “You talking to the boys in Charleston?”

  For four years, getting back to Charleston was all Remmy had thought about. But now, the idea of the life he wanted didn’t throb inside of him like it had since the accident, like it was going to bust out of him and take over. Now the feeling was much less potent, but it shouldn’t have been. This was the life he wanted. Wasn’t it?

  A pretty nurse with long blond ringlets sidled up to Cecil and put her hand on his shoulder. “Dr. Rutledge, you’re needed in the operating room. Car accident, a bad one. Better come quick.”

  Cecil nodded, snubbed out his cigarette with a cocky look. “Duty calls,” he said, nodding at Remmy, knowing that was the greatest enticement Cecil could have left him with. The feeling that Remmy should be in that OR, piecing a victim back together, felt like a tight fist around his throat, but an hour later, when he pulled up in front of the Eldridge sisters’ house, the feeling was barely there.

  11

  NETTIE

  I plopped down on the front porch swing, dog tired and completely exasperated after nine hours of dealing with Miss Emily. On the other hand, Miss Lurleen was kind and welcoming. Although she stayed in bed all day, she’d asked very little of me other than to fetch her meals, sweet tea, and read aloud from Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings’s The Yearling. I’d read the book in school ages ago and remembered it being a tearjerker. Somehow reading it to a dying woman and knowing the ultimate demise of poor Flag made the story ten times sadder, and I prayed there was something uplifting in the stack of library books on Miss Lurleen’s bedside table, something humorous. Maybe a nice romance.

  While I was prepared for Miss Emily to badger me and try to run me off after I arrived this morning, she didn’t say a word. Just handed me a long list of chores that obviously hadn’t been done in years. Dusting the chandelier. Wiping down the baseboards of her considerably large home. Waxing the floors. And those were the easy things. Each chore was performed under her scrutiny while she gave a running commentary of everything I was doing wrong. How you can dust baseboards other than by rubbing them with a dust rag is beyond explanation, but the undersides of both of my arms were black and blue and ached from reminding myself to hold my tongue.

  Just before four o’clock, something magical happened. Miss Emily turned her soap opera on and passed right out. I looked in on Miss Lurleen to find she was sound asleep too, and was grateful to have a moment to myself. I slipped out to the porch with a tall glass of sweet tea and the LIFE magazine I’d splurged on before I left Columbia.

  I pressed the glass against my forehead and picked up the magazine, but I was too tired to read or even look at the pictures inside. The homeward-bound starlet staring at me on the glossy cover should have been inspiration for what I could be. Cool. Confident. A sultry redhead. Definitely nobody’s doormat. Even if the pennies in my loafers were my last two cents, I’d bet a movie star like Elaine Stewart wouldn’t lose a minute’s peace over the likes of Brooks Carver or Sissy or Mother or Daddy.

  Closing my eyes, the muddled sound of Miss Emily’s soap opera droned on in competition with her snoring. She was resting up no doubt to make another go at working me to death. Well, anything, even hard labor was better than being the girl everyone pitied at school, and I couldn’t imagine the looks I would get if I were back in Satsuma.

  Remmy’s sporty car pulled up to the curb out front. He gave a half wave and a smile, pulled one of my boxes out, and headed up the walkway. “Hey, Nettie,” he called. When he got close enough for me to get a good look at his face, I wanted to run or scream, but I couldn’t move. He knew.

  Disappointment was etched into every strong line of his ruggedly handsome face. He made two more trips to the car before sitting down on the swing beside me and attempting a conciliatory smile. “Hey,” he said softly.

  “Remmy.” I really tried not to snap, but between Miss Emily’s crusade to send me packing and knowing Remmy Wilkes knew everything and felt sorry for me, anything less was beyond my restraint. Good etiquette, however, was etched into my being. “Thank you for fetching my things,” I added tightly.

  “That bad, huh?” He smiled and pushed off on the swing so that my feet were no longer anchored. “Figured as much.”

  “Miss Lurleen is fine, if that’s what you mean.” The floor brushed my feet, and while every smidgeon of good sense told me to stop the motion, part of me felt good and free and relieved. Even though I’d only carried my burden for a few days, I was tired of wearing it like an ill-fitting party dress. The pity party was over. No more slipping back into what if or nursing the whys. If I wanted people to treat me differently, I would have to be different, and starting with Doctor Remmy Wilkes was as good a place as any.

  I straightened, stretching my backbone, laying it straight against the back of the swing. Moving forward, I put my feet flat on the floor, making it zigzag until Remmy’s long legs stopped it completely. “So you know my secret.”

  He winced a little at my tone and then attempted a smile. “I have a feeling I could know you for a million years, Nettie Gilbert, and never know all your secrets. But, yes. I know.”

  “It doesn’t change anything. Miss Lurleen likes me a lot, and even if you tell her, which I hope you would be a gentleman and would not, I don’t believe she would send me packing.”

  “I’m not worried about that right now; besides, she has such little time left, I don’t know if it would even make sense to tell her.” He resumed the motion of the swing, moving so slowly; the toes of my shoes barely skimmed the floor. “I’m more worried about you. How are you feeling?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Aside from being a good doctor? I suspect it has a lot to do with you being a pretty girl, a nice girl who doesn’t deserve what she’s been handed. So, I’ll ask you again, how are you feeling?”

  “About as good as one can feel in this situation.”

  “Are you sleeping well?”


  “I will tonight. Apparently Miss Emily put a lot of thought into planning my demise.”

  “Death by housework. That’s a new one.”

  “Surely there must be something in all those medical books you have on the subject.” He laughed even though my attempt at humor sounded bitter. And I’d had enough of the bitterness too, but, honestly, I was too tired to move. “I would offer you a glass of tea, but I’m afraid I’d wake the beast.”

  “That’s all right,” he drawled, picking up the magazine between us on the swing. “Doing some heavy reading?”

  “I do read, if that’s what you’re implying. You’d think after your shameful performance of your school’s alma mater last night, Remmy, that you’d have given up on trying to take a Columbia College girl down a notch.”

  He laughed, chocolate brown eyes flirting, announcing to the world that Remmy Wilkes, however refined and reserved he appeared on the outside, was trouble. “It was just a joke, Nettie; I am in no way implying you’re not smart or that this girl”—he ran his long finger across the starlet’s photo—“has anything on you.”

  “Other than being a movie star, of course.” And the guts to go home. “She’s probably not tired or overworked. At least she doesn’t look it.” No, she looked like a girl who did the deed often and enjoyed it, and it gave me a small consolation that I’d never seen that look on Sissy’s face. But I had seen a glimpse of it on my own, the night Brooks and I came so close to making love in the grove.

  “Fair enough, but I do have a prescription for what ails you. A little further over to the right on the radio dial, there’s another soap opera that comes on after the one Miss Emily listens to.” He laughed when my eyebrows nearly touched my hairline. “I know this because I have a lot of women patients, I hear them talking about which program is best. Just switch the channel while she’s asleep. My guess is Miss Emily will keep right on dreaming, and it’ll buy you another hour’s peace.” Just as he looked at his watch, the music came up on Backstage Wife, and the announcer began wrapping up the broadcast.

  “And what do I say when she wakes up to a different story entirely?”

  “Women like Miss Emily, once they get to a certain age, when they question themselves, they do it internally. They don’t want folks to think they’re getting old. More than likely, she’ll think she changed the station herself.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at the very idea of Remmy trying to help me outfox Miss Emily, and, when I did, that swoon-worthy crooked grin of his grew wider. I was completely unaffected; however, I was grateful for the suggestion. Grateful enough to tease him, just a little. “Why, Doctor Wilkes, that’s down right diabolical. Do you scheme like this with all your patients?”

  “Only the pretty ones.” He shrugged and got up from the swing. “You stay here and get some rest. I’m gonna test my theory.” He disappeared into the house while I drank sweet tea and pondered Remmy Wilkes knowing my secret.

  Oh, who was I kidding? How could there be any secret when the entire student body of Columbia College knew my sister was carrying my fiancé’s baby? And I was reasonably certain that even Miss Emily in all her demonic glory wouldn’t expel me from her house for being a woman scorned.

  Moments later, I heard the slippery baritone voice of a different announcer, catching listeners up on another soap opera. I have to confess I was elated when I didn’t hear Miss Emily’s shrill voice, demanding I walk up the wall and scrub the ceilings until they gleamed. And I was also just the tiniest bit disappointed when Remmy didn’t come right back out onto the porch.

  About twenty minutes passed before he returned to the swing, with a very cocky grin on his face and having helped himself to a glass of tea.

  “She’s still alive? I haven’t killed her yet?” I smirked.

  “Miss Lurleen or Miss Emily?” he said.

  “Both. Either.” I set my tea glass on the small table beside me, ready to run in and see for myself.

  “Don’t get all flustered again, Nettie. Miss Emily has her head reared back, sawing logs. She may have some sinus problem going on from the sound of it. Wish she’d let me examine her here or come into the office so I could check her, make sure she’s okay. Maybe you could help with that.”

  “If I demanded she never set foot in your office again, that might do the trick. And Miss Lurleen?”

  “Well, you were right; she likes you.” My face went tight at the notion of Remmy testing Miss Lurleen’s opinion of me by sharing my predicament. “Relax, Nettie, I didn’t tell her anything, and I won’t. It’s not my place.”

  He was lifting his tea glass to his lips when he caught sight of the underside of my arms. His brow furrowed as he set his glass beside mine. He didn’t ask to examine me, he just did, pulling both of my arms straight, away from my body and turning my palms up. He ran his fingers over the tender angry skin. “Who did this to you, Nettie? Was it that Brooks bastard?”

  In all my life, I’d never heard Brooks called anything but good and decent. But it wasn’t Remmy’s insult that unnerved me; it was his possessive tone that said he had a right to ask that question, one that went beyond being a good doctor.

  I jerked my arms back and wrapped them around myself. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no.”

  “Tell me who did this to you, Nettie? Good God, was it Miss Emily? Tell me who hurt you,” he demanded.

  “It wasn’t anybody. I did it to myself,” I snapped.

  “Nettie,” he whispered. “Why?”

  “It’s something I do, to break a bad habit or a bad thought, and I’m sure you can imagine from the looks of me I’ve had some seriously bad thoughts to squash and the day isn’t even over yet. Honestly, I’ve never considered actually taking another life, but Miss Emily has a way about her that would make even the best soul question that line of thinking.” I ran my hands over the bruises. They did look horrible, and if I’d seen the same on Sue or Patrice or any of my friends, I would have had the same reaction as Remmy. “I appreciate your concern, really I do, and I know it looks terrible. I promise I’ll find a different way to deal with my frustrations, one that doesn’t disfigure or mar.”

  “Let me take you out,” he said firmly, which had nothing to do with anything, and made me feel even more uncomfortable than I already did. “Take your mind off of your situation, this job.”

  The idea was sweet and honorable, enticing even. But there was no way in hell I was going to get on Katie Wilkes’s bad side, dating her brother. “Ah, but you forget, Dr. Wilkes. I’m stuck here, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week until somebody dies. And, hopefully it will not be me.”

  He was unaffected by my attempt at humor. “Then sleep when the baby sleeps,” he said evenly.

  “I beg your pardon?” I hissed.

  “I don’t bring it up to be cruel, Nettie, but it’s what a new mother has to do—what anyone learns when they care for someone who’s ill. Relax for the first hour when Miss Emily’s first soap opera comes on, change the channel before she wakes up, and then take a nap during the second hour. It’ll help you cope. Keep you healthy. With any luck, Miss Emily and Miss Lurleen will be asleep before nine and you can have some time to yourself.”

  I had to admit that a nap sounded really good, and the sisters going to bed just after the sun went down, even better. So much so that I suddenly realized I was grinning from ear to ear.

  “And while I’d never ask you to abandon your post,” he added, “maybe you’d do me the honor of allowing me to porch sit with you on occasions. Like tonight for example. Say, around nine thirty?”

  “A reward if your theory is correct.”

  “Precisely,” he said.

  “And is it proper for the good doctor to porch sit, unchaperoned with the new girl in town? I don’t think your sister would like that at all.”

  “I’m a grown man, Nettie. What my sister thinks
about where and with whom I spend my time is none of her concern.”

  “I’m sorry, have you met your sister?”

  “Come on, Nettie. Say yes.”

  “All right then. But please don’t tell Katie. I’ve seen her in action, and I don’t want to get on her naughty list. She can be frightening.”

  “And on that ridiculous but accurate assumption, I’ll leave, but I’ll see you tonight.”

  There are certain words, phrases between a girl and a guy, that no matter what the circumstances are, whether good or bad, they demand to be punctuated with a kiss. Remmy’s promise felt that way, even if I didn’t want it to, even if I was the tiniest bit disappointed there was no kiss. He walked to his car, folded the top down, and waved before he got in and drove away.

  12

  NETTIE

  Say what you will about Justine, high priestess of the catty mean girls, but if love is indeed war, she put General Patton and all of his strategists to shame. Without fail, she knew when to advance and when to retreat, and on her worst day, she could make Scarlett O’Hara look like mealymouthed Melanie. While the majority of my C-Square sisters jumped at the first proposal to come along, dating a boy never altered Justine one bit. Not the way it did other girls who seemed to kowtow to any single guy with a decent-looking pompadour and pair of penny loafers.

  I suspect Justine came into the world knowing herself. She was the only girl who entertained eleven guys on the kissing couch in the commons room our freshman year. Of course not at the same time, but I wouldn’t have put it past her. While girls like Doris Shelley were putting up with boyfriends who catted around and begging those cads not to break up with them, Justine called the shots. I wanted to be the girl who called the shots; I only wish I’d paid closer attention as to exactly how Justine wielded her power.

  Miss Lurleen was asleep before eight thirty. I’d piled my hair on top of my head and soaked in the tub until I was sufficiently pruney. Miss Emily’s room was dark around nine when I came out of the bathroom, and she was definitely snoring. Back home if Brooks was coming over, I would have spent hours picking out the right outfit, primping, something Justine certainly did. But I was too tired to preen for anyone, and besides, this wasn’t a date. I left my hair on top of my head and slipped into a pair of denim pedal pushers and a navy gingham wraparound blouse.