Ain't Love Grand?

by Dana Taylor

  He had his nerve, after all the stress he'd been causing me. “Well, like-wise I'm sure. I guess I'm saying I don't want to live on the fringes of someone's life. If you were seriously looking for a life-partner, I wouldn't be a likely candidate, would I?"

  He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Not logically, no. If I were filling out a job description for a wife, you wouldn't fit the criteria. But I'm not looking for a wife.” He changed positions, coming closer to me. He lifted a spoon and tapped it on the table, thinking. Then he nailed me with his steel-gray gaze. “So, let's get to the bottom line here-you want to get married."

  There it was, out in the open, baring my soul.

  "Yes, and my idea of marriage is two people building a life history together, raising a family, growing together spiritually. It isn't strategizing building a law firm, traveling in the right circles, having your picture together on the society page."

  A sort of hissing escaped his chest and he said in a low voice, “You make me sound like a shallow son of a bitch."

  "Oh, you're anything but that. You and I just have different priorities in life and we'd each have to compromise too much to make this work."

  He continued tapping the table nervously with his spoon. “I don't like the idea of you being with anybody else."

  I sipped my coffee. “Well, get used to it."

  He threw down his napkin. “If that's the way you want it, fine. You can find some New Age guy with a ponytail who's in touch with his feminine side and go walking barefoot down the beach together. Let's get out of here."

  "Aren't you going to buy me dessert?"

  Perversely, I enjoyed seeing him all riled up.

  "No.” He stood and tossed money down on the table. “Where are you parked?"

  He escorted me to the parking garage, taking long strides, irritated. He yanked Lizzie's door open for me. “This jalopy is a rusted out piece of junk."

  "She's a member of the family and very reliable transportation,” I said, about to climb in.

  He whirled me around to face him and put both hands on the side of my head. “Now you listen to me. I know your game. You want me to admit I love and need you. Let you wallpaper my kitchen and hang herbs to dry in the window."

  "I never said anything of the sort. I was being totally honest with you. I'll be closing down the store after Christmas and leaving town. It's for the best."

  His eyes drilled into me. “Whose best?"

  "My best. I don't just want your leftovers. I want to share a whole life's banquet with someone and I don't think it's you."

  He dropped his hands and I got into the cab.

  "You're really playing hardball."

  "I'm not playing a game. Goodbye, Jason. Thanks for lunch.” I started the truck and backed up.

  He was still standing watching me weave through the maze of parked cars as I glanced in my rear view mirror. His image burned in my mind.

  Would ever see him again?

  Chapter Thirteen

  -

  The great Hog Farm War ended with a whimper rather than a bang. My public support of the proposal and personal conversations with opposition members diffused the controversy.

  Peeler Pork was coming to town.

  I just prayed they lived up to their promises. Charlene and Brent were not gracious winners. Their celebration party was a champagne-swilling Perse-bashing affair, so I heard. At church Charlene was back to her fakey-gummy smiling self, asking me insincere questions regarding my life.

  I did enjoy one minor satisfaction in discovering the identity of my mystery caller.

  He whispered late one night in gloating victory. “Glad you showed some brains. I'd have hated to torch that pretty house of yours."

  I glanced down at my caller ID-which he'd forgotten to block in his glee. Wouldn't you know-young Billy Foster, Charlene's own darling precious. Why does a twelve-year-old need a personal cell phone?

  "Okay, Billy, the jig is up. You'd better be at my house on Saturday morning for serious leaf raking or I'm telling Daddy DA on you."

  The little twerp was good for thirty bags and swore Mommie Dearest knew nothing about the calls. He pleaded insanity and begged leniency. I promised him a probation period of my silence as long as he behaved, but threatened serious consequences should I hear of any nasty prank calls in the future.

  I kept up a show of cheerful bravado, volunteering more at church, planning my going-out-of-business sale, getting things ready for the Goodwill at home. Then that damn Brooks would buzz his plane over the house. He never called, but he let his presence be known.

  Nights were the worst. I paced the floor, filled with unrelieved, sexual tension. My breasts and womb screamed for attention. It was so tempting to just pick up the phone and say, “You win. I'll take the crumbs from your table. Just come over here and do me until dawn."

  Self-preservation and pride kept me in line. Embarking on a long-term affair with Jason would only end in my emotional destruction and public disgrace. I'd suffered enough turmoil from a short-lived romantic roller coaster ride. How much more pain would there be after an affair ended? That's the way of affairs. They ended. No commitment. It wasn't the way I wanted to live my life.

  I took up jogging to run off the tension and bought an aerobics tape to plug in at two a.m. when sexual energy made my longing body threaten to overcome my common sense.

  * * * *

  I was proud of myself for moving on. On Christmas Eve I made the rounds to my special friends, taking baskets of homemade bread and herbal teas as presents. The holiday was especially bittersweet because I knew it would probably be my last Christmas in Peeler.

  The Raleigh sisters had their mansion decorated to the nines with garland, lights, angels, and nutcrackers. Their huge tree filled their parlor and held ornaments that had reached antique status. Old-fashion bubble lights, gurgling and glowing, festooned the tree to celebrate the day.

  I enjoyed a variety of sinful sugary concoctions-especially the Aunt Bill's candy, a butterscotch fudge that is an Oklahoma tradition.

  Ethel Barry's clan filled me with so much holiday food I feared I would fall asleep at the wheel as I made my next stop at Mavis and Charles’ house. Their farmhouse stood as the one bright spot on the wintry, barren prairie, filled not only with color, but with music. They found a place on the couch for me and I enjoyed the harmonies that rang through the room as the brothers, sisters and cousins made up their own acappella choir.

  I fell into bed late that night, looking forward to a quiet Christmas morning to laze about, read a new novel, and perhaps take a long walk along the creek. Yes, I would not be lonely, but joyfully alone.

  I didn't have a chance to try out my resolve, because the phone rang at six a.m.

  "Perse, this is Jason.” He sounded strained, quiet, clearing his throat. “We ... I need you. It's Val, she's sick."

  "I'll be right there.” Organizing my healing supplies in their carrying case, I pulled on a Christmas sweatshirt and jeans and revved Lizzie up in seven minutes.

  Pandemonium reigned at the Brooks household when I let myself in the front door. Valerie's yelling could be heard loud and clear.

  "I can't take those pills, my throat hurts too much. Go away!” The sound of breaking glass accompanied my run up the stair toward her room.

  Ruth was pacing the hall in her robe, hair askew. She rushed over to me.

  "Oh, it's just terrible, this has been going on all night. She's been throwing up. Her throat hurts. She won't let us take her temperature, but I know it's high."

  I put my arm around her and ushered her to the stair. “Why don't you go make us some tea?"

  "Oh, that's a good idea. Maybe a little tea with honey will make her feel better.” Ruth toddled off with relief.

  The door to Val's room stood open. Jason, Christina, and Val presented quite a tabloid. Jason stood holding a bottle of some mystery medicine in his hand. Wearing OU sweats, morning stubble on his face and his eyes seri
ously bloodshot, he looked like he'd been on a serious toot. Christina likewise resembled Hang-Over Barbie. Mascara-smudged eyes in her pale, blushless face gave her a ghoulish appearance. Her fine blond hair was disheveled and matted.

  Too bad I'd forgotten my camera.

  Val lay in the bed, thrashing around. “I'm going to heave again..."

  Christina backed away while Jason immediately grabbed a trashcan and put it under Val's chin. Dry heaves overtook her little body and I saw one sick, agitated girl.

  Once that episode ended, Christina edged to the bed. “Baby, I really wish you would try to drink a little juice."

  "I don't want any friggin’ juice!"

  "She'd just throw it up again,” Jason said.

  "Well, I'm just trying to help. This is the worst Christmas morning I've ever had,” she whined. Then she spotted me. “It's the witch!"

  Jason sighed. “Perse, thank God."

  I walked into the room as if approaching a minefield. “Well from the sound of her, she doesn't appear at death's door."

  Val turned to me with glassy, sick eyes. “My head is killing me, my throat is sore and they are driving me crazy,” she said through gritted teeth.

  Christina was close to tears. “I've been up all night with you. Just because you're sick doesn't mean you have behave so rudely. Even when I'm ill, I remember my manners."

  "Christina, for God's sake, shut up,” Jason said wearily.

  She gasped, “Well, fine. I'm going to make my morning coffee and take a shower. Maybe Miss Witch here can cast a happy spell on both of you.” She stomped out the door.

  I sat on the edge of Val's bed, causing her to groan as the mattress jiggled. “Ow, I feel awful.” She dove her head under the pillows.

  Turning to Jason I asked, “How long as this been going on?"

  Jason sat in the vanity chair. “Started yesterday afternoon and got progressively worse as the night went on. I'm not a very good nurse, I'm afraid."

  I took pity on him. “Go get yourself some of that coffee and leave me alone with our patient. Close the door."

  He nodded and made his getaway.

  I scanned my hands over her back, about an inch from her skin, feeling the heat radiating from her body. I closed my eyes a moment to center in on her condition.

  She turned over and squinted at me suspiciously. “What are you doing?"

  "Trying to get a reading on you. Will you settle down and cooperate a little? I promise I can help you feel better."

  "I'm not taking any pills. My throat hurts too much,” she croaked.

  "No pills. I have a lot more tricks in my case. Now open your mouth and let me see what's going on down there."

  Her tonsils were covered in pus pockets and very swollen. She wasn't exaggerating about the pain. Knotty lymph glands bulged in her neck. Classic signs of mononucleosis. I gingerly pulled down the sheet and placed my hands over the region of her spleen, sensing the vibrations from that inflamed organ. Definitely mono.

  "Have I got strep?"

  "I don't think so. Have you been sharing drinks with your friends?"

  "Sometimes. It's no big deal."

  "Well, it's a good way to get mono. That and kissing. Have you been making out with anybody?"

  Her face flared with anger again. “That damn Rick Sodders. He gave me this? But that was about a month ago. We cut class and made out by his locker. We got caught, too."

  "Was it worth it?"

  She made a yucky face. “No, I didn't like it. All that gross tongue stuff. I've been avoiding him ever since. Plus I had to serve detention, and they called my dad. Big time lecture. It's been a crappy month."

  "Merry Christmas, sweetheart, Rick gave you mononucleosis as a present."

  I opened my case, took out an oil diffuser, put a selected bottle of blended oils in the machine, releasing a soothing scent into the room. Next, I took out a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Val tracked my every move.

  "Turn over, I'm going to give you an old-fashioned alcohol rub."

  "What good will that do?"

  "It'll help bring down your temperature, which will help make your headache better. Won't a backrub feel good?"

  "Yeah, I guess."

  She turned over and let me get to work. She jumped at the first cold shot of alcohol, but then settled into the massage. I pulled a few oils I thought would help with her aches and dropped them along her spine. Massaging the back of her neck and stress points, I felt her relax and then drift into sleep. Sleep being the best cure for mono, I turned off the lights and left her to nap.

  In the starkly masculine living room, Jason was laid out on his leather sofa, newspaper across his chest, dozing. Damp hair from a recent shower glistened under the track lighting. His skin shone from a fresh shave. I froze in the doorway memorizing his face relaxed in sleep. Fighting an urge to cross the room and awaken him with a kiss, I gripped the door jam.

  Be strong, don't give in.

  He sensed my presence, stretched his body, and sat up. “How is she? What is it, the flu?"

  I plopped in a chair. “Mononucleosis."

  "How did she get that?"

  "She mentioned something about a make-out session with one Rick Sodders."

  "I'd better get her to the doctor."

  "Won't do you any good. Mono is a virus. There isn't any conventional treatment."

  He sat up and took on a lawyerly tone that I found terribly sexy. “So what are we looking at here?"

  I endeavored to ignore the way he made my pulse race and concentrated on disease. “Mono is a viral disease of the immune system. The virus is called Epstein-Barr, which is associated with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, although there's continuing controversy about that."

  My fingers itched to touch the errant strand of hair dangling in his forehead.

  Look away, fool.

  I cleared my throat. “At any rate, she'll be quite sick for a week to ten days. If you just keep her in bed and get enough fluids down her, she'll be fine. The biggest danger with mono is a ruptured spleen. That's why athletes who contract mono can't play sports for several weeks, even after they feel better, because the spleen may remain enlarged for a long period of time. Some people stay sick with mono for weeks or months. People with weak immune systems can stay ill a long time."

  His eyebrows knit in endearing concern. “What can we do about it?"

  "I've already started. I said conventional medicine didn't have any treatment, but I have several options to strengthen her system to get better faster. She's asleep right now."

  The doorbell rang at that moment. Christina bounced down the stairs, now transformed into Country Club Barbie. She opened the door.

  "Doctor Furneau, thank you so much for coming on Christmas day. Please come in."

  "Thank you.” The old doc peeled off his coat, handing it to her.

  Jason walked toward Christina. “When did you call the doctor?"

  She whispered to him. “After she showed up, I called and when I told him what was going on, he said he'd be right over."

  The doctor stood waiting, nodding at me with that Furneau air of superiority. “Persephone."

  I smiled. “Merry Christmas, Doctor Furneau."

  "Where is the patient?” he asked Christina.

  "She's in her room, follow me.” Christina led the way in her elegant pantsuit and the doc trudged up behind her. Jason, wearing a resigned expression, shrugged, and then made his way up the stairs.

  I decided discretion was the better part of valor and hung around the base of the stairs, listening for some action from above. Sure enough it didn't take long.

  Val's voice raged. “Ow! Quit poking me. What is wrong with you people? I was finally asleep. Get out!"

  After a few minutes, the trio exited the room and I dashed into the living room, and stood beside the fireplace. Christina made her entrance first, talking to the doc.

  "Well, what is it?"

  The doc moved in his slow fashion, looking about the room,
accessing it. Jason headed for the coffee cup he had left on the end table.

  "I believe your daughter has contracted mononucleosis."

  Christina gasped. Jason looked over and toasted me with his coffee cup. I winked at him.

  Christina was wringing her hands. “Is it serious? Will I catch it?"

  The doc took out his pipe and sucked on it, even though he didn't light it. I'd never actually seen him light the thing in thirty years. He used it for dramatic effect.

  "You're probably immune to it, most adults are."

  She sighed in relief and then listened intently to the doc's version of the disease. The recitation was very similar to mine. Jason kept staring at me, obviously impressed with my knowledge.

  Doc Furneau wheezed on. “The only treatment is rest, mild pain relievers and plenty of liquids. Sometimes we give them steroids if their throats get too swollen and I have seen spleens become so enlarged, we had to remove them."

  I shook my head strongly at Jason. No, no, no. No surgery.

  "Of course, I wouldn't recommend anything unconventional.” His eyes darted my direction, signaling Christina. “You never know what might make her condition worse."

  Christina got the message and turned to me, drawing up all of her five feet two inches of authority. “Thank you so much for helping us this morning, Miss Jones, but I think we have everything under control now."

  Ignoring her, I turned to Jason. “You once told me you knew business and I had to admit you were right. Now I'm telling you I know healing ... It's up to you."

  His poker face gave away nothing. He took his time, first staring at me, then Christina, then the doc, then back to me. Then he stood and put on his most ingratiating smile. “Thank you so much Doctor Furneau for coming here on Christmas day. You and Miss Jones both concur on your diagnosis. We don't want to keep you from your family."

  He placed his hand on the doc's back and guided him out of the room.

  Christina shot daggers in my direction and then spoke to me under her breath. “I've wondered what was going on here. It's been you the whole time! He's just been all business, letting me stay here for Valerie, that hopeless child. I thought once he got over his anger, it would be all right. I've done everything I know how to do. But, of course, I'm not a witch."