“Whoa! Nice.” I reached for the only cantaloupe in the pile, a specimen so gorgeous my mouth was already watering.
“I’m getting tired of the things, and I thought you might enjoy it instead.”
“You spoil me,” I said, tucking it under my arm. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. How’s your sister doing?”
“Actually, I saw her last night. It looks as if she’s finally ready to make the shift. I’ll be bringing her here on Saturday.” I had already mentioned two weeks ago that I might end up moving Nicole in with me as she recovered, and Miss Vida had seemed pleased with the idea.
Now she sat back on her heels, her face lighting up. “Oh, how wonderful! Imagine having two lovely young Talbot ladies living right behind me.”
I felt a surge of guilt because I still hadn’t told her the whole story, how my sister was a drug addict and there was always a chance she might fall into old behaviors while she was here. Of course, if she did, she’d be out the door, but I still thought Miss Vida deserved to know, just in case. Swallowing hard, I launched in with an explanation, but she soon stopped me with a wave of her gloved hand.
“I already know about all of that. But don’t you worry. It’s not a problem with me. In my opinion, everyone deserves a second chance, even tweakers.”
“Tweakers?”
“Yes, isn’t that the word for it?”
“For what?”
“Sketchers. Addicts. Meth heads.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “First of all, how do you even know those terms?”
She shrugged, returning her attention to the next watermelon as she explained. “From my volunteer work down at the crisis center. Trust me, hon, we see more than our share. Most of them are decent folk who somehow lost their way and went down the wrong road for a while.”
“And how did you know about Nicole? Did my grandmother tell you?” Miss Vida and Nana knew each other through the historical society, where they were both on the board of directors. That was, in fact, how I’d learned of this rental in the first place. But Nana was usually so tight lipped about Nicole’s issues that I couldn’t believe she would have mentioned them to anyone, much less a casual acquaintance, and definitely not in a group setting.
“Nope. My rabbi’s brother’s…” she paused, thinking, “…yoga instructor is dating your grandmother’s…housekeeper. Or something like that.”
I laughed. “Of course. The South at its finest.”
She smiled.
“Anyway,” I continued, “knowing that, you’re sure it’s all right with you? It’ll only be for a few months, and I’ll totally understand if it’s something you’re not comfortable with. I’m not even sure I’m comfortable with it, but I feel that I need—”
“Maddee.” Once again, Miss Vida cut off my stream of words. “Of course it’s okay with me. Family comes first. Always. I trust you to keep an eye on her with all that stuff.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I will,” I said firmly. “Thanks again.”
“No problem. Just let me know how I can help.”
“Actually, I could use two quick favors.”
“Name them, doll.”
I explained about the hospital bed being delivered in the morning and asked if she’d be around to let them in. I also wondered if there was anywhere she could temporarily store the coffee table, TV stand, and a few boxes, which would make more room in the carriage house. She seemed fine with both requests, telling me to stick anything I wanted into her guest room and asking where the bed should go when it got here.
“About the only place it can go, which is the middle of the living room.”
“You got it, doll. Now, go enjoy your cantaloupe. I’m sure you must be counting the minutes till you can kick off those high heels and put your feet up. I truly don’t know how you wear those things every day.”
Smiling, I stepped out of the gate and latched it behind me. “Oh, I have higher heels than these, including a pair of leather-and-suede booties with five-inch stilettos.”
“Five inches? Oy, vey! You’ll have to wear those the next time I need a lightbulb changed.”
We both laughed as I headed to my door.
Once inside, I sliced up the cantaloupe, made myself a cup of tea, and sat down at the little kitchen table to enjoy both. When I was finished, I washed my dishes and headed upstairs to change. The room was stuffy from the day’s heat, so I slid open the front window, letting in the breeze. Though I would have loved nothing more than to sit and relax for a while, listening to the distant squeals and laughter of the children playing in the park up the street, I knew with all I had to do there wasn’t time. My sister would be moving in the day after tomorrow.
I had a feeling nothing was ever going to be the same.
CHAPTER FOUR
Maddee
I started with the shelves in the living room, carefully packing everything away into boxes, which I lugged next door along with the furniture I’d asked about. After that, I rigged a big sheet across the living room doorway, making it secure enough that it wouldn’t fall down from repeated opening and closing. Fortunately, my front door was on the kitchen side of the sheet, as were the stairs, so that would ensure some measure of privacy for my sister. Once done, I pulled the curtain to one side and tied it to the banister so it wouldn’t be in the delivery people’s way.
I spent the rest of the evening planning our meals and making out a grocery list. Tomorrow night would be for shopping and other final preparations, and then Saturday would be the big move.
Once I was satisfied with the downstairs, I headed up to my room, tired but pleased that I’d managed to accomplish everything on tonight’s agenda. It was quiet up there as I readied for bed, the park down the street empty now that the sun had gone down. It was just as well. Though I usually loved the sound of kids playing, sometimes it had the opposite effect, sending a pang of longing through my chest, a deep ache for children of my own.
All my life I’d wanted a bunch of little ones running around and a loving husband at my side, but here I was at twenty-seven without a single prospect. I hadn’t necessarily expected to be married by now, but I’d at least hoped to be seriously dating, moving along the path in that direction. Lately, I’d begun to wonder if I would ever find anyone at all. It was hard enough to meet a decent guy, harder still to find one who was also a man of faith and character. I’d tried the usual routes—church events for singles, mixers at local student unions, and putting the word out among my older church friends. But every single guy who came along was either too pious, announcing his deeds with trumpets like the hypocrites in Matthew 6, or too secular, claiming to have a solid faith over dinner and then trying to get cozy in the car afterward. No thanks to either extreme. Despite my desperation, I was determined to hold out for a man who walked the talk—serving humbly, living kindly, and trying always to be Christlike.
After putting on my pajamas, I moved to the chest at the foot of my bed and opened it up, releasing the cedar scent of my lifelong hopes and dreams. Inside, beneath a stack of knitted baby blankets, were clothes I had sewn as a teenager for my “someday children.” I pulled out one of the little outfits now, a tiny white sailor dress with a navy blue anchor embroidered on the front and matching navy hat and pants. So fun to make, so cute to look at, so sad to hold in my hands and realize I might never have a daughter of my own to put it on. Could I live with that? Could that possibly be God’s will for my life? Surely not. Otherwise, why would He have filled me with such a burning desire to be a wife and mother?
My thoughts were interrupted by the sudden sound of a woman’s voice from the kitchen. Startled, I put down the clothes and moved over to the stairs. I was about to call out when the sound repeated itself and I realized what I was hearing. It was Tammy and the Smash, proclaiming, I’ve done all I can but it’s over now.
Detective Ortiz. I laughed at myself as I descended the stairs and retrieved the cell phone from my purse, catching it ju
st in time.
“Good news,” she said when I answered. “The chief has given me the go-ahead to share parts of the case file with you. We just need to get together to go through everything. How’s Monday evening?”
“Perfect.” My pulse surged at this tiny glimmer of hope—and then I remembered that Nicole would be living here, which meant I wouldn’t be in a position to go anywhere.
“Any chance you could come to my place?” I asked, explaining the situation. I was relieved when she said yes, though she declined my offer to stay for dinner. We chose six p.m. and concluded the call.
Phone in hand, I headed back upstairs, encouraged by this latest development and glad that my sister and I would have a project to work on after all, common ground that would perhaps not just help us to bond, but also heal some of those wounds from the past.
“I think this’ll be good for you,” my supervisor said the next day when I told her I’d be moving Nicole in with me this weekend. “It’ll force you to be more flexible.”
“I’m flexible,” I replied, trying not to sound offended. We were in Debra’s office, a space so perpetually overfilled with books and papers that it gave me anxiety just to step inside. Debra herself, however, was a lovely person, and I respected her opinion. A single mom in her early forties, she had a no-nonsense demeanor and a look to match, her brown hair cut in a neat bob, her clothes mostly solids with simple lines, her shoes stylish if vaguely orthopedic.
She rolled her eyes. “Maddee, your filing cabinet is alphabetized, color-coded, and recorded on a separate file you keep on your laptop.”
“I’m sure a lot of people do that—”
“You rearrange your coworkers’ lunches in the break room fridge.”
“Well, it looks better when all of the coolers are on one shelf and the bagged lunches on another.”
She watched me through narrow eyes until I gave a sheepish grin. “All right, I’ll give you that one.”
“Your sister is recovering both physically and mentally. Her medical needs won’t run on a schedule. You won’t know what to expect or what might come up. That’s a good thing. Like I said, it’ll teach you flexibility.”
“Yeah, well, that’s Nicole,” I replied. “Bringing chaos to my order.”
She smiled. “And in return, maybe now you can bring some order to her chaos.”
Order to her chaos.
The words had a nice ring and stayed with me the rest of the morning.
At a quarter of four I unchained my bicycle and helmet from the U-rack outside and headed for the doctor’s office on East Marshall. It was near the hospital, less than a mile away, but suddenly I realized that between here and there was a steep hill I would have to climb. My new bike was nothing fancy, an inexpensive women’s seven-speed I had chosen primarily because of its oversized chain guard to protect my good slacks and its color of robin’s egg blue with tan accents. Whether it had the ability to tackle this mini mountain, I hadn’t a clue.
A good thirteen minutes later I finally made it, though I was breathless and sweaty and completely disheveled as I locked up my bike and helmet and strode toward the building. For once I didn’t even bother with primping because I knew it would take a lot more to fix this mess than a quick peek at my reflection in a glass door. With only two minutes to spare I fought dueling inclinations: be on time but messy or be late but look good? I prided myself on both punctuality and polish, but because I was trying to scale back on the latter, I went with the former. Walking quickly past the women’s restroom, I headed straight for the elevator and took it to the third floor. I then made my way down the hall to the door marked River City Orthopedics, Austin Hill, MD. Stepping inside, I reached the desk at four o’clock on the dot.
As I was checked in, a part of me hoped the doctor was running late so I could make a quick visit to a mirror first, but the nurse waved me around the desk and led me down the hall to a corner office. The room was empty at the moment, but she told me to have a seat and that Dr. Hill would be right with me.
She wasn’t exaggerating. Before I could even dig a pocket mirror from my bag, he came striding in the door.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said as he entered the room and crossed over to his desk. “I’m Austin Hill.” I had expected an older guy, but from the back at least he seemed young, not to mention tall and muscular.
Then he turned around. My face immediately grew hot, startled as I was by this guy’s incredible good looks. He had to be one of the most handsome men I’d ever seen. It was almost laughable, the chiseled jaw straight from a cologne ad, the green eyes worthy of the silver screen. The thick blond mane, cut and styled as precisely as the hair in a salon poster.
“Ms. Talbot, is it?” he said, placing the file he was carrying onto his desk, flipping it open, and having a seat. “Let’s see what we have here.”
He skimmed the pages in front of him for a moment and then glanced up at me, at my two good legs, a puzzled expression on his face. “You don’t look like the Nicole Talbot I operated on six weeks ago.”
I blinked, trying to gather my wits about me. “Um…no.” I cleared my throat. “I’m Madeline Talbot, uh, Maddee. Nicole’s older sister.”
He sat back, swiveling in his chair. “Oh, that’s right. I knew you were coming in. Your grandmother set this up. She said you needed to speak with me ASAP and faxed over a release from Nicole so I could freely discuss your sister’s condition with you.” He closed the file and crossed his arms over it, leaning slightly forward and fixing his gaze on me. “How can I help you exactly?”
Added to my general speechlessness was a surge of confusion. How could he help me? I thought he was supposed to be leading this show. After hemming and hawing for a minute, I explained I wasn’t sure, but that I would be taking over my sister’s care on Saturday, and my grandmother had said I needed to be brought up to speed on her condition first.
“Huh.” He, too, seemed perplexed. “Well, I’ll tell you what I can, but I’m a little confused. You really ought to be having this conversation with her internist, or even just her regular doctor. I’m the one who did the surgery on her leg, and I’m in charge of the follow-up for that, but otherwise I’m not involved with her case. Your grandmother knows that. I wonder why she wanted you to see me specifically.”
Before I could reply, we were interrupted by a light knock at the door and a nurse who needed him. Flashing me an apologetic smile, he excused himself, saying he would be right back. Then he walked out, leaving behind a faint scent of wood and citrus, probably one of those expensive colognes from the Nordstrom in Short Pump.
While he was gone, I seized the opportunity to do what I could with my appearance, smoothing my clothes, running a quick brush through my hair, wiping a tissue under my eyes for mascara smears. I dabbed on some lip gloss but didn’t dare whip out the lint roller in case he returned midroll. I finished by checking my face in my pocket mirror and then tucked it away and folded my hands in my lap, trying to look relaxed.
When he still wasn’t back, I let my eyes wander around the room, taking in all that I saw, starting with the multiple framed degrees hanging near the desk. University of Pennsylvania. Johns Hopkins. The guy was definitely credentialed.
He was also quite neat, the ceiling-to-floor bookshelves along the back wall tidy and organized, with clusters of medical books—in alphabetical order—perfectly aligned and separated by tasteful ojets d’art, including what looked like a prehistoric bone of some kind mounted on a brass base. There were also several framed photos featuring three adorable little blond children ranging in age from two to six. In one they were jumping into a pile of leaves and laughing. In another, he was holding a boy under each of his arms while the girl sat grinning atop his shoulders. Nowhere did I see a family photo that included a wife, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one.
My eyes went to the far shelves, which were lined with a wide row of neatly labeled binders. Above that rested several plaques. Patients’ Choice Aw
ard 2012. On Time Doctor Award 2016. The latter made me smile, pleased to know there even was such a thing.
Then I gasped, thinking of one possible reason why Nana may have wanted me to see this man specifically. Was this a fix up? Obviously, with all this punctuality and organization, he and I had a lot in common. And he was out-of-this-world gorgeous. But would she really take advantage of a grave medical situation just to play matchmaker? Before I could decide, Dr. Hill came back into the room, apologizing for the delay.
“Better watch out,” I teased, “or they might rescind your big award.”
He glanced where I gestured and then laughed. “Yeah, that’s a kick, isn’t it? An On Time Doctor Award?” He returned to the leather chair behind the desk. “Though it’s a shame something like that even has to exist, you know? Why should doctors be celebrated for not making people wait? My time is no more valuable than anyone else’s.” A tinge of pink flushing his perfect cheeks, he added, “So says the man who just made you sit here twiddling your thumbs for five minutes. I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s fine. I was having fun looking around. Your children are precious.”
Again he looked where I gestured, this time to the shelves behind him. “Oh, those aren’t my kids. Niece and nephews. They’re a handful, but I love ’em. You?”
“Me?”
“Kids. Do you have kids?”
“Oh. No. I’m not married.” I held my tongue, resisting the urge to add that I wasn’t even dating anyone. I didn’t want to sound aggressive. Or pathetic.
Feeling my own face flushing now, I tried to get us back on track, asking if there was anything he could tell me about my sister’s condition that would help me take better care of her. He responded in full-on doctor mode, talking about the healing process and bone repair and immobility, and it was all I could do to pay attention when his perfect lips were moving so beautifully over perfect teeth in that perfect face. What a man.
My Sister's Prayer Page 4