by Lilian Darcy
Why aren't you sending her packing right away? Jo wanted to ask. How much of a chance are you giving her? More than she deserves, surely!
But not more than their marriage deserved.
That was the problem. Jo hated the idea that this was a contest, but she had to accept that it was, and that it wasn't simply a contest .between herself and Tara, but between herself and a marriage. Ripley believed in marriage.
He finished, 'And it made sense.'
'You're going to sleep with her tonight?' It hurt so much to say it, even to think it, and her heart seemed to stop while she waited for his answer, which wasn't long in coming.
'Hell, no! My lord, Jo, is that the kind of honour you think I have? I promised her I wouldn't sleep with you until this whole thing is resolved. It goes without saying that you deserve the same commitment.'
'We did last night.'
'I know now that we shouldn't have.'
She couldn't believe he'd just dismissed it like that, even if he had the best of reasons—that he'd dismissed the connection and closeness, the heady heights of shared and satisfied desire.
Ripley had his sense of honour, and his sense of what marriage should mean. Jo was left with little but the feeling that she'd been wanton and desperate last night and just now. She felt so naked that she actually wanted to cover herself with her hands, as if she'd been standing in the middle of the street without clothes.
'I'm sorry,' Rip said. 'It was wonderful. You know I'm not denying that in any way. I never would. But the timing was wrong. And I was wrong—you weren't, but I was— to let it happen.'
'I'm not a child, Ripley. I don't have to be protected against danger and risk. I let it happen just as much as you did. No. Not let it happen, made it happen. I'll take my share of the responsibility.'
He looked at her in silence for several long heartbeats, then said quietly, 'Thank you. That's probably more than I deserve. I'll go now.'
'Stay and talk more, if you want. You can talk to me, Rip. You don't have to feel that I'm disqualified as a confidante.'
Did she sound pathetic? Clutching at straws?
She'd meant it as a genuine offer, but maybe it hadn't come out that way.
He was shaking his head. 'That's not fair. Not right. I'll go.'
'OK.'
'I'll be working at home in the morning till my patients start coming in at eleven, catching up on a couple of things.'
'I have people scheduled all morning.'
'So you'll be having lunch on the phone at your desk again? Jo, you do that too—'
'Shelley starts in less than two weeks,' she cut in, not wanting a lecture from him, no matter in what kind of caring tone it was delivered.
'That'll give you more time for yourself,' he said, approving.
She felt prickly suddenly, not in a mood to concede. 'No, because I'm planning on insisting that Shelley lets me help her and Lloyd and the baby settle in. I'll be carting boxes and filling bookshelves.'
'I'm sure they'll appreciate it.'
'If they'll let me do it.'
He dropped his voice. 'Really am going now, Jo, OK? It's stupid to inflict this kind of small talk on each other.'
'So go.'
She held herself back, leaning her spine against the hard edge of the kitchen bench top, because she knew that if she didn't, she'd probably hold her arms out to him at the front door and either he'd push her away, which would be bad enough, or he'd relent, and after everything he'd just said, that might be worse. He wouldn't thank her for exploiting the weakness of their shared need for each other.
When he led the way towards the door, she followed at a very safe distance behind him. He reached out and opened it, and had stepped onto the front porch before she let herself close the distance. Even then she clung to the doorhandle, using the thick edge of solid old wood as a shield, a protection for both of them.
'See you tomorrow,' he said.
'Yep. 'Night, Rip.'
He paused, took a breath, looked as if he was about to say something else, but then he didn't, he just shook his head and loped down the steps. Jo closed the door and didn't wait to wave him goodnight as he drove away down the street.
When Dotty handed Jo the computer printout showing her patient list for the morning, Tara's name was on it. Tara McKnight. Her maiden name. Jo knew it, because Tara had used it a handful of times over the past few years when she'd had her quilts on show in a local exhibition or had been a featured soloist in the Harriet Episcopal Church's Christmas choir.
The appointment was for ten-thirty, and Jo was running a little late, so she didn't call Tara's name until ten forty-five.
'I was hoping for more time,' Tara said in a low, confidential tone as soon as she'd sat down.
'We'll take as much time as you need,' Jo told her. She struggled to keep her professional manner in place. What could this be about?
'No, but... Isn't Rip due in at eleven? I don't want him to know I've seen you.'
'Is this personal, Tara?' Jo blurted out.
There could only be one reason for that, surely. Tara had guessed that Jo was the new woman in Ripley's life. She immediately felt hot and self-conscious and desperate to be somewhere else. She wasn't ready for this. She knew Rip wasn't. Not ready for this level of complexity, for the decisions and the divided loyalties, the commitment, the endings or the mess.
Tara gave a tinny laugh, unlike her usual rich chuckle. 'It's personal and medical and earth-shattering, and Rip is the last person in the world I want to know about it. Jo, I—I think I could be pregnant.'
'So you're consulting me as a doctor?' Another inelegant question.
'Yes.'
'Right.' Jo took a breath. 'Then that's how we'll proceed.' She smiled to soften the statement, thinking that Tara's announcement raised more questions than it answered.
'Sounds good,' Tara agreed.
She and Jo had never been close in any way, not before her separation from Rip and certainly not after it, in the brief interval before Tara had left town. Sure, when they'd met in passing, they'd stopped to chat. Lots of humour and warmth and interest in each other's lives, but Jo knew it had all been on the surface.
She wanted to keep it that way.
'Have you taken a home pregnancy test?' she asked.
'Not yet.'
'Because they're very accurate now, and can be done at any time of the day. If your main concern today is to confirm your pregnancy, you can pick one up at the pharmacy and go through the steps on your own.' She paused for half a second, but there was no instant look of relief on Tara's face at this suggestion. Jo continued quickly, 'Or, if you'd prefer, we can do one here for you now.'
'I'd prefer that, I think.'
'Do you have any idea how far advanced the pregnancy would be?'
'Oh, not very. I—I'm only a day or two late.' She narrowed her huge eyes a little, and lifted her chin. 'Please, please, do not breathe a word of this to Rip, Jo! Because I have no idea yet what I'm going to do.'
'You're consulting me as a doctor, with every expectation of professional discretion on my part. Of course I won't say anything to Rip!'
'If he sees me here...' She looked very petite with her body bracketed by the padded arms of the upright chair, almost fragile and not happy.
'If you want, I can make sure that the coast is clear when you're ready to leave,' Jo offered.
'I knew he wasn't coming in till eleven this morning. That's why I made the appointment for ten-thirty.'
'Let me get you organised with a test,' Jo said.
She felt a little confused but, then, she'd never considered that she'd understood Rip's wife very well. Why hadn't Tara taken a test in the privacy of her hotel room? Surely she knew how easy and how readily available they were? Didn't every woman know that now?
Most doctors didn't see a woman for her first prenatal check-up this early in a pregnancy, unless there were pre-existing health issues, fertility problems or known risks. The initial consulta
tion at around seven or eight weeks could last for up to an hour. At this practice, Nurse Merril Heath would take a detailed patient history and record figures for blood pressure and weight. Jo or Rip would conduct a physical exam and talk to each patient, often with their husband or partner present, about expectations and concerns. Most women then went for an ultrasound and were thrilled to see their baby's heart beating.
Tara wasn't up to any of that yet, but it was hard to imagine how she could keep a pregnancy secret from Rip for long, if she stayed in Harriet. If she'd wanted safety in this department, she could have gone to the other family practice in Netherby. She must have met both the doctors from there. And, of course, there were specialist obstetricians in the area, too. Burlington was an easy drive, and a doctor there would have guaranteed an even higher level of discretion.
But, then, a woman's ambivalence about her pregnancy didn't always allow her to think and act in the most rational way, and Tara at the best of times had always operated on a heavy dose of impulse and emotion.
Did she want this baby?
It wasn't yet clear.
Was it Trent Serrano's?
Jo did not intend to ask.
Within five minutes she had a result on the pregnancy test and it was positive—very positive, the staining almost purple, showing a reassuringly high level of pregnancy hormone. Tara pressed her lips together and nodded. 'So what's next?'
'Well, you have choices, obviously,' Jo told her carefully. 'If you want to go away and think about it, or talk to a professional...' She paused.
'Oh, I want this baby,' Tara said at once. She blinked a couple of times, her face still hard to read. 'That's not in question. Please, don't think that.'
Again, Jo chose her words with care, sensing that there was a minefield here somewhere, although she couldn't locate it. Rip's ex-wife was saying all the right things. 'Well, then you need to choose what kind of prenatal care and delivery you want, Tara. Many women prefer a specialised obstetrics and gynaecology practice, but when there are no risk factors a family practice like ours is very capable of seeing a woman through a healthy pregnancy and birth experience. You would, of course, get referred to a specialist if there were any complications at any point.'
There.
Well said, Jo.
Nice and neutral, suitably professional, and avoiding any assumptions about where Tara would be and what she would want.
Tara was worrying at her full lower lip. 'It's too much,' she murmured. 'I can't think straight. Let me go away and let it all sit for a couple of days. This has come at me totally out of the blue. Even while we were waiting for a result on the test I was thinking it could all be a drama about nothing.'
'Do go away and think,' was all Jo could say. 'Let me know—or one of our office staff know—if you want more information on obstetricians in the area. You have some time. Another three or four weeks before the initial prenatal check-up.'
'That long?' She frowned. 'OK. Thanks.'
'But I can give you the information booklet we normally give women at their first pre-natal appointment, if you'd like.'
'That would be helpful. And, Jo, if you could take a look and see if Rip's here yet...' She stretched her face in appeal, and then she shivered. 'I just don't want to see him.'
'I want to see you, Jo.'
Rip's voice on the phone, on Friday evening.
Destroying my night, was her first thought, even though that wasn't fair.
Her second thought was, had Tara told him her news?
Jo had invited people over to a meal for the first time in...oh, she didn't want to think about how long it had been. It was going to be a girls' night—all the women from the practice, as well as Nina Grafton and a woman called Sandy Day, who ran the quilting and stained-glass store in the main street.
Jo had met Sandy when she'd taken a short stained-glass-making course just before Mamie had had her stroke, but after the stroke she hadn't made any of the featured stained-glass window-panes she'd planned on for Mamie's house.
And anyhow she'd sort of come to consider that Sandy belonged to Tara a bit in the friendship department, because of the quilt thing. Tara had purchased many of her beautiful fabrics at Sandy's store.
Yesterday after appointment hours, however, Jo had gone into the store to get herself organised about the window-panes at last—she could definitely see over the rim of the rut now, but didn't think she was quite out of it yet—and she and Sandy had ended up having such a nice talk that she'd issued an invitation for tonight, and Sandy had seemed pleased.
Just as if she wasn't in Rip's ex-wife's friendship camp after all.
Her camp?
My goodness, I have actually never liked Tara, have I?
Jo felt uncomfortable about it.
Liking or disliking Tara hadn't been important before. When it came to friendships, enmities and alliances, Jo had never enjoyed getting her hands dirty, the way some people did. When she liked someone, she made friends with them. When she didn't, she didn't make a big deal out of it, she just kept it polite and distant and didn't think about it very much. She didn't bitch about the other person behind his or her back, didn't probe too far into the reasons for her dislike, just got on with her own life.
But now...
She was having six women over to a meal in half an hour, and she really didn't like Tara, she never had, and Tara was pregnant, and Rip was on the phone.
'I'm not free right now,' she told him cautiously.
'I didn't mean now. Oh, I mean, if I'm honest, now that I'm talking to you...' He sighed between his teeth. 'Hell, yes, I'd love to see you this instant, but that's not a good idea, is it? I meant on the weekend. There's still some good snow around. I wondered if you'd like to come skiing.'
'Because we can see each other, but it would be safe and public, in terms of our recent agreement?'
'Yes. Exactly. I'm glad you feel the same.'
I don't feel the same. I just understand how you feel.
Tara's appointment on Wednesday morning sat in the foreground of Jo's awareness like a wart on the end of her nose, and she felt a deep, witchy desire to spill the beans, break one of the most important ethical rules in a doctor's professional world, act like Snow White's wicked stepmother and poison Rip's mind with the nice, juicy apple of an idea that Tara only wanted him back because she needed him as a father for a baby that couldn't possibly be his.
The new conflict of interest racked her, the witchy nature of her own thoughts racked her, and she knew how hard it would be to go skiing with Rip on the weekend. Unfortunately, however, the thought of not seeing him at all racked her even more.
'I'd love to come skiing,' she said.
But we won't talk about anything personal, we'll talk about the runs and the lift lines and the snow...
'That's great!' He laughed. 'I'm so glad you said yes! Could you hear me holding my breath?'
'Were you?' Her heart lifted to an absurd height.
'Yes, I was, actually. Tomorrow best for you? Or Sunday?'
Tomorrow means I get to see him sooner. Sunday means I get time to see if any of my equipment still works.
'Tomorrow would be fine.'
I'll rent the gear...
'Pick you up in the morning? Nine?'
'Can't wait.'
And she really felt as if she couldn't.
CHAPTER NINE
For half of the drive up to Stowe in Rip's SUV, Jo forced herself not to ask him if he knew what Tara was doing that day.
Surely he had to know.
Surely the two of them had been seeing each other over the past few days.
What would be the point of this period of thinking and working things out if they kept themselves apart?
She could speculate all she wanted, she finally decided, but she couldn't ask and so she might never know. Or had she lost all sense of proportion? She had no idea if asking about Tara was unreasonable, unforgivable, unfair.
She did know that not asking
about Tara was by far the best way to ensure that there was no possibility of Tara's pregnancy news making a violent prison break from behind her locked professional lips.
Rip brought up the subject of his ex-wife himself in the end, just a mile or two before the ski-rental place where Jo would pick up some gear. 'While we have a chance, I want to let you know how things are going,' he said.
'Yes?' She didn't need to ask what he meant by 'things'.
'We've been taking it very carefully, having coffee together in the restaurant at her hotel. Last night we had dinner there. She's told me some stuff that makes sense.'
'About your marriage?'
'About why she left. With Serrano. Career frustrations tying in to the stimulation of something new was what it came down to.'
'Career frustrations? Her singing? Would she want you to move away from Harriet, Rip, if—?'
'No, because her focus has changed. That's a plus. It's the only thing that even begins to make a fresh start possible. We both agreed on that.'
'Why the change of priorities?' It was hard to ask questions in a neutral way, when the state of her whole heart depended on his answers.
'She realised that singing was too much of a long shot. Serrano did work hard for her, for a while, trying to get her some contracts as a supporting act for bigger names on tour, getting her songs heard by a couple of music companies, but nothing came of it. I've always thought that her real talent was as a quilt artist, that she was happier and more grounded when she was working on her quilts, and that's what she wants to concentrate on now.'
'Harriet is ideal for that,' Jo agreed. 'Shelley's husband is an artist, too. We'd have quite a colony here.'
'Tara is talking about building a separate studio behind the house. There's space for it, and it would be great for her to have the right space to work in.'
'So you're getting down to practicalities.'
He was silent, having heard the edge in Jo's voice.
Of course.
The edge had been as sharp as a razor.
She hated herself, but hated the situation more. This wasn't easy!