Girls of Summer (Shelter Rock Cove - Book #2)

by Barbara Bretton

  “Do you know what I would do if I were a chemist?” she said. “I’d find a way to bottle the smell of fresh basil on a summer’s day and use it as a perfume.”

  “Chocolate might be even more effective.”

  “Men should wear chocolate after-shave. You wouldn’t be able to keep the women away from you.” She laughed at the thought. “Of course, they would all be premenstrual.”

  He looked as if he wanted to say something but censored himself.

  “Not yet,” she said in answer to his unasked question, “but I think it’s any minute now. All the signs are there.” She tried to read his expression. “Are you disappointed?”

  He again looked as if he was censoring his response.

  “We’ve always been honest with each other,” she said. “Don’t stop now.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I’m disappointed.”

  God help me, she thought as they touched hands for an instant, so am I.

  * * *

  As the days passed, Deirdre was reminded more and more of the old joke about the musician who went away for the weekend only to return and find that his house had burned down.

  “It was terrible,” his neighbor said. “There was a forty-foot wall of flames! Everything you owned is gone, but your agent managed to save your wife and children!”

  And the musician said, “My agent came to my house?!”

  So far her agent had managed to duck all of her calls since she returned from her brief stay at the Crooked Isle Inn. He was in conference, out of the office, on the other line, working from home, on a business trip, everywhere but on the other end of the telephone.

  Kind of like her and Scott the Mechanic, come to think of it.

  For a while there he had been her best friend in town, the object of her morning walks, the focus of her days. And unless she missed her guess, he had kind of enjoyed it. At least up until their misbegotten trip to Crooked Isle Inn.

  Two days after they returned from Bar Harbor, he called to say her Hyundai was ready. She and Stanley walked down to pay the bill, and Scott had been what she called business-friendly. You would never know to look at him that they had spent a night in each other’s arms.

  The truth had come to her in a flash as she waited for him to fill out a receipt. He hadn’t been sleeping that night when he sobbed in her arms. It wasn’t a nightmare that caused him so much sorrow. He had been painfully awake and aware, and he hated her for being there to see it. Now the only thing he could do was push her away.

  Men were so strange when it came to expressing their emotions. They would think nothing of painting their faces in team colors, stripping off their shirts, and yelling themselves senseless at some ridiculous sporting event, but ask them to admit to one single drop of sorrow for anything other than a lost playoff spot, and they turned to stone.

  She had cried on his shoulder when the Inn dumped her, but that didn’t mean she had to hide herself away from him for the rest of her life. So what if he had cried on her shoulder a few hours later. It was nothing to be ashamed about. Twice she had phoned him at the garage, but both times Jack said he was out test-driving a car.

  Sure he was. She had too much experience ducking Mary Pat’s phone calls to believe that one.

  Mary Pat had taken to calling Ellen’s house at all hours to deliver updates on their father’s rapidly worsening condition. She managed to duck most of her sister’s calls, but every now and again Mary Pat timed it just right and snagged her.

  “I need to speak with Ellen,” Mary Pat had said last night when Deirdre answered the phone without thinking. “Is she there?”

  “Ellen?” She gave the phone her most theatrical double-take. “Since when do you call her Ellen? I thought she was The Doctor.”

  If she didn’t know better, she would think they were actually starting to like each other.

  This morning she’d sat right there at the kitchen counter and listened to Ellen patiently explain the possible meaning of Billy’s symptoms and urge once again that he see the doctor they had agreed was their best hope.

  So far Billy had blown off three appointments with the specialist, and he threatened to blow off a fourth if Mary Pat was stupid enough to schedule one. Which, of course, she would. Once Mary Pat got the bit between her teeth, it would take a stick of dynamite to shake it loose.

  They just didn’t get it. Neither one of her sisters seemed able to get it through her skull that this was all nothing more than Billy being Billy. She had said it right from the start: He fled to Ireland because things got a little too real at home, and he came back because things got a little too hot over there. That had always been his pattern, and there was no reason to think he was going to change now.

  She had to hand it to him though. He really had them believing he was sick. Talk about a great scam. Free room and board with his devoted oldest daughter. Cable TV. An open bar. Someone to take his calls and keep the wolf from the door. What more could he possibly ask for? Maybe he had to work a little to keep up the charade, but that was a small price to pay for a place to camp out until he could return to Ireland and whatever the hell he had been doing over there.

  Mary Pat had been leaning on her to talk to Billy, which only gave her more reason to duck her sister’s phone calls. Turnabout was fair play, right? Billy had ducked her calls more times than she could count when she was trying to get her singing career off the ground. He had been flying high at the time. For a little while there it had looked as if he might become one of those twenty-year overnight successes you read about in People. He knew the people he needed to know, the same people who just might have seen fit to give Deirdre a hand up the ladder. Let him see how it felt to be on the receiving end of that big sucking sound of silence.

  A taste of his own medicine might be exactly what the doctor ordered.

  Chapter Twenty- five

  “Dr. Markowitz?” The woman’s voice was familiar. “I thought that was you! What brings you to Westcliff Harbor?”

  Ellen quickly hid the home pregnancy test kit behind her back and turned to find Sarah Cummings from Admissions smiling at her with open curiosity.

  “I was on my way home from a lecture,” she said, appalled by the ease with which the lie spilled out. “I had a headache and thought I would stop for some Advil.”

  “Advil’s over there.” Sarah gestured farther down the other side of the aisle.

  “No wonder I couldn’t find it,” she said with a nervous laugh.

  “Are you okay?” Sarah asked, stepping a little bit closer. “You look a little pale.”

  “Just tired,” Ellen said.

  “And the headache,” Sarah reminded her.

  The two women smiled at each other, but neither one moved. She couldn’t back away from Sarah or scuttle across the aisle like a turtle. Sarah was suspicious enough already. If she tried to hide the box under the hem of her silk blazer she would probably end up being arrested for shoplifting. She considered dropping it, then pretending it fell off the shelf on its own, but that wouldn’t fool even Stanley. She was at the point of feigning a swoon when two little boys ran up to Sarah and started shrieking that their other brother was getting into trouble in the dairy department.

  Bless you, she thought as Sarah hurried away to see what her third son was up to. She considered starting a scholarship fund for the three of them. The experience gave the phrase too close for comfort a whole new meaning.

  If she wasn’t so paranoid about being discovered, she would have taken a test right in the office. Unfortunately Janna was a highly organized manager who kept track of every supply right down to the number of swabs in the jar. She also was the one who ran the tests and notated the results.

  The irony of an OB-GYN having to sneak out of town in order to snag an over-the-counter pregnancy test kit wasn’t lost on her. It was yet another part of small-town life that required some adjustment. It didn’t matter if you were purchasing aspirin, Preparation H, or a lifetime supply of condoms. Every p
urchase was noticed by someone in town and usually mentioned at that night’s dinner table to someone else. Claudia, who was no slouch in the gossip department, liked to say that if the U.S. Army had had access to Shelter Rock Cove’s communications during World War II, the war would have ended two years earlier.

  Deirdre’s Hyundai wasn’t in the driveway when she pulled in. She and Stanley were over at Annie’s Flowers, where Deirdre was playing her harp at a reception the Artists’ Co-Op was giving for Sweeney. She planned to drop in later and show support, but first things first.

  It wasn’t that she suspected anything, because she didn’t. No morning sickness. No breast tenderness. Just the absence of her period and the nagging sense that something wasn’t quite right. Two weeks had elapsed since that night with Hall. If she was pregnant the test should be able to pick it up. If not—well, it was probably just stress.

  Or an inaccurate test, she reminded herself.

  Moving into your first house was a big enough source of stress, but if you added to it a new love affair, the arrival of your eccentric younger sister, a one-hundred-fifteen-pound dog, and a thriving medical practice, it was a wonder she wasn’t hiding under the covers and waiting for some of the excitement to die down. Four days late wasn’t anything to worry about.

  Her imagination was beginning to run away with her. Twice she had found herself daydreaming about a blond-haired daughter who would be taken under the collective wing of her four beautiful older sisters. On more than one occasion she had found herself scribbling the name “Emilie” on a prescription pad or on the back of an envelope. She already had a room on the second floor picked out for the nursery. She would paint the walls sunny yellow with pure white trim and decorate the room with handmade quilts and soft sculptures from the Co-op. Big whitewashed shutters at the windows. A crib.

  She put her medical bag down on the floor near the hall closet, then slipped out of her blazer. Her shoes were already off. She couldn’t endure heels, not even low ones, for a moment longer than absolutely necessary. The test kit practically screamed “Open me!” so she did. The instructions were simple enough and it wasn’t as if she had anything else to do at the moment. Besides, no matter the situation, knowing was always better than not knowing, and that was never more true than when it came to pregnancy.

  Okay. No more procrastination. She and the test kit would march into the bathroom, and in a few minutes she would know her fate.

  Of course, that was the exact second her cell phone rang. Only one person on earth had timing like that.

  “Why are you laughing?” Mary Pat demanded the second she picked up the phone. “Do you have caller ID?”

  “No, I swear I’m not laughing at you, Mary Pat,” she said, trying to rein in her amusement. “Did Billy keep his appointment today?” Not that there was a chance in hell that he had, but still she had to ask.

  On the other end of the line Mary Pat erupted into sobs that she could feel inside her own bones. She felt like a louse for laughing when she answered the phone, but how could she possibly have known her sister was about to fall apart on her? Mary Pat was the human Rock of Gibraltar. She never lost control of anything: not her family or a situation, and definitely not herself. This display of vulnerability would exact a price from her, no doubt about it, and Ellen’s heart went out to her. There was more than a touch of Mary Pat at work inside her own personality. Neither one of them had been able to hold their families together, no matter how hard they tried, and that failure had shaped their futures.

  Funny how she had never thought of it that way before. She and Deirdre were the same age, they shared auburn hair, a tendency to freckle in the sun, and a mutual disdain for their older sister. Beyond that she thought she had little in common with either one of them. But that wasn’t true. Not even close.

  Mary Pat’s sobs were beginning to subside. She murmured something into the phone, but Ellen knew the only thing she could do was wait quietly until her sister gathered herself together again. All of her medical training, the endless courses on the psychology of dealing with patients, her reputation as a physician who actually listened and understood her patients’ emotional needs, and this was the best she could do. Face-to-face you could offer so much more to someone in pain. A sympathetic look. A touch. The simple act of sharing space and breathing the same air could be as therapeutic as anything modern science had created, but as of yet no one had devised a way to transmit touch through wires.

  She began to quickly piece together the clues. Clearly this had to do with Billy’s health. Gut instinct told her that Mary Pat had finally managed to get him to the doctor and the news hadn’t been good.

  Unfortunately she was right.

  “... you should have seen the way they acted when Daddy walked into the office... like they were ready to diagnose him on the spot.”

  “He was presenting some pretty telling symptoms, Mary Pat. You don’t see pronounced jaundice every day of the week.”

  “They had no business staring at him that way. They’re supposed to make patients feel comfortable, aren’t they?”

  “Of course,” she agreed, but there were times when even the most jaded medical professional was taken aback by a patient’s symptoms. “Now tell me exactly what they said when they examined Billy.”

  “They were all over the jaundice. I mean, that’s hardly the end of the world, is it, Ellen?” She didn’t wait for a response. “We sat in the examining room forever—like they think this doesn’t count as waiting?—and then when the doctor came in, his first words were, ‘I want you to know this has the potential to be very serious.’” She paused to pull in some oxygen. “Daddy got up and started to put his shirt back on. He was going to walk out the door and I don’t blame him. What kind of way is that to treat someone?”

  “A lousy way,” Ellen said, “but right now let’s stay focused on the diagnosis. Did they run blood tests?”

  “Yes.”

  “Urinalysis?”

  “Twice.”

  She could hear Mary Pat struggling to retain her composure. “He said, and I’m quoting here, I took notes, ‘There is a marked prominence to the liver.’ Is that bad?”

  It was the worst news possible. This time it was Ellen who struggled to retain her composure. “It’s bad, Mary Pat.”

  No gut-wrenching sobs this time from her older sister. Just the soft sound of muffled tears.

  “Are you still there?” she asked after a few minutes had passed.

  “I’m here,” Mary Pat managed. “I knew it was bad. I’m on the Net all the time, looking up his symptoms, but I just couldn’t face it.”

  “Has the doctor set up appointments for tests?”

  “He wants to do a CT scan, maybe an MRI, and something called ERCP.”

  “I’m sure the doctor told you Billy will require sedation for the ERCP.”

  “They want to check him into the hospital on Wednesday for a few days and do all of the tests while he’s there.”

  Not a good sign at all. “That’s probably a wise decision.”

  “Maybe you and Deirdre would like to drive down and see him.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea,” she said quickly, “but I have ten prima gravidas about to go into labor. I’m afraid I just can’t get away.”

  “Deirdre’s not working. She told me her car is out of the shop. There’s no reason she can’t drive down. Billy’s been asking about you. Both of you.”

  Oh, no, you don’t, Mary Pat. No Guilt Trip Express for me.

  They talked for a few minutes about their father’s insurance coverage. It was easier to discuss co-payments and per diem hospital charges than the fact that he was dying.

  “If you need me to, I’d be glad to speak with hospital administration,” she said as the conversation began to wind down. “Insurance jargon can be off-putting to say the least.”

  “I have no trouble with it.” A glimmer of the old Mary Pat she knew and couldn’t quite bring herself to love.

&n
bsp; “That’s great.” Ellen maintained an even tone. “Not everyone is comfortable with it.”

  “Maybe you wouldn’t mind speaking to the doctor. Every time he spoke, all I could hear was this whooshing sound inside my head. I took notes, but I’d feel better if he knew we had a doctor in the family.”

  “Glad to be of help.” For a moment there she had actually felt something approaching sisterly affection.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “Not at all. I’ll phone the doctor tomorrow and touch base with you in the evening.”

  “Really, I can’t imagine what I might have said to upset you, Ellen.”

  “Because I’m not upset, Mary Pat. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  What was wrong with her? She never let Mary Pat get under her skin this way, not even when her sister was at her most obnoxious.

  It was her own fault for letting down her guard when Mary Pat started to cry. She had always been a sucker for tears, anyone’s tears, and for a second she had actually believed she and Mary Patricia Anne O’Brien Galvin were actually starting to like each other the slightest bit. Obviously Mary Pat was deeply distressed over the state of their father’s health, and while she didn’t share the same depth of feeling for Billy, she understood.

  Mary Pat called when she needed something. She sent birthday cards and Christmas cards. She marked important nonannual events with flowers. Deirdre told her that their sister kept a database on her computer with the names of friends and family neatly entered, along with pertinent information. Every morning when she logged on, the database popped up and red-flagged items that needed her attention.

  Tonight Mary Pat needed a doctor in the family and she got one. What she didn’t need was a sister.