Blake Norton was a handsome bachelor in his late forties, one of the many professional transplants from big cities. But he was ahead of his peers and had opened his Rockport family practice almost twenty years earlier. He was, therefore, well acquainted with both Elmer and June. June used Blake as her primary physician.
Behind the curtain in a birthing room on the labor and delivery wing, with her legs up in the air and her butt hanging out, her doctor said, “I admit, I’m flattered. With the arrival of the esteemed Dr. Stone, I didn’t think you’d be needing my services anymore.”
“I’m not ready to make him my doctor,” she said.
“I guess I can understand that,” Blake said. “He comes with an amazing reputation, doesn’t he?”
“You’ve heard of him?”
“I asked about him when I heard you were bringing him in. I need a good OB now and then. I still have a number of colleagues I keep in touch with in the Bay Area. He practiced there, right?”
“Uh-huh. The Fairfield Women’s Clinic.”
“Then he must be good.”
“Why do you assume that?”
“Because that clinic, from a physician’s point of view, is just about the best place to practice reproductive medicine in all of northern California. Excellent reputation. The best doctors available. Neonatology, infertility, gyno-oncology, everything. One-stop shopping. I’ve heard that celebrities actually travel from afar for the services of that group.”
“My goodness,” she said, having had no idea word of the place was so well traveled. But then Elmer had said he’d heard good things about that clinic. The environment must have been sheer hell to make a good OB leave a clinic like that.
Blake gave her a fitting and an exam for good measure, then backed away, snapped off the gloves and handed her a nice little ivory case in which her new birth control device was now stored. “Thank you, Blake,” she said.
“And may I say one more thing?”
“I really thought I’d get out of here without you saying ‘one more thing.’”
“I’m delighted to provide you with this service, June. At long last.” He winked.
“Did you just wink?”
He winked again.
“Jesus. At least you didn’t say, ‘Anyone I know?’”
“I don’t dare,” he said. “Unless I hear rumors of your frequent travels out of the area, the odds are excellent that I do know him.”
“Ha-ha on you. Now get out of here and let me dress!”
It was now 7:30 a.m. and she was fairly certain she had just protected herself against the future offspring of a ghost.
Did it all seem unreal because it had been so long since she had had any kind of romantic interest? Because he was a stranger? Because of the chaos of the accident?
All the same, she took her little ivory case, slipped it into her bag and checked on Birdie and Judge one more time before leaving the hospital. Birdie was sitting up and Judge was grumbling that he wanted to go home—excellent conditions for both of them.
There was no welcome quite so pleasurable as that of a pet. Sadie almost wiggled herself into the floor, she was so animated. She yelped and pawed and licked June’s face, making her drop to her knees and laugh. “Okay, okay—I bet you’re about to explode,” she said. “Let’s go!” They went out on the back porch together; June didn’t let Sadie take solo trips anymore. She watched her closely, lest she run pell-mell back to Mikos’s farm. But June had to throw the ball to get Sadie out on the grass. Finally, on the third throw, Sadie paused to water the lawn, but only a dribble. Then she bounded back up on the porch with the ball in her teeth, her heavy golden tail swishing wildly through the air.
“Maybe later, sweetie,” June said. “Right now I have to get cleaned up. And you must want breakfast, huh?”
June thought her an amazing dog—she’d lasted almost twelve hours and hadn’t even made a mistake. Plus she had not depleted the food and water from last night. She must have been saving herself.
But when June got to her bedroom she realized she had misunderstood Sadie’s appetite and apparent comfort. Sadie had been fed and let out—that’s why she was in such great shape. And there, on June’s pillow, lay a bunch of miniature daisies from the forest, tied at the stems with a white ribbon.
At lunchtime the next day, June wandered across the street to the café. Elmer and Sam were sharing a booth, while Tom leaned against the counter. June slid in next to her dad. “Aren’t the fish biting today, Sam?” she asked.
“I heard the catch of the day was here,” he said.
“Oh?” she asked. Before she could get him to elaborate on the statement, Leah appeared beside her table and stood poised, pen and pad in hand. “What’s this? Leah?”
“It’s been a while since I’ve done this, but it didn’t take long for it all to come back to me,” she said. Her face was as bright as her smile. It was amazing what the absence of stress and fear could do for a person; her skin glowed a healthy pink and her eyes were so much larger and clearer than June remembered. “Do you need to see a menu, June?” she asked.
“After all these years? Is there anything new?”
“Besides me? Just Frank.” She inclined her head toward the lunch counter, where Frank, in a white shirt and cap, stacked clean cups and glasses. “George says if he does a good job at bussing and washing up dishes, he’ll teach him to cook.”
“Who’s gonna teach George?” Elmer asked.
“Dad! You’re going to get yourself thrown out of here!”
“Naw, George expects me to complain. Leah, bring me another piece of that awful blueberry pie, will you please?”
“My pleasure, Doc. And a coffee refill?”
“Yes, ma’am, if you will.”
“Leah,” June marveled, “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you looking better. This job must agree with you.”
“It’s like a new lease on life. I told Frank he should start saving for a car, but he insists all his money will go in the family pot to keep us whole. Jeremy, Joe and Mack are going to tend little Stan and the garden this summer, while school is out, and if things go right for them, they should be able to have a vegetable stand by the road come harvest.”
“You tell those boys if they can bring in a good crop, I’ll cart them over to where 101 meets Highway 68 south of Piercy,” Sam said. “They can catch that traffic coming out of the redwoods. Make a ton of money.”
“That’s awful nice of you, Sam. That’d help out.”
“I’ll get over there and see they get a little fishin’ in, too,” he said. “Boys can’t pass summer without fishin’.”
Leah’s eyes began to mist up. “Well,” she said, her composure failing her, “let me get your pie and coffee. And June?”
“Chicken sandwich on a sourdough bun, whatever salad George made up and iced tea.”
“It’s macaroni salad today. Be right back.”
When Leah had gone back behind the counter, June said, “That was a wonderful thing George did. He must have made up the job for Leah and Frank—it didn’t seem like he needed anyone.”
“He may be soft in the head, but he’s soft in the heart, too,” Elmer added.
“Can you believe how vibrant she looks? My gosh, I didn’t know she could look that good!”
“Gives you a hint of what that useless Gus saw some years ago, doesn’t it?” Sam asked. “What I’d like to know is how a bad apple like Gus hangs on to a woman like Leah. She’s good as gold.”
“You know how. He beat her into submission and scared her to death.”
“Well, he’d better look out. If this dose of independence and self-esteem gets her a little gumption, she might find the strength to finally be through with that old sauce.”
“Who’s this? Mrs. Stone?” Elmer asked.
June craned her neck, looking toward the door. It was Susan, absent of husband and child. She was a picture of youth in her jeans and clogs, blond pageboy swinging across her shoulders. S
he had a tiny figure, peaches and cream complexion, and head-cheerleader disposition—always positive, always upbeat. “Don’t the two of them together remind you of Barbie and Ken?” Elmer demanded.
“You’re getting awful hard to shut up these days, Dad.”
“Matter of fact…” Sam began.
Susan looked around the café and in the process gave June a halfhearted wave. She obviously didn’t see who she was looking for, and the expression on her face seemed one of complete distraction. She finally made her way over to where June and the old boys sat.
“Susan, come here and join us. I need help keeping these two in line.”
She slid into the booth beside June. “I was hoping to run into John over here—he’s not at the clinic. Jessie said he might be having lunch.”
“He might be, but he’s not having it here today. He had a surgery in Rockport this morning and made rounds for the both of us. He hasn’t gotten back yet. Did you try his cell phone?”
“No,” she said wearily. “I only just decided I was looking for him. June…” she began, then trailed off while she thought over what she was about to say. “June, have you been very involved with the Presbyterian Women? Or any of the Bible studies?”
“I’m lucky if I make Sunday church,” she said. “Why?”
“It’s a damn shame,” Susan said. “There are a lot of good people around here, and the pastor of the biggest church in town is nothing but a sleazy lecher.”
“That’s our preacher,” Elmer agreed.
Leah returned with their food and coffee refills. Susan was convinced to order lunch and supply the story.
“I guess I thought it was a joke, the way everyone talked about him.”
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” June demanded.
“As in assault? No, nothing like that. But does it hurt to have your minister proposition you? I couldn’t believe my ears!”
“What did he say? I mean, if you feel comfortable—”
“He said he found me attractive, that I’d tempt the very saints, and if I needed any private counseling, he was available. I asked him if he’d just made a pass and he said, ‘No! Of course not!’ But there was no mistaking it.”
“Did you tell him so?” June asked.
“I absolutely did,” she said. “But I got the impression he couldn’t care less.”
“He couldn’t,” Elmer said. “He does it all the time.”
“He’s gotten a slap or two,” Sam told her. “Wouldn’t hurt for him to get a few more.”
Susan’s expression became dark. “Slapping is too good for him,” she said. “He needs to be removed.”
June bit into her sandwich and chewed slowly, considering Susan’s remark.
“June, do you know the names of some of the women who have also been sexually harassed by Pastor Wickham?” Susan asked.
Sexually harassed? She hadn’t thought of his actions in those terms, but there it was. She nodded. She wasn’t quite prepared to name herself, but if it came to that, she’d step up to the plate with Susan.
“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to talk to some of them. I know this is a small town, and some things are just quirkie and eccentric and all in good fun, but I don’t think this is funny. And I don’t think he should get away with it.”
“I agree!” June said. “He’s met his match at last! For now, why don’t you ask Julianna what she knows. She’s lived here a long time.”
“Uh-oh,” Elmer said. “It’ll be like shutting down the movie house for some of these folks. We’ve been watching Pastor Wickham get himself burned for almost a year now.”
“Understand,” Sam said, “it’s not as though anyone really approves of him. He’s been a nuisance, but I don’t think he’s actually dangerous. He’s kind of stupid, you ask me.”
“You just never know what kind of harm an attitude like that can do to a woman,” June lectured. “Especially if he stumbles on a woman who is vulnerable. Needy. Spiritually hungry. Or maybe just gives him too much credit.”
“Who’d put any stock in what that pretty boy with the hair plugs is peddling?” Elmer asked in disbelief.
“You never know,” June said. “Right, Susan?”
But Susan wasn’t listening. She was staring off into space, sucking on her straw absentmindedly.
“Susan?” June said, nudging her.
“Hmm?” she asked.
“Where are you right now?”
“Oh, sorry, June. I was just thinking about Jessie…”
“Jessie? What about Jessie?” June asked, intrigued.
“You know, what she does on her lunch break.”
“No, I don’t know. What exactly does she do?”
“Well, she brings a lunch to the clinic, and while she eats she reads your clinical and science textbooks.”
“My Jessie?” June asked in surprise. “She didn’t even finish high school. What interest could she have in those textbooks?”
“I don’t know, but she was so engrossed, she didn’t even look up until I stood right in front of her and cleared my throat. Then she tried to cover the book with her napkin.”
“Why would she do that? I don’t care if she reads them.”
“I can’t answer that, but just so you know, the book was microbiology, and there were no pictures on the page.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Elmer muttered.
Fifteen
For just a while, until medical tests were completed and until Birdie’s constant headache disappeared, the quilting circle was suspended. The women still dropped by her house, of course, bringing things like casseroles and flowers, teas and even newly collected fabric scraps, to be stored for next time.
June looked in on her daily.
“There’s something different about you,” Birdie said.
“Yes, there is. I almost lost you. I’m completely changed. Forever.”
“You won’t be rid of me for a while yet, but that’s not it.”
“There isn’t anything else,” June said.
Birdie cocked her head, taking June in in a sidelong glance. “It’s not like you to lie,” she said matter-of-factly.
June couldn’t lie to Birdie because she was too busy lying to herself. When she stretched her neck to look down her long drive toward the road at dawn or at dusk, she would firmly tell herself she wasn’t looking for him. When she drove extra slowly on her way home, it was only to enjoy the scenery, not to catch a glimpse of a red-and-black plaid shirt. And when she stayed at her clinic a little late, door unlocked, it was not in hopes that someone might have shot one of his friends. God, no.
At Fuller’s Café, where she took morning courage and carbs, she asked Tom, not once, not twice, but three times total, “Have you heard anything about raids or busts or anything in the Alps?”
“Those things can drag out forever, June.”
“But you would hear?”
“I have made it a point to be informed.”
“And would you tell me?”
He frowned. A Cherokee can look particularly serious when frowning. “June, it has crossed my mind that maybe you should look through some mug shots.”
“Whatever for?”
“To see if you can identify the men who came by your clinic that night. To see if either of them is a known criminal.”
“Have they asked me to? The DEA?”
“No. But maybe for your own good…”
It wasn’t until that exact moment that she realized she’d been hounding him for information. And that he was probably onto her.
Didn’t anyone understand what it was like to be her? To be thirty-seven and have your best friends be a married cop and your seventy-year-old father, your most exciting evening out be the quilting circle? To not even own a “little black dress”?
She was dying to look through pictures! To ask Tom what he could find out about this ghostly figure called Jim. It had been just over a week. Nine days, to be exact. And she wasn’t yet angry that,
after all that sweet talk and the best kiss she’d had since high school, he hadn’t come back. He’s out there in the woods, saving the world, she told herself. Bringing justice to the forest. Surely.
She sat in her clinic with Sadie, her new and constant companion, sorting patient files, making notes and setting up her patient roster for the next day—all things that could wait for morning or be done some afternoon during a lull in the schedule. Waiting. Foolishly hoping.
“June?”
She jumped and Sadie came to attention. “Justine? I didn’t hear the door!”
“I’m sorry to bother you. I saw the light, and, well…”
“Come in. What’s wrong?”
“Everything. Everything is wrong.”
“Are you sick? In pain?”
The answer must surely be yes for Justine crumbled. She crossed her arms over her stomach and stumbled to the chair in June’s office, overcome with sobs.
“My goodness!” June gasped, moving quickly around her desk to help the distraught woman into the chair. “There, there,” she said. June began delivering tissue after tissue as Justine wept copiously. Sadie licked Justine’s elbow for a little while, then got bored with the lack of appreciation and found a quiet place to lay under June’s desk. A good ten minutes passed before Justine even began to settle down.
“Sooner or later you’re going to have to blow your nose, dry your eyes and tell me what has you so upset. If I’m to help you, that is,” June said.
On cue, Justine made a final noise into a tissue, one that sounded remarkably like a train whistle. She sniffed loudly, blinked tightly, and straightened her spine. “I’m pregnant,” she said.
If June looked surprised, it was more by the timing than the actual event. Just days after Susan Stone made an oath to see Pastor Wickham dealt with on the issue of his flagrant womanizing, here came Justine. There had been copious talk. Justine owned the little flower shop at the end of the street and delivered the flowers for the Sunday service to the Presbyterian Church every Saturday afternoon. She was said to take a suspiciously long time in making up the arrangements and also to leave the church with a rather satisfied look on her face. It was Elmer and the old boys who talked that way, and it annoyed June no end. But if there was anything harder to stop than Pastor Wickham’s roving eye, it was idle gossip. Gossip, and the disaster before her. This was just what June had feared.