In This Small Spot (39 page)

“How was the doctor’s appointment last
week?” Mickey asked as she cut her steak.

“She said everything looks good,” Jennifer
answered, passing the salad bowl to Jamie. “The ultrasound was
fine, and I’ve only gained five pounds since my last
appointment.”

“And you still don’t know if it’s a boy or
girl?” Lauren asked.

“No,” Jamie smiled. “We want to be
surprised.” He turned to Mickey. “We’re turning your old room into
the nursery for now.”

“What about the addition?” Mickey looked up
from her plate.

“We decided to wait. If we started now, we’d
still be in the middle of all the construction mess when we bring
the baby home.”

“Any decisions on names?” Mickey asked.

Jamie and Jennifer looked at each other with
expressions equal parts amusement and exasperation. “It’s an
ongoing discussion,” Jennifer said diplomatically.

Deciding it was a good time to change the
subject, Jamie turned to Mickey. “How have your visits to the abbey
been going?”

“Really well. It’s strange to be back there.
I wasn’t sure what kind of reception to expect,” she said.
Remembering her visit with Sister Scholastica, she added, “but I
feel like I’m meant to be there in this role.”

Jennifer looked at Lauren. “Have you been
back yet?” She thought she saw a shadow pass over Mickey’s face,
but it was just a flicker and then it was gone.

“I have an appointment to see Mother
Theodora next Tuesday,” Lauren replied. “It’s been nearly a year
since I last saw her. I have to admit I’m a little nervous. There
are a few details of my gift to the abbey that we need to talk
about.”

After dinner, Mickey and Jamie went out to
the barn to see his latest sculpture while Jennifer and Lauren went
upstairs to look at the vestments Jennifer had brought home.

“Oh, Jennifer,” Lauren breathed in awe,
“these are exquisite.”

“Aren’t they?” Jennifer smiled. “All most
people see is the damage, but I knew you would appreciate the
workmanship. We think this Italian piece may have traveled to
Avignon with one of the popes during that period. And this Irish
vestment,” she held up a much less ornate and more fragile piece of
embroidered linen, “was found not too long ago in the cellar of an
Irish monastery. Are you interested in restoring them?”

“Absolutely.” Lauren bent to get a closer
look at the fine stitches still visible through centuries of dirt
and water damage.

Jennifer watched Lauren’s skillful hands as
they gently probed some of the broken threads. “I don’t mean to
pry,” she said hesitantly, “but is Mickey upset or worried about
your visit with Mother Theodora next week?”

Lauren sat back in her chair and looked at
Jennifer. “You picked up on that?”

Jennifer nodded.

Lauren frowned a little. “I think part of
her still worries that she pulled me away from my vocation.”

Jennifer looked puzzled. “She’s afraid
you’ll want to go back to St. Bridget’s?”

“It’s the opposite of being afraid I’ll
leave her; she’s afraid I won’t. She thinks I feel so guilty about
her injuries that I wouldn’t be open to hearing that call if it
were still there.”

Jennifer’s protective instinct prompted her
to ask, “Is she right?”

Lauren looked past Jennifer, considering her
response. “I don’t know if I can explain it in a way that anyone
else can understand. If I had never met her, I could easily have
lived the rest of my life at the abbey. St. Bridget’s, and Mother
Theodora, gave me the chance to rebuild a shattered life into one
with meaning, and I was content there.” She shifted her gaze back,
and Jennifer was struck by the hypnotic quality of those grey eyes.
“But when I met Michele, my entire world changed. She’s not good in
a saintly way, not like Mother. She got into trouble, she swore and
was very unmonastic at times,” Lauren remembered with a tender
smile, “but underneath that is a person of such incredible goodness
that my heart could burst trying to contain all the love I feel for
her.”

Lauren was usually so reticent in discussing
anything personal that Jennifer was unprepared for this unabashed
outpouring of emotion.

Lauren continued, “She forgave horrible
wrongs aimed at her, more than once, giving even the holiest women
in the abbey an example they would have a hard time emulating. She
sacrificed herself for days when Mother had her accident and again
when we were all ill. She nearly gave her life saving mine, and it
didn’t have to be me – she would have done it for any of the
others. She gives of herself more completely than anyone I have
ever known.” Lauren seemed to have a little trouble continuing as
her voice cracked slightly. “I don’t know what I ever did to
deserve to be the next one she loved after your sister, but… I
adore her. I will not feel called back to St. Bridget’s because the
contentment I knew there pales in comparison to the joy I feel at
being around her. How do I tell her that just being with her is the
greatest blessing I have ever known?”

Lauren and Jennifer both jumped at the sound
of Mickey’s crutches in the hallway. Jamie was standing at the
door, looking in the direction of the stairs where they could hear
Mickey’s uneven footsteps as she descended.

“I think you just did,” Jamie said
quietly.

╬ ╬ ╬

Lauren was at her loom when she heard
Mickey’s car pull into the new garage. A few minutes later, the
door to the workshop opened, and Mickey came in.

“Hi,” Lauren smiled as she looked up. “How
was your day?”

“It was good,” Mickey replied, coming over
to sit next to Lauren like she used to at St. Bridget’s. “We did a
double mastectomy on… a patient with breast cancer, and I think we
got everything,” she said as her eyes tried to follow the rapid
movements of Lauren’s hands.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Lauren
glanced at her curiously, “when you operate now, is it any
different from the way you used to? Before the abbey?”

Mickey reached up to run her hand over
Lauren’s blond hair. “I always remember the way you prayed before
Mother’s operation, and now I say a similar prayer before every
procedure.” She paused. “I never make the mistake any more of
thinking I’m in charge. What are you making?”

“I thought I’d make some drapes for the
house,” Lauren answered. “The simplicity of the furnishings you
chose would be nicely complemented by a rich silk brocade. Each
panel will be half of an adaptation of a Renaissance design of the
Tree of Life,” she explained. “Do you like it?”

“It’ll be beautiful,” Mickey said
appreciatively. “Please tell me if there is anything you ever want
to add or change. This is our house, not mine.”

Lauren paused the loom and turned to Mickey.
“I love you very much,” she said sincerely. “I’ve never lived with
just one other person. I didn’t know what to expect, but you are so
easy to live with.”

Mickey kissed her, savoring the moist
softness of her lips. “I’ll get dinner started,” she said. She
struggled to her feet, groaning a little.

“Michele! What happened?” Lauren cried in
alarm as Mickey turned toward the door.

“What?”

“Your back is bleeding,” Lauren said, coming
over to inspect a large patch of blood which had soaked into
Mickey’s shirt.

“Damn,” Mickey muttered, craning her neck,
trying to see the spot herself. “I tripped on a curb – didn’t pick
my foot up high enough, and fell onto the stupid crutch.” Now
Lauren noticed her right forearm was also scraped and bloodied
where the cuff of her crutch had been caught when she fell.

“Come inside,” Lauren insisted. “We’ll take
a look.”

In the bathroom, Mickey sat on the toilet
lid and removed her shirt and bra to reveal a long gash across her
ribs where the impact of the crutch had split open a grafted area.
As gently as she could, Lauren bathed the wound with a warm
washcloth, cleaning up the dried blood which had dripped down
Mickey’s back. Mickey didn’t complain, but a sharp intake of breath
let Lauren know how painful it was.

“Are you sure you didn’t break any ribs?”
she asked, worried. “You have bruises starting to show.” The black
and blue imprint of the crutch could be traced along Mickey’s ribs
now that the blood was cleaned off.

“I don’t think so,” Mickey assured her. She
instructed Lauren how to dress the gash with ointment and
gauze.

As she knelt and finished applying tape to
hold the gauze in place, Lauren wrapped her arms around Mickey,
holding her tightly and kissing her shoulder. Mickey let herself
lean back into Lauren’s embrace. “Thank you,” she said. She placed
her hands over top of Lauren’s and moved them up to her
breasts.

Lauren could feel Mickey’s nipples harden
under her fingers. “Aren’t you hungry?” she asked softly, kissing
Mickey’s ear.

“Yes,” Mickey whispered, “but not for food.
Let’s move to the bed.”

“Are you sure? This won’t hurt you
more?”

“I’m sure.”

Over at the bed, Mickey unbuttoned Lauren’s
blouse. She pushed it off her shoulders and unfastened her bra.
Barely touching her, Mickey ran her fingertips over Lauren’s skin,
smiling at the goosebumps that followed. Gently, she pushed Lauren
back on the bed and bent to take a nipple in her mouth before she
slid Lauren’s pants and underwear over her hips. “I will never tire
of looking at you,” Mickey murmured, bracing herself on one arm and
running her free hand over Lauren’s velvety stomach and the curve
of her hips. “You are so beautiful.”

“So are you,” Lauren said, sliding her hand
up Mickey’s arm, feeling the contour of the firm muscles.

Mickey abruptly sat up and turned her face
away. “Don’t,” she said, a trace of bitterness in her voice. “I
know better.”

Lauren sat up and placed a hand on Mickey’s
shoulder. “Why? Because of your scars? Your crutches? They could
never be ugly to me,” she said reverently, “They remind me how much
you love me and what you were willing to do for me. But no matter
how you got them, no physical scar could detract from how beautiful
you are inside.”

When Mickey didn’t respond, Lauren placed a
hand on her cheek, compelling her to turn and face her. Looking
into Mickey’s eyes, Lauren was shocked at the doubt, the
vulnerability she saw there. “I am so sorry I never said this to
you before,” she whispered, “I thought you knew.” She pressed
Mickey back to the mattress, kissing her, softly at first, and then
with more passion as she shifted so that she was lying on top of
Mickey, the warmth of their breasts pressing against each other.
Lauren kissed her way along Mickey’s neck, down to her breasts,
feeling Mickey’s excitement mount with her own. She moved back up
and looked into Mickey’s eyes. “How could you not know how
beautiful you are?”

╬ ╬ ╬

The next morning, Lauren carried two mugs of
coffee up to the gazebo. They had kept the monastic habit of rising
early, climbing up to the gazebo most mornings to start the day
with a silent period of prayer and reflection as they listened to
the faint voices in the pre-dawn quiet. Mickey was more winded than
usual when she got to the gazebo.

“Your ribs?” Lauren asked worriedly when she
saw Mickey wince as she lowered herself into her chair.

“Yeah. Just stiff and sore from the fall,”
Mickey said as she accepted a hot mug from Lauren.

In silence, they sipped their coffee,
waiting for the bell to signal the start of Lauds. Lauren noticed
that Mickey’s breathing was not slowing down as quickly as it
normally did. The bell rang and distant voices were carried to them
in the still morning air. When Lauds and Prime were over, Lauren
turned to Mickey.

“Michele, are you certain you are
comfortable with my visit to Mother this morning?”

Mickey reached for her hand. They hadn’t
discussed the overheard conversation with Jennifer. “Yes,” she
responded softly. “I just needed to be sure you weren’t ignoring a
call back to religious life.” She kissed Lauren’s hand tenderly.
“I’m sure now,” she said with a smile.

Lauren leaned over to kiss her. “I’m going
to shower and then I’ll start breakfast.”

“I’ll be down soon.”

Back at the house, Lauren stood under a hot
shower until the chill was gone from her bones, then toweled off
and dried her hair. She pulled her jeans and sweatshirt back on and
went to the kitchen.

“Michele?” she called, peering into the
living room. Puzzled, she went to the kitchen window and looked up
toward the gazebo. The morning was light enough now to make out the
path. She saw no sign of Mickey. She went out the back door and
called. There was no answer. Feeling uneasy, she started back up
the hill. Halfway up, there was a limp form lying in the grass. She
ran to Mickey, kicking the crutches out of the way.

“Michele!” she cried, turning Mickey over.
“Oh God, no,” she moaned, panicking. Mickey was lying in a pool of
blood she apparently had coughed up. There were frothy red bubbles
on her lips and blood running down her cheek. “I’ll go call for
help,” she said desperately.

“No,” Mickey whispered with more bubbles.
“Don’t go.” Her hands grabbed tightly to Lauren’s arms. “Just hold
me,” she insisted, her voice sounding like someone talking
underwater. Lauren could hear a wet rattle with every shallow
breath.

“Michele,” she said in an urgent voice,
“please don’t leave me.” But she knew better.

Calmly, Mickey looked at her and whispered,
“I’m sorry.”

Lauren brushed the bloody bubbles away and
kissed her softly. “I love you.”

Mickey smiled. “I know.” Her chest heaved
once in a reflexive attempt to pull in more air, and then she was
still.

╬ ╬ ╬

Lauren was still sitting on the hill, holding
Mickey when Jamie and Jennifer arrived nearly half an hour later.
She heard tires squeal to a halt in the driveway and could hear
their voices calling out as they searched the house and workshop.
She tried to call to them, but no sound would come from her throat.
Eventually, they came up the pathway, Jamie breaking into a run
when he spied Lauren and Mickey. He dropped to his knees, his face
a stark white.