The Rejected Writers' Book Club (Southlea Bay) (21 page)

Chapter Twenty

AN EMERGENCY DASH

When I got back to the foyer, Stacy was waiting.

“Are you okay?”

“No, actually, I’m not.” She looked weak.

I got her some water as she sat down.

“Maybe we should get you home. After all, this is your first day out, and you’ve done an awful lot. You don’t want to overdo it.”

“Dennis and I are nearly finished. We have a couple of more layouts to go over. He’s here all the way from New York, so I want to make sure I give him all my time.”

“Okay, but as soon as you’re done, I think we should leave. I can always come back for the girls later.”

She brushed me off as Dennis reappeared, and they left together. I joined the line again, but something about the way she seemed had concerned me. Her color wasn’t right; she was really pale. I managed to go through the line another five times before she finally arrived back. She had gone from white to ashen.

“I think you’re right, and I should go.”

Something tightened in my stomach. “Okay. Let me find Doris.”

Doris was at a table counting rejection letters. I handed mine to her, and she whooped with joy. “Twenty-eight,” she screamed. “That’s way over five hundred. The group will be so excited, and what a story we’ll have to share.”

Stacy appeared again. “Mom,” she said, grabbing at my arm.

I looked at her face, and the blood drained from mine. She was sweating.

“I think I need to see my doctor. I’ve started cramping again.”

We all froze. Everyone pedaled into action, everyone except me. I was frozen to the spot, terrified.

Doris took the lead. “I’ll get the car,” she announced, and she was off in the direction of the door.

Annie put her own sweater around Stacy’s shoulders, and Ethel just stared at her.

Helping Stacy, slowly we made our way outside as Doris screeched the car to the front of the building. I climbed into the back with Stacy and squeezed her hand. As we started to drive away, Stacy let out a cry of pain. She never screamed out, even when she’d fallen off her swing set as a child and had to have six stitches in her head.

“Hurry,” I said to Doris, who didn’t need another word on the matter.

As she pulled the car onto the freeway, Stacy started shaking.

“Straight to the hospital,” I said firmly over Doris’s shoulder.

Doris eyed us both intently in the mirror and then nodded. Stacy tried to protest, but as she opened her mouth, she screamed instead. Annie encouraged her to take deep breaths. Stacy did as she was told. As she perched awkwardly on the end of the seat, she kept grabbing at the handrail for strength.

“Quickly, Doris!”

I felt the car speed up as Doris put her foot down harder. She pulled the car out into the fast lane. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of red, then heard the screech of brakes. There was the sound of metal crunching and a high-pitched whining, and then I was up in the air, like I was on a trampoline—a sudden feeling of weightlessness. Then everything went black.

When I came to, someone was taking my vitals, and I ached all over. Paramedics quickly whisked Stacy to the hospital first. Even though they couldn’t let me travel in the ambulance with her, they assured me they would take good care of her.

Shaken but thankful to be alive, the rest of us rode in another ambulance to be assessed at the ER. I had a broken arm and a potential concussion, Doris had scrapes and bruises and a twisted ankle, Annie had bruised ribs and a gash in her leg, and Ethel looked as if she hadn’t been in a crash at all. She hadn’t a scrape or a bruise on her anywhere. And with Stacy . . . we were still waiting to hear.

Flora and Dan suddenly appeared in the ER.

I was surprised to see them. “How did you know?”

“We were on our way back to Stacy’s when we passed the scene of an accident and saw your car,” remarked Dan with concern.

“We knew it couldn’t be good, so we came straight here,” added Flora.

We managed to piece together the information about the accident from a state trooper in the waiting room who’d taken statements from the crash. Apparently, somebody in a red sports car had pulled out sharply in front of Doris, causing her to brake to avoid hitting it.

“You then scraped the side of a cement block. I’m afraid your car is not looking good,” added the state trooper.

Because of my concussion, the doctor wanted me to stay in overnight. Later that evening, Martin arrived on a late flight. I was so glad to see him.

“I still haven’t heard any news on Stacy and the babies,” I told him as soon as he came in. “I’m beside myself.” He reassured me that he would find out and left me to rest. He came back later to tell me Stacy’s contractions had stopped, and she was now sleeping. Relieved, I collapsed into a fitful sleep.

The next morning, the doctor visited me to check on me.

“Hello there, Janet.”

He was a balding guy with quick brown eyes, stylish glasses, and a bright, snazzy tie. He wouldn’t have been out of place as a stand-up comedian.

“Hello, doctor.”

“How are you feeling?”

“A little like my head is stuffed with cotton,” I joked halfheartedly.

“I’m not surprised. You took quite a bump to your head. And your arm was broken in several places.”

The doctor examined me and told me I was making considerable progress and that I would be able to take a walk down the ward to see Stacy later, but for now I was just to rest.

No such luck. I had barely closed my eyes when the walking wounded arrived. I actually heard them before they came in, clamoring and arguing out in the corridor. The door burst open and in came a wheelchair, with Doris lounging in it like the Queen of the North. She had pillows and blankets, a cane, and her leg up in a stirrup. She barked directions and orders to a sweaty Ethel, who was trying to guide the wheelchair. Right behind was Annie in another wheelchair pushed by Flora. It was like a day out for the infirm.

“Good, you’re awake,” said Doris, gesturing to Ethel to get her closer to the bed. “We have already checked on Stacy, and she is fine. We have so much to tell you.”

I wondered if I closed my eyes, if they might think I was unconscious, though the minute I closed them, I felt a jab in my side. It was Doris’s walking cane.

“I think you should try and stay awake now. I brought the cards. We can play gin!”

One hour, several hands of cards, and a round of Jell-O later, Doris eventually drew breath as she recounted her version of the accident and the paramedics, especially the cute one whom she said had taken a shine to her.

“It’s my animal magnetism,” she quipped. “I’ve always had trouble with it.”

Ethel just blinked as I nearly choked on my second helping of Jell-O.

Doris went on to complain about the food, the hospital, the bed, and the view . . . What was she expecting from a hospital window? The beach?

I was so glad when Martin, who’d been out talking to Dan about the car, turned up to rescue me. Martin would get it towed back to the garage in Portland, where Dan said he could work on it. Then he could at least get it into some sort of shape to drive it home. I laughed weakly when he inquired, “So, how are you enjoying your road trip so far?”

“Oh, it’s been an experience.”

After my next visit with the doctor, I was given the okay to take a walk to visit Stacy. I made my way slowly and stiffly to her room. When I arrived, I opened the door to find her already sitting up in bed, and by her side, knitting, was Annie. They were giggling about something, Annie sniggering carefully because of her bruised bones. Stacy looked amazing. Radiant was more the word.

“Wow, Mom! You’re up.”

I nodded as Annie got up from her wheelchair, saying, “I’m off to check on the others.”

“I couldn’t come and see you. They won’t let me get out of bed,” Stacy grumbled. “I’m on complete bed rest for a week. It’s very frustrating because I feel fine now.”

I made my way to the bed and hugged her gently. “I’m so glad to see you looking so well.”

Unexpected tears sprang to my eyes. Seeing them, she also started to mist up. My husband looked from one of us to the other and then said, “I’ll leave you girls to it. I’m going to see what the café has for breakfast this morning.”

Stacy reached out toward him.

“Thanks for everything, Dad. You have been great. I was so glad you were here to take care of me.”

Martin looked choked up at her sincere gratefulness and covered up his brimming emotion by coughing and nodding. Then he patted her leg and made his way out the door.

Once he’d left, I settled next to Stacy in a chair and took her hand. It didn’t look that much different than when she’d been a child—a simple, white, youthful hand.

“What did the doctors say?” I asked, smiling.

I couldn’t stop looking at her and thinking about how incredible she looked. I felt a wave of guilt as the tears started again. It had been me who’d told Doris to drive faster. What if I’d lost her or the babies?

“They say everything is fine now,” she said, reading my expression as concern. “It was a little scary there for a while, and those first eight hours were terrible.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

She squeezed my hand back tightly.

“Dad was here within a short time, and honestly, Annie has been amazing. She’s really been taking care of me since I arrived.”

“And the babies are fine?”

She started to tear up again. “Yes, they are. But something weird happened, Mom. As I lay here, hooked up to a monitor, listening to their little heartbeats and willing the contractions to stop, I realized I wanted those babies to live more than anything in the world. Up until now, all I could think about was how this pregnancy was going to change my perfect life for the worse. But suddenly it occurred to me that with all that fear, I hadn’t once thought about the joy they were going to bring me. Annie and I have spent the last hour or so talking about all the wonderful things I have to look forward to. I just can’t believe how selfish I was being before.”

The tears were flowing freely now down both of our faces, and I couldn’t resist hugging her. It was as we started sobbing that the door flew open. Standing in the doorway was her very disheveled, unshaven husband, Chris, carrying his suitcase. His face was ashen and grave. Seeing us both crying, his face registered fear.

Stacy reached out to him with her voice. “Everything is fine, Chris. The contractions have stopped, and the babies and I, we’re all fine.”

He came to her side and held her in his arms. I could see tears of relief in his eyes too.

“I’m going to see if I can find your father before he eats his way through the cafeteria,” I said, excusing myself.

I wasn’t sure if they heard me as I quietly exited the room. It felt like a new day.

Chapter Twenty-One

A PIÑATA HOMECOMING ON CHILLY STREET

When we were released the next day, Stacy insisted that we stay at her house, as Chris was spending the majority of his time at the hospital anyway. Doris responded by sneaking bowls of home-cooked food in her large wicker basket when we went to visit. Annie spent her time knitting for the babies and chatting with Stacy at the hospital. Doris’s only purpose in being there seemed to be to exasperate the nursing staff, with Ethel pushing her here and there in her wheelchair.

Stacy would be released the next day and was ordered home to total bed rest.

My husband had arranged airline tickets for us all to fly back to Seattle the next day. I knew Stacy would be ready for us to leave by then. And now Chris was home, so I knew he would take good care of her. I understood and really couldn’t have done another three-day journey on the road, but once again, my fear of flying took a hold of me whenever I had a minute to think about it.

We had just one more night’s stay in San Francisco, and we wanted to go to a hotel, but when we went to pick up Stacy, she once again insisted we all stay overnight at her house.

“I need the company,” she confessed, more vulnerable than I had ever seen her.

I mused about her openness as I looked out on the streets of San Francisco. Their pastel-colored art deco neighborhoods were a cheerful and pleasing site. It showed some promise, her confession of needing companionship. Maybe there was some common ground where we could both plant a flag and hoist a tent. The chance for real connection, an impossible feat while she was still brushing me off or pushing me away under the guise of independence and detachment, was here. Maybe this visit would actually turn out well for a change.

As we pulled into Stacy’s starched-white street, we were making small talk when she stopped midsentence. Her eyes widened, and she whispered what seemed to be a profanity. I followed her gaze. Even from the very end of her road, her house stood out like a pork chop at a bar mitzvah. It looked as if a six-year-old’s birthday party had thrown up in her yard, with a multicolored explosion of balloons, streamers, and a large hand-painted banner that read “Welcome home!” I drew in my breath and girded myself for Stacy to explode. Instead, she burst into tears.

As the car pulled up in front of the house, Doris and the girls gathered around like clucking hens to get Stacy’s reaction. Before I could warn them, Annie pulled open the door, and they all shouted, “Surprise!” Everyone, that is, except Ethel. She just let off a party popper. I supposed that was instead of having to strain her face to look happy!

I waited for the eruption but was entirely thrown off guard when Stacy squealed, “How wonderful! Thank you all so much.”

I thought for a minute I was hearing things. The girl who hated surprise parties and had once called balloons “of the devil” was happy! She climbed out of the car. I looked at my husband, whose jaw was also hanging open. I shrugged, shook my head, and followed the heaving mass into the house.

Once we were inside, Martin helped Chris put up a folding bed in the living room so Stacy could be a part of our conversation.

Doris and Ethel busied themselves in the kitchen, and I dropped off my things in my room. When I came back, everyone was occupied. Dan and my husband were chatting about the car; Annie, Stacy, and Flora were discussing baby names; and Ethel and Doris were cooking up a storm in the kitchen.

Suddenly feeling the urge for fresh air, I stepped out into Stacy’s garden. It was delightful to breathe in fresh air and take in the late-afternoon scent. I was aching to get home once I heard Chris had been able to get time off work to take care of Stacy. Then, once again, I remembered I was going to have to fly the next day. Gulping, I started to feel a little lightheaded, so I sat down on a garden bench and closed my eyes, breathing deeply.

There was a gentle hand on my shoulder. It was Martin.

“How are you? I bet you’re ready to go home.”

“Oh yeah.”

He smiled. “And home is ready to have you back.”

“I’m just nervous. You know, about flying tomorrow.”

He patted my hand. “I know. You could take one of those sedatives the doctor has given you to relax. I’m sure they’ll help.”

We sat on the bench together in a companionable silence. There was something so comfortable about that when you had been married as long as we had.

“Peppermint,” I said, almost to myself.

He looked at me. “What?”

“Raccoons hate the scent. You sprinkle it around, and they leave you alone. One of the publishers I talked to just published a book about natural garden pest deterrents.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I told you I would find a way. That’s one of the reasons I ended up at Doris’s in the first place, and look, she led me to the answer.”

We both started to laugh.

“There are easier ways of finding out answers.” He slipped his arm around my shoulders. “Come on,” he said, tapping me. “I don’t want you to get cold out here. Let’s go inside.”

“Just give me one more minute to collect myself.”

“Okay.”

Getting up, he started to walk away. “I’ll go and put the kettle on. So, we’ll try peppermint, then. I hope that works. I’ve been worried about them eating our cat.”

The words hovered over me for just a minute before I realized what he had said.

“Cat? We don’t have a cat.” At least not one I agreed to having, I thought.

He looked over his shoulder with a mischievous grin as he walked into the house. “You’re going to love her!”

I didn’t sleep particularly well that night. The cast on my arm was uncomfortable, and the thought of flying was really overwhelming me. So when I tiptoed out of bed at 5:00 a.m., leaving my husband still sleeping soundly, I expected to find myself alone in the kitchen. But Doris was there, her hair wound up in a large pink scarf, hobbling around the kitchen with a cane and one fluffy blue slipper on her good foot. She seemed startled when I opened the door.

“What are you doing creeping around at this time?”

“I could say the same to you,” I joked back.

“I’m raising cinnamon rolls for breakfast,” she said, obviously put out that her integrity was on trial.

As if to emphasize the seriousness of raising bread buns, Ethel thumped the ball of dough she was molding.

“I have to get started on them before everyone gets up so they’ll be ready in time,” Doris said, wagging a spatula at me.

Before she had even finished her sentence, Dan poked his head into the room.

“And what do you want?” she asked Dan, pointing her spatula at him.

He put his hands up in mock submission. “Don’t shoot! Just a cup of coffee, and I’m out of here!”

It was obvious Doris did not like being caught in her nightwear with her buns half-baked. She sighed and banged dishes about while Dan and I made the quickest drinks ever, then returned to the safety of our rooms.

Lying in bed, watching the sun start to come up, I thought about the day ahead. Dan, Flora, and Martin were going to set out early and try to make it to Medford that day. The car would arrive later on via tow truck. The rest of us would be on a plane in about six hours. I shuddered at the thought.

A couple of hours later, Doris sent Ethel to knock on our doors. She informed me that breakfast would be ready in ten minutes and, as we all had an early start, we had better get a move on.

My husband was in the little en-suite bathroom, shaving. As I closed the door, he poked his head out.

“That Doris sure runs a slick ship.”

“Tell me about it,” I said. “She should have been in the marines.”

As we sat down to breakfast, there was a buzz around the table. All Doris could talk about was how she was going to surprise the group when we got back with the announcement of the rejection letters. She was also a little chipper, as she had just spoken to Lavinia, and Gracie had perked up a little and had even summoned the strength to go out for one of her fairy teas. For the rest of us, even though we had only been away for just over a week, I think we were just excited to get home. To think I would be sleeping in my own bed tonight. That was a thought of sheer joy.

After breakfast was over, we all went to our rooms to pack. As Martin hugged me good-bye, he reminded me to take a sedative if I needed to. “The last thing you need is to be worrying.”

As I waved them off, a monstrous tow truck trundled up into Stacy’s clean, tidy neighborhood, like a blemish. A scruffy-looking guy with a day’s growth of beard poked his head out the window and waved. He opened the door and was wearing a grubby T-shirt with the words “Whatsup” above an exposed, hairy belly that seemed to be desperately trying to fight its way out of the top of his jeans.

“Hey,” he said loudly. “I’m your man. What have we got?”

I took him toward the car, and he whistled. “Wow, that’s a mess. Who was driving? Evel Knievel?”

“I was, young man,” said Doris, as she hobbled out with a cane.

“Wow, Grandma. Seems like you know how to party!”