Miss Julia Renews Her Vows (14 page)

When those procedures were done and she’d charted the results, she said, “I think you may be on the road to recovery. Everything’s normal, and that’s a good sign.”

“Well, I don’t know, Etta Mae,” I said, turning my head away. “I still don’t feel too good.”

“You don’t look too good, either,” Lillian said, studying my face intently. “You look a little liverish to me.” She turned to Etta Mae. “See how bilious her face is?”

“It is not!” I said, indignant at the thought. “There’s nothing wrong with my face or my liver. Besides, it’s the lamp bulb. It turns everything yellow.”

Etta Mae reached over and pulled down one of my lower eyelids. “Her eyeballs are nice and white. I don’t think there’s any liver involvement. Yet, anyway.”

Etta Mae then leaned back and tapped the nonworking end of her pen against her mouth. “I think you just picked up a bug, Miss Julia. The intestinal upsets indicate that, so it’ll take a while to feel like yourself again. Have you been taking anything?”

“Taking? Oh, you mean medicine? Let me see, I took some aspirin yesterday.”

“Well, let’s not take any more of that. Aspirin can irritate the stomach lining and cause some of your symptoms. Has your doctor prescribed anything?”

“Uh, well, I didn’t want to bother him, because I think you’re right, Etta Mae. I think I just have the twenty-four-hour flu. Maybe the thirty-six-hour kind. Besides, it’s too late in the day to be calling him, so let’s wait and see how I feel tomorrow.”

“I guess we can because you don’t have a fever. But if it spikes up tonight, I’m going to call him. Now, Lillian’s made you some nice Jell-O, and I want you to eat that along with some soup and crackers. We need to force the fluids, too. Are you sleeping all right?”

“Fairly well, I guess, if I don’t have to get up to use the bathroom.”

“I might need to stay here in the room with you tonight. I’ll ask Mr. Sam if he’ll sleep somewhere else, and I’ll doze in one of those easy chairs.”

“Oh no, Etta Mae,” I said, seeing my situation taking a turn for the worse. “There’s no need for that. I don’t want you to sit up all night. I’ll call you if I need anything, and besides, I wouldn’t rest well without Sam.”

“Okay, then,” she said, finally putting aside the clipboard. “But if that fever goes up, we’ll have to rethink things. Miss Lillian,” she went on, turning to her, “I’ll help you fix a tray for her.”

They stood up, preparing to leave, while I hoped that I’d given enough right answers to keep me ailing past eight o’clock.

“Where’s Lloyd?” I asked. “I haven’t heard him come in.”

“He stop off at Mr. Sam’s house,” Lillian said. “He called when he got out of school to let me know. I think I hear ’em coming in now.”

And so did I, for the sound of doors opening and closing and Sam’s deep voice along with Lloyd’s higher one drifted up from downstairs.

“I better get down there,” Lillian went on. “I got to put supper on the table. They be starved to death.”

“Thank you both,” I said, as I heard Sam’s footsteps on the stairs. “I really think I’m getting better, although it still might take a while.”

My heart was beginning to beat a little faster, as it always did when Sam approached, but at the same time, I was trying to appear tired and weak and constitutionally unable to attend a meeting that night.

I could hear the three of them discussing matters as they met on the stairs. They spoke softly, but I could pretty much figure out Sam’s questions about my condition and Etta Mae’s responses. After a little more back and forth, with Lillian chiming in occasionally, Sam’s footsteps continued on to our room, where I awaited him.

“Well, sweetheart,” he said, as he approached the bed, “I hear you’re expected to live. And now that you have expert nursing care, I hope to see some rapid improvement.”

“Oh, Sam, I hope you don’t mind my employing her. I really don’t need expert nursing care, but she’s in a bad way and I had to do something.”

Sam took one of the recently vacated chairs and, smiling, leaned over and took my hand. “You’re a good-hearted woman, Julia, and,” he went on, “I’m glad to have her here. I was beginning to get concerned about you, so it relieves me to have a professional on the job.”

“Really, though, all I need is you. And Lillian, of course, but did Etta Mae tell you what Binkie said?”

“Apparently she didn’t say much because she didn’t know much. I talked to Binkie myself this afternoon, and all she knows is that the woman is still in the hospital with a blunt-force injury to the head from the impact of a large flat object, which they’ve not identified. She has a multitude of other complaints, as well. Sounds like she’ll be there for a while.”

“Oh my word, that’s not good.” I sat up in bed to look him in the face. “You know who she is, don’t you? It’s Francie Pitts, remember her? And Sam, I wouldn’t believe a word she says. What else did Binkie say?”

“Honey, what I just told you was all she knew, and she got that from somebody in the sheriff’s department. She’s not been allowed to interview the woman yet. Seems the doctor says she’s too traumatized to submit to questions.”

“Uh-huh, she’s too traumatized to submit to questions, but well enough to leak a few hints to steer the investigation toward Etta Mae. That sounds just like something Francie Pitts would do—get her mind set on something and no amount of logic or proof or evidence will get her off it.”

“Well, I don’t know, Julia. It doesn’t seem that she’s named anyone, because apparently whoever it was came up behind her.” Sam turned my hand over, then squeezed it. “I don’t think I know this Francie Pitts. Binkie said she used to live here.”

“She did, about ten years ago, and Sam, she went to our church. When she went, that is, because she wasn’t very faithful and ended up an Episcopalian, I think. I expect you’d know her if you saw her. Her husband, I mean her husband at the time, was supposed to have been in the diplomatic service before retiring. I think he was in Panama at one time or another.”

“I vaguely recall hearing something like that. But no, I guess I didn’t know them.”

“Good thing you didn’t. As soon as she buried that husband, she hooked another one. And because you were available at the time, she might’ve set her sights on you.”

Sam laughed. “I doubt it. Besides, I already had my eye on you.” His eyes sparkled as surprise lit up my face.

“Oh, Sam, you know not. Wesley Lloyd was still alive and well then.”

“I know it, but I figured sooner or later you were going to have a great awakening. I planned to be there when you did.”

Not a great awakening, but a great joy filled my soul as Sam revealed that he’d cared for me long before he’d declared himself. Can any woman resist a man who has loved her from afar? I couldn’t and, obviously, hadn’t.

We talked on about this and that, covering the possible outcomes of Etta Mae’s problem and discussing Francie’s checkered marital history, as reported by LuAnne.

There is nothing in the world like talking over things with a man who listens and responds and adds his opinion and wants your thinking on all sorts of matters. I was the most fortunate of women, and I looked forward to a long, pleasant evening in the company of my husband.

Just then Etta Mae came in, bearing a tray and calling out, “Knock, knock. Supper’s here.”

Sam hopped up and moved his chair out of the way. “Come on in, Etta Mae.”

Etta Mae put the tray on my lap and stood back. “Try to eat all of it if you can. I didn’t give you a whole lot, because you don’t need to overdo it.”

Looking down at the quivering slab of Jell-O and the steaming soup, I said, “I certainly won’t with this. Thank you, Etta Mae. I’ll do my best to get it down. Now, you and Sam go on and have your dinner. I’ll be fine.”

Etta Mae smiled at me. “I’ll come back for the tray as soon as we finish. Then I want to help you get a bath and give you a back rub and get you ready for a good night’s sleep. How does that sound?”

Not so good, actually, though I didn’t say it. My plan was to spend the evening with Sam and provide some enrichment for our marriage, proving thereby that he didn’t need to get any from anybody else. Etta Mae was taking this nursing business entirely too literally.

Before I could say anything, though, Sam announced, “Looks like you two will be pretty busy, so I think I’ll go on over to the church after dinner. I’d just be in the way here, anyway, and Ledbetter will appreciate my showing up. Might as well make some points while I can.”

The bottom just dropped out from under me, and I wondered if I could work up a seizure or something to keep him home. But no, not with Etta Mae around, who would either see right through me or call the ambulance on me. There was nothing I could do but appear undisturbed by Sam’s decision.

“I’ll miss you, Sam,” I managed to say around the lump in my throat. And without any effort at all, a few tears filled my eyes.

Sam apparently didn’t notice, for he leaned down and gave me a kiss. “I’m leaving you in good hands.”

And away he went to eat dinner with Etta Mae and Lloyd, and then to spend a couple of hours in the company of Dr. Fred Fowler, sneaky seducer of lonely women.

Left alone, I looked askance at that meager meal on my lap, realizing that I’d not had a decent one since Sunday afternoon—which hadn’t been all that filling to start with—and here it was Monday evening. So let’s say since Saturday night, and I was about to cave in. But I could hardly eat the little that was there because I’d so quickly gone from the high of Sam’s decision to bypass that meeting to the low of his change of mind. Sudden emotional peaks and valleys can wreak havoc with one’s appetite, even when one’s stomach is empty.

I ate what I could, so Etta Mae and Lillian wouldn’t fuss at me, set the tray aside and tried to calm my agitated nerves. How I was going to get through the next few hours, knowing that Sam and Dr. Fowler would be near each other, I didn’t know.

After the meal was finished downstairs, Sam came back up to see me. By that time, I was so on edge that I wanted to fling myself at his feet and beg him to stay home. But I restrained myself to a few pitiful sighs, without giving away my deepest concern.

“Sam,” I said, after he leaned over and kissed me good-bye, “I want to caution you about that counseling session. We were only supposed to be there as role models, not active participants. And just remember that Dr. Fowler is not a
medical
doctor, so you don’t have to believe everything he says.”

Sam laughed. “The wool doesn’t get pulled over my eyes too often, sweetheart. I practiced law too long for that. Now you have a nice evening, and I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

And off he went, and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it other than have a major relapse, which I’d already waited too long to pull off. But at least I’d kept myself out of that enrichment session, and that’s what I’d started out to do. The thought of having to make eye contact with that redheaded fool of a marriage counselor made my stomach turn, so I’d spared myself that humiliation. Now all I could do was hope that Dr. Fowler wouldn’t know who Sam was and that Pastor Ledbetter would hold his tongue and not tell him.

Soon enough, though, Etta Mae was back in my room, ready to get me bathed, redressed, combed and rubbed down. She was quite efficient, obviously from having a lot of practice with weak or ailing patients, of which I was neither but had to pretend to be.

After she had me back in bed, she gave me a dandy back rub and finished off with a dusting of talcum powder. It did feel wonderful, since I’d begun to worry about developing bedsores from my day and a half of lying around. Then Lloyd stuck his head in the door to ask how I was feeling.

“I’m much better, honey,” I assured him. “I fully intend to be up and doing tomorrow.”

Etta Mae raised her eyebrows. “We’ll see about that.”

Ignoring the cautionary tone of her voice, I asked Lloyd about his day at school, especially what extracurricular activities he was planning for the new school year.

“I’m thinking of going out for soccer,” he said. “Except some of the kids began working out before school started when I still had the tennis clinics. They’ll be ahead of me, but I don’t mind sitting on the bench if I don’t get to play.”

“That’s a good attitude, but I’ll be surprised if you have to sit on the bench for long. Just remember that very few people are good at every sport—think of Michael Jordan when he was playing baseball. Tennis is probably your game.”

“I think so, too. But boys’ tennis at school is not until spring, and I want to do something to stay in shape.”

Well, bless his little heart, he was so serious about everything he did, and because he wasn’t a natural athlete, all I could do was encourage him in his efforts. I feared he was doomed to soccer disappointment, but perhaps he’d shine at tennis in the spring.