bring the placenta and slow down the bleeding,” Dr. Stone said.
“I just hate to give him up,” she admitted reluctantly passing the baby to Julianna.
The OB was right, a few minutes of newborn suckling finished the job. While John completed the examination, June went for a basin of water. Grandma had it ready for her.
When she walked back into the birth room, she saw something she would never forget. The fancy Dr. Stone stood at the side of the bed holding the newborn wrapped in a towel, the sleeves of his expensive shirt rolled up, the end of his designer tie sticking out of his pocket, his pant legs rolled up almost to his knees and his bare toes curling against the cool hardwood floor. On his face was a look of pure joy.
“June,” he said, grinning, his eyes shining, “you gotta let me in on some of this.”
Six
J une lived in a house that Grace Valley had refurbished. It had been a rundown hovel when she’d somehow managed to buy it, much to her parents’ dismay. There she was, a brand-new doctor come home, living with her parents, no guaranteed income and plenty of med school debt besides.
But she had loved that old house since girlhood. It had been abandoned for at least five years, during which time the local youth made sport of it, broke the windows, used it as a hideaway, love nest, who knew what. It hadn’t been well maintained to start with, and by the time the local kids were done with it, it probably should have been leveled.
But it stood, about six miles from the center of town, on an isolated little hill. It had a wonderful porch that stretched the length of the house, a fabulous shade tree, a pleasant little dormer window in the second floor attic and a view to die for. Before it saw its first coat of paint, June had imagined herself sitting on a porch swing and looking down the road, over the rooftops of housesand buildings in town, past the steeple of the Presbyterian Church rising proudly above the trees, across the valley for miles and miles and miles. To the sides and back of the little house was forest, deep and lush. All that was missing was the white picket fence.
It had taken a very long time to complete the image, to take the house from shambles to near perfection. The plumbing was restored by a man whose ulcer June treated, the electrical work by the Stewart brothers, whose women popped out a couple of babies a year. Hardwood floors came from the Bradfords; their teenage sons were in a terrible car accident, but, blessedly they recovered completely. New windows, carpet, louvered doors, paint and spackling were the result of a long winter of bad flu all over town. The countertops were provided by five cases of measles among the Wilson boys. Her appliances came, willy-nilly, as John and Susan Reynolds’s kids were treated for various maladies, Reynolds’ Appliance was a staple of three small towns.
June herself supplied the furniture and accessories of needlepoint pillows and hand-stitched quilts, being one of the town’s best stitchers. Her house was lovely and she adored it. She found peace and solitude and comfort in it.
Usually.
Following the birth at the Dicksons’, she took John Stone back to the clinic, where he’d left his car, and agreed to give him six months at the clinic. Then she went home to make her father Tuesday night meat loaf. She listened to her messages and was relieved to find she was not in demand. But she moved through thekitchen chores with nagging slowness rather than pleasure.
“Look at me,” she said when her father arrived. “I am a spinster.”
“Oh boy. You held the Dickson baby for more than four minutes, didn’t you?”
“I’m thirty-seven. I haven’t had a real date in five years. I’m married to this town. Even if I were to meet someone and fall in love, the whole process would take longer than I have. I’m officially past the age of childbearing.”
“What a crock,” Elmer said. “You know, I thought about bringing wine
“I just hate to give him up,” she admitted reluctantly passing the baby to Julianna.
The OB was right, a few minutes of newborn suckling finished the job. While John completed the examination, June went for a basin of water. Grandma had it ready for her.
When she walked back into the birth room, she saw something she would never forget. The fancy Dr. Stone stood at the side of the bed holding the newborn wrapped in a towel, the sleeves of his expensive shirt rolled up, the end of his designer tie sticking out of his pocket, his pant legs rolled up almost to his knees and his bare toes curling against the cool hardwood floor. On his face was a look of pure joy.
“June,” he said, grinning, his eyes shining, “you gotta let me in on some of this.”
Six
J une lived in a house that Grace Valley had refurbished. It had been a rundown hovel when she’d somehow managed to buy it, much to her parents’ dismay. There she was, a brand-new doctor come home, living with her parents, no guaranteed income and plenty of med school debt besides.
But she had loved that old house since girlhood. It had been abandoned for at least five years, during which time the local youth made sport of it, broke the windows, used it as a hideaway, love nest, who knew what. It hadn’t been well maintained to start with, and by the time the local kids were done with it, it probably should have been leveled.
But it stood, about six miles from the center of town, on an isolated little hill. It had a wonderful porch that stretched the length of the house, a fabulous shade tree, a pleasant little dormer window in the second floor attic and a view to die for. Before it saw its first coat of paint, June had imagined herself sitting on a porch swing and looking down the road, over the rooftops of housesand buildings in town, past the steeple of the Presbyterian Church rising proudly above the trees, across the valley for miles and miles and miles. To the sides and back of the little house was forest, deep and lush. All that was missing was the white picket fence.
It had taken a very long time to complete the image, to take the house from shambles to near perfection. The plumbing was restored by a man whose ulcer June treated, the electrical work by the Stewart brothers, whose women popped out a couple of babies a year. Hardwood floors came from the Bradfords; their teenage sons were in a terrible car accident, but, blessedly they recovered completely. New windows, carpet, louvered doors, paint and spackling were the result of a long winter of bad flu all over town. The countertops were provided by five cases of measles among the Wilson boys. Her appliances came, willy-nilly, as John and Susan Reynolds’s kids were treated for various maladies, Reynolds’ Appliance was a staple of three small towns.
June herself supplied the furniture and accessories of needlepoint pillows and hand-stitched quilts, being one of the town’s best stitchers. Her house was lovely and she adored it. She found peace and solitude and comfort in it.
Usually.
Following the birth at the Dicksons’, she took John Stone back to the clinic, where he’d left his car, and agreed to give him six months at the clinic. Then she went home to make her father Tuesday night meat loaf. She listened to her messages and was relieved to find she was not in demand. But she moved through thekitchen chores with nagging slowness rather than pleasure.
“Look at me,” she said when her father arrived. “I am a spinster.”
“Oh boy. You held the Dickson baby for more than four minutes, didn’t you?”
“I’m thirty-seven. I haven’t had a real date in five years. I’m married to this town. Even if I were to meet someone and fall in love, the whole process would take longer than I have. I’m officially past the age of childbearing.”
“What a crock,” Elmer said. “You know, I thought about bringing wine
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