Read Online Lullaby and Goodnight by Wendy Corsi Staub - Free Book Online Page A

wrench—or a dangling participle—into the precarious proceedings, Derry blurts, “Tell us about the mother in Iowa.”
    A shadow crosses Rose’s attractive face.
    Uh-oh. Clearly, Derry said the wrong thing. She should have let Linden do the talking after all.
    Rose seems to be choosing her words with care.
    Finally, she says, “At Cradle to Cradle, we prefer to call expectant clients ‘donors.’ If everything works out the way we expect it to, Mrs. Cordell, you will be the mother. Not her.”
    Derry grins, the last of her reservations melting away like ugly late-winter slush.
    Â 
    Rita’s cell phone rings just as it’s her turn to be waited on.
    â€œCan I help you?” the deli counterman is asking impatiently.
    She holds up a finger, motioning him to stand by while she answers her phone. “Hello?”
    â€œRita. I’ve been trying to reach you all morning. Where have you been?”
    â€œDelivering twins,” she tells Nancy wearily. “And I worked up one hell of an appetite, so hang on a second.”
    To the impatient counterman, she says, “I’ll have a turkey sandwich on whole grain bread with lettuce and mustard.”
    â€œCheese?”
    â€œ No.”
    â€œTomatoes?”
    â€œNo. Just lettuce and mustard,” she repeats with forced politeness, wondering why New York deli men always seem bent on making things more complicated. She orders the same exact sandwich every time she comes in here. Which is at least once or twice a week.
    Rita isn’t crazy about complications these days. Or ever. No, sirree.
    Into the phone, she says, “The second twin was breech. What a nightmare for the mother.”
    â€œAnd for you.”
    â€œShe did all the work.”
    â€œNot all the work. Don’t sell yourself short.”
    Rita smiles, shaking her head.
    Leave it to Nancy to turn her into the hero. The woman’s specialty, aside from gossip and perpetually feeling sorry for herself, is definitely stroking egos. No wonder Bill Lombardo hired her years ago. Nancy always knows just what to say to flatter him.
    It’s a God-given gift, as far as Rita’s concerned.
    â€œYou know how I feel about my work, Nancy. It isn’t brain surgery. I just make sure I’m there, and I let nature take its course.”
    â€œMost midwives would beg to differ.”
    â€œListen, sugar pie, you and I both know that women have been giving birth for quite some time and anyone is capable of doing what I do,” says Rita, who frequently points out that it wasn’t so long ago that most women acted as midwives for their daughters and sisters and friends.
    â€œYou’d better not say that in front of your patients, or they won’t be willing to pay you,” Nancy warns her. “Anyway, listen, I was wondering if we could set up another home-birth seminar here in the office for sometime next month.”
    â€œYou don’t think I’m busy enough?” Rita asks with a laugh, plucking a bottle of sweetened iced tea from the refrigerated case adjacent to the counter. “I’ve already got my hands full with patients and support groups—which reminds me, I’ve got to reschedule that Pregnant and Single meeting. I’ve had to cancel on them twice at the last minute.”
    â€œNature of the business,” Nancy says lightly. “And they’ve been meeting anyway. I think they just like bonding with other women who are in the same boat. So can we set something up for the office?”
    â€œI’ll call you later, from home,” Rita promises. “I don’t have my appointment book with me.”
    â€œTurkey on whole grain with lettuce, onion, and mustard,” the counterman bellows, thrusting a wrapped sandwich in her direction.
    Rita sighs. “I’ve got to go, Nancy. I’ve got to take care of a problem here.”
    â€œPatient complications?”
    â€œNo,”