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Authors: Lauraine Snelling
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wasn't long overdue.”
“Be that as it may, we women need a new machine here.” Kit snatched an idea off the racing treadmill. “We can earn the money ourselves. For a change the women of this town can get behind one venture and show those”—she tiptoed around the word she thought— “jerks what we can do?”
“You mean those male chauvinist porcine jerks?” Marcy raised an eyebrow.
“Those very ones. Surely there will be a way to get a… ” She paused with a wrinkle on her forehead. “What are the new machines called?”
“Mammogram machines.”
“Well, one of those right here in Jefferson City.” She stuck out her hand. “Thanks, friend.”
The two women shook hands.
“You got any ideas?” Marcy walked her down the mauve and light gray hall.
“Well, I know we re going to need lots of cooperation. You know anything about grant writing?”
“Nope, sorry. But I read about some other town that kicked off a fund drive by auctioning a specially made quilt.”
“Hmm. Really? How could that make enough money to make a difference?”
“It would be a start, could garner some publicity, get the ball rolling. You know who is good at that kind of thing is Elaine Giovanni. Plus she creates knock-out pillows. You can see them in the gift shop.” Marcy stopped at the door of the gift shop. “I gotta get my chocolate fix and head on back. Let me know what you come up with.” She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Kit, if I were you, I would drag Aunt Teza up to Seattle and have her tested again, just a precautionary measure.”
“Really?” The two women exchanged a long look. “Okay, I will.” Kit waved and headed out to her car. She hadn't felt this energized since—she stopped and caught her breath. Since before Amber died.
The thought released the burning throat, and before she could catch herself, the incipient tears started again. She fumbled with her keys, a veil of moisture blurring the keyhole. Once in the safety of the car, she let the tears flow, as if she had any control over them. When the storm passed as she'd learned it would, she started the car. Before pulling out of the parking lot, she blew her nose and wiped her eyes, then pulled out a fresh tissue to clean her glasses. “Lord, one more thing here. How do I get Teza to Seattle? Or even Olympia if the mobile unit comes there? More to look into.” She shook off the unease and concentrated on her driving. As she exited the parking lot, the gleaming new entrance to Jefferson Memorial Hospital caught her attention.
All that money spent on looks when women were suffering for the lack of an up-to-date mammogram unit. The slow burn she'd banked flared orange and yellow spires.
“Who, what, how?” She watched an elderly couple enter the hospital through the new automatic door. A car honked behind her. Ah, take it easy. She glared up into the rearview mirror before pulling out into the main drive, then the street.
What do you know about raising that kind of money? How much would we need? Where do I start? Who will help? The questions chased one another in circles in her mind.
Another car honked at her at the stoplight. Kit thought about using an obscene gesture in return but, appalled by her own thought, gunned her car through the intersection instead. “What's with all these speed bums today? Take a Valium or something. “ Times like this she understood the meaning of road rage.
Knowing that an empty house awaited her, she drove on south of town to Teza's small farm tucked into a jewel of a valley. Raspberries hid beneath green leaves on prickly canes, their aroma more pungent than strawberries, and the cherry tree limbs sported clusters of black Bings and cream and pink descendants of the old Royal Annes. As Kit turned into the driveway, Teza turned from filling more baskets at her fruit stand and arranging them enticingly. For a change there were no customers choosing fruit and chatting with her.
“Teapot's on, or
“Be that as it may, we women need a new machine here.” Kit snatched an idea off the racing treadmill. “We can earn the money ourselves. For a change the women of this town can get behind one venture and show those”—she tiptoed around the word she thought— “jerks what we can do?”
“You mean those male chauvinist porcine jerks?” Marcy raised an eyebrow.
“Those very ones. Surely there will be a way to get a… ” She paused with a wrinkle on her forehead. “What are the new machines called?”
“Mammogram machines.”
“Well, one of those right here in Jefferson City.” She stuck out her hand. “Thanks, friend.”
The two women shook hands.
“You got any ideas?” Marcy walked her down the mauve and light gray hall.
“Well, I know we re going to need lots of cooperation. You know anything about grant writing?”
“Nope, sorry. But I read about some other town that kicked off a fund drive by auctioning a specially made quilt.”
“Hmm. Really? How could that make enough money to make a difference?”
“It would be a start, could garner some publicity, get the ball rolling. You know who is good at that kind of thing is Elaine Giovanni. Plus she creates knock-out pillows. You can see them in the gift shop.” Marcy stopped at the door of the gift shop. “I gotta get my chocolate fix and head on back. Let me know what you come up with.” She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Kit, if I were you, I would drag Aunt Teza up to Seattle and have her tested again, just a precautionary measure.”
“Really?” The two women exchanged a long look. “Okay, I will.” Kit waved and headed out to her car. She hadn't felt this energized since—she stopped and caught her breath. Since before Amber died.
The thought released the burning throat, and before she could catch herself, the incipient tears started again. She fumbled with her keys, a veil of moisture blurring the keyhole. Once in the safety of the car, she let the tears flow, as if she had any control over them. When the storm passed as she'd learned it would, she started the car. Before pulling out of the parking lot, she blew her nose and wiped her eyes, then pulled out a fresh tissue to clean her glasses. “Lord, one more thing here. How do I get Teza to Seattle? Or even Olympia if the mobile unit comes there? More to look into.” She shook off the unease and concentrated on her driving. As she exited the parking lot, the gleaming new entrance to Jefferson Memorial Hospital caught her attention.
All that money spent on looks when women were suffering for the lack of an up-to-date mammogram unit. The slow burn she'd banked flared orange and yellow spires.
“Who, what, how?” She watched an elderly couple enter the hospital through the new automatic door. A car honked behind her. Ah, take it easy. She glared up into the rearview mirror before pulling out into the main drive, then the street.
What do you know about raising that kind of money? How much would we need? Where do I start? Who will help? The questions chased one another in circles in her mind.
Another car honked at her at the stoplight. Kit thought about using an obscene gesture in return but, appalled by her own thought, gunned her car through the intersection instead. “What's with all these speed bums today? Take a Valium or something. “ Times like this she understood the meaning of road rage.
Knowing that an empty house awaited her, she drove on south of town to Teza's small farm tucked into a jewel of a valley. Raspberries hid beneath green leaves on prickly canes, their aroma more pungent than strawberries, and the cherry tree limbs sported clusters of black Bings and cream and pink descendants of the old Royal Annes. As Kit turned into the driveway, Teza turned from filling more baskets at her fruit stand and arranging them enticingly. For a change there were no customers choosing fruit and chatting with her.
“Teapot's on, or
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