Stuck in the Middle, page 4
Joan laughed. She had heard Mom mention a new doctor or two in less-than-flattering terms. But the nurses wouldn’t have a problem with this guy. He didn’t have the arrogance of some of the physicians Mom complained about. “Sounds like a wise plan.”
Joan glanced at her watch, and then scratched Trigger’s ears with vigor before getting to her feet. Ken did the same.
“I need to get going. It was nice meeting you, Ken. And Trigger too. He’s a great dog. I think your sister picked a good one.”
“Karen told me he’d be a good way to meet women. She said, ‘Chicks dig dogs.’” He flashed a boyish grin and locked eyes with Joan. “Looks like she was right.”
With a shock, Joan realized he was flirting with her. Her face heated again. She had never been good at flirting. That was Tori’s department. Something stupid always managed to come out of Joan’s mouth, something that made her writhe in remembered agony for days afterward. She broke their gaze by bending down to give Trigger’s head a final rub. With any luck he would think she was flushed as a result of her run.
Straightening, she gave Ken what she hoped was a carefree smile. “Come by the store and we’ll get you fixed up. Abernathy Sales and Rental, over in the Danville Manor Shopping Center on the bypass.”
“I’ll be there this week. Sitting on the floor is giving me a stiff back.” He stretched his shoulders backward, and Joan looked away from the sight of firm chest muscles visible beneath his clinging T-shirt. Yeah, he worked out. No doubt about it.
“Nice meeting you, Ken.” She addressed Trigger. “You too, big guy.”
“It was great meeting you, Joan. I’ll talk to you later.” She dipped her head as she walked past him toward home, ignoring Trigger’s disappointed barking at her departure. After a moment the barking stopped, and she heard the scrabble of claws on concrete as they continued on their way. As she turned into her driveway, she risked a look. Ken walked backward down the sidewalk, watching her. He lifted a hand in a friendly wave when she looked up. Blushing to the hair roots, she returned the gesture, ducked her head, and jogged up the front steps, escaping into the house.
When the front door to Joan’s house closed, Ken continued down the sidewalk with Trigger. He could hardly keep the grin off his face. This town was looking better all the time. He’d landed a great job working in his specialty, found the perfect rental house with a fenced yard for the dog his sister saddled him with, and ended up right next door to a gorgeous girl.
“I wasn’t sure about this neighborhood, but so far I like the way things are shaping up.”
Trigger turned his head, an ear perked at the sound of Ken’s voice for a fraction of a second before he resumed his wild attempt to run in four directions at once.
“You know what, boy? Karen was right. Joan liked you, maybe even more than she liked me.” He gave a playful tug on the leash. “You might actually have earned your keep this morning.”
Women had been pushed to the back burner for a while now. Med school absorbed all his time, so the only girls he saw during those four years were other busy med students. Then his residency was unlike anything he’d ever imagined. Who would have thought a person could live through three solid years of such a frantic pace?
Besides, dating required money. He owed tons in student loans, though he had begun to make a dent in the mountain of debt. He should have them paid off in another . . . ten years or so. He grimaced at the thought.
Trigger pulled him down the sidewalk while his thoughts wandered to work. The pace was slower here, for sure, but that didn’t mean he had much downtime. This ER was a busy little place, busier than he would have guessed, and of course they kept a much smaller staff. Many nights during the past two weeks he found himself rushing from patient to patient with barely enough time to gulp down a cup of coffee, just like in the big Cincinnati hospital. Different cases, though. He hadn’t seen a stabbing or drug overdose yet. Nothing more serious than a fractured bone or appendicitis. And that was fine with him.
Now if he could just find a church. But as low man on the totem pole, he’d probably work most weekends, which made hunting for one difficult. Did Joan Sanderson go to church? He hoped so. Maybe he could finagle an invitation to go with her. And then maybe he’d take her out to lunch afterward . . .
Trigger paused in his mad pace to sniff at a bush. The dog circled a few minutes, nose to the ground.
The door of the house they stood in front of burst open, and a woman in a bathrobe stepped out onto the porch. She glared at him across the lawn. “I hope you’re planning to clean up after your dog.”
Ken pulled a wadded-up plastic grocery bag out of his pocket. He held it above his head for her to see. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Well.” Her scowl softened a fraction. “See that you do, then.” The front door closed with a bang.
“C’mon, Trigger.” Ken pulled the dog away from the interesting-smelling patch of grass. “Let’s go home. You’ve got a whole yard of your own to sniff.”
~ 4 ~
The organist had begun the prelude by the time Joan found Gram outside the seniors’ Sunday school room and walked with her into the sanctuary. Their noses were assaulted by the startling clash of old lady perfume and gentlemen’s cologne that almost overpowered the musty odor of hymnals. A smiling usher in a dark suit led them down the center aisle to the fourth row. Her face impassive, Joan groaned inwardly. She preferred a pew toward the rear, where she could blend into anonymity in the sea of worshipers. Sitting in the front seemed so . . . showy.
As they crab-walked into the empty space in the center of the pew, the choir filed into the sanctuary through a doorway in the loft. Joan got Gram settled with a tissue and a hymnal before scanning the green-robed figures for her mother. Mom said singing in the church choir and her weekly bowling league were all that kept her sane after the hectic pace of her job at the hospital. Joan found her in her accustomed place among the altos, second row center. Mom caught her eye with a smile and a slight nod of acknowledgment.
Joan opened the bulletin and reached for her own hymnal. She marked page 167 with a blank visitor card and let her gaze travel down the morning’s order of worship to find the next hymn. If only everyone would take the time to find the songs before the service began. All that noise when people shuffled through the pages disrupted the service, and Joan disliked disruption.
The bulletin announced that they would hear from a guest speaker this morning, a woman. Joan searched the platform for an unfamiliar face. Rev. Jacobsen sat in his accustomed place on a bench behind the pulpit. No one sat beside him.
There. On the front pew sat an unfamiliar African American couple.
“Rev. Jacobsen isn’t speaking this morning.” Gram pointed toward the bulletin. “I wonder who Mary Alice Sachs is.”
“I don’t know, but I’m guessing that’s her.”
Joan dipped her head toward the couple. They sat facing the front, alone on the first pew. As she watched, the man leaned sideways to whisper something, and the woman nodded in agreement. With a flash of guilt, Joan noticed that no one spoke to them or introduced themselves. Of course, Rev. Jacobsen would have made them feel welcome, since he had obviously invited this woman to speak. And surely the greeters stationed by the door welcomed them when they arrived. That was the greeters’ job, to welcome visitors. But it would be nice if someone in the congregation introduced themselves too.
Perhaps she should . . .
But no. The organist was nearly finished, the choir was in place, and people had stopped filing into the sanctuary. With a rush of relief, Joan decided she would speak to the visiting couple after the service. If she had time.
The organ music ended on a triumphant chord that reverberated through the sanctuary, and Rev. Jacobsen stood to welcome them as he did every Sunday. As the congregation followed the order of worship, Joan relaxed into the familiar sequence of events. First a hymn, then a prayer, then announcements, then another hymn before the offering.
The minister waited until they had settled themselves comfortably in their pews to introduce the visitors. “Today we have special guests.” The overhead light turned his scalp red beneath his thinning gray hair. “Robert and Mary Alice Sachs have recently returned to the States from a three-month mission trip to Afghanistan. I heard Mary Alice speak at a district meeting a few weeks ago and asked if she would come and share her message with you. I know you’ll make them feel welcome.”
When Mrs. Sachs walked from the front pew up the stairs to stand behind the podium, Gram shifted in her seat. Joan patted her hand and gave her a smile before turning her attention toward the front. She knew how Gram felt. Any change in their regular Sunday morning routine was . . . disruptive.
“Thank you, Rev. Jacobsen, for allowing me to fill your pulpit this morning.” The woman’s low voice flowed like honey from the podium, melodic and rich. She nodded in the minister’s direction and flashed a set of teeth that battled with the white blouse she wore beneath a dark purple suit jacket. “I want to tell you today about a God who is real. I know he’s real, because I have lived in a place where his is the only hand that kept me from torture and death. I have seen his power displayed in ways that leave no doubt that this God we serve takes an active role in our everyday lives, if we let him.”
The woman spoke for forty-five minutes. Joan sat fascinated along with everyone else as she told of wonders like those in the Bible happening every day during their mission. She described healings and miraculous escapes. When they had no food, she said God fed them. Tears glistened in her eyes when she spoke of changed lives among the orphans they went to serve when the children encountered this miraculous God.
Sitting in the pew, Joan’s mind was transported to that far-distant land. What would it be like to do something so exciting, something that made an impact in other people’s lives? But nothing like that ever happened here, in sleepy little Danville, Kentucky. Certainly not in her life. Still, she knew the same God as Mrs. Sachs. Why, then, did he choose to be so evident in this woman’s life, but not in hers?
As Joan bowed her head during Rev. Jacobsen’s closing prayer, that question hovered on the edge of her thoughts. When the organist began to play the final hymn, Gram dropped her hymnal and Joan’s thoughts refocused. As the congregation stood, Joan stooped to pick up the book, her mind already turning toward the afternoon. Tori, Allie, and Eric were coming for dinner. A glance at her watch told her that the service had already run over by fifteen minutes. They’d have to hurry to get home before the others arrived.
The oniony aroma of Gram’s meat loaf filled the house and teased Joan’s rumbling stomach. From her seat in the recliner, she reached toward the coffee table for the Sunday comic section as soon as Allie laid it down.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” Gram announced from the kitchen doorway. “We can eat as soon as Tori gets here.”
Joan tore her eyes off Beetle Bailey. “Do you need any help?”
“You can put ice in the glasses.”
Joan reached for the lever to lower the recliner’s footrest, but Mom came up the stairs from the basement bedrooms at that moment. She had changed from her church clothes into a long peasant skirt and a loose-fitting blouse that hung from her bony shoulders as though she had forgotten to remove the hanger before putting it on. She waved a hand at Joan as she passed through the living room on her way to the kitchen.
“I’ll do it. You visit with your sister and Eric. Tell them about our guest speaker this morning.”
“Guest speaker?” Allie looked at Joan over the top of the entertainment section.
“A missionary. You should have heard the stories she told, about living in danger and miracles and all that.”
“Hmmm.”
Allie looked back down at her paper. Church was a sore subject in the Sanderson family. Eric, who was not a Christian, had relented enough to agree to a church wedding, but had not set a foot through the door in the three years since. After the wedding, Allie came regularly for a while. Then she skipped a Sunday or two. Within a few months she had stopped coming completely.
“By the way, have you finished Passion on the Ocean? You’ve had it two weeks.”
Joan grimaced and shook her head. “I can’t get through it. Honestly, I don’t understand how you can read those bodice rippers.”
Allie dropped her hands, the newspaper wrinkling in her lap. “They’re well researched, and usually historically accurate.”
Joan gave a snort. “Maybe some are, but the writing is so bad in that one I didn’t notice the research.”
“All English majors think they’re book critics.” Allie stuck her tongue out at Joan.
“Don’t let her fool you, Joan.” Eric winked at his wife. “She likes the rippling muscles.”
“Speaking of that, I want to get a look at this doctor.” Allie tossed the paper onto the coffee table and twisted around to kneel on the couch, resting her arms on the backrest so she could peer through a crack in the white curtains covering the front window. “Eric, do something to make him come outside.”
Eric’s eyes remained fixed on the television screen. “You want me to ring his doorbell and run away?”
Joan laughed as her big sister rolled her eyes. Allie had found her perfect match in the even-keeled 9-1-1 dispatcher. His quiet manner and steady approach to life countered Allie’s exuberance, and a moment of watching them together left no doubt that he adored his lively wife. A good thing since, according to Allie, his dark good looks attracted women like a bag of chips on a beach full of seagulls. Eric had slipped into the lives of the Sanderson women shortly after Grandpa’s death, a comforting male influence. And he was good with a toilet plunger too.
“So you say he’s cute?” Allie caught Joan’s gaze with raised eyebrows.
“I didn’t say, but yeah, he was okay.” If you were into gorgeous.
“Where’s he from? Where did he go to medical school? And most importantly, does he have a girlfriend?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask for his life story. I just talked to him for a minute.” Joan returned to Beetle Bailey.
“A minute is more than enough time to acquire all the pertinent information. If I had been there, I’d have found out all that and how much he makes.” Allie turned back to the window. “Let’s see. We know he has a dog. That’s probably why he’s renting a house instead of an apartment. He drives a red Ford Probe, older model.”
“Nineteen ninety,” said Eric, without looking away from the TV.
Joan looked up at him. “How do you know the year?” “It was in the driveway when we got here.” He shrugged. “I noticed. Ohio plates.”
Allie turned, her face alight. “Hey! Eric could run his license plates. That’ll tell us if he has a record or anything.”
“I am not going to run his plates,” Eric said in a voice that left no room for argument.
She showed him her lower lip in a quick pout, then raised her head to shout toward the kitchen. “Tori just pulled in the driveway.”
The arrival of the youngest Sanderson sister caused a flurry of excitement. Joan stood with the rest of the family on the landing inside the front door to greet her with bear hugs and cries of “welcome home!” Though she lived only thirty-five minutes away and visited often enough that her arrival shouldn’t cause such a stir, people couldn’t help but get excited when the baby of the family showed up.
Like Allie, Tori Sanderson exuded energy. She stood only five foot three and had inherited her mother’s thin frame without the gangly height. Her bright golden hair was the envy of blondes everywhere, and her elfish features and infectious grin had drawn attention from the first moment she toddled into the public eye.
Joan watched as Mom, first in the reception line, embraced her baby and exclaimed over her new designer jeans. Tori hugged Gram next, and the older woman’s face brightened with delight. Next Tori stooped to place both hands on Allie’s belly before hugging the mama-to-be and her husband.
Self-pity stabbed at Joan. When was the last time someone greeted her with such enthusiasm? In fact, when was the last time someone greeted her at all? She never went anywhere and, therefore, never came home to a reception line like this one. Maybe she should leave too, just go off on her own and let Gram and Mom fend for themselves. That’s what Tori had done. She hadn’t worried about her family when she found that apartment in Lexington.
Because Tori knew she was leaving everything at home in competent hands. Her hands.
“Joan!” Tori nearly knocked Joan off balance with her enthusiastic hug. “It’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you. When are you going to come spend the night with me, like you promised?”
Ashamed of her feelings, Joan returned Tori’s embrace. “I mean to, but you know how it is.”
“No, I don’t.” Tori stepped back but didn’t release her grip on Joan’s arms. “And I don’t care how it is. You need to come to Lexington for a weekend. We’ll rent chick flicks and have a sleepover and stay up all night talking about our older sister.”
“Hey!” Allie sniffled, injured. “You have to be nice to me. I’m pregnant.”
Grinning, Tori threw her arms around Allie’s neck and squeezed. “Just kidding, Allie-gator, you know that. You can come too. We’ll have a Sanderson Sister Sleepover.”
“Let’s do it! And soon, before the baby comes.”
Allie and Tori hugged again, bouncing on their toes, and then as one turned to Joan. Each of them extended an arm to pull her into a three-way hug. Joan joined them, touching her dark head to their blonde ones, hearing a sister giggle in each ear.
“The Sanderson Sisters, together again!” Allie announced.
“We’re in trouble now,” Eric mumbled, turning back toward the living room and his ball game.
“Dinner’s almost on the table,” Gram announced.
“I’m starving.” Tori raised her nose and sniffed. “I don’t know what it is, and I don’t care, as long as it isn’t pizza or fast food.”
