Chapter Ten
I felt the storm brewing even as the sun shone that morning. The day hadn’t been easy ever since Wesley woke up telling me he couldn’t “bweathe.” Of course, I knew it would happen. I feared it would. I got ahead of myself in worry, but I had been right. Three days after our card game, Wesley woke with a cough. Bitsy couldn’t do like the rest of us and leave her child at home, and now we had a sickness in our house because of her.
It started with a sneeze at dinner the night before, and by morning his nose was too stuffy to breathe out of. I sent Wesley back to bed and told him to stay in his room. The last thing we needed was for him to contaminate the rest of the house and infect his sister. I thought back to the story of the woman in Knollwood and the plastic wrap she had used. I wondered if I could seal him in his room—of course not to harm him, but to keep the sickness locked away.
I phoned the doctor immediately and requested a house call. Thankfully, Dr. Collins practiced that way, especially for his oldest clients. The Mayfields had been with him since Henry was small, so he never hesitated to come by when we asked. I had been uncertain about such an old doctor, but Henry called him seasoned, knowledgeable, more competent than a new graduate who only knew textbooks but not people.
By the time Dr. Collins arrived that afternoon, the humidity was wrapped thick around everything like a suffocating blanket while clouds shrouded the sky. “Thank you for coming.” I invited him in but had to kick a few toys out
of the entryway so he wouldn’t trip. “Pardon the mess. It’s been a little… busy around here this morning.”
Dr. Collins held his bag in one hand and his hat in the other as he looked around the house. That’s when I did as well. I had spent the morning catching up on my stamps—filling booklets, counting, and considering what I might get. I had nearly ten booklets completed, but I still couldn’t decide how to spend them.
Instead of losing myself in the stamps, I should’ve been cleaning the house, but I realized this only as the doctor looked around. Toys littered the living room. I hadn’t yet opened the curtains. I had barely gotten myself dressed, but I hadn’t sufficiently done my hair. I was certain my cowlick was divided in the back, showing my scalp. I saw him notice it all. I saw him take it all in, his lips drawing together, his white woolly-worm eyebrows crawling toward one another.
“Please, right this way,” I said and directed him to Wesley’s room.
The doctor did just as was expected. He examined Wesley and declared it was only a cold.
“I can’t bweathe!” Wesley told him, his tongue and nose both complicating the words.
“I know, son,” the doctor said as he tucked his stethoscope back into his bag. “Get lots of rest and drink lots of water, and you’ll be breathing again soon.”
I waited until we were alone in the living room to ask, “You’re sure he doesn’t have a fever?” I hadn’t wanted to question him in front of Wesley. I didn’t want to frighten the boy.
“No fever. Just the sniffles. Try this recipe to help with any cough.”
The doctor jotted down a quick note and handed it to me.
One teaspoon lemon juice, one tablespoon honey, and one teaspoon whiskey.
Give one teaspoon every hour as needed.
I folded the note and put it in my pocket.
“But—” I didn’t mean to question his knowledge, but I knew that early detection and proper diagnosis could make a huge difference. Plus, I needed peace of mind to replace the knot in my stomach. “He felt warm to the touch this morning.”
“If he did, it passed. Maybe he was still warm from sleep, from being under the blankets. According to the thermometer, there’s no sign of fever, and I trust it more than a mother’s hand.” He blinked a few times as his lips pressed together in a closed smile. Then he asked, “And what about you, Mrs.
Mayfield? Are you okay?”
I was getting tired of people asking me that. “I’m fine,” I said. And I was. I had been assessing myself all morning. Of course I still had the lingering headache, and my hands had been sore since I had pulled a couple of weeds a few days ago. Plus, there was the constant exhaustion, but that was part of the newborn days. I knew that much. But I felt no signs of the cold. Not yet.
What would I do if I got sick? How would I take care of everything? Nurse Esther, make the meals, clean the house?
“Well, that’s good,” he said, but those woolly worms scrunched together, as did his lips. “It’s only been a few weeks. It can take time—”
“I know, Doctor.” I’d been through it before, and I hadn’t forgotten. But who are the ones who say that? The men, even the doctors. They may see certain sides of pregnancy and birth, but they don’t experience it in a way that they know what it’s really like. “I’m fine. It’s Wesley who has me concerned.”
“It’s good you called. If anything changes, if he seems to get worse, give us a ring, but I anticipate he’ll be running through the backyard again in a few days.” I hoped he was right, but the knot in my stomach hadn’t loosened.
The storm finally arrived that evening. I stood at the kitchen sink and watched the gray clouds tumble over themselves as they converged until they dominated what had been a blue sky. Henry called me out of the kitchen and into the driveway when I had been in the middle of finishing up dinner. I tried to tell him that I didn’t have the time, but he insisted I come outside.
“We should get inside,” I told him as the wind shook my dress and flapped my apron. “I think I feel raindrops.”
“But first, I want you to meet—” he said, pointing to the man who stood in our driveway in shorts and crew socks pulled up to knees.
“Gary Betser,” our new neighbor said as we approached. Henry always said you could tell a lot about a man by the way he shook hands. When Gary forced his fleshy palm into mine, I knew his type right away. It was more than his strong grip that bound my hand. It was also the way he cupped his other hand over the top of mine, suffocating mine into submission.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on the reason why. He had a long, drawn face and sloping nose.
Thankfully, Katherine did not get her looks from him. I wondered if the boys did, trying to recall from my brief glance at their family portrait.
“I was just telling your husband I admire his lawn.” He still held tight as his auburn hair flapped in the wind. “Best on the street, in my opinion. At least for now.” He winked at me and released my hand.
As Gary blathered on about lawn height, crabgrass, and how he was considering trying a new crisscross mowing pattern, the temperature dropped.
A fat raindrop fell onto my cheek and trickled down my face. It was only a matter of time before the clouds would open up. Yet we still stood in the driveway, listening to this man in his house shoes tell Henry the benefits of fescue versus bluegrass.
I rubbed my arms, attempting to warm myself as the breeze tickled my arms. I expected Henry to see the gesture and put his arm around me, draw
me in close, transfer his warmth onto me. But instead he remained focused on Gary.
I tried to act as though I was listening, but a sound caught my attention. A voice carried over the wind. I looked at Henry and Gary, who didn’t seem to notice. I heard the singsong sound a few more times.
“What is that?” I asked, and Henry turned his head to the side, trying to listen.
“Oh, that’s nothing.” Gary waved off the sound as sprinkles began to fall.
“Just Bitsy.”
“What’s she doing?” Henry asked as her voice rang out again, repeating something I couldn’t quite make out.
Gary paused for a moment and said, “Sounds like she’s calling for that damn cat. Probably thinks it can’t survive in a storm. Have you heard such a thing?” He looked at Henry and laughed. “It’s an animal. If it’s meant to survive, it’ll figure it out. And if it doesn’t, well, that’s one less mouth to feed, right?” He elbowed Henry as Bitsy finally came into sight in their yard, crouching to look under a bush in front of their house.
I thought of Luna. Every night, that cat met me on the patio, no longer crying for my attention because she always knew I was coming. Instead of pawing at the glass, she simply sat and waited until I opened the door and joined her outside or let her in the house. For the next few hours, she would rest on my lap, and I would ignore how hot she made me as I ran my hand over her fur and let the hours of the night slip away.
I hesitated to ask, but I had to know. “What’s she look like?”
“I don’t know,” Gary said. “A cat. One of those tiger types, I suppose.”
Luna wasn’t a “tiger type,” so whoever Bitsy was crawling underneath bushes looking for wasn’t the same cat whose fur gathered on my nightgown each night, leaving traces of her presence.
Gary turned toward his house, cupped his hands around his mouth, and
bellowed for his wife. It took a few calls before Bitsy heard her husband. She hesitated at first, but when he waved for her to come, she obeyed.
As Gary introduced Henry to his wife, Bitsy wiped her hands across her apron, rubbing until she thought she had wiped away all traces of dirt. Once they shook hands, Bitsy withdrew behind Gary and looked back at the house, eyes still searching for any sign of movement.
“I wanted to get back to what we were talking about earlier,” Gary continued. “About your company.”
“Yes.” Henry turned to me. “Did you know Gary’s an architect, too?”
Oh, had I forgotten to tell him that?
“You mean a project manager?” I asked. I watched for Bitsy to react to see if she remembered our conversation over spades. Nora had thought I had been too hard on her that day. But Bitsy didn’t react, perhaps ignoring us, ignoring me.
Henry looked at Gary, who clarified, “Well, I suppose, yes, for the moment. I want to get back to the drafting side of things.”
“And…” Apparently, this guy wasn’t telling Henry all that Bitsy had said over cards, so I clarified. “You’re in commercial.”
“At the moment, but like I said, I’m open to change.”
“Yes, sure, sure,” Henry said. I knew that phrase, the politeness covering for the truth that he didn’t really want to do what he was being asked. “I can pass your name along to Alice.”
There was that name again. Heat prickled up my arms despite the breeze that blew cool across them.
“If you wouldn’t mind putting in a good word.”
“Yes. I’ll see—”
“Well, I’d be ever so grateful.”
Hoping to rescue Henry from this favor, I turned toward Bitsy. “Is
Katherine feeling better?”
She didn’t hear me at first, not until Gary tapped her on the shoulder, and she looked from their house to me. “What? Oh, yes. Better.”
I waited for her to ask about us, waited to be able to say that Wesley was now ill thanks to her, but instead she looked across the street, her curled bangs fluttering in the breeze. She didn’t acknowledge the fact that she had brought a sick child into our house. Or that she had grossly overreacted to their play in the yard—like my home was unsafe for her daughter.
“That’s good. Maybe once Wesley is better, they can play again.” I emphasized the word for her, trying to convey my annoyance, but she didn’t respond. Before I could stop myself, my words turned sour. “Although, I know you weren’t much of a fan of their games, so maybe it’s better if they didn’t.” I crossed my arms, and Henry’s eyebrows rose in shock.
“If the kids want to play, I’m sure it’s fine.” Henry chuckled nervously, shooting a look at Gary.
Bitsy’s gaze finally found mine, vacant, staring, as if she didn’t know what I meant. All of them waited for me to explain myself.
“They were just playing some game the other day,” I began, “but Bitsy seemed bothered by it.” I suddenly felt like I was tattling.
Henry leaned in to me and whispered, “Does this matter right now?”
He was probably right. I probably shouldn’t have brought it up, especially not when we were in the middle of meeting our new neighbor. But that woman had a way of getting under my skin, and as she stood silent in our driveway, I was the one who looked like a fool.
“It probably doesn’t,” I relented. I hadn’t bothered to tell him about any of this that afternoon. But when would I have told him? The only time I saw him anymore was at the dinner table, and I wasn’t going to bring it up in front of Wesley. Any other time, Henry was at work or in his home office.
Then Bitsy finally spoke, her voice barely squeaking out above the breeze.
“They weren’t where I told them to be.”
“They were around the side of the house,” I explained.
“Not on the patio.”
Gary cleared his throat and stepped in front of his wife as he extended his hand to Henry. “You know kids.” Gary rolled his eyes, his gaze pinned to Henry as if replacing the word kids with women.
“You’re right. They were playing a game and got carried away,” I said. “It was something Katherine suggested, something about Wes needing to be her taxi driver because her aunt was sick and her mom was gone, and she wanted to find them.”
The Betsers looked at each other. Bitsy’s eyes darted away first, but I saw her hand go to her mouth as she turned away from us and tried to hide in Gary’s shadow.
“Where do kids come up with this stuff?” Gary chuckled. Then he shook Henry’s hand and said, “Well, anyways, sure was nice to meet you. We should be going now.”
The man in the crew socks and shorts that hiked up above his belly button didn’t say anything to me. Instead, he turned to his wife, grabbed her by the elbow, and led her across the street as the sprinkles turned to fat drops that gave way to a steady, soaking rain that washed over all of Greenwood.
