A Peach of a Pair Page 11

  “And that would be the first time she’s addressed me by anything other than girl,” Nettie said.

  “So, she’s still being a pill.”

  “Yes, but what she doesn’t know is that it makes me even more determined to do my job, because Miss Lurleen is a dear. Or maybe she isn’t but in comparison to her evil sister she seems to be.”

  “I take it Miss Emily didn’t fall asleep during her story today.”

  “No, something has her peeved, something her sister said to her. I’m sure I’ll pay for it later.”

  “Working yourself up like this isn’t good for you. How are you feeling?”

  “Tired.” She blew out a breath and took a swig of tea. “Really tired. One minute I want to cry, the next I want to scream.”

  “That’s normal.”

  “Well, thank goodness. Is wanting to strangle the life out of Miss Emily normal too?”

  “Yes, but in your condition I wouldn’t advise it,” Remmy laughed. He knelt by the swing and took her slender ankles and put them on the swing. “Keep your legs propped up and rest a bit. Doctor’s orders.”

  Just then Miss Emily pushed the screen door open. “Don’t tell me you’re forcing your worthless doctoring on this poor girl. Leave her be, Remmy Wilkes.”

  “I’ll see you in a few minutes,” he said to Nettie. She shrugged and pressed her glass of tea against her forehead and closed her eyes.

  At just over six-two, Remmy towered over Miss Emily. He pushed by her, eyes narrowed, testing his own restraint. He went straight to Miss Lurleen’s room and knocked on the door. “Remmy, is that you?” she called. She was sitting up in the bed reading the Bible. Her color was good. Breathing steady. Her face was definitely fuller thanks to the extra fluid that came with congestive heart failure.

  “Hey, Miss Lurleen. You all right?”

  “Well aside from the fact that I’m dying, yes. You always ask me how I’m feeling. Do I look particularly bad today?”

  “No, ma’am, on the contrary.” He took her pulse. A little high. “Except for some extra fluid, your color looks really good; you have a little spark in your eyes. Just trying to figure out what the difference is because whatever it is, you ought to do more of it.”

  “Well, I just lambasted my sister, if that’s what you mean. That’s why I’m sitting here reading the Bible and trying to repent. Honest to Pete, I love Emily, but she can unnerve me like nobody’s business.”

  Remmy laughed and nodded. “She can, but I suspect it’s just that protective streak of hers. Before I came to check on you, Miss Emily was fussing at me about bothering Nettie.”

  “And I was fussing at her about the way she’s treating Nettie, working her to the bone. Being mean. It’s shameful, and I told her I won’t have it.”

  Remmy checked her blood pressure, then listened to her heart. No change. “Your pressure is good, heart sounds good. Lungs, not so good. Are you still taking your water pills, your digitalis?”

  “Yes,” she clipped, and looked away.

  He pulled the covers back to see her ankles were swollen and painful looking. The opal ring she wore on her right hand was cutting into her finger. “How’s your appetite?”

  “Nettie’s a fine cook. I’ve been eating like a horse.”

  “And she’s following the no-salt diet?” The old woman blushed hard. “Miss Lurleen? You know salt will kill you.”

  “Maybe, but I’m not dead yet.”

  “All right, I’ll speak to Nettie about your diet.”

  “You try eating eggs without salt, Remmy, or anything that’s not sweet and good. But if you do speak to her, it’s not her fault; she didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to have this.” Miss Lurleen opened her bedside table drawer and pulled out a saltshaker that was three-fourths empty. “I stole it from my lunch tray one day and haven’t regretted it since.”

  “Well, I hope her giving you a salt block to lick isn’t the only reason you’re fond of her.”

  “No. She’s a nice girl, and I hope she’ll stay on after—after I’m gone.”

  “She is nice,” Remmy said, putting his stethoscope back in his bag. He rolled the blood pressure cuff up and tossed it in too.

  “After I’m gone, I want her to stay for Emily. And if she does—if she does, I want you to deliver her baby; I’ll instruct Emily to cover the cost.”

  Baby? So Miss Lurleen knew about Nettie’s condition. Could he treat Nettie Gilbert? Absolutely. But he didn’t know how she would feel about that, and he knew she’d be better off in the hands of a specialist. “Miss Lurleen, Nettie might feel more comfortable seeing a gynecologist, and Dr. May’s practice is growing; I hear she’s a very fine doctor.”

  “Well, whatever Nettie decides, I’m sure she’ll need to see someone soon. She hasn’t mentioned her condition to me, maybe she’s trying to hide it, but she can’t hide it forever. And I want her to be healthy, and the baby, of course. That’s why I ordered Emily to be nice, to go easier on her. She really is a dear.”

  “Funny, she said the same thing about you.” Remmy smiled.

  “Will you talk to her about seeing a doctor?” Miss Lurleen reopened her Bible.

  “Of course.” Tonight. When he was sure they’d be alone, he would. Even if it meant it would send her running again.

  NETTIE

  I’d begged off earlier when Katie called asking if I wanted to meet her at one of the restaurants on Broad Street for supper. She made me promise I’d come to dinner next Sunday at her house and said she wouldn’t take no for an answer. As much as I liked her and would have welcomed having someone closer my own age to talk to, I was too tired to do anything other than work all day and flop in the bed. Well, except for visiting with Remmy. I was surprised at just how much I anticipated his next visit, which was probably very un-Justine-like, but I’d given up on being a vixen.

  I liked it when he came to see me, not Miss Lurleen, who really was sweet, and certainly not Miss Emily, who had drawn in her claws after her conversation with her sister earlier. And yes, with the bathroom door open and hunched over the toilet, I’d heard a little of their conversation, but the moment Miss Lurleen called her sister a bitch, I stopped eavesdropping and closed the door. When Miss Emily emerged from the bedroom, she pushed the door open and gave me a look. I sure she was going to fire me on the spot. But she’d gone straight to her chair for soap opera time, and that was more than fine by me.

  By dinnertime, she was much less combative, and even complimented the Apple Betty I’d made when I took it out of the oven. But the best part of Miss Emily laying down her cross was that Miss Lurleen rewarded her by coming out of her room for dinner. Of course she was completely out of breath and nearly collapsed at the kitchen table, but there the three of us were, enjoying a fine meal of chicken-fried steak and gravy and an array of lovely vegetables Miss Emily canned over last summer.

  “Nettie,” Miss Lurleen began. “You’re a wonderful cook. Everything you’ve made has been delicious.”

  Her inflection implied there was a but coming. I was no stranger to criticism; every time I played for my instructors, I anxiously awaited their thoughts on how to make the piece better and, of course, how wonderful I was, which sounds conceited but is not. Every artist, or at least the ones I knew, thrived on accolades, but it was the ones who continued to better their craft beyond the accolades who were the true musicians.

  However, my cooking was an entirely different story. I wasn’t always gifted in the kitchen like I was at the keyboard. Even if I became the personal chef for the president of the United States, there were many past trials and even more errors that had given way to family jokes back home that would never die. So, I was a little sensitive about my cooking.

  “Yes ma’am?” I set my fork down.

  “Oh, honey, don’t look so dejected.” Miss Lurleen put her hand on mine. “I wasn’t trying to
say the food is bad.”

  “She’s saying it’s going to kill her,” Miss Emily snapped, and after a stern look from her sister, she added, “dear. It’s the salt.”

  “Yes, well, my sweet sister could have told you, but, apparently, she was trying to kill me too. Otherwise, she would have, but Remmy says I have to lay off the salt. And, as much as I’ve loved having it the past few days, surprisingly even more so than sugar, you should probably cook without it, and you and Emily can add it to your plates as you see fit.”

  “Oh, Miss Lurleen.” I put my napkin on the table, unable to eat another bite knowing I’d almost killed that sweet lady. “I’m so sorry. I’ll throw the box out to make sure I don’t add it out of habit.”

  “No you won’t. Lurleen has to watch her consumption. There’s no need for the rest of us to fall on her sword,” Miss Emily said, punctuating her words with the saltshaker. “And you finish your dinner. You’ll need your strength.”

  “Because we’re giving you the day off tomorrow,” Miss Lurleen said. Miss Emily jerked her head around at her sister, eyes bugging out. “Emily and I both feel like you deserve it. Don’t we, Emily?”

  “I suppose,” she said tightly.

  I’d seen the list of chores Miss Emily had made. It was four and a half pages long, and some things were repeated as many as three times at various places on the list, like she’d forgotten she’d already added them. There were only two pages left, and you can only steam iron unmentionables so many times.

  Oddly enough, the piano was not on the list, but then it already gleamed. It called to me, begging me to sit at the keyboard and play. I gave in once and touched the upper keys, but nothing happened. Just the dull thud of the hammer missing the brass strings altogether. Why would someone, presumably Miss Emily, take such good care of the outside but never the inside? This morning, before Miss Lurleen enforced the peace, Miss Emily caught me running my hand across the keys, but not pressing them. Right away, her stern look told me the piano was off-limits.

  “Why don’t I finish up any chores you have for me, Miss Emily, and then take Sunday afternoon off?”

  “You’re such a gem, Nettie.” Miss Lurleen squeezed my hand.

  “Yes, isn’t she,” Miss Emily said dryly. “Now eat.”

  • • •

  I should have cared that Remmy Wilkes was coming calling, about how I looked or what I wore. I did, however, bathe out of common courtesy because I smelled to high heaven after attempting to turn over Miss Lurleen’s garden by hand. When the head of the hoe finally broke off in the harsh clay, I almost got down on my knees and kissed the ground. Knowing full well that chore would be added to tomorrow’s list, I didn’t.

  After a long soak in the sparkling-clean bathtub, I slipped on an old pair of blue jeans with a white cotton T-shirt and combed out my wet hair before taking my place on the porch swing. Perhaps I didn’t care about my appearance because I felt comfortable with Remmy or because the porch was unlit. But there was no compulsion to impress him; he was just a friend who came calling, albeit after dark.

  I saw him coming down the sidewalk, walking briskly, fading in and out of the light from the full moon that filtered through the clouds and ancient oak trees. Dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, he looked younger than he did in the crisp white shirt and black tie he normally wore. He waved at the dark porch, though I wasn’t sure he could see me.

  “Hey, Nettie,” he drawled, bounding up the steps. I stood and for a moment it felt like he was going to kiss my cheek, but he didn’t.

  “Hey, Remmy,” I breathed. We sat down in the swing, a switch from him sitting in the rocker across from me. “How was your day?”

  “After I left here? Busy. Katie had me on a bunch of house calls. I finished up with my last patient at the office about an hour ago. Went home, took a shower, and came right over.” He moved the swing back and forth slowly.

  “You didn’t eat? I bet Katie wasn’t happy about that,” I said, letting him control the rhythm.

  “My sister is not my keeper, though she sure as hell thinks she is. It’s good to shake her up every now and then to remind her of that.”

  “By missing a meal?” I asked. “There’s probably a better way, like flat out telling her.”

  “I tell her all the time, but like most women, she hears what she wants when she wants.”

  “I should be insulted, but it seems wrong to punish you for being right. I made a lovely Apple Betty; would you like some?”

  “Sounds good,” he said.

  I opened the screen door, taking care it didn’t bounce in the jamb as neither of the sisters seemed to have a hearing problem. Although with Miss Emily upstairs and Miss Lurleen in the back bedroom downstairs, it was doubtful they’d hear anything anyway. While I was doing nothing wrong with Remmy Wilkes, moving stealthily through the house, it felt that way. I eased the refrigerator door open, pulled out the pan, and scraped a generous serving into a bowl. I didn’t bother with the horrible store-bought ice cream like Miss Emily and Miss Lurleen had with their desserts at suppertime. However I did pour him a glass of milk to wash it down.

  Remmy was standing by the door when I returned, opened it for me, and took the bowl and cup, returning to the swing. I sat down beside him, knees pulled up to my chest, smiling as he devoured the dessert. In less than two minutes, he set the empty bowl on the table beside the swing and started on the milk. “You were hungry,” I said.

  “Didn’t think I was, but it was really good.”

  “Thanks.”

  He raked his hands across the tops of his thighs. “So, how are you feeling?”

  My laugh was soft and unintentionally flirty. “Why do you keep asking how I feel?”

  “Aside from the fact that I’m a doctor and that’s what I do?” The scant light revealed the faint outline of his face and a smile that made me wish the light from the hallway wasn’t so stingy, because I really wanted to see Remmy Wilkes, smiling, relaxed, looking at me.

  “Yes,” I said, “aside from that.”

  “I don’t know, Nettie; you’re smart and funny.”

  As much as I didn’t want or need any kind of romantic involvement, I liked Remmy Wilkes. “Really? I could say the same thing about you.”

  “I like you,” he said simply.

  The words wound tight around me, terrifying and exciting me in equal measure. “Oh.”

  He laughed, easing the tension until he took my hand, making my pulse skyrocket. “Relax, Nettie. Liking you is not a bad thing.”

  It wasn’t bad; it was just foreign. Having another man hold my hand, move me with just a few words. Part of my brain said to say good night right then and there and send Remmy Wilkes on his way. The other part of my brain echoed back: Remmy Wilkes was beautiful and good. “No. It’s not a bad thing,” I said, unwinding my legs so that my bare feet were on the floor.

  I have no idea where the notion came from. I suspect it was there since the day I met Remmy, but I thought I would die if I had to live another second without knowing what it felt like to kiss him. And in the most forward moment of my life, I leaned in and touched my lips to his. He let go of my hand and threaded his hands in my hair and took control of the kiss, our tongues tangling, our breath in perfect rapid time. I was shocked to the bone at how very much I liked kissing a man who was not Brooks Carver, or more precisely a man who was Remmy Wilkes.

  I moved closer for more. He pulled me onto his lap and slid his hand to my bottom to hold me in place. I was breathless when we pulled apart and he pressed his forehead to mine. “Nettie,” he whispered. “We have to talk.”

  Even though I’d had little to no experience with men, I was reasonably sure no good conversation ever began with those words. I scooted back to my side of the swing and drew my knees up to my chest again.

  “And that’s not a bad thing either,” he said, taking my han
d. “We’ve already established that I like you. It should be obvious that I’m attracted to you, and if it’s not, let me just say that you’re gorgeous, and I am very much attracted to you.”

  His conciliatory tone made my stomach dip. “But you’re holding my situation against me. Aren’t you?”

  “Up until a few seconds ago, I was holding you against me, so no. But your situation does matter to me.”

  I jerked my hand away. “My situation is none of your business, Remmy.”

  “Maybe. But it matters to me. You matter to me. What I’m trying to say is, with the baby coming—”

  Good God, was there no way to escape my sister and her infamous child? “The baby isn’t your concern, Remmy.”

  “But I am worried about you, and I feel guilty that I’m partly responsible for putting you in a place where you’re being worked to death. In your condition, you should—”

  “In my condition?” What? Deserted? Scorned? Wait? My condition? “I’m not expecting, Remmy, if that’s what you’re implying,” I bit out. “But my sister is, with my fiancé’s baby, or my ex-fiancé.”

  There was a throbbing in my ears, my own heartbeat racing like a freight train. And if I could have pulled up the floorboards, I would have slid underneath the porch with the spiders and God only knew what else to escape Remmy Wilkes and the pity I felt radiating off of him.

  “Nettie, I’m so sorry.” He reached for my hand again, but I jerked away. “From what your roommate and some of the other girls at the college said, I just assumed—”

  “Incorrectly.”

  “Yeah.” He leaned back in the swing and blew out a deep breath. “Okay. Yeah, I’m an idiot, but I have to be honest, I’m more than relieved.”

  “That I’m not knocked up?” I bit out.

  “The world isn’t kind to unmarried girls who are expecting.” Ah, but Sissy had managed to remake the world so that it revolved around her and her baby. “I’ve seen it, and I didn’t want that for you.”