Age Before Beauty (7 page)

She left the room, and Eric reluctantly met Allie’s furious gaze.

“I won’t take that from her, Eric.” Her whisper came out in a hiss. “I don’t care if she
is
your mother.”

His heart in the pit of his stomach, he leaned over and planted a kiss on the top of his wife’s head. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll speak to her tonight when I get home from work.”

Eric pulled his pickup into a space between the two vehicles already parked in the small 911 Dispatch Center lot. He paused at the door, watching the traffic drive past on Fourth Street. Motorists were behaving themselves today, no doubt due to the presence of a police car parked conspicuously midway down the hill from the Dispatch Center. Probably Officer Lewis. That was one of his favorite stakeout locations when it came his turn to use the radar gun.

“Good morning.” The other daytime dispatcher, Molly Green, called a greeting from the control room when he stepped inside.

“Hey, how’s it going?” He went into the small kitchen and stowed his lunch bag in the half-sized fridge. Plastic containers filled up the brown paper bag so he could barely close the top. One thing for sure—his lunches had been a lot more interesting the two days since Mother arrived. He stuck his head into the boss’s office on his way to the control room. She bent over her desk, a donut in one hand and a pen in the other. “Morning, Kathy. Everything okay today?”

She lifted her head from the paperwork in front of her to give him a distracted smile. “Fine. Quiet night, even quieter morning.”

Eric wisely didn’t comment on the donut, though just two days before, she’d mentioned that the doctor told her she needed to drop some weight or risk another heart attack.

“Hope it stays that way,” he said. “I could use a stress-free day.”

As he slipped into his chair and adjusted the brightness on the three big monitors on his desk, Eric thought how true that statement was. Coming to work today felt almost like a vacation. He’d rather deal with county disasters than get caught in the daggerlike looks flying around his house between Allie and Mother.

The radio squawked its familiar static for a second, then a voice said, “Four fifty-seven, ten-eight.”

After three years on the job, Eric knew the officers on the Danville police force by badge number better than by name. He glanced at the giant clock on the wall. Officer four fifty-seven—Chad Palmer—was a few minutes early for work this morning.

From the desk behind him, Molly acknowledged the transmission. “Ten-four, four fifty-seven. Have a safe day.” She swiveled her chair around to smile at Eric. “So did you figure out what you’re giving Allie for her birthday?”

Working in such close quarters, he and Molly couldn’t help but know most everything there was to know about each other. He’d worked second shift for the first three years. Shortly before Joanie was born, an opportunity finally came to move to first, and he jumped at it. He’d worked with Molly several times over the years, but after two months sitting three feet away from her for eight hours a day, he’d learned all about the challenges she faced as the single mother of two lively boys who always managed to be in trouble at school. And she knew he’d been trying to come up with the perfect idea for Allie’s birthday present.

“Yeah, I think so.” He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out the phone book. “She told me last night she wants some new clothes.”

Molly scrunched her face while she fiddled with a lock of dark hair that hung free from the ponytail she wore every day. “Never try to pick out clothes for a woman. It’s not a good idea. Maybe you ought to get her a gift card somewhere.”

He shook his head as he shuffled through the pages. “Too much like handing her cash. I made that mistake the first birthday we were together.”

The memory of Allie’s furious face hovered before his mind’s eye. How was he to know that the Sanderson family made such a big deal out of birthdays? In his family, a birthday meant cupcakes for the kids in his class and money to spend however he wished. Later on, the cupcakes disappeared, and the amount of birthday money increased.

But not in Allie’s family. They went all out for birthdays—sort of like Christmas, only just one person got presents. Lots of them. The gift certificate fiasco was not one he cared to repeat.

She had been so down on herself since the baby’s birth that he really wanted to give her something special, something that let her know he’d put a lot of thought into the selection. Something just for her, to make her feel good about herself.

The radio squawked again. “Four twenty-three, ten-seven.” Anderson, announcing he was coming off his shift and heading for home. A brief pause, and then Officer Baker’s deeper voice informed them that he was officially on duty with, “Three eighty-two, ten-eight.”

“Then I highly recommend jewelry,” Molly said before she acknowledged both transmissions.

“Nah, I got something better than that. The perfect gift for Allie.” Smiling to himself, Eric found the page he wanted and jotted down the number. He’d make the call when the radio settled down for the morning.

Allie slipped into her bedroom and shut the door with a quiet
click
behind her. She spread a baby blanket out in the center of the bed and placed her sleeping daughter on it. Then she positioned a pillow against the headboard and picked up the telephone on the nightstand. She dialed a number without looking it up.

“Danville Pediatric,” said a familiar voice on the other end.

“Hello, this is Allie Harrod.” She spoke quietly, with a quick glance at the closed door. Betty was in the guest room on the other end of the house, but Allie didn’t want her to overhear. “I need to speak with the nurse, please.”

“One moment.”

Classical music played in Allie’s ear as she sat on hold. She watched the baby sleep, the tiny nostrils flaring ever so slightly with each breath. Her gaze was drawn again and again to the terrible marks marring the tender skin around Joanie’s nose. No matter what Betty and Eric said, Allie didn’t think they looked like scratches. Those were welts of some sort, maybe hives. What if they were an indication of something terribly wrong? She could just see the doctor’s sad expression, shaking his head as he said, “If only we’d caught it early.”

A click on the line, and then a female voice. “This is Theresa Hutton.”

Ah, Dr. Reynolds’ regular nurse. Good. Allie straightened, leaning forward away from the pillow. “Hello, this is Allie Harrod. I’m worried about my baby.”

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Harrod.” The nurse’s voice was pleasant. “I have Joanie’s file right in front of me. What seems to be the problem this morning?”

“She has a terrible rash.” Her words tumbled over each other. “Or maybe hives. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s horrible.”

Nurse Hutton’s tone contained an ocean of tranquility. “Where is the rash?”

“On her face.” Allie leaned forward to get a better look at the marks. Was that another welt, a new one? Worry tightened her throat so her voice came out squeaky. “All over her face. And it’s spreading.”

“Does she have a fever?”

Allie had remembered to check. “No.”

“Is she eating well and wetting her diaper regularly?”

“Yes.”

“What about her breathing? Does it seem labored or at all difficult for her?”

Allie watched the infant a moment, the even rise and fall of her little chest beneath the cotton gown. “No, but I’m sure something is wrong. These hives are definitely not normal. And they’re spreading,” she repeated, just in case Nurse Hutton had missed that detail.

“Can you hold a moment? Dr. Reynolds just came in. I’ll ask what he advises.”

The classical music returned before Allie could voice a response. What would the doctor say? Maybe Eric was right. Maybe she was overreacting. But another glance at Joanie’s marred skin told Allie that she couldn’t risk doing nothing. Her anxiety mounting by the second, she tapped a finger on the back of the receiver pressed to her ear. The click of the nurse coming back on the line made her jump.

“Mrs. Harrod, Dr. Reynolds would like you to come by the office this morning. We’re pretty slow right now. How long will it take you to get here?”

A searing flash of alarm sent blood roaring in Allie’s ears. The doctor wanted to see Joanie immediately. He must think there was something wrong with her. Allie’s motherly instinct had been right!

An iron fist of fear squeezed her chest. If only it hadn’t been. “I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

“That’s perfect. We’ll see you then.”

For a second after the line went dead, Allie didn’t move. Then she sprang into action. Running into the closet, she kicked off her bedroom slippers and jerked a shirt off a hanger. A handy pair of sweatpants lay folded on the shelf, and she hopped up and down as she jammed her legs into them.

Shoes, shoes. Where were her shoes?

All over the place, that’s where. But Eric’s were arranged in a neat row on his side, so she shoved her feet into his sports sandals and tightened the straps as far as they would go. She dashed back into the bedroom and scooped Joanie off the bed, blanket and all, then ran to the nursery. Stuffing a handful of diapers from the stacker into the diaper bag, she slung the strap over her shoulder and whirled toward the door.

Betty stood in the hallway, a quizzical expression on her face. “Are you going out?”

Allie didn’t have time to explain. She didn’t want to hear any accusations that she was overreacting, either. “Yes,” she said as she zoomed past her mother-in-law. “Be back in a while.”

Scooping up her purse from the coffee table on her way through the living room, she rushed out of the house.

Faint strains of the same classical music Allie heard on the phone filled the doctor’s waiting room. She spoke to the girl behind the reception counter. “This is Joan Leigh Harrod. We don’t have an appointment, but Dr. Reynolds asked me to bring her right over.”

Sparkly lavender fingernails flew over a keyboard while the girl watched her computer monitor. “Has anything changed since your last visit? Address? Insurance?”

“No, it’s all the same.” It had been less than a week since they were here last.

In a moment, the printer beside the girl spit out a form, which she picked up and slid in front of Allie. She plopped a pen down on top of the paper. “Sign this, please.”

While Allie scrawled her name in the box at the bottom, the door beside her opened. Nurse Hutton stood in the doorway, a manila folder in her hands. “Come on back, Mrs. Harrod.”

Allie cast a glance around the waiting room. Joanie was being seen immediately, though three people had arrived before them. This must really be serious. She bit back a rising panic. What a birthday present. From now on birthdays would hold none of their former joy. They would always remind her of the day she discovered her infant daughter had contracted a terrible disease. The familiar medical scent of antiseptic mixed with rubbing alcohol tickled her nose as she stepped through the door.

“Come right back here,” the nurse said over her shoulder.

Allie followed her down a narrow corridor on the left. But the examination rooms were straight back, behind the reception desk. “Aren’t we going into one of the rooms?”

“No, the doctor would like to meet with you in his office. Right in here.”

She stopped before an open door on the left and waited for Allie to enter. The room was small, one whole wall covered with bookshelves and crammed full. A plain wooden desk, not nearly ornate enough for a doctor in Allie’s opinion, sat in the center, its surface covered with folders and books and loose papers.

“Have a seat. Dr. Reynolds will be just a minute.”

Allie selected one of two chairs in front of the desk and slid into it, Joanie nestled in her arms. Ignoring the alarm klaxons going off in her mind, Allie tried to think of a reason the doctor wouldn’t want to examine Joanie in one of the regular rooms. Her gaze scanned the crowded bookshelf. Maybe what Joanie had was so rare that he needed to compare her to a picture in a reference book?

Or maybe … Allie swallowed. Maybe he didn’t believe there was really anything wrong with her. Maybe the only reason he’d asked them to come in was because Allie had sounded panicky on the phone.

Maybe Eric was right.

“Good morning, Mrs. Harrod.” The doctor swept into the room and closed the door behind him. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

He smiled at her, looking over the top of his glasses as he tossed a folder on the cluttered surface of his desk. His doctor’s coat, with
Patrick Reynolds, MD
embroidered over the left breast pocket, was blindingly white, as always.

“Th-thank you for seeing us.” Suddenly she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to be here.

He held out his hands toward Joanie. “May I?”

Allie transferred the baby to Dr. Reynolds. He held her expertly, one hand supporting her neck and head, the other cupped beneath her diaper. Her feet, covered by the drawstring gown she wore, rested on his chest. “Good morning, little Miss Harrod.” He spoke in a soft voice, one Allie had noticed he reserved for babies and not their mothers. Wide eyed, Joanie stared at the face hovering above hers.

“Do you see those marks?” Allie asked. “All around her nose.”

He leaned against the edge of the desk and turned Joanie slightly in his hands, examining her face from all angles. Then he smiled down at her, and tucked her into the crook of his arm before facing Allie.

“Mrs. Harrod, there is nothing wrong with this baby.”

“But those marks—”

“Are scratches. It is not uncommon for infants to scratch themselves. It happens all the time. They try to get their fingers into their mouths and they miss. In your daughter’s case, it probably didn’t even hurt her or you would have heard her cry. Do you own a set of baby nail clippers?”

Allie gulped. Heat crept up her neck. “Yes, but I thought …” She stopped. She couldn’t go into what she thought. It sounded too stupid.

Dr. Reynolds’ smile was kind. “If you’re nervous about using them, you might consider infant mittens.”

Allie couldn’t meet his gaze. “Are you sure? What if you’re wrong?”