Homecoming in November (The Calendar Girls Book 3) (21 page)

“Hey, snookums,” she greeted me when I answered. “Everything go okay last night? We were worried about you. Josh kept driving around your block for about a half hour in case it turned out you needed reinforcements. All quiet today?”

I hadn’t looked yet this morning to see if any reporters remained. And I didn’t plan to. Today was Sunday, my day of rest—and independence. “Time will tell,” I told her.

“Got any plans this morning?”

Aside waiting to hear from Iggy? “No. Why?”

“A friend of ours opened up a new tea shop in town. I thought you, me, and my sister, Nia could go today. Do some dishing over a pot of Darjeeling and the lightest lighter-than-air pastries you’ve ever tasted.”

“Dishing?” My suspicion antenna rose. Did she think I was gonna tell her all the nasty secrets I didn’t reveal to Cole last night? “Listen, Paige, I’m sure you mean well, but—”

“Oh, God, I’m sorry. No! I don’t mean it like that! Crap. I’m sorry. My brain is still swimming in last night’s wine. I meant, we’d dish about guys and how we don’t spend enough time at the gym, and where’s a good place for buffalo chicken wraps. That kinda stuff. I swear, I didn’t mean anything else. Honest. Please believe me, I would never—”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” I had to stop her before she made me dizzy. The woman could chatter like those old teeth a person could wind up and let loose across a kitchen table. “What time do you want to go?”

“Nia and I will pick you up in two hours. Is that enough time?”

To do what? Paint my house? I glanced at the clock. “Yeah, sure. I’ll see you at eleven.”

“Great. We’ll have a blast, I promise. Nia’s nothing like me, but just like me at the same time. You’ll see what I mean when you meet her. And Terri, who owns the tea shop? She’s had a rough time the last few years so we really wanna show our support by patronizing her new venture ‘til it’s on solid footing, you know? And did I mention the pastries? She’s got a real, honest-to-God French pastry chef working there. I swear every pound you’ll put on eating this stuff is so worth it—”

“Paige!”

“Huh? Oh, sorry. I tend to ramble sometimes.”

“Maybe you should switch to decaf.”

“Oh, God, no! I can’t abide the stuff. I’d drink lighter fluid first.”

I laughed. “Tea it is. I’ll see you in two hours.” I hung up and considered calling Iggy, but decided against it. There could be lots of reasons why I hadn’t heard from him yet, not all of them as serious as the one looming in the back of my head. He might still be at the hospital. He might be sleeping after spending all night there. Maybe he took Lucky for a walk and forgot to bring his phone with him.

I forced myself to stay busy by cleaning the kitchen, which, seriously, how dirty could it get? I live alone and work most days. I gave Midnight a much-needed brushing and came away with enough white fur to build my own polar bear. Still, no call from Iggy.

Eleven o’clock came too fast, and the knock on my front door startled me for a brief second before I regrouped and remembered. Paige. And her sister. Mia? Leah? Something like that.

I grabbed my purse and keys, double-checked that Midnight had a full water bowl, and opened my door.

Paige stood on my porch with a taller young lady with strawberry blond hair and lovely gold-green eyes. Both wore jeans and cable knit sweaters: Paige’s in silver gray, her sister’s a bright orange that set off her coloring to perfection.

“Good morning, cupcake,” Paige trilled. “You look delicious today. Jayne, this is my sister, Nia. Iggy’s boss. Nia, Dr. Jayne Herrera, new vet in town.”

“Hi,” Nia said. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same here,” I replied. “You’re Iggy’s boss?”

She shook her head. “Not what you think. Iggy works in my gift shop in town during the busy season. It’s more to help me out than actually working
for
me.”

Midnight meowed from his perch on the windowsill. “Oh, knock it off,” I scolded. “You won’t starve while I’m gone.”

“What a gorgeous cat!” Nia exclaimed. “What’s his name?
His
name?
Her
name?”

“His. Midnight.”

Nia burst into a fit of giggles. “Oh my God, that’s wonderful! He’s a real beauty.” She wiggled her fingers near the screen. “Hello, Midnight, you pretty boy.”

“Thank you.” I pulled my door closed and followed the sisters off my porch, but only reached the driveway before my cell rang. “Whoops.” I reached into my purse, pulled out the ringing phone, and saw Iggy’s name on the screen. “It’s Iggy. I should take this.”

Both ladies nodded, patiently waiting near Paige’s yellow convertible.

I turned away from them, facing my house again, to gain some privacy. “Iggy? How are you? What’s going on? How’s your mom?”

“She’s asking for you.”

I shook my head to clear the questions buzzing in my brain. A few escaped anyway. “Who? Your mother?” Why on earth would she ask for me? We only met once and I barely spoke to her. “Are you sure?” Maybe the language barrier worked against him. He
had
mentioned he wasn’t as fluent in Polish as his mother.

“Yeah.” He sounded adamant. “How soon can you get here?”

Curious and confused, I could only answer, “Ten minutes?”

“Great. Thanks.” His inhale whistled through the receiver. “Sorry. I’m being insensitive. How are you? Everything go all right last night?”

“I had a good time. Your friends were great. And I think the vultures have taken off for meatier pastures. With luck, they won’t be back, but if they do return, I’m ready for them.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it all around.”

“How are
you
?”

“Tired. It’s been a rough night. She had another stroke yesterday, this one a lot worse. She’s gonna be here for a while. And, of course, she insists she’s fine and needs to get home.”

“I’m sorry. Can I bring you anything? Coffee? A bagel?” I was new to Long Island bagels, but understood their appeal and had already become addicted.

“No, thanks. Irenka and I hit the hospital cafeteria this morning. But, if you could, would you mind stopping at the house to check on Lucky? The poor dog’s been on his own since late yesterday afternoon. And I apologize in advance for the presents he’ll have left you.”

I smiled. “No worries. I’ve got a lot of experience in that area.”

“Yeah, I bet. I want to put in a doggie door as soon as I can, but time’s slipped away from me recently.”

And I was partially to blame for that. “Okay, so how do I get in? I assume you have a house key under a flowerpot or something?”

“Tool shed. In the backyard. Inside a rusty, old coffee can on the top shelf on the right side. Chock Full O’Nuts, I think. You know where I live, right? 88 Schooner Drive?”

“Uh-huh. You’re gonna have to add that to the ten minutes I originally said would find me at the hospital, though.”

“Thanks, Jayne. On behalf of my mother and my dog, thank you.”

“No sweat. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I hung up and turned to the Wainwright ladies. “Change in plans, I’m afraid.”

“Go,” Nia said with a wave of her hand. “Let us know later how his mom is.”

I nodded. “Will do.” After dropping my cell back into my purse, I grabbed my keys. First stop, Iggy’s tool shed.

I knew Iggy lived with his mother—a common situation in a town that had experienced a sudden burst of celebrity in the nineties, causing the cost of real estate in the area to skyrocket. Middle-income families who’d lived in the small town for generations could no longer afford the cost of housing in the town where they’d grown up, gone to school, fallen in love, and dreamed of one day raising their own children. Thus, many residents remained in their childhood homes with aging parents. Even those who inherited the house were often forced to sell, thanks to the exorbitant property taxes.

The Zemski house was a charming Cape-Cod style with updated cedar siding and burgundy shutters and a second-floor extension. A gated fence blocked passersby from viewing the backyard, but when I stepped inside, I fell in love. The manicured property sloped downward from the back of the house to a rocky ledge, which ended at a stunning view of the harbor. Among the assorted boulders, stones and pebbles littering the ground, two enormous, perfectly flat on top, slate rocks sat catty corner to the edge, an ideal seat for watching the ships and sun travel over sea and sky respectively.

Transfixed, I sat on one and immersed myself in this peaceful scene. A ferry transporting travelers from Long Island to New England chugged by, emitting a long, sharp toot on its voyage into open waters. The sound startled me and put me back on my feet.

The trees were dressed in their finest autumn colors: golden gingkos, magenta maples, and soft green pines. The tool shed, a miniature rendition of the Cape Cod-style house complete with teeny windows, stood beneath the majestic boughs of a sturdy, ancient oak wearing sleeves of burnt orange.

Inside, the contents were organized in a tidy manner: shiny, well-maintained tools hung from hooks on corkboards. Items on shelves lined up in military precision. Once a Marine, always a Marine, I supposed. I found the yellow coffee can exactly where he said I would and, sure enough, the key lay inside on a coiled lanyard. I said goodbye to this outdoor paradise and climbed the lush grass—still brilliant emerald green—to the back door. The rattle of the key in the lock roused Lucky, who barked incessantly at me.

I pushed inside, and the pooch growled a warning at me. “Easy, boy. Remember me?” An occupational habit, I always carried dog treats in my car, and I’d taken the time to bring a few with me to win him over. Lucky wagged his tail after the first one and even allowed me to stroke him from head to haunches. “Look how great you look!”

He did. A few weeks with Iggy had done as many wonders with Lucky as they had with me. The dog had filled out a bit, though he was still far too thin for his breed. Thanks to Cara’s wash, cut, and blowdry,  the matting and scars of outdoor living were now a memory. Once I’d gained his trust, I let him outside to run through the backyard and surveyed the damage he’d left behind.

Luckily, he’d been limited to kitchen access only. The ceramic tile floor made the messes relatively easy to clean up.

Once I’d taken care of Lucky (and the piles he’d left in the Zemski kitchen), I pocketed the key, made sure he had food and water, and headed for the hospital. On the elevator, a family stepped in beside me with a heady bouquet of flowers in Dad’s hands. I silently cursed myself for not thinking to bring Mrs. Zemski some kind of gift, flowers or a book or something. When the doors opened on the sixth floor, I had a sudden urge to turn around and go back downstairs to the gift shop, but decided I’d wasted enough time already. If the lady wanted to see me, I shouldn’t keep her waiting while I dithered over overpriced flowers or the paperback rack.

“Jayne! Over here!” Irenka waved me toward where she stood, a few doors down the hall. When I drew nearer, she grabbed me in a hug. “Thanks so much for doing this. I imagine the request has made you uncomfortable.”

“Not really,” I replied. “More…curious, I guess.”

“Iggy didn’t tell you? She kept insisting she needed to talk to ‘Ignatz’s pretty lady.’”

“How is she?”

Irenka’s lips twisted in a grimace. “Ornery. Had us not only call you to come here, but our parish priest, as well.”

I gasped. “Oh my God. I didn’t realize—”

“She’s not that sick.” I must have looked shocked, because she added, “Oh, don’t get me wrong. She gave us quite a scare. It was a serious setback, but her doctor says she’ll be able to go home before Thanksgiving. Poor Iggy will have his hands full with her when that happens. I’m kinda hoping my husband will take a leave from work to stay with the kids so I can help out with Mom.” She took my arm. “Come on. Iggy’s in with her now.
With
the priest.” She muttered something I couldn’t decipher and led me past the nurse’s station where a handful of women chatted while looking through charts and arranging medical supplies.

Mrs. Zemski was in the bed closer to the door, and I was taken aback at my first sight of her since that night in the ER. She looked so frail and small in the hospital bed, an oxygen mask covering the lower half of her face.

“Jayne.” Iggy’s tone was a mixture of relief and gratitude. He rose from the chair beside her bed. “Thanks so much for coming.” He kissed my cheek, then introduced me to the other man in the room in his black robes with white lacey overlay. “This is Father Baucus.”

I shook the priest’s hand. “Father. Nice to meet you.”

He smiled and nodded. “Likewise.”

In the bed, Mrs. Zemski pulled her oxygen mask to one side and let loose with a raspy and rapid bit of Polish. Iggy shook his head. She spoke again. He argued, but within a few sentences, sighed his defeat. “She wants you to sit here with her and hold her hand.”

Was that all? “Okay. Sure.” I took the seat Iggy had vacated and reached a hand onto the bed to clasp the paper-thin woman’s fingers inside my palm.

As soon as I did so, Iggy settled the oxygen cone over her face. He then looked at the priest. “She wants us to leave and close the door behind us. She wants a few minutes alone with Jayne.”