Vital Signs. Bobby Hutchinson
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called twice before. I thought your shift was over at seven.”
“Hi, Mom.” Hailey wished, not for the first time, that she’d gotten call display. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to her mother; it was just that she’d rather choose the times it happened, like Christmas and Easter.
“How you doing, Mom?” Hailey ignored the questions, knowing that Jean really didn’t expect an answer. “How come you’re calling this late?”
“It’s Laura. She was over yesterday, and something’s not right with her.”
Hailey rolled her eyes heavenward. As far as she knew, her sister’s problems were primarily whether or not to fire the gardener, change the living-room sofa, or enroll Hailey’s niece and nephew in yet another extracurricular activity. Poor little mites. At seven and nine their lives were already as regimented as Margaret would like the peds ward to be.
“Have you talked to her recently, Hailey?”
“Not for a couple of weeks.” That was about par for her and Laura. The last time Hailey had called, it was on impulse one Saturday morning. She’d wanted to take Christopher and Samantha to the Greek food fair. Of course it hadn’t been possible; they’d had karate and swimming lessons. Sometimes she suspected Laura of deliberately keeping the kids busy so they wouldn’t be overexposed to their whacko aunt. Christopher had once told her that’s how his father referred to Hailey. Chris, bless his heart, had wanted to know if “whacko” had something to do with boxing.
“Well, I wish you’d give her a call—see if she’ll open up to you. There’s something wrong with her and I can’t put my finger on it.”
Open up? What planet did Jean live on? Laura hadn’t opened up to Hailey since she’d gotten her first period at the age of twelve, when Laura had been kind enough to explain sex and the connection to babies. Hailey had already known, but she didn’t let on.
Her stomach rumbled, and she remembered she hadn’t eaten since lunch, and then it had been a tuna sandwich gulped on the run.
“Look, Mom, can I call you in the morning? I’ve just come home and I need to make some dinner. I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving. God knows where you put it, although you could stand to gain a few pounds. In the right places, of course. You will give Laura a call, won’t you?” Jean was nothing if not persistent. And consistent. She’d been on about Hailey’s weight, or lack of it, for years, as if the proper diet would pump up her boobs to a 36C and shorten her nose.
A wave of irritation washed over Hailey. She could probably tell her mother she was dying, and Jean would wonder what effect it was going to have on Laura. It had always been Laura, but then, in all fairness, Laura was the daughter who looked like Jean, whose values coincided with her own. They actually had serious discussions about things like leg waxing and facials and anti-aging cream.
Hailey wondered sometimes if the balance of attention would have been more even if her father had lived, but Ed Bergstrom had thoughtlessly died of a heart attack when she was eleven, leaving her alone with an alien species.
“I’m worried, Hailey. Do you think maybe she’s sick or something and just doesn’t want to tell us?”
“She’s fine, Mom.” Hailey heaved an exasperated sigh. “She’d tell you if anything was wrong with her.”
But Hailey wasn’t fine. She was starving, and her mother wasn’t giving up. God, anything for a little peace and some food.
“Look, Mom, I’ll call her. Not tonight, but soon. And yes, I’ll try to get her to talk to me about what’s bothering her.”
She hung up and muttered in a sarcastic tone, “And how are you, Hailey? What’s going on in your life? Any news about that adoption thing yet?”
The truth was, not much new was going on in her life, so maybe it was a good thing Jean didn’t care enough to ask.
She didn’t really believe that, Hailey admitted as she put water on to boil for pasta and found some fresh garlic and the jar of sun-dried tomatoes in the fridge, but it was some comfort.
It was better not to have Jean prying into her life, she told herself as she pulled wilted spinach out of the vegetable bin and tore it up for salad. What if she got on that kick again about finding Hailey a nice guy and getting her married off? Jean had driven her nuts about it there for a while two or three years ago. She’d tried to line Hailey up with the least likely candidates: loser sons of the people who worked with Jean in the doctor’s office; patients, for God’s sake; even a dentist Jean had gone to for a root canal. The dentist hadn’t been bad in bed, but after a while Hailey got sick of hearing about molars and incisors and bicuspids, especially right after sex.
Thankfully Jean had given up.
Not that Hailey had done any better on her own. Her last date had been…when? She calculated in her head. It would be about six months ago now, and even at the time, she knew Norman Patino wasn’t anybody’s idea of an eligible bachelor. But he was male and alive and breathing, and he’d shown some interest in her.
But then she’d gotten to know him better. Or worse. It was one thing for a guy to be overweight and balding—that she could overlook. After all, she was no beauty queen herself. But for him to also be arrogant, self-centered and downright cheap was too much even for somebody who was desperate.
And she had been desperate when she dated Norman, Hailey thought as she assembled her meal and sat down at the kitchen table to eat it. She’d been going through a spell when she wanted to get married and have a family so badly she was willing to compromise in all sorts of ways. But even she had limits. Norman bored her cross-eyed and expected her to pay for dinner once too often, and she’d finally realized she was worth more than the compromises she’d been making. It had been satisfying to dump him, and both maddening and sad to hear him blame the failure of their relationship totally on her. He’d accused her of being fussy, which would have been funny if it wasn’t so damned sad.
The pasta was good, and she ate her way through a heaping bowlful and then a second. After she put the dishes in the sink, she checked her telephone messages. There was only one, and it made her smile with delight. It was from her paternal grandmother, Ingrid Bergstrom.
CHAPTER THREE
INGRID DIDN’T WASTE time saying all the usual things like hello, how are you, even in a phone message. She simply started off where their last conversation had ended.
“So I went to the community center like I said I was going to, to register for that French course, but the lineup was a mile long, and there was another course being offered in belly dancing, so I signed up for that, instead. It’s still multicultural, don’t you think?” Ingrid giggled, the wicked, wild giggle that Hailey loved.
“Sam loves the idea,” Ingrid went on, “so now I’m going to buy myself some silk shawls and those things you use with your fingers—zills, I think they’re called. Phone me when you get a chance. Maybe you could come for brunch tomorrow if you’re still on that one-to-nine shift. Don’t worry if it’s late when you call. I’ve told Sam I’m staying up to read that last murder mystery you loaned me. Man, that woman can write.”
Among other things, Hailey had inherited Ingrid’s voice. As she listened to her gran’s husky tones move from one octave to another, she remembered once in school hearing her own voice on a tape recorder and being astounded and thrilled because it was exactly like Gran’s. It was the first time she’d ever liked anything about herself.
Hailey dialed the familiar number and Ingrid answered immediately.
“Hey, Haileybop, tell me what’s going on over at St. Joe’s. Any new patients?”
Ingrid loved hearing about Hailey’s work. For several years now she’d been one of the volunteers who came to the newborn section to rock and cuddle babies.
Hailey gave her a rundown on