Nine-Month Surprise. Jacqueline Diamond
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they were moving out of state had ticked off Allison, but since she’d visited the twins only sporadically in the two years since she’d run off with a guy who didn’t like children, she had to accept it.
Due to his commitments in Austin, they were moving less than a week before school started. Luckily, Will’s housekeeper had agreed to accompany them. Eileen McNulty was the answer to a single father’s prayer.
As his pager went off again, Will set down the cup and looked at the number. The delivery room. He had two patients in labor, so the summons didn’t surprise him.
His new position required working occasional evenings and weekends, but judging by his earlier visit, things were a lot quieter in Downhome, Tennessee. Moreover, Will’s office would lie only blocks from home.
True, the town lacked a hospital, so he’d have to perform surgery in a facility about twelve miles off. And he understood some candidates for the position had balked at the requirement that they handle occasional on-call duties for nonobstetric cases. Will figured he’d enjoy getting to know a range of townspeople, and he liked the idea of practicing old-fashioned community-based medicine.
No doubt about it, he mused as he left the doctors’ lounge. He was going to be much happier away from the stresses and temptations of Austin.
ALTHOUGH THE VISIT to Seattle proved a soothing relief after her experience in Texas, Leah returned without a firm job offer. She’d been impressed by the Rosewell Center, a private school for children with mild handicaps, special talents and emotional problems that made it hard for them to fit into regular classes. Given a nurturing environment and challenges tailored to their temperaments and abilities, the kids flourished.
“The staff at Rosewell said they might have an opening next semester,” she explained to her principal, Olivia Rockwell, who’d stopped by to catch up on the news. Eager to post the pictures and maps she’d gathered on her trip, Leah showed up six days before school started to work in the classroom.
“Can I be selfish and hope they don’t?” After finding a thumbtack, Olivia fixed a loose upper corner of a poster. The African-American woman was tall, with a commanding presence. In her mid-forties, Olivia had embraced maturity by letting her hair go dramatically white-on-black. “It does sound exciting, Leah, but we’d certainly miss you.”
“I have mixed feelings,” she admitted. A warm welcome home from her friends, including a swim party at the community center, had gone a long way toward reviving Leah’s spirits since her return three weeks earlier.
“How can you bear to leave all this excitement?” Olivia, who also served as principal of the adjacent high school, gave her a teasing grin. “They say our football team might beat Mill Valley’s for a change.”
“We’re known for our intellectual depth, not our brawn,” Leah replied, although she doubted most citizens, who placed great store in football victories, shared her opinion.
“Intellectual depth? Well, I do my best.” Olivia was being modest. Since moving here from Memphis fifteen years earlier, she’d made a tremendous difference in the town, as had her husband, Archie Rockwell, who owned the hardware and feed stores and currently served as mayor.
In addition to other civic activities, Olivia had organized a search committee—along with the police chief, Ethan Forrest, and Leah’s friend, Karen Lowell—to recruit physicians after the town’s two doctors, a married couple, had retired. Their first pick had been Jenni, who’d not only fit in beautifully but had fallen in love with Ethan.
“Have you been to Pepe’s Diner?” Olivia asked. “I heard they unveiled his new murals last night, but I haven’t had time to look.” The Italian restaurant had shed its old decor for the creations of a talented local artist.
“Oh! That reminds me. I’m meeting Karen there for lunch—” Leah glanced at her watch “—in ten minutes!”
“Better get a move on.” The principal stepped back to survey the room. “Those other cities do look beautiful, but remember, there’s no place like home.”
“I plan to come back for visits.” Leah would never give up her friends, or her aunt and cousin, who lived in town. Still, she had no siblings and her mother had died of cancer eight years earlier. Her father, who had remarried, lived in Denver.
“It won’t be the same. But I’m an old married lady with two kids. You couldn’t pry me loose from my roots for all the excitement in the world,” Olivia said. “Now you’d better ske-daddle or you might have trouble finding a table. The place will be crowded.”
“I don’t want to keep Karen waiting,” Leah agreed.
“Have fun!”
After collecting her purse, she hurried out, barely noticing the familiar August heat and humidity. The K-8 elementary school stood on a street with the funny name of Grandpa Johnson Way, after the town’s founder. Turning left, she passed the Snip ’N’ Curl salon, owned and operated by her aunt, Rosie O’Bannon. The windows featured blown-up photographs of town residents in stylish hairdos, which Leah preferred to the usual images of models.
On her right lay the old Johnson House, presently occupied by quarrelsome Beau Johnson, a member of the city council and the owner of the Tulip Tree Market. He’d never married, and had practically disowned his only relative in town, Yvonne Johnson, a nurse at the clinic who’d had a baby out of wedlock.
Farther down the street, Leah passed the weekly Gazette—edited and published by Karen’s brother, Barry—and the Café Montreal. She cut diagonally across The Green, a square park where the café’s owner, Gwen Martin, sponsored a monthly farmers’ market and craft fair.
On Tulip Tree Avenue, the town’s main thoroughfare, she blinked at the unusual sight of half a dozen people standing in line in front of Pepe’s Diner. That never happened.
“Is this because of the murals?” she asked her cousin Mark, a police lieutenant, who was waiting with Captain Ben Follows. Ben moonlighted as pastor of the Downhome Community Church.
Mark nodded. “Pepe won’t let anyone in to see the paintings unless they order lunch.”
“We’re in line for takeout,” Ben added. “I think Karen’s got a table for you.”
“Oh, good. Thanks!” It was a hot day to stand outside. Besides, Leah’s stomach had been bothering her all morning.
Slipping through the door, she found the interior cooled by ceiling fans, although noisier than usual from the capacity crowd. Scents of garlic and olive oil swirled around her, along with the unwelcome smell of fresh paint. The odors made Leah so dizzy she had to catch the back of a chair for balance.
As she adjusted, she scanned the murals that had replaced faded images of grapes and wine jugs. The artist, a talented young man named Arturo Mendez, had covered one wall with vibrantly colored images of proprietor Pepe Otero and his three grown children wearing baggy peasant-style clothes and picking grapes. On the opposite wall, the family was making wine in a vat while Pepe’s ex-wife, Connie, peered in through a painted window, her face a study in envy.
Pepe bustled over. “Karen is in the back,” he informed her with a trace of an accent from his native Argentina. “So, how do you like my pictures?”
“I love them,” Leah said. “You’re the talk of the town.”
“Not for long.” The compactly built, dark-haired man went on to explain. “Gwen is having the artist paint the walls of her café. The project is under wraps, just like mine was—you know Arturo’s artistic temperament.”
“I hope you’re not mad at her for stealing your thunder.” Pepe’s and Gwen’s establishments maintained a friendly rivalry.
“No, actually, we’re…going out.” He gave her a contented smile.
“Oh.” Leah hadn’t paid attention to town gossip this summer. Although pleased for the two restaurateurs, she felt sorry for