"You're charging me?" he asked in an outraged voice.
Apparently, he hadn't considered this until now. "It's our policy to charge for office visits, so in a word, yes. I'm charging you. Or Medicare, as the case may be."
"You got to be kidding! No wonder people say no good deed goes unpunished."
I listened to his heart. "Not bad," I told him. There was a strong, steady beat. I listened again, then moved the stethoscope around to his back. "Take a deep breath," I instructed. His lungs, too, sounded fine.
"I'm doing all right," he muttered when I checked his reflexes. "I've decided I'm not dying."
"Glad to hear it."
"Well, not yet, anyway. Those chest pains? They went away. Must've been indigestion from eating cat food." I couldn't suppress a grin.
"I'd like to run a couple of blood tests," I said. "Just to make sure your latest self-diagnosis is correct." I now suspected his fainting spells had been caused by hypoglycemia and I wanted to confirm that.
"No way."
"You afraid of giving me a little blood, Harvey? If you do it, you'll get a sticker for your forehead and a lollipop."
He didn't respond for a moment, then sighed in resignation. "Why didn't you say so earlier?"
"Good boy." As I said it, I had a clear memory of the time he'd called me "boy" and how I'd felt about it.
"I'm a long way from being a boy," he grumbled.
"Uh-huh." I patted him on the back and helped him off the examination table, aiding him with his balance. "Didn't you tell Macy you're in your second childhood? Just think of this as your annual checkup before you hit puberty."
He grumbled again, but I could tell he was amused. And he did let Linda take his blood.
The next morning when I met Ritchie at the gym, I knew it was a mistake to say anything about Macy. But I hadn't slept well, and when he prodded me about that, I blurted it out.
"She's back?" my brother-in-law said, half jogging, half running on the treadmill.
I pretended I hadn't heard him, running at my own pace. We were on machines that stood side by side.
"You talked to her?"
"No. I don't plan to, either."
Ritchie slowed his speed. "You honestly intend to stay away?"
"Yup."
To my surprise, he didn't have an automatic comeback. I glanced over at him and saw that he was studying me.
"I don't get it, man."
"What don't you get?" I was foolish enough to ask.
"You. Macy disappears and you moon after her for weeks. In case you aren't aware of it, you were miserable and you made everyone else miserable, too."
"I apologized for that." Unfortunately, Ritchie had been on the receiving end of my bad mood for much of that time. Fortunately, however, he's a good friend and he put up with me.
"Yeah, you apologized, but it wasn't enough."
"What more do you want?" I asked. This was probably going to cost me.
"One thing."
"Okay, name it."
"Ask yourself what Hannah would want you to do."
I stopped running and nearly lost my balance as the treadmill shot me backward. At least I had the presence of mind to grab the handlebars.
"That was below the belt," I muttered.
"Think about it," Ritchie said.
What would Hannah want me to do? Good question.
Well, she'd just have to tell me.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Winter and Pierre were sprawled at opposite ends of the leather sofa in her condo. Their feet met in the middle and they both had cookbooks propped on their laps.
Winter dropped her book on the floor with a thud. "What about a cold avocado soup for lunch?" It was early Sunday afternoon, a lazy summer Sunday with flawless August weather.
"Blended with buttermilk?" "And fresh lime juice," Winter suggested. "Add a little salt, and ooh-la-la!"
"Sounds delicieux. But--" he raised his eyebrows "--the soup might be too thick, depending on how much avocado you use."
"Ah." Winter nodded. "I have a secret ingredient."
Pierre's cell phone rang and he reached inside his pocket.
Winter could tell from the way he stiffened that it was bad news. He listened for a few minutes, then stood and walked over to the window. He started pacing, back and forth, back and forth.
She sat up and watched him.
Frowning, Pierre swore and snapped his cell phone shut before shoving it in his pocket.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"I work with a group of imbeciles," he shouted. "Where do they find these people? I would assume I could have one day off, but, oh, no." He stormed into the kitchen. "Where is my book?" he demanded. "Mon cahier?"
"What book?"
"The one I had with me earlier, of course. My book."
Winter didn't think it was her responsibility to keep track of his book. Besides, it wasn't really a book, but a notebook, one he always carried with him.
"Pierre."
"Can't you see I'm in a rush?"
She inhaled and closed her eyes. This was a telling moment. She could respond with anger or she could remain calm. Her instinct was to return tit for tat, but experience told her that would only exacerbate the problem.
She walked into the kitchen, where he was tossing papers to and fro, searching for his "book."
"Let me help," she offered.
"Did you hide it from me?"
Normally she'd be infuriated by his ridiculous accusation. Instead, she laughed.
He turned and regarded her suspiciously.
"Is this what you're looking for?" she asked, holding up his notebook. He'd left it on the table in plain sight.
He grinned and put out his hand. She held the notebook out of reach. "It's going to cost you."
A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes and then faded. "Our Sunday afternoon is ruined."
"There'll be other afternoons."
Pierre threw his arms around her. "Thank you."
"No, thank Alix's mother-in-law."
"Her mother-in-law?"
"Never mind," she said, touching her lips to his.
He left shortly afterward, and Winter settled back on the sofa. For the past six weeks, she and Pierre had been dating. This time, they hadn't made the mistake of moving ahead too quickly.
During the initial meeting after their three-month break, Pierre had been guarded and brusque. He seemed determined to end their relationship until Winter had coerced him into trying the exercise Alix had taught her. When Pierre saw how he reacted to things that bothered him about Winter, his eyes, too, had been opened. Now, a month later, their relationship wasn't without problems, and breaking old habits required constant effort, but it was working. Winter was happier than she'd been all year.
She fell asleep on the sofa and was awakened by Pierre's kiss an hour later. She wrapped her arms around his neck and savored everything about him--his strong, solid body, his warm clean scent, the steady beating of his heart. "Mmm. This is a lovely way to wake up."
Pierre chuckled.
Winter's phone pealed in the background.
"Not again," Pierre moaned. "Don't answer it."
"Pierre, I have to. It could be important." She didn't remind him that she hadn't asked him not to answer his phone earlier.
He released her with obvious reluctance, and she grabbed the phone just before it went to voice mail.
"Alix is having her baby!" Lydia from A Good Yarn said excitedly. "She called a few minutes ago and she's in labor."
"I thought Jordan was supposed to call."
"He didn't, but you know Jordan when it comes to this baby--he can't think straight. Alix sounded a lot calmer than he did." Lydia laughed. "I could hear him in the background insisting she get off the phone, that they had to get to the hospital."
"Their baby's going to be one spoiled infant." Winter intended to do a fair amount of that spoiling herself.
"Right now Jordan's a nervous wreck," Lydia said.
"Of course he is. He's a first-time father and with what happened before--well, it's understandable." They talked a while longer and then Winter ended the conversation. "Thanks for letting me know. Call me if you hear anything and I'll do the same."
Pierre and Winter made the avocado soup, and it was as delicious as Winter had known it would be. Pierre laughed at her "secret ingredient," which was ice cubes. She added ten to the recipe, using the ice to both cool and thin out the avocado and buttermilk blend. She also added an extra cup of milk and served the soup with crumbled blue cheese.
Pierre made chicken curry sandwiches to complement it. Halfway through lunch, Winter set down her spoon and lowered her half-eaten sandwich to her plate.
"What's wrong?" Pierre asked. "Too much curry in the chicken?"
"No, it's perfect." Pierre was a master at gauging spices.
"Then what is it?"
"I'm worried about Alix," Winter murmured.
"Women have babies every day. There's nothing to worry about."
Winter hoped that was true. "It's just...a feeling I have." She stood and walked aimlessly around the kitchen. A moment later, she'd made a decision. "I want to go to the hospital."
"Mais, ce temps--c'est pour la famille. A time like this is for family," he translated.
"I am Alix's family. She doesn't have anyone except us-- the people of Blossom Street who love her."
Pierre considered her words, then slowly nodded. "Would you like me to accompany you?"
She nodded with relief. "I was hoping you'd offer."
"For you, my love, anything."
Winter put their dirty dishes in the sink while Pierre dealt with the leftovers. She collected her purse and they headed out together.
For some reason she felt less worried when they arrived at the hospital. Perhaps that was simply because she was doing something now, even if that something was just waiting in a different place. To her surprise she discovered the waiting room was full. She recognized Larry and Susan Turner, who were sitting across from Lydia Goetz and Casey, her thirteen-year-old daughter.
"Hi, Winter." Lydia smiled when she saw her. She was a lovely woman, a two-time cancer survivor whose petite, delicate beauty belied her emotional strength. "I told Casey you wouldn't be able to stay away, either, and I was right."
"Mom's always right," Casey said teasingly.
"And don't you forget it."
Winter knew that Lydia and her husband, Brad, had adopted the girl the year before. She'd started off as a foster child and, over the summer, the family had grown to love her. The girl had become close to Alix and often stopped at the cafe to chat with her. Casey must be anxious for news of the baby's birth.
"You all know Pierre, don't you?" Winter asked, stepping over to where the Turners had gathered.
Larry stood, and Pierre shook hands with Jordan's father. "We met at the wedding," Larry said. "This is our first grandchild," he added nervously.
"Bonne chance," Pierre said. "I'm wishing you the best."
"Would you two stop?" Susan said with a laugh. "Everything's going to be fine." She had a crochet project on her lap, and Winter could see that Casey had brought her knitting.
