Page 64 of Mountain Freedom
“Heard you had an interesting weekend,” she said as if it were a personal triumph. She plopped into the chair across from my desk, staring at me expectantly.
“Oh yeah? Which part?”
“The news is all over town. Russell Sharp? He could have killed you!” Her face practically lit up with glee.
And you would have likely danced on my grave.
“So I’ve been told,” I said, continuing to stare at my charts like they were the most interesting thing in the world.
“I also heard you had a fancy boyfriend visiting from the city. The girls said he’s a real sharp dresser and a big tipper.”
“Not a boyfriend,” I corrected, though I wasn’t about to tell her he was an ex. “A colleague. We went to medical school together. And how do you know all this anyway?” I asked, finally looking up.
She rolled her eyes. “There are no secrets in Rosemary Mountain.”
My eyebrows lifted. “Well, I’d say you’re wrong about that. But apparentlyI’mnot allowed to have secrets here.”
“If you don’t like it, you can always go back to the city,” she suggested with a glint in her eye before getting up and walking out, apparently realizing I wasn’t going to give her any more dirt. She popped her head back through the doorway for one final dig. “Rumor has it your boyfriend was begging you to come back to him. Might be the best move you can make, honey. Let’s face it. You’re never going to fit in here.”
I refused to dignify that with an answer.
Instead, I picked my phone up to ask Jackson if he wanted to meet for dinner, But I stopped, realizing I shouldn’t. His parents were in town. He’d be with them tonight, and if I messaged him, he’d feel obligated to invite me. I was dying to meet the people who had raised him, but the last thing I wanted was to infringe on their family time.
I didn’t want to eat at a restaurant alone, I was tired of takeout, and I barely had anything at the house. But if I made a quick grocery trip, I could throw together a nice dinner and even have leftovers for a few days. Maybe pasta with mushrooms and veggies, or a quick curry. I could be in and out of the store in ten minutes, Then I could go home, throw on some sweats, and have a leisurely dinner to recharge.
My “quick”grocery run stretched into half an hour. Instead of being the town outcast, I was now a celebrity of sorts. Multiplepeople stopped to tell me they were glad I was safe, had been meaning to come establish care with me, and would be sure to make an appointment soon. Apparently, Russell had been even more hated than my own father, and by making himself my enemy, he had aligned me with the town. It wasn’t how I had planned to win their acceptance, but I’d take it.
As I wheeled my cart to the checkout, I saw one of my current patients in line ahead of me: a pregnant woman who, from the looks of it, was grocery shopping in active labor.
“Trudy,” I said, tapping her on the shoulder. “Are you feeling okay?”
She turned to me, her face pinched and white. “Oh, hi, Dr. Bell. Just false labor pains, I think.”
I looked at her skeptically. “Are you sure?”
“Oh, sure, yeah. It’s too early for anything else.” She closed her eyes tightly, gripping the handle of her shopping cart as she breathed through a contraction.
“Right,” I said, searching my mental files for her due date. I couldn’t be sure without checking, but I thought she had told me the baby was due in September, which definitely made this too early.
However, my fears were confirmed when a sudden gush of water flowed from her skirt onto the floor.
“Oh, my,” she said, her eyes wide as she looked down and saw what had happened.
“You’re definitely in labor. We need to get you to the hospital,” I said gently.
“No.” She shook her head emphatically. “I’m going to check out my groceries. Then I’m going home and birthing this baby in my bed, the same way I’ve birthed all my babies.”
“Trudy,” I said, my stomach dropping, “You told me you’re due in September, right? I don’t want to scare you. But this is very concerning medically speaking. The baby isn’t fullydeveloped yet. It’s crucial we get you to the hospital. I assure you they have the best training and equipment and it’s the safest place for youandthe baby. I’ll drive you there myself.”
“No,” she repeated, grabbing my hand so hard I knew it would leave a bruise. She shook her head frantically. “If you want to help me, call Fiona. She’ll know what to do.”
“Fiona’s a midwife. You need a doctor—and a hospital.” I kept my tone firm, hoping to impress the seriousness of the matter on her.
She shook her head, closing her eyes as she braced against the pain of another contraction. “I’ll be driving home. Then I’ll call Fiona myself, since you refuse to be of any help to me. Thank you anyway.” The woman actually pushed her shopping cart forward in the line and started unloading it on the register belt.
Everything warred within me, but I couldn’t let her walk out to deliver that baby at home.
“Stop,” I said, rushing to her side. I looked quickly at the carts, making some mental calculations, and pulled a wad of bills out of my purse to hand to the cashier. “Can you take care of these groceries? Bag up both our carts. I’ll send someone to pick everything up. Keep the change.”
