Page 49 of Chosen Path
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
Greg and Wendy Rockman’s kitchen
Friday morning
7:00 am
Kimberly clutched the dainty white mug. Wendy had done her best to host the last-minute breakfast. She’d gotten out the good china, polished her silver coffee carafe, cut up some fruit and had whipped up a batch of her famously inedible wheat bran muffins. Kimberly had tried to signal to Ron not to eat the muffins, but her husband was either famished or had missed the signal. Currently, he sat next to her, eyes bulging as he chewed and chewed and chewed. Some lessons had to be learned the hard way, she reasoned.
She sipped her coffee. “Thanks for all of this, Wendy. I know this was on short notice.”
“It was,” Wendy agreed. “Thanks for bringing the donuts.” She said it in a tone that suggested she didn’t appreciate the offering or the hosting duties in the least. Then she shot Greg a dark look.
Greg studiously avoided meeting his wife’s eyes by studying the strawberry on the end of his fork with such intensity that a person might think he’d never seen the fruit before.
Kimberly smiled broadly. “Those are the apple cider donuts Corrine was always raving about. Although it looks like Ron prefers your delicious muffins.”
Beside her, Ron made a soft choking noise.
“So, what’s this little meeting all about?” Wendy cut through the small talk. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I still need to make my dish for poor Nik’s luncheon this afternoon.”
Kimberly nodded, waited a somber beat out of deference to Nikolas, then got down to brass tacks. “Greg and I thought the four of us should talk before the funeral. In our official capacities, I mean.”
Wendy pursed her lips. “Well, Ron and I work for the village. You and Greg run the council. We don’t really have any business that overlaps. Do we?”
It was just like Wendy to get technical. Why wasn’t Greg saying anything? Wendy was his wife, after all. Kimberly aimed a sharp kick at his shin under the table.
“Ow … er, I’ll field that question,” Greg said through gritted teeth. “Well, you know last year, at the spring village meeting, everyone agreed that it was time for Doc to bring on some help.”
Ron managed to swallow his muffin and washed it down with a long swig of juice. Then he said, “Sure. And then after the meeting, I worked with Doc to help him find somebody. He settled on Doctor Hart. My role’s over.”
Kimberly placed a hand on her husband’s arm and spoke sweetly, “Well, is it? I don’t think the village is necessarily pleased with Doc’s replacement. Shouldn’t Wendy call an emergency meeting, so we can all discuss next steps?”
Ron frowned. “Who’s not happy with Doctor Hart? She seems like a good doctor to me. She gave me some cream to clear up that patch of eczema I’ve had on my elbow forever. Doc Larson used to just tell me to rub oil on it.”
Greg chimed in, “Ah-yup, she’s competent. That’s not the problem.”
“Then whatisthe problem?” Wendy wanted to know.
Greg looked at Kimberly. She lowered her chin and looked right back at him. Wendy had asked him, not her. Honestly.
After a pause, Greg said, “Well, she’s nosy, for one thing. And she keeps trying to report deaths.”
“That is unfortunate,” Wendy agreed. “If Doc hadn’t died so suddenly, he could have trained her up so that she’d understand how we work up here. But that sounds like a council problem.”
And there it was. The buried rift that had splintered the council was out in the open. Kimberly looked to her husband for support, but that fool had taken another bite of his muffin. She charged forward, “We don’t have a time machine, Wendy.”
Wendy shot back, “I guess the executive council should have thought of that before it acted on its own, hmm? You know what you need to do. The both of you. You need to call a meeting of all the council families. You should anyway, so you can install Nik and Corrine’s replacements.”
Greg mumbled something too quietly to be heard.
“Speak up,” his wife snapped.
“I said, we’re trying to delay that.”
“Why?”
“You know why,” he told her. “Frank’s next in line, and he lacks discretion.”
