June left the door ajar just a crack so that when Sadie came back she could nose it open. The porch light was on, and June sat on the living room couch. She began to nod off almost immediately, waiting for Sadie to return, then suddenly she was wide awake, as though struck by lightning. She glanced at her watch; it was 4:00 a.m. She’d slept sitting up for two hours.
“Sadie?” she called, but her house was silent.
“June, you are so stupid!” she said to herself, jumping up. She grabbed her keys and got in the Jeep, only much later thinking about the fact that she hadn’t even taken her cell phone or pager and could have been out of reach for an emergency. She didn’t realize till she was halfway to her destination that she was wearing a fairly thin nightgown and no shoes.
She drove up the long dark drive to Mikos’s house and when her headlights strafed the front she could see the chairs, the table, the pitcher of tea they had neglected to put away. And there, on the porch, lay the furry mound patiently waiting for her master and friend to return. June left the lights on her and stepped out of the Jeep. Sadie lifted her head and thumped her tail a few times.
“Come on, Sadie. He’s not coming back. Come on, sweetheart.”
Sadie stood and sniffed the air.
“It’s okay. Come on.”
The dog slowly walked down the porch steps, squeaking a little, then stopped and looked back at the porch once more.
June crouched and grabbed the thick fur of Sadie’s neck and kissed her long snoot, dropping a tear onto Sadie’s fur. “Didn’t he tell you that it would be just you and me now? Well, you’re not going to see him again for a while…for a long while, I hope. Come on, old girl. I need someone to watch over me so I don’t let myself be too much alone.”
The very next morning, June phoned from the list of references John Stone had given her, this time before going to the clinic.
“Hello, this is Dr. June Hudson calling for Lisa Rapp.”
“This is Lisa.”
“Hi, Lisa. I was given your name and number by John Stone. I understand you are his former OB nurse.”
“That’s right.”
“I’m calling from Grace Valley, upper Mendocino County. I have a small general practice here. Our population is about fifteen hundred and John is going to see patients in our clinic. I’m calling you for a reference.”
“Well, you’ve got it. He’s the best OB-GYN I’ve ever worked with.”
Now we’re getting someplace, June thought. “Really? Tell me what makes him so special, if you don’t mind.”
“Everything about him is special. He’s ethical and kind, he has a great sense of humor, he’s highly skilled and has super instincts. Besides, the patients love him.”
“Would you have him for your doctor?”
“I did have him for my doctor! He’s a miracle worker with infertility. My husband and I had a baby seven years ago, after trying for years. Thanks to John, we squeaked one out just in time. I’m now forty-six and perimenopausal. I have a feeling that if I hadn’t met and worked for John Stone, I might never have had a baby.”
Thirty-nine. June mentally calculated. I could do that.
“Now that’s the kind of endorsement I’ve been looking for,” she said.
“Well, everyone loves John.”
Not everyone, June thought. “I did get very high recommendations from the doctors he worked with in his family medicine residency. But there’s this one sticky wicket—maybe you can help me out.”
“I’ll try.”
“He spent years at the Fairfield Clinic, yet Dr. Fairfield clearly despises him. And I have no idea why.”
“John and Dr. Fairfield disagreed often, and I have to say, through absolutely no prejudice, it was John who was usually right. They tangled on issues ranging from when to schedule a C-section to John’s divorce….”
“John is divorced?”
“You didn’t know?”
“No, he never said. I assumed Susan—”
“Second wife. But if you want to know more about that, I really think it’s up to John to tell you. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I suppose, but—”
“Dr. Fairfield was very clear that he believed marriage was forever, and disapproved of divorce. He can be so…so…antagonistic! He’s done a good thing with that clinic, you know? But he didn’t do it alone. There have been some outstanding doctors there who have contributed to its growth and reputation, one of them being John Stone. But if Fairfield decides he doesn’t like you…”
June could imagine; she had talked to the man. He was arrogant and insufferable. “And that’s all there is to it? Dr. Fairfield is a difficult man?”
“Not all. Look, Dr.—”
“June. Please.”
“Look, June, I don’t think I should be telling you this, so please keep it between us. I love John Stone and I don’t want him to feel I’ve betrayed him, but I’m pretty sure I know why Fairfield despises him.”
“Okay. Go ahead. I won’t say anything.” And I need to know, she thought.
“John was invited into the partnership and he made a modest investment to enter. He was their darling boy and they were thrilled to have him. Older doctors who had been there since the day Fairfield opened began to retire, young doctors were brought in as associates, and just by pure timing and luck, John was attaining seniority and voting power. Then he and Fairfield started to tangle, John filed for divorce, the pressure got worse and he decided to leave the clinic. His original investment and voting power had grown—it was his single ace in the hole. He offered to leave quietly, give up his vote and pension for cash. And he inflated the price.”
“Inflated?”
“He was pissed. The partnership had allowed Fairfield to unfairly harangue him. And the partnership got stuck with the bill.” She paused. “Partnership meant loyalty to John. He stuck his neck out for them, but they…. Some of the other doctors, nervous about what Fairfield could do to them, turned their back on John.”
“So he hit them all in the pocketbook, Dr. Fairfield and the partners.”
“Exactly. And June? I think if Dr. Fairfield had been the least bit civil, John would probably have stayed. But he made it unbearable. I quit, too. I’ve worked for three different OB’s since…and none can hold a candle to John.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen John mad,” June said.
“It’s a rare and beautiful thing.” Lisa laughed. “Mess with his patients or his family and you’ll see him flare.”
“Or his money, obviously…”
“No, no, no, you don’t understand. Oh Jesus. Please, ask John for the details, but it was this godawful mess about his divorce. He’d been separated for at least a couple of years, his wife was dragging her feet on a settlement, Fairfield was riding him constantly. John was already involved with Susan, who was very young, and I think she might even have been pregnant at the time, and he wasn’t legally free to marry her even though they’d been living together and he hadn’t been with his wife for years, and—Oh God, John’s going to kill me…if Susan doesn’t get to me first!”
“Okay, okay, I see where this is going.”
“You can’t imagine how awful it was at the time. The stress was terrible!”
“The fodder of every contemporary talk show. The wife was there during the hard years of becoming a doctor, dumped for the younger woman. Susan wasn’t a nurse or anything, was she?”
“Why yes, as a matter of fact. But June, it really wasn’t like that. It wasn’t that old wife-put-him-through-med-school thing or—”
“You don’t have to explain, Lisa. It’s none of my business. I think I get the basic gist of things. It would be hard to dislike Susan anyway. She seems like such a lovely person.”
“Believe me, she’s a huge improvement over the first Mrs. Stone. I mean huge!”
June ended the conversation by telling Lisa she’d been a big help. She tried to get the other two people on John’s list, but ended up leaving messages on machines. She d
oubted she would ask John about his divorce. It was always better to have people volunteer things of such a personal nature.
So what do I know? she asked herself. That John was hated by Dr. Fairfield because of partnership money. That he was loved by his old nurse and, according to her, his old staff and former patients. That he could get mad when pushed too far. That his second wife was probably as nice as she seemed.
So what about Christina Baker? June wondered, and decided that in the absence of any more detailed information, she might just have to ask John about that. It was a very delicate matter; a person could be easily offended by the question. But she would eventually have to ask it. When the time was right.
Thirteen
Time off was something June just didn’t have…until John Stone came to town and began to share the load. It was yet another reason she wanted so desperately for him to work out. This was what she had been waiting for—a Sunday afternoon to call her own. She started off the day by going to church and ended it with Sunday dinner at her dad’s with Myrna.
Sunday dinner at Elmer’s had gone unchanged since June’s mother had died. He seared a roast on both sides and stuck it in the oven with vegetables, then went to church and let it do its magic. When he returned with June and Myrna in tow, he poured himself a cabernet, Myrna a martini, June a cup of tea in case there was doctoring to do, and they sat in the small living room that June’s mother had furnished far too many years ago.
On this day, June had said to her dad, “I’ll have a glass of that cabernet, Dad. John Stone is taking care of the town.”
“Well, hell’s bells and hallelujah!”
The afternoon waned and the late spring sun settled over the trees and rooftops. Mellowed by the red wine, June rocked on her porch, Sadie comfortable at her side. This was the life, she realized, though it took willpower to just sit there, to examine the tense feeling of doing nothing with her hands. She thought about her needlework, untouched for months; she considered the novel she’d been reading for weeks. There were at least ten videos she’d purchased and had yet to watch. But she sat idle for a change. The entire evening was hers. There was no reason to hurry, no reason to stay busy.
Christina Baker is probably just overreacting, she thought for the hundredth time. John Stone is probably one of the best doctors in California, and I’ve got him. These were her thoughts, maybe prayers, as she idled the time away.
He came up the long drive from the road, though June didn’t see a vehicle. He probably could have approached from either side of her house, out of the trees, but instead of surprising her, he gave her lots of time to get used to the idea that he was coming to her house. Unarmed.
He was clean shaven and freshly groomed. The sleeves on his red-and-black plaid shirt were rolled up to right below the elbow and he wore an oversize belt buckle. His shoulders were as broad as she remembered, his thighs hard in his crisp blue jeans. As he got closer, Sadie perked up and sat at attention. She made a throaty sound of greeting and whacked her tail on the porch floor a few times. He smiled at the dog. He braced one foot on the top porch step, leaned down and reached a callused hand out to Sadie. “Good idea. A dog.”
Sadie licked his hand. Sadie knew what she was doing.
“Not dressed in drag today, Jim?”
He chuckled.
“How’s your friend?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Haven’t seen him since that night.”
“Ah, that makes sense. I wouldn’t hang around a place where I’d taken a bullet either. Lemonade?”
“Thanks. You sure it’s okay?”
“I guess so. Anyway, what if I said it wasn’t?”
He spread his hands. “I’d have to try to talk you into it.”
That was a relief. She didn’t want him to leave, but she wouldn’t mind if he thought she had control of this situation. She went in the house and put the pitcher and two glasses on a tray.
Suddenly, she had a hard time remembering when she’d had feelings like this. A rush of excitement. Light-headedness. Her ears were hot. There was a giddy weakness behind her knees. How silly.
“So, what brings you out of the woods?” she asked, placing the tray on the porch table.
“I just wanted to thank you,” he said. He smiled devilishly, still scratching behind Sadie’s ears. Sadie’s eyes were closed and she strained toward him dramatically. She was in ecstasy.
“You thanked me the other night.”
“All right then. I wanted to see you.”
“Well, I guess you can never be too grateful. Make yourself comfortable.”
“You didn’t call the police while you were inside getting the lemonade, did you?”
“Of course not. I think you probably are the police.”
He was about to ascend the porch steps and came up short, a rather stricken look on his face. “Talk like that could get me killed.”
“By who? The good guys or the bad guys?”
“By all of them.”
“I probably won’t say anything to anyone.” Then she smiled a small sly smile. “If you behave yourself.”
“You shouldn’t make assumptions about people, Doc.” He drew his heavy eyebrows together and made his scary face. “You don’t really know anything about me.”
“I know you pretended to faint…and you winked at me. And don’t call me Doc. It makes me crane my neck looking for my father. It’s a family business, you know.”
“You know why I fainted?” he asked.
“So you could lose the gun without looking suspicious to your wounded friend.”
“Phew. They should hire you to write Dragnet episodes.” When he came up on the porch, the boards protested. He stood in front of the swing and judged the chains that held it to the ceiling. “Think she’ll take me?”
“Man about your size put it up. Let’s see if he’s any good.”
“I like the way you think,” he said, but he sat slowly, gradually letting his full weight rest on the swing. That’s when she saw he’d polished his boots. That was also when she wished she had some sewing in her lap, though she wasn’t entirely sure why.
“You said you’ve lived here all your life,” he began.
“The year I was born, there were 798 people in the town called Grace. We were incorporated years later as Grace Valley. There was a big fight about it. Some people wanted to pay homage to my grandfather—who I never knew, who my dad barely knew—and call the town Hudson Valley.”
“But they didn’t?”
“No. Funny thing, the surviving Hudsons—my dad and my wacky aunt Myrna—couldn’t have cared less. Myrna finally gave the town a thousand dollars toward a statue of Grandfather Hudson so they’d move on. Nothing gets a town moving like money.”
Jim frowned. “Where’s the statue?”
“Oh, there isn’t one. Probably never will be. Besides, my grandfather didn’t settle the town. It was already here. All he did was make money in the Bay Area, marry late in life and build his young wife a big house on a hill. I think he threw a few bucks at the town in the decade he lived here. And I think it was my grandmother, his young wife, who called the place Grace. She said people got here by the grace of God and angels.”
“A religious woman,” he said.
“Not really. More likely a grateful woman. She was a pretty but poor girl and married a man old enough to be her grandfather. People probably thought she was a gold digger, but if you ask the only living person to know her, Aunt Myrna, she’ll tell you her mother adored her father. She was kind and gentle and helped people whenever she could. She died in her early thirties. My brokenhearted grandfather followed soon after.”
June didn’t tell him about the resemblance. Erma Hudson had been reed thin, fair-skinned and with what they once called dishwater blond hair, like June. She’d been freckled like June, Myrna said, which of course didn’t show in the oil portrait. The moment little June Hudson saw the portrait of her long-deceased grandmother, she’d claimed her as her an
gel. Until her mother, Marilyn, died. Then she had two. Angels were a very big thing in Grace Valley.
“My aunt Myrna was only fourteen when her parents were both dead, and her little brother, my father, was two. She raised him.”
“Alone?”
“Uh-huh. Seventy years ago a girl that age might have married and had her own children, so it wasn’t exactly an oddity. But Myrna didn’t marry until my father was through medical school and married himself.”
“This seems like a good town. It would be good to be from here,” he said.
June told him about the legend of the road angel at the pass; about Morton Claypool, who Myrna had misplaced twenty years ago; about how the town rebuilt Leah Craven’s house and seeded her south field.
“Not all small towns have that kind of compassion,” he pointed out to her. “Sometimes they’re cruel and crazy and unforgiving.”
“We have more than one face, you know. We have our problems, our bad seeds. Leah’s house was fixed up and her field planted by folk who are so relieved her abusive husband, Gus, is finally behind bars. And have you ever been out to Dandies? I wouldn’t mind if that place accidentally caught fire. Tom calls me out a couple of times a month to stitch up brawlers from there.
“But, in general, it’s a well-meaning town. I remember a particularly crazy period…about the bear.”
“The bear.”
“A black bear in a bad mood. A logger on the northeast rim was mauled…we almost lost his arm. The next day a rural woman just south of town spotted a bear tearing her laundry off the line, so we knew it was on the move. The woman shot at the bear and sent it into the woods, then she sent up the alarm.
“For a few days you could cut the tension around here with a knife. Women carried guns in their pails and laundry baskets, people drove their kids to school, Tom Toopeek sat on top of his Range Rover with a rifle near the schoolyard and the café was empty. Instead of meeting there for coffee, the local men were seen at various crossroads around the valley, exchanging information about where the bear might be found. I remember we kept our garbage inside, closed our windows and doors tight, and ate mostly cold food. It wasn’t a good time to cool a pie on a windowsill or have the aroma of freshly baked bread wafting through the woods.