Wilby fic: What's Important, Part One: Calendar, by kuonji (PG-13)
I suggest reading "Points In Common" first. :)
Title: What's Important, Part One: Calendar
Series: Points In Common
Author: kuonji
Fandom: Wilby Wonderful
Characters: Carol French, Buddy French, Duck MacDonald, Dan Jarvis, OCs
Pairings: Carol/Buddy, Duck/Dan
Category: character study, romance, friendship, slice-of-life
Rating: R
Words: ~5900
Summary: How Carol counts the days...
What's Important, Part One: Calendar
by kuonji
--Second Quarter, 2004--
The committee meeting started on time, for a wonder. Islanders seemed to feel like everyone had all the time in the world. It didn't help that half the members were retirees who were likely here for the free coffee as anything else.
Carol smiled pleasantly, making eye contact with each of the two men and three women at the table. "Good morning, everyone. Shall we get started?" She glanced down at her notes. "Last time we voted on the banners. Sizes and locations and a layout sketch are on that first handout there. I thought red for the background would be nice. Give it a brighter look. No objections? Okay, then. I'll look up someone today to make them for us."
She started to write a note to herself on her planner to that effect, when Mrs. Corkhum said, patting her lips primly with a napkin, "You don't have to bother with that, dear." Carol schooled herself not to wince at the diminutive, voiced with no ill intent, she was sure. "MacDonald's boy does anything we need."
There were nods all around the table. Obviously, they all knew who she was talking about. Carol thought about asking but didn't want to appear as if she were suspicious of an islander's work. That would probably throw her reputation back by a year, at least. Sighing inwardly, she decided that it really didn't matter as long as the job got done. "He has experience, then?"
"Oh, sure! He does all the signs around town. Pete, didn't MacDonald's boy do those banners for that dance you chaired a few months back?"
"Yes, that's right. He's got a good eye."
"Ah... Okay. Well, that's settled, then." She remembered the banners at the Spring Fling. They had been serviceable. "Why don't you give him a call, Margaret, and let us know."
She wrote a note to herself to check with Mrs. Corkhum tomorrow. She was usually pretty responsible, but Carol wasn't leaving anything to chance. This festival was going to run perfectly if she had to do every last thing by herself!
***
--Fall, after--
"You want me to take a taxi?" Carol repeated in disbelief, clutching the receiver tight.
"Carol, it's not like that. It's just that I can't drive right now."
"What? Why not?"
"I, uh, I sprained my ankle."
"Oh, my god. When did this happen?"
"A week ago. I'm fine, really. I'll be at home when you get back."
A week ago. It must have been just after she'd left for Richmond. It was just like Buddy to get hurt while she was away, as if she needed to feel more guilty than she already did for leaving him alone over Thanksgiving. And just like him not to even tell her.
"Duck helped me out a lot. Duck MacDonald, you remember him, right?"
That was a shock. "Duck helped you? The painter?" That didn't come out at all the way she meant. Indeed, there was an extended silence, and she could picture Buddy frowning at her. "But he's Dan Jarvis's boyfriend," she appended. That only seemed to make it worse.
Buddy huffed a sigh. "Yeah," he said, his voice a little more distant than a phone line stretched across the breadth of Canada could account for. "He's a good guy. We went to school together." Well, of course. Buddy knew everybody, unlike Carol, who didn't even know to call Walter, 'Duck', until this past July. "He drove me to the doctor and everything. He even brought me a casserole and some groceries."
Wonderful. She had left her injured husband alone to be cared for by the friendly neighborhood gay painter, who probably already thought she was insane, and who -- not to mention -- also happened to be in a relationship with the man she had nearly killed. Honestly. Would it have killed Buddy to pick up the phone and let her know before now?
"I would have come back. If you had called." The momentary silence on the other end made her squeeze the receiver tight. Didn't he believe her?
"How are your parents?" he said, when he finally spoke. Avoiding the issue, as usual.
"They're fine," she answered, not bothering to press. What was the use, after all?
"Did they...?"
Carol frowned. "What?" Did they tell her again how her husband was no good? Yes. Did they nag her endlessly again over her moving to Wilby? Yes. Did they tell her she was a disappointment to them? No. But that didn't exactly need saying, did it? She was tired of it. Her parents had her best interests at heart, of course, but they were so... so...!
She couldn't do it anymore -- fend them off at the same time as keeping Buddy out of the fray. The way things were right now between her and Buddy, if he had come home with her, she was afraid something would have finally cracked.
"Never mind."
She sighed. Not having Buddy here this year hadn't been as restful as she had thought it would be. Without him around, her parents had had no restraint at all. Even her brother's more civil inquiries had irritated her. It all only made her think about Buddy more. And worry.
"Carol."
"Yes, Buddy?"
"I love you."
She froze. Why was he saying that now? "I love you, too, Buddy," she answered, trying to sound worldly and yet cute, the way she liked to imagine she had sounded when they first started dating.
"Good. Good. I wanted you to know that. Carol, I... I've been thinking about some things. Shoot, I can't do this over the phone. I just-- I want to say some things when you get back, okay?"
Oh, god. She slumped against the wall, one hand over her mouth and nose so he wouldn't hear her hyperventilating. What did that mean, he'd been thinking about some things. Thinking about them? About her?
She almost missed what he was still rambling on about.
"--when I first met you... and how I feel about you, and... I really-- I missed you, Carol, and I want... Just come home, okay?"
"Okay."
"I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah. Tomorrow."
She hung up the phone, her heart and her mind racing.
***
--January, before--
It was Dan Jarvis who opened the door after Carol finally worked up the nerve to knock on Sunday, January the 2nd.
She had come this far. It seemed silly to stand there, surprised and irresolute, so she put on her bright company smile and forged ahead. Carol always had worked best under pressure. "Hello, Dan. Is Duck home?" A series of clacking sounds came from the back of the house, causing her to falter. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"
Dan glanced behind him. "Duck's installing the storm windows. He has to refit some of the wood frames."
"Oh. Right." One of the selling points of the MacPherson house had been renovated double-paned windows. She'd had their own windows done shortly after, and Buddy handled things when a blizzard was coming. She hadn't thought about storm windows since she'd first moved here. "Do you think it'll take long?"
"I think he's almost done. I can go call him." Dan half-turned, as if ready to do just that.
Seized by a moment of panic, Carol blurted, "No! That's okay. I'll just wait here. If you don't mind."
"Well, you can come inside at least." His sideways smile was disarming. She found herself blushing.
"Thank you."
Dan seated her in the living room, and she looked around as he went to prepare some hot tea for her. The carpet needed replacing, but the walls, windows and ceilings were in good shape. The furniture and decorations were comfortably appointed, not too bare nor too cluttered. Carol noticed a shelf full of Western videos and battered books that she surmised to be Dan's.
Otherwise, the room -- the house, really -- reminded Carol of how Duck was. It was a little old-fashioned. (Rustic, would be how she might put it on a sales flyer.) Heavy furniture and dark colors dominated. That was offset by large open spaces. The whole impression gave a sense of being worn but cared-for. Simple. Quiet. Reliable.
"The Island in winter takes getting used to, doesn't it?"
Carol started from her appreciation of the lighting versus square footage and took the proffered mug. She wrapped her fingers around it and took a deep, satisfying inhale. Chamomile with lemon. Still too hot to drink, but holding it felt good. "Yes," she replied. "Eight years and I still hate driving in snow."
Driving during winter in Wilby had been a new experience when Carol had moved out here. She'd had to get used to gravel driveways and the sheering edge of the Island winter wind. Thank goodness she and Buddy lived off of one of the main streets that were first to be plowed in the mornings. Unlike her friends back in Richmond, she hadn't been eager to learn to drive, because she'd always hated helping her father de-ice the car and dreaded having to do the same by herself.
"Same with me," Dan answered, hugging his own mug of tea. "I try to stay home when the weather's bad. You should see our heating bill. Duck says I'm spoiled."
"That's because you are, mainlander."
They both looked up as Duck came into the room. Carol tried not to be embarrassed (or envious) at the adoring way Dan looked at his lover, welcoming him without saying a single word. He offered his tea to the other man, but Duck waved it away and leaned against the couchback behind him. "Hello, Carol," he said, his tone welcoming but a question in his almost colorless eyes.
Duck's cheeks were a little flushed from his efforts and his hands red from being freshly scrubbed clean. Instead of his work overalls she was used to seeing or the plaid shirts and plain grey sweatshirts he favored otherwise, he had on a dark maroon sweater with braid patterns down the front. It looked new. Carol remembered seeing others like it at Bargain Giant while Christmas shopping.
He waited for her response. Simple. Quiet. Reliable.
Now that she was here, Carol wasn't sure what to say. "How are things supposed to be?" whispered a voice in the back of her head. She'd been trying to answer that one for a while, and she thought she almost could... but not yet, not quite.
Dan put his mug down, evidently picking up on the tension. "There's some things in town I could take care of..." He started to stand.
"Oh, you don't have to leave," she said quickly, anxiously. Carol wasn't about to turn Dan out into the cold, especially after he'd just told her how much he disliked it. She hadn't thought before she came about how small Duck's house was, though. She had imagined that Dan could simply retreat upstairs or something. "Would you--" She started to offer to take Duck to the cafe at the corner, but Duck interrupted her.
"I do some work in the shed out back sometimes," he said. "You want a tour? There's a heater in there."
"I would love to," she replied immediately, relieved.
She smiled apologetically at Dan as she followed Duck out the back. She hadn't meant to make such a production out of this. Things just happened around her. Dan shook his head and shrugged in reply, though he followed them with curious eyes.
The shed was bigger than she had expected. It was more properly a small workshop, she thought, with well-used tools arranged in orderly jumbles along two walls, and shelves of supplies along the third. Duck flipped on the light and then bent to turn on an electric heater. Carol wondered if the power lines out here were to code.
She yanked her mind away from work -- where she tended to wander to if she was trying to avoid thinking about something else.
"No chairs, sorry," Duck said. He turned to lean against the workbench himself and patted the spot next to him. After hesitating a moment, Carol went to join him. She stared around the shed, waiting for something brilliant to come to her. Duck, at her side, put off heat in a comfortable way. He was about the same height as Buddy, she thought, though lankier and with a harder cast to him. Now that she was closer, she could smell the faint ground-in scent of cigarettes on him, not her old brand, though similar to Buddy's.
"I do some of the woodwork and painting in the yard," Duck explained. He pointed at a couple of sawhorses and piles of planks. "It helps keep the mess and the smell from building up. I work in here, too, when the weather's bad, but there's not a lot of jobs in the winter." He gestured behind him. "Most of these tools were my dad's. A good hammer will last you two hundred years. A good saw the same, if you take care of it and know how to sharpen it."
Carol considered the rows of tools with a new respect. When she looked back at Duck again, he was regarding her with that same curious calm.
"I'm sorry," she said. It was easier than she had thought it would be. "About Dan. And, and about yelling at you that day. You didn't deserve that. I was... under a lot of stress. And I'm sorry I never apologized earlier."
"I know. It's okay."
"It's not, though." She gripped the rough edge of the workbench with her hands and stared at the double doors across from them, slightly cracked open. For air, she presumed, since there weren't any vents in the walls.
When she had urged Buddy to start jogging with Duck, her first idea had honestly been to encourage Buddy to exercise more. Carol's father had constant complaints of high blood pressure and respiratory problems. She worried for Buddy, who had been smoking more and more in recent years.
Later, though, Carol had realized that she had essentially sent her husband off to spend six mornings a week with a man who had quite a few reasons to dislike her.
It wasn't that she thought Duck would ever say anything against her, but she knew how opinions could subtly make themselves known, and how they could bleed out to others around without conscious planning.
"I meant what I said at Christmas. Dan doesn't blame you. I don't either."
"I believe you." She looked down at her sensible boots. Buddy had invited her out hiking for their third date. He'd asked her if she had appropriate footwear. She'd said 'oh, yes' and rushed to Bargain Giant an hour later to pick these out. "What you said, about learning how not to cross the line again."
He didn't prompt her when she paused for too long. He didn't stare at her either. He kept his eyes across the room and lounged soft-boned next to her, waiting for her to gather her words.
"It's not that easy, is it?"
"No, it's not," he agreed.
She let out a carefully held breath. Duck wasn't lying to her. After Christmas dinner together, Carol had remembered the rumors she'd once heard, and she had asked Buddy about the rest. "You... Do you know that from experience?" Carol never liked to rely on hearsay when she could ask the source.
He looked down at her, and a rueful smile ticked up the corners of his mouth for a moment. "Yeah."
"I am trying," she told him. If it were possible to trust anyone to understand, she thought it would be this man.
"You'll be okay, Carol."
Like holding that mug of tea, the warmth of his matter-of-fact benediction spread through her.
Being a mainlander on Wilby was often lonely. Carol hadn't been just making a sales pitch when she had asked to get together with Dan way back when. She had hoped to be friends with him, and still did, though circumstances were rather different now. From Duck, though, she wanted, in a strange way, approval.
Like Buddy, Duck was an islander. Unlike Buddy, who loved his home, Duck seemed to embody it. The same way that his house reflected him, Duck reflected Wilby Island -- its craggy rocks and shrubs and lakes, its harsh winter and pleasant summer, its sense of age and slow patience.
"I think some people hated me when I married Buddy," she admitted softly, spilling one more of her secrets. "I guess I can understand it. He's the perfect husband. Handsome, romantic, faithful. I felt like there had to be something wrong with me when I wasn't happy."
Duck was silent for a while. "Nobody's perfect. People see what they want to."
She remembered something that Buddy had asked her once. "What do you think Buddy sees when he looks at me?"
A longer moment of thoughtful silence preceded his answer: "He sees the woman he married, I guess. The woman he promised to grow old with. Whether you do that is up to you two."
She had the sudden urge to reach up and kiss him. Instead, she tucked her arms around herself and said, "Go easy on him tomorrow, okay?"
He gave a half-shrug. Instead of the easy assurance she had expected, he grinned and said, "No promises."
After a second of disbelief, Carol laughed. The wood against her back had splinters, and despite the heater her breath was visible in the chill air. But she felt content.
"You and Dan should come over for dinner next week. You'll want a good meal. I know Buddy will insist on one. He's going to be complaining of achy muscles all week, I'm sure of it."
"Sounds good to me. Want to go inside and see what Dan says?"
"All right."
***
--Sunday--
She woke slowly, lazily. Sunlight was already painting its way up from the foot of the bed, signifying the late hour.
Next to her, snoring slightly, Buddy was still fast asleep.
Carol stretched, her fingertips reaching the wall and her toes pointing into the depths of the bedding. Then she quietly got out of bed to use the restroom. By the time she got back, Buddy had turned toward her and was smiling at her with still sleepy eyes. "Mornin'," he said.
"Good morning." She crawled over and pecked him on the nose.
Monday through Friday, Buddy was up at the crack of dawn to go running with Duck. Then he went to the station directly and Carol didn't see him until evening, unless they made plans to meet for lunch.
On Saturdays, Carol woke up around the time Buddy came home from Duck's place. She would get up and join Buddy for breakfast before he would disappear to finish up whatever work was leftover from the week. Often, Carol had showings on Saturday anyway, since it was the day buyers and seller were free.
Sundays, though. Sundays were for them.
Carol ran her fingers through Buddy's hair, still thick but starting to show a few grey encroachers at the temples. She grimaced at the slightly oily texture. "You need to shower."
"Why? Do I smell?" Her only warning was the suddenly more alert look to his face.
She shrieked as he lunged at her and bore her flat across the mattress. He held her down easily with his weight alone. She had always loved how big and solid he was. Bending, he took an ostentatiously deep sniff of her neck. "You smell fantastic."
"Get off of me." She pushed half-heartedly at his shoulders even as she shifted her legs to wrap around his calves. "I just washed up, and you're rubbing your grime off on me."
"Mmm, rubbing off sounds nice," he answered, suiting action to word.
She should probably protest, to keep the game going, but instead she ran her hands over his back and voiced her approval at his discovery of her earlobe.
Running was good for Buddy. He'd lost some weight and had much better stamina now. The musculature in his back and legs was better defined. He looked confident and charismatic, too, almost better than he had when she'd first met him. She wondered how much of that was simply from the exercise and how much from his obvious friendship with Duck MacDonald.
She imagined her husband running along the side of the road. His hair would lift and fall slightly with every step. His neck would be just starting to perspire, catching the early rays of the sun. The tendons along his thighs and calves would shift and stretch, and his chest would expand to fill out his loose running shirt with each breath. He'd smile, laugh, maybe, showing his neat white teeth with the one crooked one that he'd never bothered to fix. Adrenalin would be coursing through him and the morning air would make his eyes sparkle.
Duck would be with him, of course, strong and steady at his side. Light instead of dark, with wired muscle, those long legs matching Buddy's stride or even beating it. How often did they push each other in competition, and how often did they fall together companionably?
She wondered what he and Duck talked about on their runs. Did they ever discuss her? Had Duck ever told Buddy about that day at the Jarvis house last July? Or Christmas? Or New Year's? Or... the day he had visited her in March? She didn't think he would have, but how would she know?
Buddy's roving fingers crossed the still slightly raised scar across her abdomen. Perhaps it was simply by accident, but she caught his hands and pulled them away from her body. She didn't want to think about that right now. It'd only been a few months, true, but they had to face the fact that it was probably not going to happen at all.
It was enough, today, just to feel good.
Kissing his fingers, she smiled and said, "No hands." When he pouted at her in that half-adorable, half-sexy way he had, she cajoled him, "Be creative, Mr. Policeman, and I'll be creative too." He broke out in a grin and kissed her.
"God, I love Sundays."
Carol laughed at the ferventness of his tone. "Buddy, we're old."
"How's that?" He sounded distracted, working his way down. She'd let go of his hands now, but he was being good, using them only to balance himself over her.
"We're--" She broke off with a giggle as he reached a sensitive spot. "We're scheduling when we make love."
"Hm... I'm not complaining. Give me your planner and a pencil." His head was under the covers by now, so his voice had become indistinct. She gasped.
"Buddy... Buddy, yes..." She moaned in frustration when he abandoned her.
He popped back up, looking devilish. His hair was even messier than before and his lips were wet. He ran his tongue over them. "Recurring event. Daily. Nine o' clock at night work for you? Maybe that's too late for an old biddy like you."
She smacked him hard with a pillow until he ducked back down to continue what he'd been doing.
***
--Start Date--
"So when's the day? You must be so excited!"
The two men across from her exchanged nervous glances. "We're not sure yet," Duck replied.
"Have you applied for the marriage license yet? That threw us a little, because we had so short a time to get everything ready. Can you believe, we actually had to have the official ceremony after the reception? What a disaster that was!" Both men stared at her blankly. Carol wondered if she was being too nosy. "You know you can ask to pick it up, right? It's a little faster that way," she couldn't help adding.
Again, the two men glanced at each other. "We'll do that next Monday," Dan assured her after too long a pause.
"Oh. Okay." Carol stirred her salad, confused at their apathy. Her own wedding had been a maelstrom of activity and adrenalin. She had never been the sort of girl who sat around sketching her future wedding gowns, but she had wanted a nice wedding just the same. She and Buddy had limited themselves to a modest budget and a small, intimate guest list, and it had come together rather better than could be expected from a one-month timeline.
"I think the reception's the best part," she said, remembering. "The ceremony's just a bunch of memorized formulas and posed pictures." Nothing but a dozen possibilities to screw up at every step, with everyone you cared about watching your every move. "But at the reception, you get to actually meet everyone. Where are you thinking of having it? The Loyalist is pretty standard, I suppose, but it does fix up really nicely." She smiled at Buddy next to her. "That's where we had ours. We got ribbons from Angela's. It didn't cost too much."
"Sounds good," Duck said, too quickly.
"We'll probably do that," Dan agreed.
Carol stared, again at a loss. Perhaps men simply weren't as excited about this sort of thing. If Buddy and her brother were any indication, though, there was one thing they should know: "How about food?"
"What?"
"What will you feed your guests at the reception? You'll have to find a caterer. Well, depending on the size of your guest list. Have you started that yet?"
"Oh, yeah. Sure," Duck said, again with marked insincerity.
"Of course," Dan added.
"Carol. Stop interrogating them," Buddy murmured, leaning to put one arm over her shoulders.
Carol ignored her husband. "It's been two weeks!" she exclaimed. "Are you planning on a long engagement? Not that there's anything wrong with that, but are you?"
"No?" Duck answered, at the same time as Dan said, more emphatically, "No." They looked at each and grinned, as if relieved to have found something they priorly agreed on. "As soon as possible," Dan added, taking Duck's hand.
Hopeless. They were hopeless. They were going to stay 'engaged' for the rest of eternity!
Sighing, Carol dropped her fork and shook off Buddy's hand. She dug her planner and a pen out of her purse. "How does spring sound?" she asked. "That should be enough time to get everything ready, as long as we keep it simple. Unless you prefer summer? Better weather, but more tourists around."
Duck and Dan gaped at her.
"Now you've done it, guys," Buddy warned. She kicked him under the table, but he only rolled his eyes and went back to drinking his soup.
"Spring... sounds good," Duck said uncertainly.
"I like the end of March," Dan offered. "That's when the weather usually starts to turn." Duck nodded in acquiescence.
Carol picked out a couple of weekends. "We'll start calling around after lunch."
She pretended not to hear Buddy snickering into his clam chowder.
***
--Project End--
"Who's that woman Duck is dancing with?"
Buddy swung them around so he could see over her shoulder. His eyebrows raised and a brief, wistful sort of smile crossed his face. "Oh." His eyes returned to her. "That's his mum. Sort of."
"Sort of?"
"She was with his dad after his mum died. But they never married. The town had a lot to say about that. She moved back to the mainland after Duck's dad passed away."
"How awful."
Carol snuck glances at the elderly woman with Duck as they all turned in the waltz that was currently playing. The woman seemed frail and small, but she clearly still had her wits about her. She laughed as she conversed with her pseudo-stepson, the expression on her face fond. Duck's affection for her, too, was evident in his crinkled eyes, and the gentle way he led her around the bare carpet of their impromptu dance floor.
"Buddy."
"Hm?" Her husband wrapped her in after a promenade and then bent her back in a careful dip. He leaned down to nuzzle her collarbone, making her giggle.
She let that distract her for a while, before sobering again as he lifted her back. "I wish I hadn't let your mother get to me so much," she confided softly. "I wish we could have gotten along better. I should have been more patient with her." Not because the woman had deserved it, the angry old witch, but for Buddy. She should have tried harder for Buddy.
When Dora French had died, it had felt like Carol could finally put a big fat check mark next to a long, grueling task. Mark it done and never, ever revisit the subject again. She had dove with gusto into the practicalities of arranging the burial and the service, of cleaning out and selling the house. It was her excuse for not grieving. Her way of throwing a party without being unseemly about it.
She had known Buddy was grieving, though. Known it but hadn't let herself really know it. Because if she had, it would have made how she was behaving heartless and nasty and she didn't want to be those things. So she hadn't.
Buddy gazed back at her with the most peculiar expression, part confusion, part curiosity. He stopped them on the third corner of a box step, causing Carol to stumble slightly.
"Sorry," he murmured, even as he suddenly turned and led her gently but firmly away from the dance floor. Back at their table, he faced her again and took both her hands. "Carol," he said, "I know my mum had... issues with you. And being sick, it just made her... I wish you could have known her when she was happier. You tried your best. I know that. I always knew that." He dropped his gaze to their joined hands. "Maybe I didn't act like it sometimes, but I... Even when we were at our worst, I never regretted marrying you."
"Oh, Buddy." Carol felt tears starting to pour out of her eyes. Damn the hormones! She tipped her head away from the light, but Buddy saw her anyway. He wiped her cheeks with his thumbs, and he kissed away what he missed. That only made her cry harder.
He put his arms around her. The smooth, comfortable scent of his suit jacket sleeves hid her from the world for a minute. She pressed her hot face to the front of his white dress shirt and closed her eyes.
Together, they swayed on the edge of the world.
***
--Third Trimester--
"No!" she shouted, turning quickly away from Buddy -- and the camera in his hand.
"You look great, Carol. Radiant."
"That's what you call pregnant women because they're round and shiny," she scowled.
"Carol, come on. Your parents have been badgering us for pictures.”
“My mother’s coming next week. She doesn’t need pictures.”
“They made me promise--”
"Okay, okay! We’ll take pictures when I’m not sweaty and wearing a flowered tent. Now go... take a walk or something. We're fifteen minutes early."
"Yes, dear," Buddy said placatingly as he put the camera away.
Carol shifted in her chair. Her back ached. She wanted to stand up, but her feet ached more. And she had to pee. Again.
"Do you need to stand up?"
"No."
"Want something to drink?"
"I'm fine!" she snapped, trying not to picture flowing water. "Will you stop patronizing me? Just because I'm about to explode doesn't mean my brain has gone numb, too."
"Okay, okay. I'm going for a walk," Buddy announced, as if it had been his idea.
"Great. No smoking!" she reminded him. He turned and gestured widely with his arms.
"For god's sake, Carol. You're getting to be worse than Elaine Fisher! Nobody who comes within a block of you has smoked for the last three months. Duck's about ready to commit murder! I know I've thought about it," he growled as he reached for the door.
"Now you know how I felt!" she yelled after him just as he yanked the door open.
"I love you, too!" he called back somewhat belligerently before exiting the room.
Carol realized that the other woman in the waiting room of the maternity clinic was watching her from two seats away with a bemused expression. Blushing, Carol sat back in her seat and pretended to be absorbed in a magazine article about how to freeze strawberries.
"Your first?"
She jerked her head up. The woman was smiling at her. Carol smiled back weakly. "Yes. It's that obvious, huh?"
"I'm Anna. Anna Cartwright. I work at the grocery. Or, I did." She patted her abdomen. "I'm due in a couple of weeks, so I'm mostly staying home for now. I'm so bored, I come in early for appointments just to get out of the house!"
"I know how you feel," she sighed. "I'm due a week after yours, but they say that boys tend to be early, so we're ready."
"You're having a boy? Me, too! I'm so glad, because our first was a girl."
"I'm surprised we haven't met before now."
"Oh, my partner and I just moved here last month. I know, bad timing, but we wanted to wait until school ended for Heather."
"Your... partner?"
The woman's smile stiffened a bit at that. She raised her voice slightly when she said, "That's right. Bill and I are partners on the path of life."
"So you're not married?" Carol asked, confused.
"Does it matter?"
Carol stared back at the woman. She knew how most of Wilby Island -- not to mention, her parents and most of the people she had known, growing up -- would reply. Finally, though, she decided that her own opinion was simply, "I suppose not."
Anna relaxed at that and she smiled somewhat apologetically. "We came here because we wanted our children to grow up in a small town but not a close-minded one. We heard some good things about Wilby, so we packed up and moved."
Wilby was certainly getting more interesting all the time. Buddy was going to get a kick out of this. "Have you been out to see the Watch yet?"
"Yes, just once. I can't believe it's the only piece of undeveloped land on Wilby. It's so beautiful. We'll all go again just as soon as this little guy is out and old enough." Anna hugged her hands over her abdomen in a gesture deeply familiar to Carol.
"Maybe we can go together then."
"Oh, yes! Make an outing of it."
At that moment, the door to the office opened and a nurse called, "Carol French?"
Anna did a double-take. "Are you Police Chief French's wife?"
Carol pointed towards the door with her chin as she levered herself out of her seat. "That was him. Not much to look at, is he?"
Anna shook her head quickly. "Not at all! He's quite handsome. He's just... younger than I expected." She fumbled in her purse and pulled out a notepad and a pen. Scribbling quickly, she tore off a sheet and handed it over just as Carol managed to get upright. "Here," she said. "Call me for that outing, okay?"
"I will."
She promised herself to put it on her calendar the first chance she got.
END.
"Carol and I used to come here all the time. She loved it here. She said it was a very important place, because when you looked out there, you could see where you came from."
Back to Points In Common Story Index
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