Good Medicine. Bobby Hutchinson
glanced at her watch, suddenly aware that it was past noon and nerves had kept her from having anything but coffee that morning.
“Thanks, Christina. I’d love to, but I’m waiting for Billy to bring my suitcases. He should be here any minute. Can you wait?”
“Sure. No rush. Mom’s serving stew, it’ll keep.”
“Please, sit.” Jordan gestured at the brown tweed couch. “Do you want to call her? I have my cell phone—”
Christina grinned and shook her head. “Mom’s pretty easygoing. She’ll expect us when we get there.”
Jordan sank into a stuffed armchair across from the couch and then gave a startled squeak when her bottom almost hit the floor. The springs were gone.
“Oops.” Christina put a hand over her mouth and giggled. After a moment of stunned silence, Jordan began to laugh too, and then she couldn’t stop. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she pressed her fists against her mouth, willing herself to regain control, losing it more with each passing moment.
CHAPTER FIVE
CHRISTINA GOT UP after a moment and knelt in front of Jordan.
“Let it come,” she said in her soft, slow voice. “Let it out, it needs to escape now.” She laid a small hand gently on Jordan’s head and stroked her hair.
Ashamed, but too far out of control to do anything about it, Jordan wailed, gulping out strange guttural noises.
“That’s the way,” Christina encouraged her. “Let ’er out.”
It took what felt like forever before Jordan regained control.
Christina went to the bathroom for a tissue, then pressed it into Jordan’s hand.
“Oh, dammit, I’m so sorry,” Jordan said when she could speak again. “What an idiot, having a meltdown like that.” She blew her nose hard and tried for a smile. “And I’m supposed to be the doctor. It’s enough to scare you, huh?”
Christina shook her head. “You’re a woman first. Women need to cry, it keeps us healthy.”
A knock at the door signaled the arrival of the suitcases.
“Oh, no, I’m a wreck.” Jordan hated the idea of anyone else witnessing her breakdown.
“Go in the bathroom and run some cool water. I’ll tell Billy to put the suitcases in the bedroom, okay?”
“Thanks.” Jordan hurried into the bathroom and locked the door. She was shaking.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she whispered to her bleary image in the mirror over the sink. “You’ll need to go back on medication if you keep this up.”
She washed her face and held a cold washcloth over her swollen eyes. She could hear Christina’s calm voice directing Billy, and then the sound of the door closing behind him. Grateful that she’d already put the small cache of cosmetics she carried in her purse on the shelf above the sink, Jordan used eye drops and touches of concealer, then an eyelash curler. A critical glance told her that no one with normal eyesight would be fooled; her cheeks were flushed, her eyes still bloodshot, her face puffy.
She took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door.
Christina studied her. “Well, it looks like you either have one hell of a hangover or you’ve been on a major crying jag,” she said.
“Let’s be optimistic and think hangover.”
Christina grinned. “Okay, let’s go eat. Food fixes damned near anything. I’m starving.”
“Me, too.” That in itself was amazing. Jordan’s appetite had been on sabbatical for weeks, but at this moment she was voraciously hungry.
“That’s gonna make my mother one happy woman. She loves feeding people. It’s a wonder I’m not three hundred pounds.” Christina waited while Jordan locked the door, and then they set off down the gravel road.
The wind was up—it smelled of the sea—and it cooled Jordan’s burning cheeks and smarting eyes.
“Where’d you train, Christina?” She liked the other woman a lot. She’d only ever had a handful of women friends, and she’d lost touch with them since marrying Garry. He’d taken all her attention.
“Edmonton, nine years ago,” Christina said. “I followed my high school sweetheart there. David got a job in the oil fields and I enrolled in nursing. But he was killed when a generator blew up. I was two months from graduating and four months pregnant. We were getting married the day after graduation.”
Lordy. All of a sudden, Jordan’s life didn’t seem so desperate.
Christina was matter-of-fact about it all. “I got my degree and came back here so Eli could grow up with family and friends.”
Family. Friends. The words left a hollow space in Jordan’s heart. She’d grown up in foster homes, struggling to make top grades, too busy to have time for friendship. And then somewhere along the line, she’d learned not to trust other women. And yet here was a woman, on an island in what at this moment felt like the outer edge of the known world, who made Jordan think friendship was not only possible, but likely.
They left the road and headed up a slight hill to a wooden frame house indistinguishable from every other they’d passed. Each had a stack of firewood outside, and many of the yards were cluttered with discarded bathtubs, broken high chairs, rusted motors, old tires—even bed frames.
Some had electrical lines leading to them, but many didn’t. The one Christina headed for was tidy and well kept. The pile of firewood was neatly stacked, and wooden tubs of flowers flanked the walkway. Christina led Jordan up the sturdy stairs and opened the front door.
“Mom, hey, we’re here!”
Mouthwatering cooking smells greeted them, along with Elvis singing gospel on a boom box. A plump, very pretty woman hurried down the hall to greet them, wiping her hands on a striped apron tied around her ample waist. She was smiling, and her dark eyes were almost buried in her round apple cheeks.
“About time. I was about to send out a scouting party.”
“This is Jordan Burke, Ma. Jordan, my mother, Rose Marie Crow.”
Rose Marie took both of Jordan’s hands in a warm, welcoming clasp.
“You’re a pretty one,” she commented. “But way too skinny, we’ll have to feed you up, eh?”
Jordan’s smile took effort. Her skin felt shrunken from crying, and she was suddenly shy. “It smells wonderful in here,” she managed to say. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”
“We’re not fancy, come and sit in the kitchen and I’ll serve the stew. Christina, Eli came by and said he’s eating at Michael’s house. Wanda’s making them KD.”
“Kraft Dinner,” Christina interpreted. “They’d live on the stuff if we let them.”
Rose Marie led the two women to the large kitchen at the back of the house. Sliding doors opened on to a deck, where the yard below was mostly garden. Green plants in a variety of pots lined the deep windowsills.
The kitchen was warm and inviting, counters lined with baskets of food and a wood-burning cookstove in the corner like the one in Jordan’s apartment. Except this one sent out waves of warmth. Its gleaming surface was crowded with pots, and a large, sturdy basket beside the stove held a good supply of firewood.
Rose Marie deftly lifted the lid with an iron utensil and thrust another log into the firebox, slamming the lid back in place. The big square wooden table in the middle of the room was set for four with sea-green place mats and colorful Fiestaware.
Christina indicated a chair, and Jordan sat.
“Where’s Grandmother,