The Sweetest September

The worry lessened a bit, but then he seemed to remember where he stood. His head swiveled as if checking for spies...or maybe nosy nurses. His eyes landed on the door they came in. “Let’s go out the way we came.”

She pulled away from him. “I probably need to talk to the receptionist. I haven’t given anyone my insurance card.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it,” he said, taking her elbow again and guiding her toward the door.

“Stop,” Shelby said, wrenching her arm away, feeling skeevy about sneaking out and not paying. “I don’t need you to—”

“I know, I know.” He held up a hand, his mouth growing rigid. “You can handle everything on your own.”

He sounded mad...and maybe a little hurt. She wasn’t sure because she didn’t know him well enough to make a judgment.

An exam room door opened and a woman wearing a tent waddled out. Okay, it wasn’t a tent, just a maternity dress that masqueraded as one. But still...yikes. Would she get that enormous? The poor woman might as well have had RMS Titanic stenciled across her side.

“John?” the ship, ahem, woman asked, a little V of befuddlement forming between her eyes. She smoothed the linen shift against her bulging stomach and sailed toward them, questions bouncing in her eyes. “What the devil are you doing here?”

“Shannon,” John said weakly, his smile pained. “Uh, I’m here to see Jamison. This is his office.”

“I know that, silly,” Shannon said, inclining her head toward Shelby, her eyebrows raised in that age-old expression that meant Who’s your friend?

“Oh, you mean what am I doing here with Shelby?” He turned his regard to her.

“Hi.” Shelby did a little wave. “I’m a friend of John’s.”

“Oh,” Shannon said, her expression still puzzled.

“Shelby didn’t feel well and since Jamison’s a close friend, I asked if I could drop in.”

“Oh,” Shannon said again, her cheeks dimpling as she gave Shelby a smile. “Lucky you. Dr. French is the best doctor around. Women even drive up from New Orleans to see him.”

“Great,” Shelby said, wishing she’d allowed John to tug her out the back door without resistance. This whole thing was awkward with a capital A.

“Well, we need to go. Tell Rob I said hello,” John said, motioning Shelby toward the back door like a cruise director.

Okay, so she extended the ship imagery. Sue her.

“So are you new in town?” Shannon persisted, following them with the determination of a...

She was out of ship metaphors.

John paused, turning toward the inquisitive Shannon, but Shelby beat him to it. “Just passing through.”

“For the week,” John clarified.

“What?” Shelby snapped, realizing Dr. French must have told John he’d prescribed bed rest.

“You’re staying with my sister, Abigail, at her bed-and-breakfast, right?” John said, his eyes beckoning her to go along with his statement.

“Actually, I was going to stay in Baton Rouge,” Shelby said, giving John a look she reserved for naughty students. How dare he manipulate her? Magnolia Bend was a charming little town, but she didn’t want to spend her weeklong bed rest with John’s sister. Something told her it would be too...too suffocating.

Shannon looked from him to her, now resembling a...buoy bobbing in the current? Or maybe a cork? Or a—Shelby was officially about to lose it. She wasn’t sure what losing it might look like. She felt equal parts anger and hysteria.

“Laurel Woods is a lovely place to stay. I had my wedding reception there,” Shannon said.

“Really?” Shelby said, a giggle rising to the surface. She bit her lip and tried to hold on to the anger.

“Oh, sure. It’s one of the top bed-and-breakfasts in the area. Of course, we don’t get many tourists because we’re so close to New Orleans, but this time of year with Thanksgiving and the Candy Cane Festival around the corner, we see a few new faces.”

“Huh, that’s...interesting,” Shelby said, glancing longingly toward the back door. She needed to get out of there. Screw the insurance.

“In fact my brother’s playing at the street dance Saturday night after the tree lighting. Maybe I’ll see you both there?” Shannon’s question might as well have been a fishing line tossed into unknown waters.

Shelby couldn’t seem to stop the nautical metaphors. Anytime she couldn’t deal with situations she became plain silly...which meant if she didn’t vamoose, she’d say something inappropriate.

“Maybe so,” John said, tapping Shelby twice on the arm. “We better go.”

“Tell your father I enjoyed his sermon last Sunday...and tell your mama hello, too,” Shannon called out as John turned toward the door and nearly dragged Shelby with him.

Sermon?

Wait. John was an actual preacher’s son? The whole back door thing suddenly made sense.

“Jesus,” he said as he pushed out the door.

“Imagine that. A preacher’s son calling on his savior. Now the whole back door approach makes sense. You go into liquor stores the same way?”

“That’s not what this was about.”

Shelby lifted her eyebrows. “Whatever you say, sailor.”

“Fine. I wanted to get you in to Jamison’s without everyone asking questions, and I knew you’d get treatment faster. It was an emergency, right?”

“Right.”

“Doesn’t matter. Shannon will tell the whole town about me being with a woman at the local ob-gyn’s office.”

“That ship just sailed, huh?” And that was it. Her sanity snapped and the giggling started. John stared at her like she was deranged.

She was. At least temporarily.

“Sorry,” Shelby said, turning away, holding her belly, trying to find the remote control to her feelings. She teetered on the edge, the rollicking emotions pulling at her, making her wish for safe harbor from the storm.

Safe harbor.

The laughter boiled up again at the continued nautical nonsense, but she managed to stifle it. Turning around, she found John heading for his truck. He looked pissed, resigned, shell-shocked and pretty good in his jeans. She wished she hadn’t noticed that last thing, but there it was.

The man who had impregnated her in the bathroom was pretty hot, sad and grumpy.

Hey, a girl had to look for silver linings somewhere.