It was fun to watch the marines load up their gear and head for the river in the early morning. Mel waved to them from her spot on Doc’s front steps where she took her morning coffee, and though they’d been up half the night playing poker and drinking, they seemed full of energy and enthusiasm. They’d shout and wave, and whistle at her. Flirt. “Oh, baby, you are so beautiful in the morning,” Corny yelled across the street. His reward was a playful whap on the back of the head from Jack.
They were barely gone when a large, dark SUV pulled into town, driving slowly down the street. To Mel’s surprise, the driver stopped in front of Doc’s. The door opened, but the engine continued to run. A man got out and stood in the street next to the open door, half-hidden. He was a tall guy, broad-shouldered. He wore a black ball cap and his hair curled out beneath it. “This doctor make house calls?” he asked.
Mel stood up. “Someone’s sick?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Someone’s pregnant,” he answered.
She felt a smile reach her lips. “We can make house calls, if necessary. But it’s a lot more convenient to do prenatal checks here in the clinic. We see well patients on Wednesdays.”
“You Doc Mullins?” he asked, his eyes crinkling doubtfully.
“Mel Monroe,” she said with a chuckle. “Family nurse practitioner and midwife. Doc hasn’t been doing much women’s health since I got here. Where does your wife plan to have the baby?”
He shrugged. “That’s up in the air.”
“Well, where do you live?”
He tilted his head. “She’s on the other side of Clear River. Almost an hour from here.”
“We have a hospital room here. Is it a first baby?”
“I think so, yeah.”
She laughed. “You think so?”
“It’s the first one I’ve been around for,” he said. “She’s not my wife.”
“Sorry,” Mel said. “I made an assumption. Bring the lady in for a prenatal checkup,” Mel said. “I can show her our room and talk to her about her options.”
“How about if she has it at home?” he asked.
“Well, that’s an option, too,” Mel said. “But really, Mr…？” The man didn’t respond as he should, with his name. He just stood there, big in his denim jacket, tall in his boots. Serious. “Really, the person having the baby needs to be involved in the discussion. Want to make an appointment?”
“I’ll call,” he said. “Thanks.” And he got in the SUV and proceeded out of town.
She found herself chuckling; she’d never had a consultation go quite like that. She hoped the man would confer with the pregnant woman about where she’d like to give birth.
The marines left at the end of the week and the town quieted down, but after getting to know them, she was actually sorry to see them go. While the boys were in town, Preacher was a lot more animated, laughing easily, scowling so much less. And each one of them grabbed her and hugged her goodbye, like she was part of their family.
Mel found herself looking forward to having Jack to herself again, but it was not to be. Jack was oddly morose and somewhat distant. He didn’t lift her off the ground or pester her for kisses, and for someone who had resisted and complained of the inadvisability of same, she was disappointed. Bereft. When she questioned his strange mood, he said, “I’m sorry, Mel. I think the boys wore me out.”
When she went to the bar for lunch, Preacher reported that Jack was fishing. “Fishing?” she said. “Didn’t he get enough of that last week?” To which Preacher merely shrugged.
Preacher didn’t seem particularly worn out. He presided over the bar with the help of Ricky, polishing glasses, serving food, bussing tables and partaking of the occasional game of cribbage. “What’s the matter with Jack?” Mel asked.
“Marines. They take their toll,” he replied.
Four days later, a week ahead of schedule, Mel got the call from the Patterson farm that it was time. Given the fact that Sondra reported easy, quick births and had already been experiencing contractions through the night, Mel went immediately.
Babies are odd—they do as they please. Having a history of short labors didn’t necessarily mean they would all be that way. With the support of her mother, mother-in-law and husband, Sondra labored hard through the day. Finally in the early evening, the little boy arrived. He didn’t emerge with a lusty cry and Mel had to suction, stroke and cajole him into the world. Sondra bled a little too much and the baby wasn’t interested in nursing right away. Even Sondra quickly knew the difference between this and her previous two experiences.
Getting a slower than usual start in the world doesn’t necessarily mean trouble, and the baby’s heart, respirations, coloring and cry caught up right away. Still, Mel stayed a bit longer than she ordinarily might have. She rocked the baby for three hours past the time she felt everything was fine, playing it extra safe.
It was ten at night by the time Mel finally decided to give them back their lives, their family, that it was perfectly safe to leave them. “And I’m wearing my pager,” she said. “Don’t hesitate, if you think anything is amiss.”
Instead of going right back to her cabin, she went into town. If Jack’s was dark and closed up, she’d go home. But the light was on in the bar, though the Open sign was not lit.
When she pushed open the door, she was greeted by a most unexpected sight. Preacher was behind the bar, a steaming cup of coffee in front of him, but Jack sat at a table with his head down on his arms. In front of him was a bottle of Scotch and a shot glass.
When Preacher saw her enter, he said, “Throw the latch on that door, Mel. I think this is enough company.”
She did so, but the look on her face was completely nonplussed. She walked over to Jack and put a hand on his back. “Jack?” she asked. His eyes briefly opened and then rolled back in their sockets and closed again. His head lolled and one arm fell off the table and dangled at his side.
Mel went to the bar, hopped up on a stool in front of Preacher and said, “What’s the matter with him?” Preacher shrugged and made a move to reach for his coffee mug, but before he could connect with it, Mel virtually lunged across the bar, grabbed the front of his shirt in her fist and said, hotly, “What’s the matter with him?!”
Preacher’s black brows shot up in surprise and he put up his hands as if being arrested. Mel slowly let go of his shirt and sat back on the stool. “He’s drunk,” Preacher said.
“Well, no kidding. But there’s something wrong with him. He’s been different all week.”
Again the shrug. “Sometimes when the boys are here, it dredges things up. You know? I think he’s having some remembering of things not so good.”
“Marine things?” she asked. Preacher nodded. “Come on, Preacher. He’s the best friend I have in this town.”
“I don’t think he’d like me talking.”
“Whatever this is, he shouldn’t go through it alone.”
“I’ll take care of him,” Preacher said. “He’ll snap out of it. He always does.”