Milada up the stairs to the master bedroom. Milada disrobed. Rachel carefully set aside her jacket, blouse, and slacks. “The bathroom’s right through there.”
Rachel dug out her old BYU top and drawstring bottoms. The water stopped running, and Milada came out. She wore a sheer white chemise and panties cut high on the thigh. Rachel felt the bite of envy. The chemise hung short over a flat stomach that showed only the hint of a belly. She looked like she’d modeled for the sculptor of those ancient Roman statues, the women with the perfect round breasts, skin polished smooth as glass—women who, after two thousand years, still looked great.
Oh, to have the body I had at twenty. The body she married David with. She wondered if her husband missed that body too.
Rachel held out the BYU top for Milada to see, the one with the cougar crouched over the big block letters. Milada’s eyes lit up. “It’s darling!” she said. She drew it down over her breasts and pulled on the bottoms. Her figure showed well even through the loose fabric. “You’re right, it does fit.” She peered down at the blue silk-screened logo. “You graduated from BYU?”
“Yes, that’s where David and I met.”
“It’s precious,” said Milada. “Zoë will be jealous. Why don’t we call it a trade?”
“A trade?”
“I certainly couldn’t get one of these back in New York.”
“But—” Rachel meant to say that she could buy several dozen sweat suits for what an outfit like Milada’s must cost. “I’m sure you could get one at any mall or sports shop around here. And Provo’s not that far away—”
“I detest shopping for clothes.”
She was serious. Running out of reasons not to, Rachel gave in. “Okay,” she said. Now that the possibility was real, she found herself looking forward to trying on Milada’s outfit. After she got it cleaned.
Milada said, “One thing, though. The dry cleaning will likely prove dear.”
Expensive, she meant. It shouldn’t cost that much, Rachel confidently assured herself.
She walked with Milada back to her house on Larkspur Lane. “I’m sorry about tonight,” Rachel apologized again. “Our dinner parties are rarely so eventful.”
“Think nothing of it.”
“Still, it sure was a good thing you were there. I think you’re the only one who kept her head on straight.”
“You would have done fine without me.”
“I’m not so sure. You probably saved Andy’s life.”
“To be honest, Rachel, I am not the Good Samaritan type. It is the kind of thing Kammy would have done.”
“Then thank her for being such a good influence.”
Milada flashed a weary smile and wished Rachel a good night.
The bishop got home shortly before ten. Rachel heard the younger Millingtons piling out of the Odyssey, climbing into their big Chevy Suburban. She walked outside. “Oh, Rachel,” gasped Charlene, running up to her. They hugged. “The doctor said Andy’s going to be fine.”
“That’s wonderful!”
“I forgot to thank you before. It was just so—”
“That’s okay. But it’s really Milada you should thank.”
Brent Millington and David finished talking. They shook hands, and Brother Millington gave him a heartfelt whack on the shoulder. Big guy emotion. “See you Wednesday, Bishop.” Brother Millington and Charlene climbed into the Suburban, and they drove off.
Laura was waiting for them in the kitchen. “So how’s the doughboy?”
Her father gave her a scolding look. “Surprisingly well. They’re keeping him overnight at Alta View for observation. But it looks like he’ll be no worse for wear. Remarkable, considering the severity of his reaction.” He paused. “There was one odd thing, though. A pair of marks on his wrist—” David touched his right arm.
“Bee stings?”
“No, they’re pretty sure it wasn’t that. More like needle marks. Maybe one of the EMTs—” He shook his head. “Who knows in cases like this—all the excitement and everything.
Rachel dug out her old BYU top and drawstring bottoms. The water stopped running, and Milada came out. She wore a sheer white chemise and panties cut high on the thigh. Rachel felt the bite of envy. The chemise hung short over a flat stomach that showed only the hint of a belly. She looked like she’d modeled for the sculptor of those ancient Roman statues, the women with the perfect round breasts, skin polished smooth as glass—women who, after two thousand years, still looked great.
Oh, to have the body I had at twenty. The body she married David with. She wondered if her husband missed that body too.
Rachel held out the BYU top for Milada to see, the one with the cougar crouched over the big block letters. Milada’s eyes lit up. “It’s darling!” she said. She drew it down over her breasts and pulled on the bottoms. Her figure showed well even through the loose fabric. “You’re right, it does fit.” She peered down at the blue silk-screened logo. “You graduated from BYU?”
“Yes, that’s where David and I met.”
“It’s precious,” said Milada. “Zoë will be jealous. Why don’t we call it a trade?”
“A trade?”
“I certainly couldn’t get one of these back in New York.”
“But—” Rachel meant to say that she could buy several dozen sweat suits for what an outfit like Milada’s must cost. “I’m sure you could get one at any mall or sports shop around here. And Provo’s not that far away—”
“I detest shopping for clothes.”
She was serious. Running out of reasons not to, Rachel gave in. “Okay,” she said. Now that the possibility was real, she found herself looking forward to trying on Milada’s outfit. After she got it cleaned.
Milada said, “One thing, though. The dry cleaning will likely prove dear.”
Expensive, she meant. It shouldn’t cost that much, Rachel confidently assured herself.
She walked with Milada back to her house on Larkspur Lane. “I’m sorry about tonight,” Rachel apologized again. “Our dinner parties are rarely so eventful.”
“Think nothing of it.”
“Still, it sure was a good thing you were there. I think you’re the only one who kept her head on straight.”
“You would have done fine without me.”
“I’m not so sure. You probably saved Andy’s life.”
“To be honest, Rachel, I am not the Good Samaritan type. It is the kind of thing Kammy would have done.”
“Then thank her for being such a good influence.”
Milada flashed a weary smile and wished Rachel a good night.
The bishop got home shortly before ten. Rachel heard the younger Millingtons piling out of the Odyssey, climbing into their big Chevy Suburban. She walked outside. “Oh, Rachel,” gasped Charlene, running up to her. They hugged. “The doctor said Andy’s going to be fine.”
“That’s wonderful!”
“I forgot to thank you before. It was just so—”
“That’s okay. But it’s really Milada you should thank.”
Brent Millington and David finished talking. They shook hands, and Brother Millington gave him a heartfelt whack on the shoulder. Big guy emotion. “See you Wednesday, Bishop.” Brother Millington and Charlene climbed into the Suburban, and they drove off.
Laura was waiting for them in the kitchen. “So how’s the doughboy?”
Her father gave her a scolding look. “Surprisingly well. They’re keeping him overnight at Alta View for observation. But it looks like he’ll be no worse for wear. Remarkable, considering the severity of his reaction.” He paused. “There was one odd thing, though. A pair of marks on his wrist—” David touched his right arm.
“Bee stings?”
“No, they’re pretty sure it wasn’t that. More like needle marks. Maybe one of the EMTs—” He shook his head. “Who knows in cases like this—all the excitement and everything.
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