rest of the week.
“Wouldn’t that just frost you?” I mumbled to myself as I drove home, shaking from the cold. “Binkie’s in court and Sam’s tooling down the highway, while my financial reputation is being absolutely shredded.”
What was I to do with both lawyers unavailable? For it was Sam and Binkie who took care of Wesley Lloyd Springer’s estate, which had been left jointly to Lloyd and me. Well, not exactly left jointly, because Wesley Lloyd had intended to leave it all to Lloyd, and would have if the state hadn’t stepped in with a reminder of something called widow’s rights, meaning half the estate came to me, Wesley Lloyd’s intentions notwithstanding.
Fuming and fussing at being unable to immediately clear up the matter of bouncing checks, I began telling Lillian about it as soon as I walked in the door.
“What’s the use of having two lawyers when neither is around when you need them?” I complained, plopping my pocketbook on the table. “And I tell you, Lillian, I am torn up over Bitsy Simpson. That little snip as good as said that I’m too far over the hill to manage my own finances. I should speak to her mother about her, and I would if her mother wasn’t in a nursing home.”
But before I could continue, Etta Mae Wiggins came breezing in, and not wanting to share my banking problems with her, I put them aside and turned my mind to Hazel Marie’s situation.
Etta Mae was her usual happy little self, pleased to be called on to help. She was dressed in a light blue pantsuitlike outfit that did little for her. She’d once told me that she didn’t like wearing what she called scrubs, but with the kind of work she did with incontinent and bedridden patients, they saved her good clothes. And I supposed the outfits created a more professional look than her usual jeans and pointy-toed boots.
“Hi, Miss Julia, Lillian,” she said, her face reddened by the brisk weather. She put down her heavy tote bag and slid off her padded coat. “How’s the little mother this morning?”
“We think she’s fine,” I said, “but we’d love some reassurance. It was Mr. Pickens who got all concerned and upset thinking she was going into labor, which, I’ve been told, her doctor doesn’t want her to do.”
“That’s right. Not if he wants to monitor her in case she needs a section. At her age he’s being extra careful. But don’t tell her I said that.” Etta Mae sounded knowledgeable, but I kept thinking about that technical school course she’d taken and wasn’t all that comforted. Still, she knew her limitations and was always trying to better herself one way or another, which I admired and commended her for.
“Well, let’s go take a look,” Etta Mae said, sounding like Dr. Hargrove at his breezy best.
I led her through the back hall to Hazel Marie’s room, with Lillian following us. We found her sitting on the foot of the bed, folding the tiny shirts and leggings and blankets and this, that, and the other that make up layettes for twin babies. She looked up as we filed in, pleasure lighting her face.
“Etta Mae!” she cried. “I’m so glad to see you.” Then she stopped and frowned. “Is anything wrong? I thought you’d be working.”
“I am, but I had some time between shut-ins, and your husband is so worried about you, I thought I’d drop by.”
“J.D. called you?”
“Yeah,” Etta Mae said, and laughed. “About five o’clock this morning. Woke me out of a sound sleep.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was doing that. But I’m fine, Etta Mae, just a little indigestion now and then, but no wonder. Just look at me! I’m as big as a house.”
By this time, we’d all found a place to sit, although Etta Mae had to move a stack of baby things to make a place on the bed beside Hazel Marie. There was hardly room to turn around for all the accessories that two babies seemed to require. There was a crib—and thank goodness, only one because Hazel Marie had
“Wouldn’t that just frost you?” I mumbled to myself as I drove home, shaking from the cold. “Binkie’s in court and Sam’s tooling down the highway, while my financial reputation is being absolutely shredded.”
What was I to do with both lawyers unavailable? For it was Sam and Binkie who took care of Wesley Lloyd Springer’s estate, which had been left jointly to Lloyd and me. Well, not exactly left jointly, because Wesley Lloyd had intended to leave it all to Lloyd, and would have if the state hadn’t stepped in with a reminder of something called widow’s rights, meaning half the estate came to me, Wesley Lloyd’s intentions notwithstanding.
Fuming and fussing at being unable to immediately clear up the matter of bouncing checks, I began telling Lillian about it as soon as I walked in the door.
“What’s the use of having two lawyers when neither is around when you need them?” I complained, plopping my pocketbook on the table. “And I tell you, Lillian, I am torn up over Bitsy Simpson. That little snip as good as said that I’m too far over the hill to manage my own finances. I should speak to her mother about her, and I would if her mother wasn’t in a nursing home.”
But before I could continue, Etta Mae Wiggins came breezing in, and not wanting to share my banking problems with her, I put them aside and turned my mind to Hazel Marie’s situation.
Etta Mae was her usual happy little self, pleased to be called on to help. She was dressed in a light blue pantsuitlike outfit that did little for her. She’d once told me that she didn’t like wearing what she called scrubs, but with the kind of work she did with incontinent and bedridden patients, they saved her good clothes. And I supposed the outfits created a more professional look than her usual jeans and pointy-toed boots.
“Hi, Miss Julia, Lillian,” she said, her face reddened by the brisk weather. She put down her heavy tote bag and slid off her padded coat. “How’s the little mother this morning?”
“We think she’s fine,” I said, “but we’d love some reassurance. It was Mr. Pickens who got all concerned and upset thinking she was going into labor, which, I’ve been told, her doctor doesn’t want her to do.”
“That’s right. Not if he wants to monitor her in case she needs a section. At her age he’s being extra careful. But don’t tell her I said that.” Etta Mae sounded knowledgeable, but I kept thinking about that technical school course she’d taken and wasn’t all that comforted. Still, she knew her limitations and was always trying to better herself one way or another, which I admired and commended her for.
“Well, let’s go take a look,” Etta Mae said, sounding like Dr. Hargrove at his breezy best.
I led her through the back hall to Hazel Marie’s room, with Lillian following us. We found her sitting on the foot of the bed, folding the tiny shirts and leggings and blankets and this, that, and the other that make up layettes for twin babies. She looked up as we filed in, pleasure lighting her face.
“Etta Mae!” she cried. “I’m so glad to see you.” Then she stopped and frowned. “Is anything wrong? I thought you’d be working.”
“I am, but I had some time between shut-ins, and your husband is so worried about you, I thought I’d drop by.”
“J.D. called you?”
“Yeah,” Etta Mae said, and laughed. “About five o’clock this morning. Woke me out of a sound sleep.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was doing that. But I’m fine, Etta Mae, just a little indigestion now and then, but no wonder. Just look at me! I’m as big as a house.”
By this time, we’d all found a place to sit, although Etta Mae had to move a stack of baby things to make a place on the bed beside Hazel Marie. There was hardly room to turn around for all the accessories that two babies seemed to require. There was a crib—and thank goodness, only one because Hazel Marie had
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