Bradley looked injured. “She’s doing fine.”
“What if it is rabid, Bradley?” Melissa hissed. “You’re going to sacrifice a child’s health because you’re too scared to do anything?”
“Like I said,” he whispered, “I don’t know anything about wild animals. Lillie was the expert.”
“For the love of Pete, Bradley! Be a man!”
“Fine.” He tiptoed over—Ophelia was almost at the door. “Give it to me,” he said. “I’ve got this.”
“I’m fine, Mr. Fairchild,” she said softly. “It’s still breathing. Just stay put.”
“I’ll take it. Melissa’s right. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“No!” said Ophelia. “Just stay there and don’t do nothin’.”
“Anything,” Melissa whispered.
“Ophelia, I’m almost your stepfather. Let me do this.” He reached for the bundled skunk.
Ophelia rolled her eyes. “Fine. Go for it.”
About dang time. He took the animal from Ophelia, gave Melissa a triumphant look that only a middle-aged white man could pull off and walked down the steps. Finally! Melissa pulled her phone out and started to text Lucia, one eye on Bradley.
And then the skunk woke up, poking its little head up. Phee was right . . . it was cute. “Shit!” Bradley yelled, and Melissa grabbed Ophelia, jerked her close and slid the door closed so hard it bounced.
Almost in slow motion, Brad bobbled the towel-wrapped skunk in his hands.
“Don’t drop it!” Ophelia yelled, but the skunk wriggled, shrugging off the towel, turned its butt toward Bradley and did what nature told it to do.
Bradley screamed, clots of spray all over his face, and dropped the animal, which lifted its tail and sprayed again, this time hitting his Tom Ford pants. Then the skunk calmly scurried away.
“I think it’s okay,” Ophelia said, watching the animal’s progress toward the water. “He didn’t hurt it. Yep. It looks real healthy.”
Bradley was wiping his eyes furiously. He ran up on the deck, but just before he got to the door, Melissa locked it. “Let me in!” he yelled. “I have to rinse my eyes!”
“Are you crazy? I’m not letting you in here! Use the hose!” she shouted back through the door.
“I need to get in the shower!”
“You’re not coming in here, Bradley!”
“You sure picked yourself a stupid man,” Ophelia said. Melissa looked at her. She was smiling.
Melissa felt her own lips pull up. “Not exactly great in an emergency.”
Ophelia snorted.
“Melissa! Let me in!”
“Use the outdoor shower, dumbass!” Ophelia shouted. “Outdoor shower!”
Finally, Bradley understood and stumbled away to the enclosed cedar shower. They’d had sex in there the other day. Today, its use would not be so glamorous.
Melissa took out her phone. “Google, how do you get rid of skunk smell on a human?”
CHAPTER 12
Lillie
It’s just that I love sex,” said my patient.
“Which is awesome,” I said. “But four times a day is gonna take its toll.” And oof, had it. Karen Henderson was in for the seventh time this year, a urinary tract infection and a yeast infection. “I recommend that you take a break until the yeast beast is cleared up.”
“Do I have to?” she asked. “I have a date tonight, and I usually get ready by . . . you know. Relaxing myself.” She grinned, and I smiled back. Where the woman found all her partners, I had no idea, since I’d been off the market for the past nineteen years. Maybe I’d hit her up for tips when the time came. If it came.
As a midwife, I saw women of all ages. Karen was in her fifties, postmenopausal and horny as hell. And while you didn’t want to judge, you did have to be honest. “I love that you’re enjoying yourself,” I said. “And the hormone cream is definitely helping with the atrophy. But try to avoid penetration every time, Karen. You said you use a lot of toys, and while I’m sure that’s fun, you’ve got to be careful. That’s how the bacteria gets in.”
“Killjoy,” she said.
I smiled. “Have you tried the cranberry extract we talked about last time? It helps keep the bacteria from sticking to the wall of your bladder.”
Karen sighed. “Yes, yes. And I pee after sex every time.”
“Good. For now, you know the drill. Keflex, Monistat, Uristat if you need it, lots of fluids. I’d like you to try this probiotic, too. A lot of women swear by it to help the flora down there.”
“You’re the best, Lillie!” she said, jumping off the table. “Hey, can I get a speculum? You know, just to . . . check things?”
I hesitated. “Um . . . yeah. Sure. They’re available online, but get one from a reputable medical supplier, okay?”
She wiggled her eyebrows at me, and I pulled off my gloves. “You know you want to tell me I’m a perv, Lillie,” she said.
“Enjoy your weekend, Karen,” I said, laughing. “Take care of yourself.”
I left the exam room. “How’s the sex addict?” Carol asked.
“Inside voice, please,” I said. “Ask her yourself when she comes out.” Karen did love to talk about her escapades, and Carol loved to listen. Match made in heaven (or hell, depending on your tolerance for oversharing).
“You have a message, by the way,” Carol said. “On the office voice mail, not your direct line.”
“Gotcha.” I went into my office and listened.
“Hi, Lillie, it’s Tasha. Everything’s good, so don’t worry.” I smiled. I loved Tasha, who was a repeat client. She was eight months pregnant with her second baby, and everything was going great. “Listen, I was at the hospital for the birthing class, and I ran into a doctor who said something weird. She said that if I used you, I’d definitely have a lot more pain, and labor would take longer, maybe raising the risk to both me and the baby? Which I totally don’t believe, but I figured you should know someone was trash-talking you. Carla Something? Colleen? I think her last name was Schneider. I told her I’d had a great experience the first time and was definitely using you, but I thought you should know. It was weird. Anyway, have a great evening, and I’ll see you in two weeks! Bye!”
Carline Schneider, the evil obstetrician. “Are you kidding me?” I said, grabbing the phone to call her. Then I put it down. I’d talk to Wanda first to see how to handle this. Carline didn’t take well to comments from “underlings,” as she liked to call the nurses and midwives, CNAs and techs. Instead, I texted Tasha. Dr. Schneider does love a quick birth to get her home in time for a meal. Deleted that so I wouldn’t get sued, just in case. Ah, Dr. Schneider, I wrote instead. Not a fan of midwives in my experience. Thanks for letting me know, and don’t worry. We’ll have every base covered for the big day.
Wanda was at the hospital. I stayed at the office as long as I could—we closed at five, though we’d do the occasional evening appointment (and of course, we’d go in for emergencies). For now, I did paperwork, still fuming about the idiot Carline. Some people had no business being in obstetrics. I couldn’t imagine why she’d chosen that field instead of, I don’t know, dentistry without painkillers. Unmedicated amputations. Hemorrhoid lancing. Wanda hated working with her, too, but Carline was the senior doctor in the Labor & Delivery Center.
I could not afford to attract Carline’s ire. Literally could not afford it.
Brad would—
Nope. Brad would not. Once, Brad had listened to my tales from work, commenting, assessing. He’d told me Carline had passive-aggressive tendencies and a fear of her own inadequacy. “A little narcissism, some OCD, a God complex covering a deep insecurity of her own worth . . . the whole package.”