High October Page 11

  As she passed the urgent care, she noticed an ambulance, flashing all its lights, parked in front. She crossed her fingers against the possibility of being called in for an emergency. The last few weeks had been so busy with stupid accidents. On Labor Day, a teenaged boy had slipped off the jetty while trying to reel in a fish. It had taken her hours to clean out all the abrasions and suture the jagged wounds.

  As she approached the house, she was surprised to see a car parked in front of the garage. No one she knew owned a Hyundai sedan. Surviving year-round in Maine required four-wheel or all-wheel drive. The plates were from Florida, which threw her for a moment, until she figured out the driver had probably picked up the car at the airport. Why hadn’t Maggie let her know she was expecting a guest?

  Liz left the quinine and melons in the truck while she investigated. Just in case, she loaded a round into the chamber of her pistol. Through the garage door, she could hear loud voices coming from inside the house.

  “What made you think I’d want you to come?” Maggie’s voice sounded both anxious and angry.

  “I just wanted to talk to you,” replied a raised male voice.

  Liz tried the door and found it unlocked. Dammit, Maggie. I told you to keep the doors locked! Liz hung her bag on a hook by the door and put the pistol in her pocket. She quietly opened the door and stepped into the house. Maggie and the man seemed completely unaware as she approached.

  “What’s going on here?” Liz demanded.

  At the sound of her voice, they both swung around and stared at her. Maggie looked overwhelmingly relieved to see her. The man looked alarmed.

  “Maggie, who is this?” Liz asked, eyeing the middle-aged man standing beside her. Mostly bald, completely gray, and barely as tall as Maggie, he looked more pathetic than threatening.

  “You must be Dr. Stolz.” The man attempted a smile, but it came out as a grimace.

  “And who are you?” Liz stepped into the room. Her hand remained in her pocket, ready to draw her pistol if the man proved to be dangerous.

  “I’m Tom Meier, a friend of Maggie’s from New York.” He extended his hand, but when Liz made no move to take it, he quickly withdrew it. Her hand remained firmly on her pistol.

  “Maggie, do you know this man?”

  “Yes,” said Maggie in a frustrated voice, “but I didn’t invite him.”

  “I only came up to see her play.” Meier nervously shifted from one foot to the other. “That’s when I found out about the accident. The woman in the ticket office told me she was staying with you.”

  “I don’t appreciate your showing up at my house unannounced.” Meier took a step back at the threat in Liz’s voice. Liz maintained her grip on her pistol. “Maggie, do you want this man to leave?”

  Maggie looked conflicted. “He did come all this way.”

  Liz’s eyes never left Meier’s. “I’m fine with him staying as long as you are.”

  Maggie sighed. “He can stay.”

  Liz slowly released her grip on the gun. The heavy pistol dragged in the pocket of her shorts, making an obvious gun-shaped outline in the thin, high-tech fabric. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Maggie stare at her pocket and give her a worried look.

  “Maggie, are you sure everything is all right here?”

  Maggie nodded. “Yes, Liz. I’m fine.”

  Liz gave Meier another warning look. “All right, then.” She went into the garage to retrieve her bag. She replaced the pistol in its holster.

  The conversation sounded decidedly friendlier, when Liz returned with the grocery bags.

  “Dr. Stolz, can you recommend a restaurant? I’d like to take Maggie out for dinner.”

  Liz eyed him suspiciously. She was not about to let Maggie go off with him unless she was clear about her intentions. “Maggie, do you want to go out to dinner with Mr. Meier?”

  “Professor...” corrected Meier.

  Liz shot him a withering look.

  “If not, you could invite him to stay for dinner, we have plenty.”

  Maggie looked conflicted again. She anxiously glanced at Meier. Finally, she said, “You’re welcome to stay, Tom...”

  “If you really don’t mind...” Meier said. “Thank you, Dr. Stolz.”

  “It’s a hot night. I’m going to make myself a gin and tonic. I have some very nice craft gin made here in Maine. Any takers?”

  “Sounds wonderful,” said Meier.

  “Wine for you, Maggie?”

  Maggie nodded. Liz went into the kitchen, where she prepared a tray with local smoked cheddar and crackers and fixed their drinks. After she served her guests, she returned to the kitchen to scrub sweet potatoes and cut up vegetables.

  Meier seemed to enjoy Liz’s cooking. After the meal, he pushed back from the table. “That was absolutely superb.” Liz frowned because she knew the meal was an ordinary weeknight dinner, unworthy of such praise. “I don’t often get home cooking,” Meier added.

  “Oh? Doesn’t Maggie cook for you?”

  “Not often. She’s usually too busy.”

  “I’m surprised. She cooks for me.”

  Meier shot Maggie a brief quizzical look.

  “We take turns,” Maggie quickly explained. “Liz is in the office, seeing patients. I’m home all day.”

  Liz’s ear instantly caught the operative word and she liked the sound of it.

  “I always look forward to coming home to good conversation and a delicious dinner. Maggie is a wonderful cook.”

  “Maggie was telling me you used to cook together in college,” said Meier, obviously trying to open a conversation.

  “Yes.”

  Undaunted, Meier tried again. “Maggie said you read Hegel. You don’t meet too many primary care doctors who would admit to that.”

  “I’ve also read Schopenhauer, Kant, Heidegger, and Fichte. I minored in philosophy.”

  “I teach German literature. I suppose Maggie’s told you that.”

  “Actually, Maggie hasn’t said much about you,” Liz replied with a smirk. If Meier perceived the not so subtle dig, he didn’t let on.

  “It must be pretty boring up here for you with such an interesting background.”

  “I’m never bored,” said Liz. “Only boring people are bored.”

  “Liz wasn’t always a family doctor,” interjected Maggie. “She was chief of surgery at Yale-New Haven.”

  “Really?” Meier looked impressed. “So why are you up here practicing family medicine?”

  “It’s my little retirement project. To keep me occupied in my dotage.” Liz refilled all the wine glasses, which emptied the bottle. “I’ll open more wine.”

  As she screwed the opener into the cork, she overheard Meier tell Maggie, “We could fly back to New York together. I bet you can still get a seat if we call tonight. Those early morning weekend flights are never full.”

  Liz stopped working the corkscrew and cocked an ear to listen to Maggie’s answer.

  “No, thanks, Tom. I have another trip planned. I’m staying here until then.”

  Liz nodded in approval. While she cut up some musk melon for dessert, she listened to Meier’s efforts to persuade Maggie to return to New York. To her credit, Maggie never wavered.

  Before she served the melon, Liz went down to the wine cellar to find another bottle of pinot grigio in case the night ran long. When she returned to the kitchen, the conversation in the dining room had shifted.

  “No, I’m not interested. Thank you for coming all this way to see my show. Sorry you were disappointed.”

  “Why didn’t you call me when you broke your leg?”

  “Why should I? We broke up. Remember? It was your idea.”

  “I know, but I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Why? Did your graduate student dump you? I’m so sorry,” said Maggie in a voi
ce that oozed sarcasm.

  Liz loudly cleared her throat to warn of her approach before returning to the dining room. Meier and Maggie exchanged an anxious look when she came in.

  “I didn’t plan any dessert, but I found this wonderful local melon in the supermarket. I admit to sampling it in the kitchen, and it’s absolutely delicious.”

  “Not for me, thanks.” Meier tossed his napkin on the table. He pulled back his chair and got up. “I think it’s time for me to go.” He glowered at Maggie, who refused to look at him. “Thank you for your hospitality, Dr. Stolz.”

  “I hope you don’t mind if I don’t see you to the door,” said Maggie, sticking out her leg to demonstrate her excuse.

  “Never mind. I can see myself out.”

  Liz followed him and opened the front door. “Have a safe flight home.” She deliberately left her hand at her side rather than offering it. Meier eyed it but decided not to offer a handshake either.

  “Thanks,” he muttered, frowning. “And thanks for dinner. My apologies for intruding.”

  Liz returned to daggers shooting from Maggie’s eyes. “What were you thinking inviting him for dinner?”

  Liz shrugged. “If you had said so, I would have happily shown him the door.”

  “Bastard! They’re all bastards! I don’t know why I even bother with them.”

  “I don’t either,” Liz agreed. “It’s their biology. They can’t help themselves.”

  “And you!” said Maggie in an accusing voice.

  “Me? What did I do?”

  “What was that thing in your pocket?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t tell me it was nothing, Elizabeth Stolz. It was a gun, wasn’t it?”

  Liz averted her eyes from Maggie’s accusing stare. “Busted.”

  “Are you crazy!” Maggie shrieked. “What were you going to do? Shoot him?”

  “If he was attacking you? Raping you? Yes.”

  Maggie stood there, glaring at her. “You’re just like all the other yahoos up here.”

  “Excuse me?” Liz’s voice went up a note. She was insulted.

  “You heard me.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about. There have been home invasions here, people out of their minds on opioids. People know I’m a doctor. They might think I keep drugs in the house. Why do you think I have the security system?”

  “I thought Maine was a safe place.”

  “It is safe, much safer than New York where you can get shot through your window sitting there minding your own business. And I am not a yahoo.”

  “You gun nuts are all yahoos. Do you carry that thing all the time? Even when you’re with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Guns scare the hell out of me. They really, really scare me.”

  Liz realized Maggie was trembling and put her arms around her. At first, Maggie accepted the attempt to comfort her but then abruptly flung off Liz’s arms. “I don’t know you anymore,” she said in an accusing voice. “I have no idea who you are!” She hobbled off to her room.

  “Fuck,” said Liz aloud as she went into the kitchen to clean up. “That went well.” She cleared the table and rinsed the dishes, glad that a grilled meal left few dishes or utensils that couldn’t go into the dishwasher. The hand-blown wine glasses were an exception. She filled the sink with soapy water and carefully washed them. After she set them in the drainer to dry, she remembered the propane tank was still open, so she went out to the deck to close it.

  The night air was very appealing after the oppressive heat and humidity of the day, so Liz sat down in one of the Adirondack chairs to listen to the night sounds. She allowed herself a long, deep breath as she sat back to watch the moon rise.

  “Liz?” a voice called from the dark of the porch. “Do you mind if I join you?”

  “Of course not.”

  Maggie, already in her nightgown, came out on the deck, one foot bare, the other in the ankle boot. She sat down beside Liz. “I’m sorry I lost my temper. It had nothing to do with you. I was upset because that bastard had the temerity to show up here. And now you know.”

  “Know what?”

  “That he left me. It’s so humiliating.”

  “Why be humiliated by some asshole running after a younger woman?”

  “Well, I couldn’t hold his attention. Not my husband’s either.”

  “Their loss. You’re beautiful and very sexy. If they can’t see that, they’re idiots.”

  “Thank you, but you’re biased.”

  “That may be, but I’m not blind.”

  Maggie reached out her hand. Liz took it. Their fingers intertwined.

  “Let me get you a glass of wine,” said Liz, getting up. She went into the house and brought out the wine bottle and glasses.

  “Liz, you’re so kind. It was very generous of you to ask Tom to join us for dinner. Did you know right away who he was?”

  “It took me a minute, but I recognized the name and connected the dots. I should have asked privately if you wanted me to invite him.”

  “You didn’t know the whole story.”

  “There are many things I don’t know about you.”

  “I could say the same. When did you become a gun nut?” Maggie’s voice had lost its edge of accusation. Now it was merely curious.

  “I am not a gun nut. I fervently believe in gun control and gun safety. That’s why I became a safety instructor.”

  That seemed to mollify Maggie. She nodded. “I know you’re not a nut. You grew up with guns. Remember when you tried to teach me to shoot your shotgun? My shoulder was sore for a week.”

  “If you had tucked it into your shoulder like I told you…”

  “I know. I didn’t listen.” Maggie sat back in her chair and gazed up at the stars. “You were always trying to turn me into an outdoorswoman.”

  “There’s still hope. I reserved the cabin in Acadia today. It was the last one, so I took it.”

  Liz considered how to explain the sleeping arrangements. She played up the cabin’s location by the water, the amenities that would make it seem much less like roughing it. “It only has a queen-size bed. I’m sorry, but I was afraid I’d lose it if I didn’t reserve it on the spot.”

  “Are you planning a seduction?”

  Liz swallowed her wine in a gulp. “No, of course not! I’ll sleep in the bunk room.”

  Maggie smiled. “Are you sure?”

  Sure about what? The seduction or sleeping in a tiny room meant for children? Liz tried to decide which question to answer. She chose the less controversial one.

  “Sleeping in a bunk will be fine. More like camping.”

  Chapter 12

  Liz brought her laptop out to the porch to catch up on her paperwork. She was glad to have remote access into the office system so she could work from home. She was also glad that Cathy Pelletier, her partner had Saturday office hours that weekend.

  Although Liz was supposedly working, she was surreptitiously watching Maggie give herself a pedicure. It made no sense that Maggie had a broken leg and still couldn’t walk very well, yet she found the need to paint her toenails lavender. As Liz continued to watch, she found the entire process from soaking the toes to shaping the cuticles mystifying and ridiculous.

  “Don’t lean too hard on that heel,” she cautioned with a frown.

  Maggie didn’t look up from carefully slicking on the polish. “I thought you were working.”

  “I am working.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re watching me. I can feel it.” Maggie glanced at Liz’s bare feet. “You should let me give you a pedicure. Your feet are frightening.”

  Liz inspected her toes as she wiggled them. “Thanks, but no thanks.” She stuffed her feet into her Crocs to hide them.

  Maggie raised a brow. “I k
now you hate girly things.”

  “That’s not completely true. I like them on you.”

  “I know you do.” Maggie looked up and smiled.

  “It seems very intimate to be touching someone’s feet.”

  “Nail salon workers do it every day. They even get paid for it.”

  “Still,” Liz insisted. “It feels like an invasion of privacy.”

  Maggie laughed. “Liz, my fingers have been inside you and my tongue has been on your clit, and you’re worried about me touching your feet?”

  Liz found it both shocking and exciting to hear Maggie talk so openly about sex. She deflected by saying, “My feet are incredibly ticklish.”

  “So?” Maggie gazed at her with raised brows. “Go get your manicure tools and fill that basin half full of warm water. Add exactly one drop of dish liquid. Go.”

  For no reason that she could divine, Liz followed Maggie’s orders. Perhaps it was a holdover from their college days, when Maggie, being older and more sophisticated, had assumed the role of teacher and Liz had deferred to her.

  Liz returned with her manicure kit and handed it to Maggie.

  “Nice set,” said Maggie looking it over. “I wouldn’t dare use my own tools. I’m guessing, Dr. Stolz, that you sterilize these after every use.”

  “I do.”

  “Of course, you do. All right now, soak those hooves in the basin until my polish dries.” Maggie read the newspaper while her nail polish dried. After about ten minutes, she said, “I’m ready for you.” Liz brought over a chair from the table and sat across from Maggie, who patted a place on her lap. “Let’s have your foot.” Dutifully, Liz landed her foot in the location Maggie had indicated. “You can read so you don’t have to watch what I’m doing to you.”

  “I’m curious now.”

  “Don’t tell me fibs, Liz. You’re squirming inside.”

  How had she known? Liz wondered, but she affected an attitude of calm and tried to restrain the impulse to writhe. It was true that her feet were ticklish.

  “Why do women paint their nails?” Liz asked.