“Thanks, Joe,” I said, smiling back. “Can’t take any credit, though. The mom did all the work.”
A baby! I had delivered a baby on Coast Guard Beach! Even Joe Carpenter’s golden beauty couldn’t touch that one.
The crowd was beginning to break up. A few people came up to Sam and me, congratulating us or making jokes.
As I bent down to pack up my medical bag, I noticed I was rather messy, my T-shirt smeared by the fresh-from-God baby. Oh, well, who cared? Badge of honor. I patted Digger and let him lick my face before standing up. My heart was so full that it actually caused a pleasant ache in my chest.
I stood up. Joe was still there.
“So, Millie…you doing anything tonight? Want to get a beer or something?”
For a minute, I just soaked it in, the cries of the seagulls and the roar of the waves and the voices of the people blending into a beautiful summer melody. The sun was warm and the breeze gentle, and this was clearly the best day of my life. I smiled again. “Sure, Joe.”
He smiled back, dimples appearing. “How about if we meet at the Barnacle around eight?” he suggested.
“Sounds great,” I answered, strangely calm.
“See you later, then,” he said and walked off.
Still beaming, I turned to go. Sam approached me.
“Amazing, huh, Millie?” he asked, running his hand through his short-cropped hair.
“You don’t get to deliver a baby every day, do you?” I laughed.
“Hey, you want to grab dinner later?”
I remembered belatedly that Danny was with Trish this weekend. “I can’t, Sam, I have plans. Sorry, bud.” I was sorry. It would have been nice to relive this glorious morning with him.
“No problem. Maybe I’ll see you later.” Sam grinned and went off to make his report.
As I walked off the beach, I was congratulated and complimented eleven times. Finally reaching my car, I drove home, filled with gratitude that life could be so sweet.
THE REST OF THE DAY PASSED in a dream. I called Katie and my parents and Mitch and Curtis and Janette in Boston and Dr. Bala and even Trish. After telling the story six times, it was starting to feel real. I sat outside on my tiny deck and went over every detail again and again. How lucky I felt to have been part of that baby’s birth! How proud I was of that mother, who’d managed to deliver a healthy baby on a beach in front of a crowd! How proud I was that I’d done everything right! How proud I was of Sam, so gentle and caring and calm! And of Digger, who’d been so well-behaved during the whole event! And then, after despairing last night, after eating all those Cheetos, after crying pathetically and being a loser, Joe Carpenter had asked me out! When I was unshowered and when my hair stuck up in odd places and when I was covered in blood and vernix and amniotic fluid, Joe Carpenter had asked me out.
I got a few calls from people telling me I did a great job and asking how the baby was. I called Heidi at Cape Cod Hospital to check on her, and she tearfully thanked me and “that wonderful officer.” Then I just floated around my house and yard, grinning and laughing and thrilled.
The baby had made me feel like a winner. Joe’s asking me out merely confirmed that feeling. Yesterday, I would have been deeply grateful to be noticed by J.C. the C.; today, it was merely what happened to competent, friendly, quick-thinking doctors who cleverly delivered babies on the beach.
Joe Carpenter was what I deserved.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IF I DIED AT THIS MOMENT, that would be A-okay, I thought to myself.
Joe had greeted me at the Barnacle with a kiss on the cheek, leading me to a table for two in the corner. Katie was working, and Sam had dropped in, too. We heard from the Eastham Police Department that mother and baby were just fine, happily sharing their story with reporters at Cape Cod Hospital. And though I’m sure Joe and I must have talked about something, I couldn’t remember exactly what it might have been, so happy was I on this most perfect day.
And now, Joe led me from the Barnacle. Outside, in the clear, cool night, with stars shining and wind whispering, I felt that the world was my own movie set. Everything was so perfect. Our feet crunched on the gravel driveway, and a pleasant nervousness suddenly flooded through my limbs, the shot of adrenaline tingling in my knees. It was the first feeling that managed to break the surreal quality of the day.
“This is your car, right?” Joe asked, pointing to my Honda.
“Yup, that’s mine,” I said. My mind went blank as I searched for something to say. Joe walked me over to the driver’s side and leaned against my door.
“So, Millie,” he said, grinning slowly.
“So, Joe,” I answered, my mouth going dry. The pinkish lights of the lamppost cast a romantic glow. Joe took both of my hands in his. His were rough and callused, and just that touch made my nether regions melt.
“Can I see you again?” he asked softly.
Yes! My God! It was happening! A hysterical laugh wriggled around in my stomach. “Sure,” I said, trying to react normally and not as if I had just won the Powerball lotto.
“Great,” Joe smiled. He pulled me closer and slid his hands up my bare arms. Take me now! my mind cried, and I bit my lip to still the laughter.
“What?” Joe asked, not offended.
“Oh, it’s noth—”
Joe’s kiss stopped whatever I was going to babble. His lips were smooth and firm and warm and oh, God, I was going to dissolve into a puddle of lust with just one kiss. It took me a minute to notice he’d stopped kissing me. I opened my eyes and looked at him.
“Want to catch a movie tomorrow?” he whispered. His hands slid back down my arms and caught my hands again.
“Um…I, uh, I have to work tomorrow night,” I stammered, my toes curled tight in my sandals.
“How about Monday, then?” he suggested, his eyes twinkling.“Oh, Monday. I, um, yes, that would be okay. Sure.”
“Great,” he said with another endorphin-inducing grin. “See you, Millie.” He straightened up from his pose against my car and kissed my hand. “I’ll call you Monday, okay?”
“Okay,” I answered. “Good night.”
I got into my car, ordering myself not to laugh hysterically or even smile too maniacally. Key in ignition, roger that. Seat belt, check. Turn key. Car has been activated. Put car in gear. Try not to hit Joe backing out. Put car in first. Depress gas pedal. Proceed slowly out of restaurant lot. Turn…what is it? Right? No, left! Turn left. Proceed home.
Once I was safely on Route 6, the laughter burst forth. Shrieking and cackling like a demented hyena, I pounded on the steering wheel. I did it! I did it! Joe Carpenter kissed me!
As I pulled in my driveway, I contemplated racing around the house in a victory lap, the way Digger did after our runs. Instead, I went in and rolled around on the floor with my doggy. “I had a date with Joe, puppy! He asked me out! He kissed me!” Digger, hearing kiss, one of the few words he recognized, began licking my face exuberantly. “Yes, I know! I know it!”
Finally, I got off the floor and went into the bathroom to look at the woman Joe Carpenter had finally discovered. The woman he had kissed. Whose hand he had kissed. My reflection smiled back at me. There she was. Millie Barnes, M.D.—also known as Joseph Stephen Carpenter’s girlfriend.
For the next two days, I grinned endlessly, sighed rapturously, floated around the clinic, treating the right patients, hopefully, for the right ailments. Jill and Sienna had heard about the baby and they thought that was the reason for my euphoria. I didn’t tell them about Joe. It was too wonderful to share with anyone just yet. I wanted to keep the memory of Saturday night like a secret jewel in a velvet box. Every time I remembered something, whether it was our knees bumping under the table or his pulling me in for The Big Kiss, a warm rush of happiness and lust would flow through me. Oh, I loved Joe! And soon he would love me back.
On Monday afternoon, I got home and immediately checked the answering machine. There was my light, flashing happily away.
“Hi, honey, it’s Mom.”
Shit. My heart sank. Not at my mom’s voice, of course…you understand. Why hadn’t he called? He’d said he’d call! It was four o’clock! We were supposed to go to a movie! I half heard my mom invite me over for dinner one night this week, but I wasn’t really paying attention. Calm down, Millie, I told myself. Joe is probably not even home from work yet. Settle down. He kissed you on Saturday and wanted to see you on Sunday and made a date for Monday. He will call. He. Will. Call.
Making sure the phone was properly charged, I took it out onto the deck and watched Digger poop three times. I’d have to ask the vet about those overactive bowels. On our first visit, the vet had told me Digger was just excited, and once he settled down, he’d stop going so often, but maybe it was something else. The dog seemed so sleek and healthy that I wasn’t really worried, but it should be checked.
Okay, that was good! I’d had a non-Joe thought. Well done, Doctor, I told myself. That’s the way to do it. After all, you are the deliverer of the lovely little beach baby. You and Sam.
At that memory, I thought of Sam. I wondered how Danny’s visit to New Jersey had gone…and how Sam had done without him. Had he spent the whole weekend alone? Instinctively, I reached for the phone, then mentally slapped my hand. What if Joe was trying to call? Wouldn’t want him to get a busy signal, would we?
I went back inside and got myself a glass of seltzer water, then returned to the deck and weeded my little railing boxes. Maybe I’d see if the budget could support some nice pieces of deck furniture. Right now all I had was a set of two plastic chairs and a matching table. Wicker tended to get moldy in the damp Cape air, so that was out. A little wrought iron, maybe.
The breeze rustled in the pitch pines and scrubby oaks of my property, and the waves roared rhythmically in the distance. I guessed it to be pretty close to high tide. I was getting good at that sort of thing. I sat down and watched a bluebird disappear into the little bird house Danny had helped me put up earlier this spring. Its deep blue flashed against the white of the house as it flew out.
The phone trilled, and I jumped up, sloshing seltzer down my front. Thank God I was alone, I thought, surveying my damp bosom as I picked up the phone.
“Hey, Millie, it’s Joe,” said the voice I loved.
“Hi, Joe.” Thank you, God.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Oh, just sitting on my porch, watching the birds,” I answered, unable to think of any answer except the truth.
“Millie, you’re so funny,” he said. “So, we still on for tonight? In the mood for a movie?”
“Sure,” I said, feeling that swell of laughter and euphoria rise again. He named a movie, which I agreed to, and told me he’d swing by around 7:00 for the 7:15 show.
“Sounds great,” I said. “See you then.” I clicked off, set the phone down and began hopping up and down. “I’m going out with Joe-oh, I’m going out with Joe-oh!” I sang merrily. Luckily, my neighbors didn’t live too close. Seeing my manic leaping, Digger leaped onto the deck to join in the celebratory dance.
At seven o’clock sharp, Joe’s truck trundled up the driveway, setting off Digger’s frenzied barking. “Quiet!” I ordered, grabbing his collar. “No, Digger!” He began clawing at the front door, barking so loudly that my teeth vibrated. The doorbell rang.
“Just a minute!” I called over the din. I dragged Digger to the cellar, gave him a chew stick and blew him a kiss. Nervousness and anticipation flooded through me. Straightening my shirt, I glanced in the mirror, hoping my hair would behave, hoping Joe didn’t see me as I stubbed my toe on the footstool, hoping Digger didn’t claw down the cellar door and maul my gentleman caller. Or worse yet, hump his leg.
“Hi,” I said, smiling as I answered the door. There he was, Joe Carpenter, leaning in my doorway, smiling at me, his dirty-blond hair damp and rumpled, hands in his worn jeans pockets, green T-shirt with smear of white paint over the heart.
“Ready?” he said. We walked out to his truck. He got in and started clearing stuff out of the way to make room for me. I opened the passenger door and climbed in, something of a feat when you’re five foot three.
“Okay,” Joe said. We backed out of my driveway and went off. Say something, Millie. My mind instantly emptied. What to say, what to say…I looked around the truck cab for inspiration. It was pretty grubby, a stark contrast to the last pickup truck I’d sat in—Sam’s, which was immaculate enough for surgery. Two old plastic cups careened around on the floor, rolling into my shoes. Wads of paper, an unwrapped cough drop furred with hair and lint. A hammer. A wrench. An old coat lay between us on the seat. There was that pleasant masculine smell…oil and coffee and cut wood. Tucked under the sun visor was a sheaf of papers. I could see the edge of a fishing license. Aha!
“Have you been fishing much this summer, Joe?”
“No, not really,” he answered, slowing to a stop at the light on Route 6. “I’ve been pretty busy.”
“Oh.” Great. End of conversation.
But there was the theater, so it was okay. “You haven’t seen this one, have you?” Joe asked as we waited in line.
“No, not yet. It’s supposed to be good, though.”
He smiled. I melted.
“Can I help you?” said the teenager at the window.
“One for James Bond,” Joe replied. The teenager took his money and handed Joe a ticket. It was my turn.
“Oh, uh, yeah, one for James Bond.”
He wasn’t buying my ticket! I had cash, thank God. I fumbled in my pocketbook and handed over a ten. “Thanks,” I told the kid. Joe had gone over the to the concession stand.