On The Other Side

Chapter Twenty-Nine: House Calls To The Rich

I ring the bell, knocking briskly on the solid oak door polished to a high sheen. The Carmichael’s butler opens the door, eyebrows raised in question until he notices my worn leather doctor’s bag.

            “Ah, yes, right this way,
Dr. Kelly.” He leads me through the large, airy entryway, the floors a pearl white marble.

           Up the curved staircase, the treads lined with Persian carpet. The sconces placed every couple of feet along the cream-colored painted walls, shimmer in golds and crystal. Exquisite paintings framed in gold hang from the smooth walls, letting me know the people that wander these halls want for nothing.

        On the second floor, the butler opens a creamy white door to a room shrouded in darkness, the curtains drawn tightly against the afternoon sun.
            “Mam? Dr. Kelly is here.” The butler leaves, silently closing the door.

            I can see Mrs. Abigale Carmichael propped up in bed, the silk covered pillows strewn about. She smiles, her lips painted red, her hair quaffed perfectly, reminding me of Barbara. My mood cools considerably, eyeing this woman that resembles a snake.
            “Declan,” Abigale squeals, “I haven’t seen you in ages, when I heard from Grandfather that you were running a grocery store, I didn’t believe him.” She looks me over, her eyes taking in my coarse working man’s shirt, my scuffed work boots. “Well, maybe Grandfather was telling the truth, you look a sight, Declan.”

            I smile coldly, voice dripping in sarcasm, I say, “I thank you, Mrs. Carmichael, you look a sight as well, more haggard than usual, if I may say.”

            Her smile disappears into a snarl, “Don’t be mean, Declan.” Abigale smooths the comforter around her, folding her hands, “I haven’t been feeling well, I’ve felt nauseous and more tired than usual. I didn’t want rumors to start and that’s why I called you.”

            I set my doctors bag next to the bed, pulling my stethoscope out. “When do you feel more nauseous? The morning or evening?” I press the stethoscope to her chest, asking her to take deep breaths in, then out. I then press the stethoscope to her belly, listening intently.

            “The mornings mostly, every smell makes sick, every noise giving me a headache.” Abigale notices the gold band Claire gave me, “Well, my goodness, Declan, I didn’t know you had remarried.” She presses a hand to her chest, a sly smile lighting her face. “Why, after Barbara divorced you I figured you for a bachelor the rest of your life.”

            Hearing my ex-wife’s name makes my throat burn. Putting a sardonic smile in place, I shove my stethoscope into my bag, snapping it closed, “I’m engaged to be married.” My eyes soften just thinking of Claire, of Aggie and Alex.

            “My, my, who on earth could put a light like that in your eye, I wonder?” She purses her lips, tapping her fingers on her chin, “A new debutant perhaps, or a beautiful little heiress?”

            I keep my face carefully blank, “No one you know.” I pick up my bag, ready to leave this room, this home, this snobbish woman, who is my ex-wife’s close friend. “Try eating less sugar. A cup of weak tea and crackers should help with the nausea, in about eight months you should feel better.”

          Abigale’s forehead wrinkles in confusion, “Eight months…..,” she turns deathly pale, clutching the creamy white sheet to her chest, “No, I’m not pregnant, I can’t be.” She continues shaking her head in denial.

            I smile mockingly, “Oh but you are, I’m sure your husband will be thrilled at the news,” I pause, tossing her a cynical look, “Unless, of course the babe isn’t……” I lift an eyebrow at her reaction.