group of polite bystanders would say in subdued whispers, Wow! Tess Blessing killed that!
Thatta girl! Louise cheers.
Why couldn’t Will see that Tess wanted, no, needed, him to insist that he drive her to the appointment even though she’d told him it was fine if he didn’t? To punish him for not reading her mind, she pushed away the eggs Benedict he’d prepared, which took real willpower since it’s one of his signature dishes and quite scrumptious.
She wishes she hadn’t now. Her stomach is putting up a fuss as she turns into the parking lot of St. Mary’s City.
A sexless winter-coated someone is shoveling the walk in front of the entrance of the turn-of-the-century hospital. The scraping of cold metal against cement was once a comforting sound, but as she enters through the pneumatic doors, from that moment forth, Tess knows the sound will always be associated with cancer.
“The Women’s Center?” she asks the bow-tied Orville Redenbacher look-alike seated behind the reception desk.
“Down the hallway, make a quick right then a left past the gift shop. You can’t miss it!”
Her mind otherwise engaged, as usual, Tess doesn’t catch most of what the nice man with the loose dentures had to say, but she can’t bear asking him again, so she thanks him and wanders off confused.
She is lost. Wishing she had someone to lean on. This is it! The time has finally come for me to make myself known again!
I make the adjustments necessary to actualize and swoop in behind her. Setting a warm hand firmly on her elbow, I say in the reassuring small-town Alabama drawl that’s been handpicked by Tess, “Allow me to show you the way, my friend.”
She startles, does a double take because I look vaguely familiar, then says with a polite Brownie smile, “Thank you,” but not much else on our way to her destination. (She’s much too scared of what she’s walking into to form words or further wonder who I remind her of.)
The gal in her early thirties seated behind the Women’s Center’s glass doors is gypsy pretty. She doesn’t acknowledge the handsome black woman dressed in a herringbone coat because, of course, she can’t see me, but after Tess identifies herself, the receptionist tells her with an enchanting smile, “Welcome, Mrs. Blessing. If you could fill out these forms….” She passes a pink clipboard over the counter. “I’ll also need your insurance card.”
It’s never easy finding anything in that lucky black purse of hers. After she fingers past the Swiss Army knife, her copy of To Kill a Mockingbird , and discovers her wallet shrouded in the shards of her children’s baby blankets, she leaves the Blue Cross card on the counter and takes a seat in the farthest corner of the overheated waiting area.
I ease down next to her even though we’re the only two in the room. I’m emanating powerful energy that I’m having a hard time controlling because I’ve waited so long for Tess and me to be reunited. I’m giving her the heebie-jeebies. She doesn’t like people to get too close even if they were nice enough to show her the way to the Women’s Center. She could change seats, but she knows it’s futile, I’d only follow her. Since she can remember, certain types of people are attracted to her. The different ones, the ones operating on another wavelength, they hone in on her. She’s a big hit with schizophrenics. She wonders if she puts out some sort of vibe. Cats like her too, even though she’s really more of a dog person.
She’s just about completed the required admittance forms when she hears, “And how are you this fine morning, Mary Ann? Gettin’ any?”
Tess’s head jerks up. She recognizes the high-pitched voice. On three-inch heels, Babs Hoover has come tottering through the door of the center pushing a metal cart loaded with magazines and various sundries. Tess shrinks into the folds of her puffy red parka, brings the clipboard up to her face, and remains perfectly still
Thatta girl! Louise cheers.
Why couldn’t Will see that Tess wanted, no, needed, him to insist that he drive her to the appointment even though she’d told him it was fine if he didn’t? To punish him for not reading her mind, she pushed away the eggs Benedict he’d prepared, which took real willpower since it’s one of his signature dishes and quite scrumptious.
She wishes she hadn’t now. Her stomach is putting up a fuss as she turns into the parking lot of St. Mary’s City.
A sexless winter-coated someone is shoveling the walk in front of the entrance of the turn-of-the-century hospital. The scraping of cold metal against cement was once a comforting sound, but as she enters through the pneumatic doors, from that moment forth, Tess knows the sound will always be associated with cancer.
“The Women’s Center?” she asks the bow-tied Orville Redenbacher look-alike seated behind the reception desk.
“Down the hallway, make a quick right then a left past the gift shop. You can’t miss it!”
Her mind otherwise engaged, as usual, Tess doesn’t catch most of what the nice man with the loose dentures had to say, but she can’t bear asking him again, so she thanks him and wanders off confused.
She is lost. Wishing she had someone to lean on. This is it! The time has finally come for me to make myself known again!
I make the adjustments necessary to actualize and swoop in behind her. Setting a warm hand firmly on her elbow, I say in the reassuring small-town Alabama drawl that’s been handpicked by Tess, “Allow me to show you the way, my friend.”
She startles, does a double take because I look vaguely familiar, then says with a polite Brownie smile, “Thank you,” but not much else on our way to her destination. (She’s much too scared of what she’s walking into to form words or further wonder who I remind her of.)
The gal in her early thirties seated behind the Women’s Center’s glass doors is gypsy pretty. She doesn’t acknowledge the handsome black woman dressed in a herringbone coat because, of course, she can’t see me, but after Tess identifies herself, the receptionist tells her with an enchanting smile, “Welcome, Mrs. Blessing. If you could fill out these forms….” She passes a pink clipboard over the counter. “I’ll also need your insurance card.”
It’s never easy finding anything in that lucky black purse of hers. After she fingers past the Swiss Army knife, her copy of To Kill a Mockingbird , and discovers her wallet shrouded in the shards of her children’s baby blankets, she leaves the Blue Cross card on the counter and takes a seat in the farthest corner of the overheated waiting area.
I ease down next to her even though we’re the only two in the room. I’m emanating powerful energy that I’m having a hard time controlling because I’ve waited so long for Tess and me to be reunited. I’m giving her the heebie-jeebies. She doesn’t like people to get too close even if they were nice enough to show her the way to the Women’s Center. She could change seats, but she knows it’s futile, I’d only follow her. Since she can remember, certain types of people are attracted to her. The different ones, the ones operating on another wavelength, they hone in on her. She’s a big hit with schizophrenics. She wonders if she puts out some sort of vibe. Cats like her too, even though she’s really more of a dog person.
She’s just about completed the required admittance forms when she hears, “And how are you this fine morning, Mary Ann? Gettin’ any?”
Tess’s head jerks up. She recognizes the high-pitched voice. On three-inch heels, Babs Hoover has come tottering through the door of the center pushing a metal cart loaded with magazines and various sundries. Tess shrinks into the folds of her puffy red parka, brings the clipboard up to her face, and remains perfectly still
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