THE RIGHT MEDICINE
By
Ginny Baird
Published by
Winter Wedding Press
Copyright 2012
Ginny Baird
Kobo Edition
ISBN 978-0-9851235-3-6
All Rights Reserved
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Characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.
Edited by Martha Trachtenberg
Cover by Dar Albert
The Right Medicine
Carly slammed her hammer onto the uneven slats of the wraparound porch and sat on a weathered step. She wasn’t so sure she liked country life. All afternoon, it seemed, she’d been trying to pound a series of stubborn nails into the warped wood of this old porch, but none were willing to hold.
Here she was, a thirty-two-year-old divorcée in the throes of PMS, not a pint of Walt and Winston’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream within a twenty-mile radius. Life was hell, she decided, tucking a sweaty strand back into the tight band holding her ponytail. Well, not exactly hell... She squinted through the midday glare at the brown and gray hills before her. It was beautiful, she had to admit. Beautiful and serene. Just what the kids needed after her rugged divorce.
The circumstances had caught her off guard. Initially, she hadn’t a clue what her next move would be. Peter was the one with the ready answers. Where he would go. Paris. What he would do. Marry Jenny. Of course that was perfect for him, Carly’d told him. What with Becky just ten and Jonathan almost seven, he’d had so much experience with children. Jenny, a fashion magazine favorite, was barely twenty-two.
Carly tugged the scrunchie from her honey hair, letting its fine wisps fall to her well-defined shoulders as they had in high school. No perky cheerleader by any stretch, serious-minded Carly had played lacrosse instead. Athletically inclined was how Peter used to define her, with a naughty grin. A grin she’d found irresistible in those early days. Days when Peter, a fledgling photojournalist, had been young and lithe himself. The tragedy was, in fourteen years he’d scarcely changed a bit, while the grueling demands of childbirth and a critical care nurse’s schedule had altered Carly’s figure, leaving her with more hips than muscle. Still, she considered herself attractive in a womanly way and was confident that others saw it. Even if Peter couldn’t.
Raw rubber crunched on gravel and Carly turned to see the bright orange school bus pulling up to the edge of her drive. Becky descended the metal steps, protesting loudly as her younger brother deliberately angled the corner of his notebook into her back.
“Mom!” Becky cried, rushing up the hill, “he poked me!” Her auburn hair was on fire with sun, her freckles awash with perspiration. As she took in the wide-set evergreen eyes perfectly placed between two stunning pigtails, Carly couldn’t help but think that her lovely daughter was all Peter. Jonathan wasn’t far behind, his towhead disheveled, his face crimson. “Ma! She called me a geek! And right in front of my friends!”
Carly stood to greet them. “All right, you two. Enough’s enough. Get on in the house and wash up. Surprises on the kitchen table.”
All of a sudden, her two came alive with “oh-boys” and “ye-hahs,” high-fiving it all the way into the house. Carly rolled her eyes and scooped up the scattered nails, grateful she’d had the foresight to bake cupcakes early this morning. All she had the energy for now was a cup of hot tea and a shower. A warm man would be nice too, she
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