A Year on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [111]
“You’ve said that a lot.”
“Never meant it more.” She took a breath. “When do you need to know?”
“In two weeks.” And before she could speak, he raised his hand. “I know. Wow.”
It had been so long since her cell phone had rung that at first Lindsay thought the ring tone—Beethoven’s First—was part of the background music from the restaurant. It wasn’t until Shep raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at her purse that she exclaimed, “Oh!” and fumbled for the phone.
As she listened, she felt her face grow cold and her lips become numb. She was already standing, her napkin fluttering to the floor, as she said, “What hospital?”
Shep stood, too, concern on his face. She snatched up her coat. “I’m on my way.”
“Lindsay, what is it?” Shep said. “Can I—?”
She was already out the door. She didn’t say good-bye, and she didn’t look back.
19
Mixed Blessings
The three of them lounged on Cici’s four-poster king-size bed, fat pillows plumped under their heads, watching a delicate mist of snow drift down outside. A fire crackled in the marble fireplace, scenting the room faintly with warm hickory. Heavy-lined polished cotton draperies in a Victorian rose pattern were pulled back gracefully from the three casement windows, framing a view of frosted mountains against pale gray sky. A rose wool shawl was draped casually across the arm of a delicately carved rocking chair in front of the fireplace, and a skirted table near it held a vase of yellow roses. The scene was much as they had dreamed about all those months ago when they first walked through the big sunny rooms: cozy winter afternoons and cheery fires, stacks of books and a pot of tea nearby, afternoon naps with nothing to disturb them but the tinkling sound the snow made on the roof. Except, of course, that Cici’s arm was in a cast, her chest was tightly taped to stabilize three broken ribs, and two pins held together her broken collarbone. And the yellow roses had come to her hospital room with a card that read, “Get well soon. We love you, Bridge and Linds.”
“Is it just me,” Cici said, gazing bleakly out the window, “or is living here less fun than it used to be?”
Bridget laid her head lightly against Cici’s. “When I think of what might have happened to you. Do you realize how lucky you are?”
Cici winced. “Not feeling all that lucky right now.”
“I still don’t see why you won’t let us call Lori,” Lindsay said. “She has a right to know. She should have been with you in the hospital.”
“Don’t be silly. I was home before she could have gotten here. There’s nothing she can do, and besides, after that fight we had, it would just seem like a play for sympathy.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Probably. But you promised you wouldn’t call her.”
“Don’t worry. If that’s what you want, that’s what you’ve got.”
“It’s ironic,” Bridget said after a moment. “We cut down the hickory tree. We trimmed back the poplar tree. But it was an oak tree that went through the window.”
“Not the whole tree,” Lindsay pointed out. “Just a big branch.”
Farley had come over with his chain saw and removed the majority of the tree branch, and boarded up the hole with plywood. Cici hadn’t been able to make herself look at the wreck of her sunroom since she had been home.
“Well,” she sighed. “At least oak makes good firewood.”
“But who’s going to cut it?” Lindsay said.
“On the other hand,” Bridget said, trying to sound positive, “if the branch hadn’t crashed into the house I might not have come outside to look for you for hours.”
Cici gave her a dry look. “If the branch hadn’t crashed I might not have fallen.”
Bridget’s expression fell. “Mixed blessings,” she agreed.
Lindsay took a deep breath. “There’s something I have to tell the two of you.”
They looked at her curiously.
“That day—the day of the accident,” Lindsay said, “I didn’t go to Charlottesville to Christmas shop. I went to Staunton to have lunch with Shep.” She held up a staying hand before either of them spoke. “And before you ask, the reason I didn’t tell you was because I was embarrassed.