Love Letters From Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [55]
“I don’t know how anyone ever gets well here,” Cici said, as she resolutely took a bite of her sandwich. “Lori’s schedule isn’t this hectic at college. Bath, X-rays, meds, vital signs, draw blood, change dressing, eat this, drink that, take this, push this button, squeeze this rubber ball, follow my finger...”
“And that’s just the patient,” Lindsay said. “The caretakers have it much harder.”
“They should pay us for letting Lori stay here,” Bridget said, and tossed her sandwich down in disgust. “And I’ve a great mind to go back in that kitchen and introduce that cook to butter and cheese.”
“Both very useful ingredients in a grilled cheese sandwich,” Lindsay agreed. She tore her sandwich in half, regarded the stringy contents without enthusiasm, and returned both halves to her plate.
“We’re spoiled,” Cici said. She took another bite of her sandwich, chewed without tasting, and swallowed resolutely. “We are probably the only three people in this building right now who actually know what real food tastes like.”
“Tomatoes warm from the vine,” Bridget said, and her voice was filled with abject yearning.
“Strawberries that taste like strawberries smell,” said Lindsay.
“Bright yellow eggs.”
“Blueberry muffins.”
“Raspberries, when you pick them first thing in the morning.”
“Stop it,” Bridget warned. “I’m going to cry.”
Cici stared at them, the half-eaten sandwich poised a few inches from her lips, her expression grim. “Both of you stop it,” she said. “If I don’t eat, I’ll get grumpy. And if I get any grumpier, they’re going to kick me out of this place. So let me eat.”
“Raspberries,” Bridget remembered suddenly, sitting up straight. “Where am I going to get local raspberries for the brandy sauce in June? Our raspberries aren’t ready until the end of July!”
“There’s got to be some variety that ripens in June,” Lindsay suggested. “Check the Internet.”
“Local is a relative term,” Cici said. She tore off another bite of her sandwich and choked it down. “What you need to do is define local. Ten miles? Twenty? Two hundred?”
“Well,” Bridget said uncertainly. “The crab comes from the Chesapeake Bay. How far away is that?”
Lindsay asked, “How are you getting crab from the Chesapeake Bay by this weekend?”
“Oh, no!” Bridget’s eyes flew wide and she extended her hand across the table. “Give me your phone!”
Lindsay fumbled her cell phone out of her purse while Cici chewed another bite of rubbery cheese. “She’s ordering it,” Cici explained as Bridget walked quickly away, punching numbers on the keypad.
Lindsay said, “For the love of God, Cici, put down that sandwich. We’re taking you out to dinner tonight for something greasy and salty, with chocolate mousse cake topped with fudge sauce served on a bed of dark chocolate puree for dessert. You can’t live like this.”
Cici shook her head and glanced at her watch. “You two need to get on the road. I’ll be fine.”
Bridget returned to the table, looking relieved. “Crisis averted. One pound of Chesapeake Bay crab will be delivered to Blue Valley Grocery by ten a.m. Friday morning.”
“I mean it,” Cici said. She gave up on the sandwich and placed the remains on her plate. Her blue eyes were faded, her hair mussed, and even her freckles seemed listless, but her expression was determined. “I can manage here. But we can’t leave Noah another night, and we can’t blow this wedding. We’ve already cashed the deposit check,” she reminded them.
“Don’t worry” Bridget assured her. “Don’t you worry about a thing. We’ve got it all under control.”
“Sure,” Lindsay said. “Like I said, we’ve already done the hard parts. We’ll be fine.”
“Have you checked your e-mail lately?” Cici inquired darkly.
Lindsay and Bridget shared an uneasy glance. Bridget said, “Maybe we should just scoot home and check in.”
Lindsay compressed her lips briefly, thinking. “We’ll make a run to the drugstore,” she decided, “and lay in a supply of candy for you and soft drinks for Lori. Promise me you’ll go to the hotel tonight and