Pippa
“You look sharp today.”
We look up when Lindsey Tippen walks into the exam room.
“Funeral,” Sully explains, his hand on my shoulder squeezing lightly.
The doctor’s face drops immediately.
“Oh no, I’m sorry.”
“She was a friend,” I explain. “And one of the victims of Woody Moses.”
I know she would’ve heard the game warden’s name. The lurid story of a law enforcement officer gone rogue has already done the rounds and even hit major news outlets these past weeks.
It’s been almost a month since she was discovered but it’s taken this long for the FBI to release her body. The funeral is supposed to be small, arranged by her assistant by proxy of Marcie’s brother. He’s flying in from Panama, where he’s lived the past twenty or so years. Since Marcie wasn’t particularly religious, the service will be held at Pearson Funeral Home in town. No muss, no fuss, which wouldn’t have suited her anyway.
“The real estate agent,” Lindsey confirms as she gestures for me to get up on the table. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize she was a friend.”
She lifts my top and gently palpates my abdomen.
“Feels right on target. Still getting Braxton-Hicks?”
“Every so often. They don’t take my breath away like they did in the beginning.”
She smiles. “That’s why they call them practice contractions.”
She produces the doppler and searches for the baby’s heartbeat. I inadvertently hold my breath until I hear the rapid thump signaling she’s still there.
“She sounds good. How have you been feeling? Blood pressure is better.”
“I’m good. Work is getting difficult but my mechanic is back this week, so between us we manage.”
Ira got a clean bill of health from his doctor and I breathed a sigh of relief when he showed up Monday morning. With more work coming in, I’m wondering if I shouldn’t start looking at hiring someone else, at least part time. I’m limited in what I can do at this point and that’s only going to get tougher as this baby grows, but I’m determined to hang in as long as I can.
“When do you plan to stop?”
She pulls up an eyebrow when I hesitate but Sully jumps in.
“She wants to work until she goes into labor,” he shares grumpily.
This has been a bone of contention, but I have poured all my earthly possessions into the garage. It’s my means of living, my retirement fund, my security blanket, and my pride. I need to make it a success, if anything, to prove to myself I can do it.
The other night Sully pulled up all his banking information on the computer and showed me his accounts and all of his investments. He wanted me to see he was more than capable of looking after me and our baby. That was a bit of a shocker. I knew he wasn’t hurting, but he’s actually in great financial shape.
“At this point, there’s no medical reason why you couldn’t,” Lindsey says with a shrug.
“You’re a great help,” Sully points out with a hefty dose of sarcasm that has the doctor smiling.
“You didn’t give me a chance to finish. What I was going to say is that you, Pippa, will regret not taking some time to yourself before this little one comes. Once she’s here, you can forget about ever having any time to yourself again. You can bank on that.”
Those words are still playing through my head during Marcie’s service and the small reception afterward. I love my job, I enjoy taking things apart and putting them back together, better. It gives me great satisfaction to turn the key in the ignition and hear the smooth purr of the engine.
“You must be Pippa. Marcie mentioned you.”
The voice pulls me from the thoughts I’ve been hiding behind the past half hour.
I turn around to find the tall, lanky man I pegged as the brother standing behind me. I hate to admit to him Marcie never mentioned his name. I’m not sure why, but I slap on a smile and hope to fake my way through.
“It’s Nate Watts,” he clarifies, obviously not fooled by my ruse as he offers his hand.
“I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances. I’m so sorry for your loss.” I quickly indicate Sully by my side. “This is my husband, Sully Eckhart.”
The two men appear to size each other up.
“My condolences,” Sully mutters.
“Appreciate it.” Nate turns back to me. “I know my sister probably didn’t talk about me. I work in an industry that is built on secrecy. Marcie took that very seriously, as my big sister she always worried about me.”
My immediate instinct is to start guessing what industry that might be, but instead I force myself to nod my understanding.
“Pippa!”
My name is called again, but this time my spine goes ramrod straight when I recognize the voice.
“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Sully grumbles, pulling me behind him.
I keep my eyes on Nate, who appears to be weighing the situation, when Cade Jackson walks up. I knew he was released awaiting a hearing, but I didn’t think he’d have the balls to show up here.
“I only want to apologize, I didn’t mean—”
“Stop right there,” Sully intervenes, aiming a finger at the man while holding me back with his other arm. “You have nothing to say to her.”
“I have a few things to say to him,” I snap, barely able to hang on to my sudden rage.
Every struggle, every frustration, and every loss suddenly narrows into a laser-sharp focus on Cade Jackson.
“How dare you show up at Marcie’s funeral,” I spit out, but before I can follow my urge and tear his head off, Nate steps in.
“Who is this guy?” he asks Sully, who explains in a few sentences. “And you choose my sister’s funeral for this?” he directs at Cade with palpable authority.
In less than two minutes, Nate has Cade firmly by the arm and marches him toward the door.
It’s twenty minutes later, after we’ve taken our leave, I make a comment to Sully as he helps me into the truck.
“Marcie’s brother seems a take-charge type of guy. I wonder what he does that’s so secret.”
Sully ducks his head in the door and kisses my mouth before he whispers in my ear.
“Government.”
Sully
I’m pretty sure the guy is CIA.
He probably has an elaborate cover; it sounds like he’s been in Panama for a while. Quite a few points of interest in Panama, not the least of which the border it shares with Colombia. But also the Panama Canal, a major traffic route to legal as well as illegal goods.
An interesting line of work; I’ll admit, at times, I fantasized about when I was younger and a lot more idealistic. But it’s a lonely existence, one that would not have allowed me to meet and fall in love with this woman.
I get in behind the wheel, start the engine, and grab for Pippa’s hand.
I know she’s probably ready for a nap, after the doctor’s visit and the funeral, but I have one more stop I’d like to make before I take her home.
“Why are we stopping at the rescue?” she asks when I turn down the long driveway.
“You’ll see.”
I talked to Lucy a couple of weeks ago after Pippa had woken up after yet another nightmare. She did set up an appointment with a therapist associated with the hospital, but she won’t be able to get in to see them until sometime next month. In the meantime, I thought Lucy might be able to help.
I got her message a couple of days ago and went to look when Pippa was at the Pit Stop yesterday, but decided to wait until after the funeral to bring her here.
Lucy is expecting us, and her dogs come running up to the truck when I park in front of the house. She’s just coming out the storm door when I round the truck to help Pippa down.
“What’s going on?” she asks suspiciously as she bends down to greet the dogs.
Then she straightens and looks toward Lucy, who is standing at the top of the stairs, holding the leash of a pretty, six-month old chocolate lab sitting on the step beside her.
“Oh my God, you have a new puppy,” she exclaims, rushing up the steps where she sits herself down at face level with the animal.
“Oh, a little girl. Aren’t you the sweetest thing? Does she have a name?” she asks Lucy, who flashes one of her rare grins.
“Not yet.”
“Where’d you get her?”
“Got her through K9 Care Montana. She’s blind in one eye and was a program reject,” Lucy explains.
Pippa clamps her hands over the dog’s ears and presses its face to her chest.
“Don’t call her a reject,” she chides her friend, who shakes her head. “She’s a sweetie.”
“You like her?”
That question comes from me and she turns her head as if she’d forgotten I was here. Upstaged by a dog, who seems to be loving the attention showered on her.
“What’s not to like? She’s precious.”
I meet Lucy’s eyes and give her a nod.
“She’s yours, if you want her,” Lucy announces.
“You’re kidding.”
Pippa shoots to her feet, shock on her face, which is quickly replaced with a smile so bright, she’s literally beaming.
“Are you for real?”
“Dead serious. She’s housebroken, good with other animals, loves people, and would make a great buddy for your baby to grow up with.”
Cue the tears, which I knew would be forthcoming. Pippa is not supposed to be a crier, but her tears are at the surface these days. I’ve learned more about female hormones and a woman’s anatomy in the past almost two months than I had in the previous forty-four years.
“Thank you so much. I love you,” she sobs, throwing herself at Lucy, who seems more than a tad uncomfortable with the show of affection.
“Hey, you should be thanking your husband,” she says, peeling Pippa’s arms from her neck. “It was his idea.”
Next thing I know she’s in my arms, sobbing her gratitude.
“I love you so much.”
“Fillippa, stop crying,” I try to tell her in a firm voice after a few minutes.
“I’m trying,” she snaps, rubbing her face on my shirt.
Not the first time I’ve walked around in a wet shirt in recent days.
I try to distract her. “She still needs a name.”
Pippa turns back to the puppy with a smile on her face.
“She’s such a sweetie.”
“She is, but what do you want to call her?”
“Sweetie.” She throws me a glance over her shoulder. “That’s her name; Sweetie.”
I squeeze the back of my neck and close my eyes.
“What? It’s a perfect name for her,” she insists.
Lucy starts chuckling and I toss her a dirty look before I turn back to Pippa, who is looking at me like I hung the moon.
Fuck.
“Sweetie it is,” I confirm reluctantly.
I’ll never hear the end of it from the guys.