Natalie, his longtime secretary, had nursed her secret love for years until the two of them got carried away one night after a party to raise money for the center’s Endowment Fund. Now here she was, due to deliver a baby next May and deliriously happy after discovering that Patrick had been secretly in love with her, too.
Several weeks earlier, the attendants had picked out their turquoise bridesmaids’ gowns along with matching hats. The problem, once again, was the shoes.
“I’m sorry,” the store proprietor said, holding up a pair of emerald pumps. “They came out the wrong color. I called you as soon as I saw them.”
“Dye another batch,” Natalie said promptly.
“The company we use is backlogged, and so is everyone else,” the woman said. “I’m terribly sorry. I’ve called all over Orange and Los Angeles counties and I haven’t had any luck.”
“We could wear white shoes,” suggested their friend Heather Rourke, an obstetrician who was on two months’ leave for personal reasons. “Or would we be stepping on the bride’s toes?”
“If that was an intentional pun, I’m going to stick you with a diaper pin,” Amy said.
Heather laughed. “I don’t think they make diaper pins anymore. Everything’s got Velcro or tape.”
“You should know.”
“Just call me Diaper Lady!”
The beautiful redhead had recently admitted to her two closest friends, after swearing them to secrecy, that she’d given up a baby for adoption while in her teens. Following the deaths of the adoptive parents, her daughter Olive had contacted her, and they’d become close. Then Olive became pregnant.
Heather had taken leave to coach her daughter through childbirth while Olive’s fiancé served overseas in the marines. Now the new mother and baby Ginger were staying with Grandma, which seemed to Amy an absurd title for such a young-looking thirty-six-year-old. No one else at the center knew anything about the situation, and Heather, who prized her privacy, intended to keep it that way.
“I wish my sister hadn’t had to work today so you could all pick out your shoes,” Natalie said. “We’re getting awfully close to the wedding.”
“Candy doesn’t have to wear the same shoes we do,” Heather pointed out. “She’s the maid of honor.”
“I don’t see why any of our shoes have to match,” Amy said. “Who’s going to notice? We’ll look weird enough as it is, wearing turquoise at the reception. I assume the Barr mansion will be decked out in red and green as usual.”
Every year, Patrick hosted the Doctors Circle staff and supporters at a holiday party the first week in December. Since he and Natalie had become engaged at the end of October, they’d had such a short time to prepare that they’d decided to let the annual event do double duty.
“I thought about having a Christmas-themed wedding,” Nat admitted. “But red is too far out and I couldn’t stick you guys with bright green dresses.”
“Thanks, more than you’ll ever know,” Amy said.
She couldn’t imagine how brides kept track of all the details and conventions, anyway. If she ever got married, she’d have to elope, because otherwise she would make a whole series of embarrassing faux pas.
“I’m glad you picked turquoise and silver,” Heather said. “The church will be beautiful.”
“Silver! That’s it!” Although Amy had the fashion sense of a sea slug, she knew she’d hit on something this time. “Last year at Patrick’s Christmas reception, there were silver bows on the staircase. If we wear silver shoes, they’ll work at the wedding and the reception.”
“Silver would be lovely,” Natalie agreed.
“I don’t suppose you have any silver shoes on hand, do you?” Heather asked the proprietor.
“I’m afraid not.”
They spent the rest of the afternoon traipsing around the mall, and found two attractive styles of silver sandals that would look fine side by side. Heather’s had a higher heel, which evened things up a bit, since she was five inches shorter than Amy.
“Candy can pick up a pair next week,” Natalie said. “Hooray! We’re done!”
A few minutes later, the bride waved farewell, since she’d parked near a different exit than her friends. As Heather and Amy sauntered in the opposite direction, Heather said, “Now that we’ve got a moment alone, I’d like to ask a favor.”
“Is it baby-sitting? I don’t have much experience, but I’d be glad to give it a try.” Amy had been fascinated by the babies she’d seen through the nursery window en route to talk to Quent on Friday.
“Thanks, but it’s not baby-sitting,” Heather said. “It’s about the Moms in Training program.”
Both women volunteered at a program for pregnant teenagers. Amy offered counseling and collected donations from the community to help the young women. Heather gave advice about healthy pregnancies. In private conversations with some of the girls, she had also confided about her own experiences as an unwed mother and how adoption had helped her get her life on track.
“What can I do?” Amy asked.
“I’d like a pediatrician to come discuss child development. The director asked me to try to set something up for next Saturday. It’s Thanksgiving weekend, but most of the girls want to meet anyway.” Heather tore herself away from the shop window. “I’d also like you both to talk a little about child discipline.”
“Great idea,” Amy said. “I’d be glad to help.”
They were passing her favorite video-game store, and she couldn’t resist eyeing the display. Half hidden in one corner was a copy of Global Oofstinker, a goofy game about a cartoon skunk trying to take over the world.
The reviews had been mediocre, and so were the sales. Too bad. The manufacturer, WiseWorld Global Productions, had promised a donation to the Doctors Circle’s Endowment Fund drive, but the size of the donation was pegged to the game’s success.
“The favor I’m asking involves more than just your participation.” Heather gave an embarrassed cough.
“Well, don’t have a hacking fit on my account,” Amy said. “Spit it out.”
Heather laughed. “I should have known to get to the point with you.”
“Always!”
“I’d like you to ask Quentin Ladd to give the talk,” her friend said as they strolled. “Whoever joins us is likely to hear about Olive and Ginger. You know how strongly I feel about my privacy.”
“And we both know how the tongues can wag at Doctors Circle,” Amy noted.
“Natalie says everyone’s been speculating about the reasons for my personal leave. It would be too good a tidbit for one of the older doctors to keep to himself.”
“Whereas Quent’s new on the block,” Amy finished for her. “And he’s a great guy. He won’t shoot his mouth off if we ask him not to.”
“Exactly,” Heather said. “So you’ll talk to him?”
“You bet.”
Amy didn’t know why, underneath her confidence, she felt a tremor of uncertainty. She and Quent were buds, right? Why shouldn’t she ask him?
She and Heather emerged into crisp sunshine, yesterday’s bad weather having vanished with the sea breezes. Amy said goodbye and didn’t give the subject of Quentin another thought for at least, oh, thirty seconds.