The Sparrow Sisters (13 page)

Henry slid carefully out of the sheets and reached for the water on the bedside table. He was so thirsty he drank two glasses from the pitcher as he stood naked at the window. He realized he was starved (Henry must have watched ten trays of hors d'oeuvres go by at the party without a single bite) and decided that though he wouldn't leave her altogether, he had to go down to the kitchen. Henry pulled on his pants and padded into the hall. He expected to be stopped by Sorrel or Nettie as he moved toward the stairs, one hand on the wall to guide him in the dark. But he made it without incident.

Henry was bent over looking in the refrigerator, the rest of the room black and blue with shadows when Patience came down. She hadn't been asleep when he eased himself out of her bed. She'd watched him as he drained the glass she'd left him, and a second. She was afraid to sleep, afraid that he might
watch her, as she did him, which of course he had. She was more afraid to end the night. For the first time in years Patience had put something on in bed; after they made love, before she settled beside him in the chill. It was a pointless gesture. She had never been so naked in her life.

Patience watched Henry shift things around until he came up with some cold cuts and a bottle of milk.

“That was fast,” she said, startling Henry into fumbling the milk and mustard against his bare stomach.

“Christ! Cold!” he yelped and dropped everything on the table.

He is something, thought Patience. Standing in her kitchen in a pair of gray flannels and nothing else, Henry Carlyle seemed too big for the room, the spindly wooden chairs around the kitchen table, the old milking stool Nettie used to reach the mixing bowls over the sink. Goose bumps had risen along his sides in the frosty air from the fridge, and his heavy hair drooped over one eye. He pushed it up and away so that he could see Patience.

“Fast?” Henry growled. “We've been up there for”—he looked at the old school clock on the wall—“a while.”

“Oh, no,” Patience said. “I meant yesterday we were going at each other's throats and now . . .” She shrugged.

“We're just going at it?” Henry finished for her.

“I'm not sure that's how I'd put it,” she said.

“No, I wouldn't put it that way at all.” Henry opened the milk and took a swallow from the bottle. “Oh, sorry,” he said
when he saw what he'd done. Patience reached for the milk and took a long drink. She wiped a drop from her mouth.

“You don't do this often.” Henry waved his hand between them.

“Not lately.”

Henry laughed and took the milk from her. He saw the tequila bottle still on the table and considered a shot. Milk might be soothing, but if he had any hope of limiting the damage he sensed was coming, he needed the liquid courage to back away now. Still, just looking at Patience made him want to pull the tee shirt off and bend her over the table. She stood rubbing one bare foot against her calf. Mosquito bites dotted her ankles. Her legs were so long that he could see the join of her thighs at her shirt hem. He saw that she wore no underpants and before he thought, he slipped his hand under the shirt until his fingers were splayed across her bottom and pulled her into him.

“What are we doing then?” he asked into her hair.

“I only meant to get to know you,” Patience said, and Henry could feel her breath across his shoulder. He laughed again. The vibration in his chest traveled straight through Patience and rearranged everything in its wake. She knew that, try as she might, she wouldn't be able to put things back where they belonged.

H
ENRY DID STAY
the night, and what's more, he spent it in Patience's room. She didn't make him leave and, with the exception of the time she got up to open the windows again,
she stayed within inches of him. But when Henry opened his eyes in the morning, she was gone. He thrashed awake when he realized her side of the bed was empty. He dressed quickly, grateful that it was Sunday but horrified to see that it was after ten. If he walked home now, every churchgoer in Granite Point would see him in the clothes he'd worn to the Mayo party. He felt as exposed as a frat boy on a walk of shame. He paused to listen at the top of the stairs, hoping the smell of coffee and bacon wouldn't make his stomach rumble. Were the Sisters sitting at the table he'd so recently fallen over with Patience?
Oh, God,
he thought,
please don
't let them be talking about that.
But it was silent in the hall, so Henry came halfway down the stairs just as silently and stopped when he heard a voice.

“What do you want me to say?” It was Patience. “I got drunk and brought a guy home. Not the first time, not the last.”

“That's complete bullshit, and you know it,” Nettie said, her voice no longer sweet or light. “Don't break this, Patience.”

“For God's sake, you're being an idiot. This is the best thing that could have happened to you,” Sorrel said. “Don't lump Henry in with some lobsterman.”

Henry flinched so hard his head hit the wall just as Patience slammed down her mug.

“I am surprised that it took good Champagne at the Mayos to make you see what the rest of us already knew,” Sorrel continued. “Do not screw up this chance, do
not
make us any more talked about than we already are.”

“Stop yelling. He'll wake up and then what'll we do with him?” Patience asked.

“We'll keep him,” Nettie said with a delighted laugh.

Patience pushed her chair back. “You can both just stop. I've had enough amateur analysis. I'm going to the Nursery.”

Henry waited until he heard water running in the sink and the clatter of dishes before he turned around and whispered his thanks to Clarissa Sparrow for the house she built as he made for the second staircase, the formal one, at the other end of the hall. He might be willing to endure the curious eyes of near-strangers on the green, but he didn't think he could take the sympathy he would see when the Sisters looked at him. If Patience regretted what they had done last night, Henry just couldn't.

H
ENRY WALKED HOME
trying to look as if he'd just been for a bit of a stroll in business attire. He had to rush through his shower in order to get to Ben at the hospital. Was he “the lobsterman”? he wondered as he shaved. He climbed into jeans with water still dripping down his legs and forgot to take any painkillers. He dropped his keys in the sink twice. And then he nearly forgot to lock up. On the drive to Hayward he picked apart what he'd overheard at Ivy House. Oddly, the thing that bothered him most was Patience's comment about bringing other men home. It was silly to worry about the past or the future, but Henry couldn't bear the idea that what he felt for Patience—what last night made him believe she felt for him—might be senseless.

Ben was uncharacteristically chatty on the way home. Henry
reckoned it was a reaction to the anesthesia. He'd seen patients laugh uncontrollably or cry just the same way for days after their surgery. He'd also seen some turn inward so completely that they were unrecognizable to their fellow soldiers. Ben's cheer was a perfectly good way to face his uncertain summer.

“So, I was thinking,” Ben said. “Since I've got a month on my hands, literally”—he held up his thumb, which was encased in a foam mitten—“I might take this accounting course at GPC.”

Henry burst into laughter.

“What?” Ben looked bewildered.

“You, hunched over a calculator,” Henry said. “I'm sorry but it's not how I picture a recovering lobsterman.”

“Yeah well, I noticed that Patience doesn't keep very good books. She couldn't tell me what she gave me, didn't have any kind of inventory system, and doesn't even remember who pays her what. Sorrel had to look through a bunch of old scribbles in a notebook just to see what she'd done before, and then Patience decided she wanted to give me something else anyway.” Ben shifted in the small passenger seat. “You need a better car before the weather comes.”

“Yeah,” Henry said. “What did Patience charge you?”

“She didn't,” Ben said. “I don't think she charges everyone, just the ones who can pay, and then it's usually something more like barter.”

So Patience was operating as an unlicensed, well, Henry didn't know what. So he asked.

“Is she a homeopath or a nutritionist or what?”

“You know, she's just Patience Sparrow. Clarissa Sparrow was the last one to have the gift before Patience. I think there was another healer back when Granite Point was founded, back when people weren't so happy about someone with a gift.”

“Tell me more,” Henry said.

“About the town? I could read up, you know.” Ben laughed at himself. “Not much else to do.” He looked at his hand again and frowned.

“Tell me more about the Sparrow Sisters then.”

Ben looked at Henry. “Why?”

“Because there is something going on with you and one of them.”

Ben could not have been more surprised. “Did Nettie say something?”

“Nettie?” Henry's voice rose so improbably high that somewhere a dog was writhing. He was so relieved he couldn't help smiling.

“Oh, shit, you can't tell anyone!” Ben's voice was incapable of reaching above a gravelly growl.

“No, not at all, never, nobody!” Henry barked.

Ben kept his eyes on a completely empty road, and Henry spoke mindlessly. “I don't think I even know what you're talking about,” he spluttered.

“That's crap,” Ben said. “When did Patience get to you?”

H
ENRY FERRIED
B
EN
home without embarrassing either of them any further. He changed his dressing and made sure Tylenol and water were within easy reach of the sofa.

“Come by tomorrow for a wound check,” he said as he repacked his kit.

“I don't have insurance,” Ben said. “I can't afford you.”

“Okay,” Henry said. “Why don't I just stop in here for lunch, off the books?”

“We're just a couple of sad-sack secret keepers, aren't we?” Ben sighed.

P
ATIENCE AND
M
ATTY
walked the gardens together. She held a basket over her arm; her heavy gloves were already caked with soil and mulch. Matty followed, one hand trailing the tip of each flower he passed.

“You're here early today,” Patience said as she stopped to tie up a leaning delphinium.

“My dad was sleeping on the couch. I wanted to watch TV but . . .” He trailed off. “It's better here.”

“I could talk to him.” Patience stopped in front of a tall stand of foxglove. The deep-pink blossoms were drooping in the heat. Matty reached out to touch it.

“Don't!” Patience snapped. Matty cringed, and Patience knelt so she could look into his face.

“Foxglove,” she said, holding up a finger. “Dead men's bells, witches' gloves, digitalis, whatever you call it, it's dangerous.”

“I wasn't going to eat it up.”

“Yuck,” Patience said. “Of course you weren't. But in the right situation it can save a life.”

Matty cocked his head as he looked into the hooded blossoms.

“As long as it's not too late, digitalis can fix a broken heart.” Patience gestured for Matty to follow her around the plant.

“For real?” he asked as stepped into each of Patience's footsteps.

“For real, but I don't use it. Too unpredictable. These just grow on their own, even though I cut them down to nubs every spring. Stories say that they've been here for hundreds of years.” Patience frowned at the hip-high flowers. “That's long enough for any plant in my garden. I think I'll dig it out. It's just trouble, attracts the wrong kind of bugs.”

“But it's so pretty,” Matty said.

Patience shook a stem, and several earwigs dropped out of the blooms.

“Pretty things are often the most dangerous,” she said, thinking of Henry as he slept with one leg draped over hers. “Boy, that's a lesson.” Patience pulled off her gloves and reached out her hand. “Right?”

Matty nodded and let Patience fold his hand into her own. “Right,” he said and shook.

“Thanks for your help, bud,” she said. “Let's go in. My sisters will be here soon and you have first dibs on the cookies.”

H
ENRY DROVE TO
his office and even pulled over before he swerved back out and headed for Calumet Landing. He skidded to a stop with nearly as much spraying sand as that thrown up by Patience Sparrow. He left the car door open and took the steps to the barn at a run.

Inside, Patience was sitting at the counter with a little boy. They both had their chins in their hands, and the boy's arms were so thin that his elbows looked like sailor's knots. His hair was slicked down, the comb marks and his pink scalp visible. His skin was fair to the point of translucency, and Henry found himself cataloguing what might be wrong with this fragile child.

“Henry, this is Matty Short,” Patience said. “Matty, this is Henry.”

Matty flicked his eyes to Henry and then to Patience.

“He's all right,” she said. Matty nodded.

“Hello,” he murmured without looking at Henry.

“Hello, Matty.”

Henry moved slowly toward the counter. As a doctor he knew to be careful around Matty; he also felt it in his bones. He was certain that if he startled the boy, Patience would not forgive him. If Matty ran away, so would she. She already had, Henry realized.

As Henry stood opposite the two, he searched Patience's face for a sign. He'd taken a deep sniff as he came in, hoping for some kind of clue, but the barn was so filled with the air of the Nursery that whatever was happening inside Patience was lost.
He noticed a small brown bottle on the counter next to her elbow and beside that a glass of iced tea and a cookie. A sprig of lavender was baked into the cookie, and a fine dusting of sugar sparkled on top.