Elizabeth Bevarly - First Comes Love

Somehow she garnered the strength to turn on the shower, strip off her clothes and crawl under the tepid spray of water. Surely a shower, a dose of Alka-Seltzer and a few saltines would make a huge difference, she told herself. Surely the worst of her illness was over. Surely by the time she arrived at school, she’d be feeling good as new again. Surely she would live.

Surely.

Weakly, she rinsed her hair and shut off the water, then stepped out of the shower and toweled off. And although she really wasn’t able to conjure much concern for her appearance, she wanted to look as nice as she could for the brunch and award presentation. Striving for comfort over anything else, she pulled a loose-fitting, pale-blue jumper over an equally loose-fitting, pale-yellow T-shirt. Then she dragged a comb through her damp, near-white, shoulder-length tresses and frowned at her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t think she had the strength to lift a hair dryer for any length of time, so she tied her hair back with a blue ribbon and ruffled her bangs dry with her fingers as best she could.

Her fair complexion was even paler than usual, thanks to her sickness, so she donned a bit more makeup than she normally would. Unfortunately, she couldn’t quite cover the purple smudges beneath her eyes, so she tried to be heartened by the fact that they made her eyes look even bluer somehow. Hey, she was known for making the best of every situation, wasn’t she? Right now she’d take what she could get.

But even after completing her morning toilette, Tess continued to frown at the woman gazing back at her from the mirror. She looked like heck—as first-grade teachers at Catholic elementary schools were wont to say. There was no mistaking that she was gravely under the weather. She just hoped she could remain vertical long enough to accept her award.

Stumbling into the kitchen, Tess went immediately for the saltines, knowing she needed to put something in her stomach. She had some carbonated mineral water in the fridge, and she reached for a bottle of that, as well. Then she took a seat at the kitchen table and nibbled experimentally at her repast.

As she ate, she felt her forehead again and found that it was a bit cooler. The Alka-Seltzer must have helped some to bring down her temperature. Surprisingly, the crackers stayed down, too, and that helped some more. And the bottled water did seem to soothe her nausea to a considerable degree. Might not be a bad idea to take some with her to the brunch, though. Heaven knew she wouldn’t be consuming any of the lovely dishes she knew would be served—fruit salad, blueberry scones, crepes, eggs Benedict….

Her stomach rolled again just thinking about it, and Tess reached weakly for the entire box of saltines. No sense taking any chances.

She filched a couple more bottles of fizzy water from the fridge, then stowed her booty in a nylon lunch bag decorated with the image of Disney’s Cinderella—a gift from one of her students last Christmas. Then she tucked her bare feet into a pair of sandals, filled her oversize canvas carryall with her foodstuffs and all the necessary accoutrements of a first-grade teacher about to receive an award. Then, very gingerly, she headed for the front door.

She was just turning the knob when another wave of nausea uncoiled in her stomach. Oog, she thought. It was going to be a long—and icky—day.

Icky, however, didn’t begin to describe the morning that unfolded after that. Tess did make it to school on time, but she had to head immediately to the girls’ rest room once she got there. Worse than that, Sister Angelina, the school principal, caught her retching and encouraged her to go home and rest. Tess, however, had protested that she was feeling fine, and that her nausea was only temporary. And really, by the time she took her seat at the Reserved table beneath the speakers’ podium set up in the cafeteria, she was actually starting to feel a little better.

The events following those, however, were much less welcomed, and much more nauseating—starting with the arrival at her table of Susan Gibbs. Susan was one of the other first-grade teachers at Lourdes, and since the beginning of the school year, she had thought…had assumed…had expected…to win the coveted Award for Excellence in Teaching. And ever since the announcement last month that Tess would instead be taking home that distinction this year, Susan had been a tad cool in her reception.

Of course, Susan Gibbs had also been Tess’s rival since childhood for…oh, just about everything. Dark-haired, dark-eyed Susan had always been the perfect foil for fair Tess Monahan, as so many citizens of Marigold, Indiana, had pointed out over the years. So far, though, they were pretty well even, in wins and losses.

Tess had won the regional championship in the statewide spelling bee in sixth grade, but Susan had won the regionals in the geography bee the same year. Tess had been the jay-vee football homecoming queen when they were freshmen, while Susan had been the jay-vee basketball homecoming queen. Tess had been the yearbook editor in tenth and eleventh grades, Susan the school newspaper editor those years. Tess had been Miss June on the school calendar when they were seniors, and Susan had been Miss October.

Of course, now Tess was about to receive the Award for Excellence in Teaching and Susan wasn’t, but she didn’t for a moment feel smug about that. She didn’t. Not at all. Honest. It wouldn’t be right.

“Good morning, Tess,” Susan said as she folded herself into the chair next to Tess’s.

“Hello, Susan,” Tess replied as she shook a few saltines from the wax paper cylinder that held them. Then she pulled a bottle of carbonated water from her bag and twisted off the cap with a soft psst.

Susan noted her actions with a curious eye and frowned. “Gee, you look like heck this morning.”

Tess threw her a watery smile. “Gosh, thanks, Susan. You always know the right thing to say.”

“Sorry,” the other woman said without a trace of apology. “But you do look like heck.”

Tess just smiled a bit more waterily.

“By the way,” Susan added, “I don’t think I’ve congratulated you yet on winning the Award for Excellence this year.”

Tess had started to lift the bottle of soda water to her mouth, but halted at Susan’s comment. “No, you haven’t,”she said with a much less watery smile. Maybe Susan wasn’t going to be as snotty as Tess had assumed.

But Susan said nothing more to expound on her statement—or to offer congratulations—so Tess lifted the bottle to her lips for a brief sip. She was about to compliment Susan on her springtime-fresh, flowered dress when one of the eighth-grade student volunteers came by with a coffeepot. As Tess sipped her water, Susan automatically turned her cup up and set it in its saucer in silent invitation for the girl to fill it. When the student had finished doing so, she turned to Tess, asking if she, too, would like coffee.

In response, Tess held up one hand, palm out, then placed the other over her still-rolling stomach. “Oh, no, thank you,” she told the girl. “No one in my condition should be drinking coffee—trust me.”

Susan fairly snapped to attention at Tess’s comment. She dropped her gaze to the saltines and soda water sitting on the table before her, then to the hand Tess had placed over her stomach, then to Tess’s face. Her mouth dropped open in shock, then an evil little smile uncurled on her lips.

“Tess,” she said in a voice of utter discovery. “My gosh, you’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

The eighth-grader who had been pouring coffee had started to move away from the table, but at Susan’s—loudly—offered assumption, the girl spun back around.

“You’re gonna have a baby, Miss Monahan?” she cried—loudly. “That’s so cool! When are you due?”