Bill Garner—the Garners lived three houses down—approached the bishop. “It’s Andy Millington,” David explained. “He got himself tangled up in a yellow jacket nest. But it looks like he’s going to be okay. Brent’s riding with him to Alta View Hospital. I’ll take Charlene and the kids and meet them there.”
Troy Ellis asked, “You need any help giving Andy a blessing, Bishop?”
The bishop gave Troy a pat on the shoulder. “Tom’s going to follow us down. He can assist us there.” Between Troy and Bill Garner, the news would get out, a mostly correct version. “He’s going to be okay,” the bishop said again.
The ambulance roared off. The police officer waited while David loaded the Millingtons into Rachel’s Odyssey, and then he escorted them to the Alta View ER.
The small crowd dispersed.
Rachel took a breath, exhaled. “Well,” she said without any irony, “that was interesting.” Her nose caught the sour smell of bile. “Oh, Milada, your clothing—”
Milada glanced down. “Most of it’s on my jacket,” she said, as if that was a good thing. She scraped a spot of vomit from her thigh with the side of her hand and flicked it off.
“For heaven’s sakes. Come inside. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
In the kitchen they daubed off the puke with paper towels. The foul odor remained. “I’ll have to soak that,” Rachel said. “You know, we’re about the same size, Milada. Why don’t I give you an old sweat suit to change into? I’ll take care of the cleaning.”
“I think I can make it home in one piece.”
“No, no. I insist.”
She steered Milada up the stairs to the master bedroom. Milada disrobed. Rachel carefully set aside her jacket, blouse, and slacks. “The bathroom’s right through there.”
Rachel dug out her old BYU top and drawstring bottoms. The water stopped running, and Milada came out. She wore a sheer white chemise and panties cut high on the thigh. Rachel felt the bite of envy. The chemise hung short over a flat stomach that showed only the hint of a belly. She looked like she’d modeled for the sculptor of those ancient Roman statues, the women with the perfect round breasts, skin polished smooth as glass—women who, after two thousand years, still looked great.
Oh, to have the body I had at twenty. The body she married David with. She wondered if her husband missed that body too.
Rachel held out the BYU top for Milada to see, the one with the cougar crouched over the big block letters. Milada’s eyes lit up. “It’s darling!” she said. She drew it down over her breasts and pulled on the bottoms. Her figure showed well even through the loose fabric. “You’re right, it does fit.” She peered down at the blue silk-screened logo. “You graduated from BYU?”
“Yes, that’s where David and I met.”
“It’s precious,” said Milada. “Zoë will be jealous. Why don’t we call it a trade?”
“A trade?”
“I certainly couldn’t get one of these back in New York.”
“But—” Rachel meant to say that she could buy several dozen sweat suits for what an outfit like Milada’s must cost. “I’m sure you could get one at any mall or sports shop around here. And Provo’s not that far away—”
“I detest shopping for clothes.”
She was serious. Running out of reasons not to, Rachel gave in. “Okay,” she said. Now that the possibility was real, she found herself looking forward to trying on Milada’s outfit. After she got it cleaned.
Milada said, “One thing, though. The dry cleaning will likely prove dear.”
Expensive, she meant. It shouldn’t cost that much, Rachel confidently assured herself.
She walked with Milada back to her house on Larkspur Lane. “I’m sorry about tonight,” Rachel apologized again. “Our dinner parties are rarely so eventful.”
“Think nothing of it.”
“Still, it sure was a good thing you were there. I think you’re the only one who kept her head on straight.”
“You would have done fine without me.”
“I’m not so sure. You probably saved Andy’s life.”
“To be honest, Rachel, I am not the Good Samaritan type. It is the kind of thing Kammy would have done.”
“Then thank her for being such a good influence.”
Milada flashed a weary smile and wished Rachel a good night.
The bishop got home shortly before ten. Rachel heard the younger Millingtons piling out of the Odyssey, climbing into their big Chevy Suburban. She walked outside. “Oh, Rachel,” gasped Charlene, running up to her. They hugged. “The doctor said Andy’s going to be fine.”
“That’s wonderful!”
“I forgot to thank you before. It was just so—”
“That’s okay. But it’s really Milada