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The latter assurance seemed to be directed as much toward Sandi as Kim. Nelson wrapped an arm around his companion and led her off to the kitchen, saying a nice, cold glass of tea would help settle her nerves.
Betsy and Treva entered the room, wanting to know what was going on. Having been filled in, Betsy gave an affecting performance as the distraught grandmother, clutching her throat with one hand while fluttering around Kim and the baby, throwing questions at everyone around.
“She’s fine, Mother,” Kim said for perhaps the fourth time, visibly beginning to lose patience.
Betsy dabbed at her eyes. “I’m so glad. When I think what could have happened…”
She drew a shuddering breath, then said to Kim, “I trust in the future you’ll be a bit more careful about leaving this precious child with just any stranger who volunteers to watch her.”
Kim gasped in outrage. Grateful that at least Sandi hadn’t been in the room to hear the insult, Tate stepped forward quickly. Maybe cutting all ties with Betsy wouldn’t be such a tragedy, after all, but now was probably not the best time to do so.
“Why don’t you and I take Daryn out for a walk in her stroller?” he suggested to Kim, angling himself between her and her mother. “I think it would calm us all down.”
He could almost see a flood of hurt and angry words swirling in her mind, fighting to rush toward her thoughtless mother. And maybe she should release them, eventually. But not now.
She drew a deep breath, then relieved his tension by nodding. “I think that’s a good idea.”
Betsy brightened. “Maybe I’ll come along.”
Moving forward to stand beside his wife, Bob took a firm grip on her arm. “I think Kim and Tate would like a little time alone with Daryn, honey. Why don’t we go start that dominoes game we talked about earlier and leave the others to see the end of the ball game? Treva and Grandma both want to play, and maybe Patty and Cara Lynn would like to join us.”
Tate sent a look of gratitude toward Bob, and then he and Bob led daughter and mother in opposite directions.
* * *
It was another beautiful afternoon, a little warmer than the day before, but still comfortable enough for an afternoon stroll. Large trees lined the old sidewalks, providing nice shade, though roots had kicked through the concrete in places, making the sidewalk somewhat uneven. Concentrating on guiding the stroller along the more level paths helped Kim to push the events of the past few minutes out of her mind, though she knew it would all rush back at her later.
“That’s a shame.”
Trying to focus on the moment, she glanced at Tate, who strolled beside her with his hands tucked casually into his pockets. “What?”
He nodded toward a large, older home across the street. “Those two nice trees in the side yard? Elms. They’ll be dead in a few months.”
She frowned as she studied the tall, spreading trees. Only then did she notice that the leaves at the very top of the trees looked wilted and yellow.
“Dutch elm disease?” she hazarded, remembering reading something about that devastating fungus.
“More likely a disease called elm yellows. Still kills the tree.”
“Is there anything to do to save them?”
“Not at this stage. The only decision now is when to cut down the tree to avoid damage to the house when they fall.”
“That’s a shame. They look old.”
“Elms grow fairly fast, which is what made them such popular shade trees. Unfortunately, the older varieties are highly susceptible to diseases spread by beetles, or perhaps by pruning with shears that haven’t been disinfected after contact with sick trees.”
They kept walking, putting Grandma’s house behind them. When they approached a particularly uneven section of sidewalk, Tate stepped up to place his hands beside Kim’s on the handle, adding his strength to help guide the stroller over the broken concrete. He didn’t move away once they’d passed the section, but continued to match his steps to hers at a leisurely, companionable pace. Daryn had already fallen
asleep, Mr. Jingles tucked snugly against her.
The aging neighborhood was quiet on this Saturday afternoon, little traffic on the dead-end road. Kim nodded toward a particularly pretty flower bed in front of a white frame house with an inviting wraparound porch. “I love those roses. The pale yellow ones with the darker yellow centers? They’re so cheerful looking.”
“Sunny Knock Outs,” he said at a glance. “Good, hearty choice for people who don’t want to put a lot of effort into their gardening. We plant several varieties of Knock Outs. The yellow is a popular one. I’m partial to the heirloom roses, myself, but they do take a lot more work.”
“I’d like to try growing some roses someday. When Daryn’s a little older and can potter around in the yard with me.”
Tate nodded. “You can always ask me for advice for the best varieties.”
