Vital Signs Read Online Free PDF

from St. Joe’s to her street. The bad news was that the two-story blue-and-white octogenarian she’d bought had turned out to be a money pit. She was slowly and for the most part single-handedly repairing and remodeling, but it was a painfully time-consuming, expensive process. The front lawn was full of moss, the back devoid of grass because of two tall cedars, a stand of overgrown lilacs and an immense fir tree that prevented sunlight from getting through. The trees did give the property privacy, though, and she’d pay more attention to the yard when she got the inside livable.
    Her master plan was to finish the basement first and rent it out so she had additional income, and then turn one of the four upstairs bedrooms, the tiny one next to her own, into a nursery.
    She parked on the street. None of the houses had garages. Gazing for a moment at her house, she felt the same thrill she always did when she arrived home. This funny old battered senior citizen of a house was really hers. She’d had to scrimp and save and practically offer the bank her soul to get it, but she wouldn’t trade it for anything.
    Carrying Skippy’s cage, she made her way around to the back, where she’d used chicken wire to construct a pen for the rabbit. After she’d turned him loose and made sure he had food and water, she climbed the rickety wooden back stairs— gotta do something about those stairs —unlocked the door and went inside.
    The phone on the kitchen counter was ringing. A glance at her watch showed that it was ten-forty-five. She picked up the receiver.
    â€œHailey?” Her mother’s voice made her shut her eyes and wish she’d let the machine take the call. “Where’ve you been? I called twice before. I thought your shift was over at seven.”
    â€œHi, Mom.” Hailey wished, not for the first time, that she’d gotten call display. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to her mother; it was just that she’d rather choose the times it happened, like Christmas and Easter.
    â€œHow you doing, Mom?” Hailey ignored the questions, knowing that Jean really didn’t expect an answer. “How come you’re calling this late?”
    â€œIt’s Laura. She was over yesterday, and something’s not right with her.”
    Hailey rolled her eyes heavenward. As far as sheknew, her sister’s problems were primarily whether or not to fire the gardener, change the living-room sofa, or enroll Hailey’s niece and nephew in yet another extracurricular activity. Poor little mites. At seven and nine their lives were already as regimented as Margaret would like the peds ward to be.
    â€œHave you talked to her recently, Hailey?”
    â€œNot for a couple of weeks.” That was about par for her and Laura. The last time Hailey had called, it was on impulse one Saturday morning. She’d wanted to take Christopher and Samantha to the Greek food fair. Of course it hadn’t been possible; they’d had karate and swimming lessons. Sometimes she suspected Laura of deliberately keeping the kids busy so they wouldn’t be overexposed to their whacko aunt. Christopher had once told her that’s how his father referred to Hailey. Chris, bless his heart, had wanted to know if “whacko” had something to do with boxing.
    â€œWell, I wish you’d give her a call—see if she’ll open up to you. There’s something wrong with her and I can’t put my finger on it.”
    Open up? What planet did Jean live on? Laura hadn’t opened up to Hailey since she’d gotten her first period at the age of twelve, when Laura had been kind enough to explain sex and the connection to babies. Hailey had already known, but she didn’t let on.
    Her stomach rumbled, and she remembered she hadn’t eaten since lunch, and then it had been a tuna sandwich gulped on the run.
    â€œLook, Mom, can I call you in the