Shelagh Turner leaned against the cold brick of the hall and breathed a sigh of relief. She'd escaped – finally. And she didn't think anyone had seen her. She glanced at the hall's back door once more, then reached into her purse and took out a single Henley.
Since the operation and the news of her infertility, she'd slowly been reconciling herself to the idea that she'd never have a baby of her own. Clinic days were usually so busy she didn't have time to think about it. But sometimes…all those young mothers with their children…it was still too much.
Today had been slow and she'd been left alone with her thoughts too long. So while Patrick and the nurses were finishing up with the last patients of the day, she'd found her husband's suit jacket – hanging on the coat rack by the door as usual – slipped cigarette case out of the pocket and taken one. He wouldn't mind. She didn't ask often, and since their conversation a few weeks ago, when, over shared cigarettes she'd boldly announced she was going to take over the choir, he'd started silently passing her the case in the evenings after dinner, just in case she wanted one.
Still, she didn't want the nuns or nurses to see her smoking. Cigarettes were one of the few things in her new life – along with a particularly expensive perfume Patrick had gotten her for Valentine's – that still felt like an illicit indulgence.
She put the cigarette to her lips and suddenly realized that in her rush she'd failed to grab Patrick's lighter as well. Perhaps she could sneak back in and pilfer a packet matches from kitchen? But what excuse would she give?
"Shelagh Turner!" She quickly palmed the cigarette and turned. Trixie Franklin stood in the open back door of the hall, a hand on her hip and an expression of delighted shock on her face.
"Hello, Trixie." She turned to the street to hide her mortified blush.
The young nurse sashayed – as much as one could sashay in brogues and a midwife's uniform – through the door and leaned on the wall beside her. "Aren't you the dark horse? When did you take up smoking?"
"I haven't taken it up exactly. That is, it's not a regular habit. It's just every now and then."
"I'm assuming this was after you left the order," Trixie said and Shelagh could feel her blush deepening. She'd never been quite able to forget the morning after the Carter twins' birth, for more reasons than just a shared cigarette.
The nurse opened her own cigarette case. "Well, you won't get any judgment from me – and I won't tell the others either. It'll be our secret." She giggled and Shelagh found herself grinning back.
"Do you need a light?" Trixie asked.
"Yes, thank you." She took Trixie's lighter and after a few tries, lit the cigarette. "Patsy seems to be settling in."
Trixie rolled her eyes. "Slowly."
"We were all beginners once."
"Yes, but we didn't stay beginners." Trixie sighed and tapped the ash off the end of her cigarette. "I know it's selfish, but I can't wait for Jenny to come back."
"How is she?"
Trixie shrugged. "In her letters, she says she fine, but I talked to her on the phone last week and she's far from fine. I don't know…there's something missing from her voice."
"She's lost the man she loves Trixie," Shelagh said. If she'd lost Patrick – a shudder went through her and she put her cigarette back to her lips, inhaling, pushing away the thought.
"I know but – but she still has us." Trixie's blue eyes glistened with unshed tears. "She's not alone. I don't think she knows that."
Shelagh thought of Patrick's letters to her at the sanatorium. She kept them in the drawer of her nightstand now. "You just have to keep reminding her. She'll come back, when she's ready."
Trixie nodded. They smoked in silence a while longer, each trying to push the worries and stresses out of their minds and bodies with every puff of smoke.
"What brand are those?" Trixie asked.
"Henleys," Shelagh said, blowing out a stream of smoke and feeling the last of the tension leave her body. "They're what Patrick smokes. My father, too."
"I find I prefer Sobraines. Everyone in the jazz clubs smokes them."
"I don't think I'm quite the type for jazz clubs and cocktails, Trixie," she said with a bashful smile.
Trixie's returning grin was brim with devilish mischief. "We were all beginners once, Shelagh. We'll get you there yet."