Could I Have This Dance? (20 page)

“Come on, John. How would you kiss a porcupine?” She held up her hands. “Very carefully.”

He laughed. “You’re sleep deprived.”

“I’m a surgery resident. I’m supposed to be sleep deprived.”

“When do you get off? You’ve been here all day.”

“I’m on until tomorrow. I told you that.”

His smile faded. “I had hoped you could trade. I didn’t drive all this way just to see you for a few hours.”

“Welcome to life at the medical Mecca.”

“This is insane.”

“This is reality.”

“No, Claire. This is what they want you to think is reality. No one should have to work this hard. How can you stay awake all night?”

“Adrenaline, John. When life is on the line, you don’t sense fatigue.”

“Come back to the house. You can carry the beeper.”

“John, I’d get fired.”

“How would they find out?”

She shook her head. This was an argument she wasn’t going to have. “No.”

“Will I see you tomorrow? I’m leaving for Boston at nine.”

“I can never be home by nine. I’ve got to do rounds, write notes, make sure that—”

“Then this is good-bye, I guess.” He paused. “It was nice seeing you, Claire.”

She bit her lower lip. “I hope you understand.”

“I understand.”

He was hurt. Whenever he acted so formal and polite, he was hurt. But right now, as much as she hated to leave John dejected, she found herself yearning to return to the ER to help resuscitate the next gunshot victim. It wasn’t worth the time it would take her to explain the feeling of exhilaration she’d had at successfully placing an endotracheal tube in the right spot, or helping with the emergency repair of the patient’s aorta. Right now, she just needed to leave well enough alone. She didn’t have time to explain.

He opened his arms wide, placing his hands on her shoulders again, and jutting his butt out away from hers. “Porcupine kiss?”

She smiled and nodded. “Porcupine kiss,” she echoed.

Their lips met and lingered for a moment before Claire’s beeper sounded. She pulled away and looked at the number. “Uh, oh. ER’s calling.”

He nodded. “You go ahead. I know my way out.”

She frowned. “Bye.”

He tipped his head forward without speaking.

She turned and walked away, leaving John at the desk, glancing back only once as she closed the door to the women’s changing area. There, she placed her ring in her locker, stripped off the bloody scrubs, and grabbed a new pair.

In a moment, she emerged again and hustled toward the emergency room, wondering what more excitement the night would hold.

Della nestled the phone against her ear and sat on a lawn chair in the backyard. The night seemed alive with an orchestra of crickets and cicadas, and the stars over the Blue Ridge were spectacular. They dotted the cloudless sky on a broad canvas behind the flicker of a thousand lightning bugs. Yes, summer nights like this were made for sipping lemonade and watching barefoot children gleefully capturing the illuminated creatures in jars with nail-punctured lids.

But there were no such gleeful voices left for Della McCall. Her children were grown, all away from the house, leaving her with a deteriorating man and a heart of remorse.

One ring. Two. Three rings. She sighed.
Maybe Jimmy’s on a house call.

His phone greeting was professional, as always. “Dr. Jenkins.”

“Jimmy. It’s Della. I need your advice.”

“Hold on,” he grunted.

She could hear a TV in the background. A sporting event perhaps. Suddenly the sound increased, then disappeared altogether.

“There,” he said. “Blasted mute button is too small.” His chair squeaked. “What do you need?”

“It’s about Wally. And about Claire. Something she told me has been bugging me all day.” She hesitated.

“I’m listening.”

“Claire has come up with this idea that perhaps there is something wrong with Wally. Something other than his drinking, I mean. I’ve been worried for months that he’s got something worse, but I’m no doctor. And of course Wally’s mother is no help. She just thinks he’s fallen under the mysterious town curse.”

She heard the TV again, this time at a lower volume.

“Jimmy? Are you listening?”

“I’m listening, Della. Claire has concerns.”

“Right. Like I was saying, I’ve long thought something else might be going on with Wally, but I don’t have the medical degree like Claire does. She graduated with honors from Brighton, you know.”

“I know, Della. The town’s very proud.”

“I just wanted to ask you about a genetic disease, something she called Huntington’s disease. She told me that she saw a patient who had it, and that he looked just like Wally. I think it worried her. She called me kind
of upset. She wanted to be sure that there wasn’t any history of the disease in the family.”

“She’s worried about Wally? Or worried about whether she could develop the disease?”

“Both.”

“Tell her not to worry. There’s no one in Wally’s family with this. You know the family history as well as I.”

“Well, I started thinking.” She cleared her throat.

“Thinking …” he prompted.

“Well, I just guess I started wondering if you knew of anyone in this valley with Huntington’s. I knew if anyone around here had something so strange, you’d be the one who would have seen it.”

“Della, if no one in Wally’s family had the disease, Claire doesn’t need to worry about it.”

“Jimmy, I don’t need to remind you how mixed up things can be. There are some people around here who have no idea who their real fathers are.”

She heard his breath, exhaling in a snort. “What is this conversation about, Della? We’ve dealt with our problems long ago.”

“This conversation is not about us. It’s about Wally. I just want to be absolutely sure you’ve never seen this rare disease Claire was thinking about.”

“Well, I’ve read about Huntington’s disease, but I can assure you that no one in the Apple Valley has ever had it. Besides, I’d be the last one on earth to question the matriarch of the McCall shoe family. She isn’t the type of woman to not know who fathered her own—”

“And I am?”

“I said nothing of the sort, Della. You said this conversation is not about us, remember?” His tone was biting, laced with sarcasm.

“Okay, okay,” she responded, slapping a hungry mosquito. “I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I had the same initial reaction, and told Claire as much. Elizabeth’s moral character is beyond reproach.” She twisted in the old lawn chair. “But still …”

“Still what.”

“I just started wondering why Wally always seemed different from the rest of the family. He’s nothing like his brother, Leon, and he never got along with his father.”

“Della, stop. Look at your own twins. They’re as different as night and day.”

She nodded and cast a glance toward the back screen door. Wally would be missing her soon.

“Okay, I’m listening. So you’ve never seen a case of Huntington’s disease in the valley.”

“Not in my career.”

“Good. I’m going to pass that along to Claire. She’s under enough pressure without adding unjustified concerns about her father.”

“Della,” he added, his voice turning serious, “I do think you should talk to Claire. Urge her to forget about genetic diseases in Wally’s family. If this continues, next she’ll be worried about her personal genetic risks. And I don’t think we want her digging in that closet, do we?”

Her reply caught in her throat. “N—no,” she stammered. “Some things are best left undisturbed.”

Chapter Twelve

T
he next day, Claire left the hospital with the satisfaction that grew from knowing she had done a great job and made a difference. She smiled knowing that Dr. Overby was proud of her too, telling the whole team that morning about the performance of his star tern.

She walked in the house and collapsed on the couch, ignoring the red blinking light indicating she had a phone message. She slept soundly for two hours, awaking to the rumbling sound of a school bus at three. She yawned and stretched, knowing she’d better get up or risk a fitful night of staring at the ceiling if she stayed on her couch.

In the kitchen, she found a solitary pink rose in a vase, with a note that simply said, “Love, John.” She smiled and lifted the rose to her face, inhaling the fragrance with a long breath.

She punched a button on her answering machine and began to listen, the rose still tickling her cheek.

The first message was her grandmother McCall. Her voice was tremulous, and not as strong as usual for the matriarch. She wanted to discuss some matters with Claire directly, not talk to some ridiculous machine.

The second message was her mother. Claire was not to worry about Huntington’s disease anymore. Her father certainly didn’t have it, and Dr. Jenkins had never seen a case in the Apple Valley since he’d been in practice. “Have a nice day,” her mother concluded.

Have a nice day? Come on, Mom, you sound like a grocery checker at Kroger.

Claire contemplated returning her grandmother’s call, then looked at the summer sun.

I’ve still got a few hours of late afternoon sun left. I’ll bet the beach would be less crowded now. I could get some reading done and maybe talk to Brett.

She felt a twinge of guilt for her last thought when she looked at the rose in her hand. She put down the flower and headed to her bedroom to change.

In twenty-five minutes, she was walking across the sand lugging her surgery text and a water bottle. She glanced back at the far end of the parking
lot. An orange pickup occupied its usual place. She squinted toward the town houses across the street from the beach.
I wonder if Brett’s around. He said he doesn’t often drive the truck.

Her thumb instinctively ran over her ring finger. She slipped the ring off and dropped it into the pocket of the shorts she wore over her swimsuit.
John certainly wouldn’t want me to wear this at the beach. Sand couldn’t be good for it, I’m sure.

She looked at the town houses again, then turned her attention to finding a secluded spot for her towel. She had just found a spot, settled in, and closed her eyes for a short nap when a voice spoke above her head. “Hi, stranger.”

Claire looked up at Brett Daniels and smiled. “Hi. I saw your truck. I wondered if you were around.”

“My truck’s always here. I don’t usually drive it. Say, would you like to walk with me? I want to walk down to the fishing pier and see if anything’s biting.”

“Sounds like fun.”

She stood and followed him down to the firmer, wet sand near the water’s edge. There, they turned south and headed for the pier, just visible in the distance.

“How far is it?”

“A mile and a half.” He squinted. “Is that too far?”

“No.” She laughed. “I think I walked ten miles in the hospital yesterday.”

“The life of an intern.”

She nodded. As they walked, she told him about her remarkable day, about the ER thoracotomy and the excitement at saving a man’s life. She told him about the O-man’s calm demeanor explaining to Basil how to open the chest, and about the sensation of seeing the heart shocked back to life. He listened, really listened, and asked questions about how she was getting along with the attendings.

But she didn’t tell him about her new diamond ring, the news that every girl is supposed to be too exhilarated to silence.

Instead, she questioned him about his research, and laughed at his description of the fat rats they had genetically engineered to help figure out the chemical neurotransmitters responsible for our desire to eat.

“It must have been thrilling to grow up with a surgeon as a father.”

“I wouldn’t exactly describe it that way.”

She raised her eyebrows and kept silent.

They jogged to the left to keep from getting hit by a wave.

“How would you describe it?”

“Like boot camp.”

She studied his face. He looked serious. “Boot camp?”

“Up studying during high school at five every morning. And during the summer I went to private camps for gifted students to swim, hike, and learn Latin.”

“Latin?”

“I’m serious. And A’s weren’t good enough. I had to be the best.” He stretched. “Fortunately, I was.” “Right.”

“I’m not bragging, Claire. Anyone who spent as much time as I did studying would have been number one.”

“Wow. All I did at summer camp was make an acorn necklace.”

Brett laughed. When he did, his blue eyes sparkled and dimples appeared at the corners of his mouth.

“How’s the rest of the family? As brilliant as you and your father?”

“Smarter. My sister was a straight-A student at Prescot High.” He looked down and slowed his pace.

“And?”

“She developed anorexia nervosa. Went down to eighty pounds. She hated my father and hated herself. It got so bad that my parents had her committed, forced her to eat. But she became bulimic and wouldn’t keep anything down. Eventually, they tube fed her, so she ate just so they’d discharge her.” He shook his head. “She died a week later in a single-car accident.”

“Suicide?”

“My father would never say so. The official police version was accidental death. They said she fell asleep at the wheel, but I knew her best, and I say different.”

“Brett, I’m so sorry.”

“My brother Lawrence’s story isn’t much better. He’s alive, lives in California, but my father has disowned him. Tough love, he calls it. My brother’s life is art, alcohol, and cocaine. He paints during the day and parties at night.”

“So you’re the perfect child.”

He stared out at a shrimp boat rocking its way up the coast near the horizon. “Right. At least my dad’s version of it.”

“He must be very proud of you.”

Brett squinted at the sun. “He thinks the lab year was my idea for getting some extra experience so I can get my name in the literature so I can secure a professorship somewhere in academic surgery, just like he did. He has no idea how close to getting cut I really was.”

“Give yourself some slack. There were at least four others who didn’t even get lab spots, Brett.”