The Carlton Club (49 page)

“I want to show you something,” Mark said impulsively. He led her by the hand into his study. He took the heavy blue textbook off the shelf where Kathleen had carefully returned it with the papers inside.

Mark removed the top and bottom sheets, the To Do list and the epilogue, and handed the rest to her.

“I want you to read this,” he said. I want to share this with you.

“I’ve read it, Mark,” she whispered, her eyes full of apprehension. She gestured to the two sheets of paper that remained in his hand, the sheets he hadn’t given to her. “I’ve read all of it.”

She must have read it last night, Mark realized. After he had written the epilogue. No wonder she was so worried.

“And Leslie read it?” he asked. Now he understood Leslie’s guarded enthusiasm about his decision.

Kathleen nodded slowly, watching him.

“Mark, I’m sorry,” she said. “I was desperate. I didn’t know what was happening. I know it was wrong.”

“No. It’s all right,” he said unconvincingly. He wished Leslie hadn’t read it, but it was his fault that he had isolated Kathleen to the point of desperation. He had to accept the consequences of his decisions. Beginning with his meeting with the fellowship director tomorrow, there would be many consequences.

“I’m sorry, Mark,” she said, shivering involuntarily.

“It’s OK,” he repeated. This time his voice was convincing.

Mark set down the sheets of paper and took both of her hands, holding them, cupped, between his.

“What does it mean, Mark?” she asked.

“What?”

“The ending. The epilogue,” Kathleen said as tears moistened her eyes.
The part you didn’t want me to read.

“It means,” he said slowly, his voice breaking slightly, “that I am afraid.”

“I love you so much, Mark. Don’t be afraid.”

“I love you, too, Kathleen. More than anything in the world.”

None of them slept well. Leslie awakened frequently, driven into gasping consciousness by the horror of her dreams. Mark and Kathleen lay awake holding each other. They knew they needed to rest. The hard part was just about to begin. But they couldn’t sleep. They were both worried about what lay ahead.

They all tried to be cheerful at breakfast, but it was useless. The tension was palpable. Kathleen and Leslie knew how difficult the day would be for Mark. He had made the decision, he had put it on paper, but now he had to say the words out loud to people who didn’t love him the way Kathleen and Leslie did. He had to say them to people who wouldn’t understand. To people who might make him feel guilty. To people who might tell him, yell at him, that he had failed.

Today was just the beginning.

“Maybe I should go with you this morning,” Leslie said.

“I’m not a little boy, Leslie. This isn’t the first day of school,” Mark snapped.

Leslie recoiled. It’s not the first day; it’s the last. Where is the celebration?

“I really didn’t mean to be
with
you. I would like to see the hospital.”

“Sorry,” he said with an edge. Then he asked more gently, “Why?”

“Well. I happen to know that there is going to be an unexpected opening in the cardiology fellowship program.”

“I thought you were going to Stanford.”

“Maybe I need to get out of the Bay Area after all,” Leslie said thoughtfully. Maybe I need to get away from Eric and the memories.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Mark asked.

“I just thought as long as I’m here I might as well take a look.”

“OK, Dr. Adams. We leave in twenty minutes.”

Leslie left to get ready.

“When do you think you’ll be home?” Kathleen asked.

“By noon,” Mark said decisively, but uneasily. They couldn’t force him to stay no matter what they said. Could they?

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked hopefully. Anything other than pace and worry. She wished she had a reason like Leslie had to go with Mark, but she didn’t. Except that she loved him.

“Just be here when I get home,” he said, kissing her gently on the mouth.

“Give me a project, Mark. Anything.”

“OK. You can put all my medical books in boxes. I’ll take them to the medical school library next week.”

“I wonder if the public library could use them,” she mused.
I don’t want you to have to go back next week.

“Maybe. That would be fine if they could.”

“You don’t want any of them?”

“No.”

All right, she thought, her tired eyes sparkling a little. At least he was letting her help.

Mark gave Leslie a quick tour of the Peter Bent Brigham Hospital. The tour ended at the cardiology research lab. Mark introduced her to two other fellows who were working in the lab.

“Leslie might want to apply for a position here,” Mark explained.

“Great,” they said in unison, smiling warmly at Mark’s pretty blue-eyed friend.

“I have to go see Dr. Finch,” Mark said when it was almost time for his appointment. “I’ll leave Leslie here.”

“We’ll take care of her,” one of the fellows said.

Leslie asked questions about the cardiology fellowship program, but after a while the conversation shifted to Mark.

“He was my resident when I was an intern,” Leslie explained a little nostalgically.

“I bet he was a terrific resident.”

“He was.”

“He’s about the best fellow anyone’s ever known,” one of them said without a trace of envy in his voice. They all respected Mark. Everyone always had.

The best. Of course, Leslie thought. Mark had been in with the director for thirty minutes. What if he convinces Mark to stay? Or what if he tells him he is making the biggest mistake of his life?

“Mark’s a wonderful man,” Leslie said. Whether or not he’s a doctor.

Mark returned fifteen minutes later. He looked strained and pale, but he smiled at her. Then he retrieved several sheets of paper from his coat and handed them to one of the other fellows.

“This is a list of patients that I have seen in cardiology clinic or in consultation who need follow up.”

Both fellows looked at the list. It was written in Mark’s neat handwriting and described the patients’ problems, medications and Mark’s long-term plan for their care.

“Are you going somewhere, Mark?”

“I’m leaving,” he said firmly, looking at Leslie. Her eyes glistened with support.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m, uh, quitting medicine. Right now I’m going home.” Mark tried to sound pleasant. They were his friends, his colleagues, but they wouldn’t understand.

He shook their hands quickly, warmly, capitalizing on their stunned silence to make his escape.

“It’s been nice working with you,” he said. “Goodbye.”

Mark and Leslie walked briskly, without speaking, along the shiny corridors and down the concrete stairs until they reached the main entrance. The main exit. Leslie touched his arm lightly.

“How about your pager, Mark?”

“I gave it to the director’s secretary. She said she’d take care of all the paperwork.” Mark didn’t slow his pace. He wanted to get out. To escape. Freedom was only a few feet away.

Then, only two paces from the front door, from escape, he stopped.

“I have to call Kathleen,” he said firmly.

Mark retreated into a wood-framed phone booth in the hospital lobby. He emerged a few minutes later. There was life in his eyes again.

“We can’t go home yet,” he said smiling.

“No?”

“No,” he said. His voice was soft, loving. “Kathleen is up to something. Besides, she’s given us a shopping list that will keep us busy for at least an hour. She wants to cook a magnificent dinner.”

Good for Kathleen, Leslie thought, admiring her. She is going to fight to make this work for Mark.

Between the liquor store and the fish market, Leslie finally asked Mark about his meeting with the director.

“In the end, he was very gracious. I don’t know if he ever understood. He spent a lot of time talking about the brilliant career I was throwing away, the potential I was wasting.”

“You expected that,” Leslie interjected.

“Yes. But it was hard to hear it from someone I respect so much,” Mark said soberly. He sighed. “Anyway, in the end he shook my hand and wished me luck.”

“That’s nice,” Leslie said.
I wonder if your father will be so gracious
.

Kathleen greeted them at the door. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement and her violet eyes sparkled.

She is so resilient, Leslie thought, admiring Kathleen again. And so courageous.

Somehow, despite her worry and fatigue, Kathleen managed to look fresh and eager. The apprehension, the knowledge that this was just the beginning, that they weren’t home free, flickered in her eyes, but it was almost vanquished by the confidence and determination and vitality that, until recently, had been her trademark.

It must have taken great effort, Leslie thought, wondering where Kathleen found the energy and the strength. In her love for Mark, Leslie realized as she watched Kathleen look at him. Because she loves him so much.

“What are you up to?” Mark teased lightly, lovingly.

“Nothing. I just redecorated your study. Come and look,” Kathleen said, pulling at his wrist.

“We have a car full of groceries. I guess nothing will melt, but some things could freeze.”

“OK. The study can wait.”

It became obvious to Leslie as they unloaded the groceries and put them away in the kitchen that Mark and Kathleen needed to be alone.

She needed to be alone, too.

“I’m going to take a walk,” she said.

“It’s zero degrees.”

“If I could borrow some boots and a coat, I’d like to walk around the campus at Radcliffe and Harvard. A sentimental journey.”

“Would you like the car?”

“No. I’ll take the subway. Thanks.”

Kathleen gave Leslie boots, a down-filled coat, gloves and a warm hat.

“When will you be back?” Kathleen asked.

“Before dark,” Mark said firmly.

“I guess before dark,” Leslie said, smiling. It was nice that he felt protective.

“That’s perfect anyway. I think we all need an early evening tonight. I thought the champagne would start flowing at five,” Kathleen said brightly.

“I’ll be back by five.”

After Leslie left, Kathleen led Mark to the study. Her heart pounded. Had she done too much? She didn’t want to push him. She didn’t care what he did. She only cared that he was happy.

The medical books were gone. The wooden shelves were filled with Mark’s favorite books, the classic works of Shakespeare and Shaw and Joyce and Faulkner and Steinbeck. Until that morning, most of the books had still been in boxes.

The framed documents that chronicled Mark’s already distinguished career in medicine were gone. The Alpha Omega Alpha Honor Society diploma, the Doctor of Medicine degree with highest honor from the University of Nebraska, the Internal Medicine Residency certificate from the University of California and the California and Massachusetts licenses to practice medicine were gone, stored in a box in a remote corner of the attic.

Kathleen left his Bachelor of Arts degree, a degree in English, from the University of Nebraska on the wall, and in place of the medical documents, Kathleen had hung the picture of the Carlton Club.

“It’s wonderful.”

“I kept the diplomas. I gave the books to the public library.”

“Already?”

“Is that all right?” she asked quickly, worried.

“Yes. Of course. How did you get them there?”

“By cab,” Kathleen said simply.

“You are really amazing. I love you.”

“Want to show me?”

“You bet.” He began to kiss her. Then he whispered softly, “Kitzy.”

Leslie stood in the middle of Harvard Square. The snow had begun to fall lightly, silently. Students trudged purposefully through the snow. She was the only tourist, the only one without a purpose.

But she had a purpose. She was retracing her steps. She was retracing the steps that had brought her here years ago, as a naive eighteen year old, wide-eyed and full of hope and energy. She loved the years she had spent here, and the next ones, the ones that trained her to be a doctor. Throughout that time, her steps had been sure, confident, buoyant, but somehow, the steps had led her astray, the footing had become false.

Because somehow the steps of her life had led her to Eric, to a wonderful limitless love that now—overnight—had turned into bitterness and hatred.

Leslie walked past the dormitory where she first made love and where she learned to recognize the smell of marijuana. She walked past the library where she had studied, eagerly, tirelessly pursuing her dream of becoming a doctor. She wandered by the lecture halls and the science labs and Harvard Square itself, where she had attended rallies and concerts and studied under the shady trees and laughed and kissed.

As Leslie thought about her own memories, the happy memories of an innocent girl growing up, she began to feel the presence of other ghosts, other happy memories, other young, wide-eyed lovers.

This was the place of Charlie and Eric. They had loved each other here. And hurt each other here. This was where they had walked hand in hand talking of love and marriage, and where they had been when Victoria called to tell Eric about her pregnancy.

Had Charlie ever stood in this spot in Harvard Square where Leslie stood now waiting impatiently for Eric to get out of class? In her mind’s eye, Leslie saw Charlie, her cheeks rosy, her blonde hair tossed by the wind and her smile full of love as she waited, eager to throw her arms around Eric. To kiss him and tell him how much she missed him.

How much she missed him, Leslie thought. How much I miss him. But I don’t even know him. The Eric I miss never existed, and I was never a part of the Eric Lansdale who does exist. Never as important as Charlie. Or Victoria. Or Bobby.

Never really important at all.

Leslie shivered. Was it from the bitter cold winter day? Or the bitter cold reality of her relationship with Eric?

At five o’clock Mark uncorked the bottle of champagne that had been chilling for the past thirty minutes. He filled the three crystal champagne glasses.

“A toast,” Leslie said, lifting her glass of honey-colored bubbles.

“To what?” Kathleen asked, her eyes laughing, radiant. She and Mark had found each other and their love again. Maybe this time it was theirs to keep.

“To happiness,” Leslie said. “To your happiness.”

Mark took a small sip then sighed.

“Wish me luck,” he said soberly.

“Why?” Leslie asked.

“He’s going to call his father.”

Leslie and Kathleen more than sipped champagne as they waited anxiously for Mark to return. He was upstairs. They couldn’t hear him.

Mark returned in twenty minutes. His face was white. His jaw muscles rippled.

Kathleen scowled with worry and anger as she waited for Mark to speak.

“Bad, huh?” Leslie asked, breaking the interminable silence.

“Bad,” Mark said heavily. He took a deep breath. He had to tell them. He had to tell Kathleen. And Leslie was there. He had to say it now, to get it out. He said slowly, bitterly, “He said it would be better if I were dead.”

Leslie gasped.

Kathleen’s eyes darkened. Then she began to giggle.

“Kathleen!”

“Mark! He’s such a poor excuse for a father. He’s a
joke
,” she exclaimed. “A pathetic, malignant horrible joke.”

Slowly the color returned to Mark’s face and the jaw muscles stopped moving.

“He’s also a
bastard
,” Kathleen said.

“Now you’re talking,” Mark said, smiling a little.

“Have some champagne, Mark,” Kathleen said. “And forget about your father. Please. I know how hard this is, but we don’t need him or his approval. We have each other.”

The phone rang.

Mark grimaced but didn’t move. It was probably his father calling to deliver the final shot. But how could he improve on wishing his son were dead?

“I’d better not talk to him,” Kathleen announced.

Leslie stood up.

“I guess it’s my turn to deal with Papa Doc,” she said. “You just left for the evening, right?”

“Or the weekend,” Kathleen said. “Or forever.”

Leslie answered the phone in the kitchen. Mark followed her.

“Leslie?”

“Eric.”

Mark touched her lightly then left, pulling the door behind him, giving her privacy.

“I tried to call you last night at the hospital. The on call resident said that you were in Boston.”

“I am.” You know Boston well, Eric, she thought grimly. You and Charlie spent three years here together. Leslie was amazed by the flatness of her own voice and by the way her heart ached at the sound of his, gentle, caring.

But he hadn’t cared. Not really.

“When are you coming home?”

Home? Never. Back to San Francisco?.

“I’ll fly back sometime this weekend,” she answered vaguely. She would leave in the morning. Kathleen and Mark needed to be alone, and she needed to get on with her life.

“When can I see you?”

His voice sounded so hopeful. Leslie blinked back tears.

“Never, Eric. It’s over.”

“Over?”

“I needed to know about that part of your life, Eric. It was so pertinent to us. To my career. To our future.”

“I was going to tell you in Maui, but then I found out about you and James.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It tore me apart. You know that. I couldn’t tell you about Charlie then. I didn’t want to do that to you.”

“What about any time in the past two months?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“What about Bobby, Eric? Bobby. Victoria. Your revulsion to hospitals.” Leslie’s pain erupted into anger, forcing words from her lips that she didn’t really believe. Or did she? She didn’t really know Eric Lansdale. Anything was possible. She continued, her voice like ice, “Did you actually hate me, Eric? Because I was a doctor? Did you plan to punish me all along?”

“Leslie,”
Eric interjected, horrified. “Leslie, I love you. I love you more than anything in the world.”

“I can’t believe that, Eric. I can’t believe anything you say because I know that you
don’t
say the things that are the most important.”

“Leslie, let me see you. Please.”

“There is no point.”

“Maybe it’s just too soon.”

“No.” With each hour that passed Leslie forced the Eric that she loved out of her heart and replaced him with the real Eric, the man she had never known or loved. That Eric would be easier to forget.

“I would have told you, Leslie.”

“When? The day I told you I wanted to have children?”

“You are so bitter.”

“I trusted you, Eric,” Leslie said heavily. “Did you want me to stop being a doctor? Was that going to be part of our future? Or was there ever really a plan for the future?”

“You were—are—my future, Leslie. I would never ask you to stop being a doctor.”

I might have given it up for you, Eric. If you had told me. If you had given me a chance to understand. You were more important to me than anything. Ever.

“You just would have spent your life, our life, being uncomfortable every time I told you about my work? Every time we saw a little boy? What were we going to do about children,
our
children?”

“Before I met you, I never thought I would have a future with anyone. I never even considered having children, another child. I was going to tell you, Leslie. I was just putting it off because I knew it would be so painful. For both of us.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks.
I miss you. I hate you. I can’t go back to you. I can’t live without you.

“Leslie?” he asked gently.

“Goodbye, Eric.”

“Leslie, wait!
I love you
. I tried not to hurt you and it backfired. It hurt you more. It was a mistake, Leslie. Because I love you so much.”

“It hurt me too much, Eric. It was too big a mistake.” Her voice was ice cold. Like her heart: cold and empty, except for the ache that wouldn’t leave. “Goodbye.”

At eleven Monday morning, Charlie walked into James’s office. She didn’t stop to knock.

“Come in,” James said, arching an eyebrow.

“What’s wrong with Eric?” she demanded.

“Nothing as far as I know.”

“Have you seen him today?”

“I just spent an hour with him.”

“And he seemed fine?”

“He seemed businesslike. As usual. Why?”

“I just spoke to him over the phone. I’m on my way to his office now. He sounded terrible,” she said.

“Angry?”

“No. Upset.” Despondent. Like when Bobby died.

“Let me know. If there’s anything I can do—”

Charlie was gone. Moments later she walked into Eric’s office without knocking. She saw it in his eyes. Sad, empty icebergs. His eyes reflected only the tip of the deep pain.

“Tell me,” she said softly.