A Love Story with a Little Heartbreak
Page 41
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
When Connie saw him for the first time, George Dunker was older than she had expected. He might have been forty—at least ten years older than her—although she didn’t know why she had expected him to be younger. She knew from Dr. Keitel that he and Dr. Dunker were friends from their days at Marquette Medical School twenty years earlier. Dr. Keitel was forty, so it made sense. Dr. Dunker was also shorter than she had expected—maybe five-six, which was two inches shorter than her. She remembered that Dr. Keitel was tall, over six feet, like Carl. She liked tall men, but Dr. Dunker had a quality that she was drawn to right away—an air about him—and then it struck her that it was an air of competence. He seemed worldly, collected, focused, and maybe even—and this surprised her—a little sad. She liked him right away.
“You’re Connie Koehler?” He pronounced Koehler like molar, with a long o.
She corrected him, “It’s pronounced Koehler,” Connie said it correctly, adding, “like tailor. It’s German.”
“I know. I’m German. I just wasn’t sure.” He smiled and totally surprised her when he half sang, “I say toe-may-toe; you say toe-mah-toe. Let’s call the whole thing off.” She recognized the lyrics from a Gershwin tune in the late thirties. She was suddenly surprised, as she thought she recognized a little flirting in his voice, just a teeny, teeny hint of it. His sad look fled, and suddenly his eyes were smiling. He opened her file and paged through some of the papers. Without looking up, he said, “I see from your file you’ve had quite a bit of trauma to your left eye. I understand it happened in a car accident.” He paused and looked up at her, “I’m so sorry.” And then he lingered on her face, a face that had some faint scars, barely discernible. And then, tilting his chin upward, specifically looked at her glass eye and added, “I already talked with Dr. Keitel about your injury. He spoke highly of you and said you’d done an amazing job of healing from your injuries.”
“Oh, he has been so wonderful.” Connie interjected and relaxed a bit. “He did so much for me.”
“Yes,” replied Dr. Dunker, searching her face, “I can see that. He’s done some very good work.” Dr. Dunker moved in closer, within inches of Connie’s face, simultaneously pulling from the pocket of his lab coat a black, tubular metal instrument, which had a tiny spotlight that was coordinated with the magnification it provided. It was the only thing that separated their closeness. First, he looked into her good eye, gently holding up her lid with his free hand. Nurse Tompkins stood behind him with the file he had passed back to her, poised to take notes. He said somewhat absently, “uh-ha, yes, uh-ha,” but nothing else about her good eye.
Connie noticed that he smelled like soap, and his breath was warm.
Dr. Dunker noticed her perfume but didn’t know what it was. Whatever it was, he liked it. It momentarily distracted him from his doctor-patient focus, but only for a second. Then he moved in on the other eye, the glass one, and began looking at it and the area around it through that special instrument he was using. He gently moved his thumb around the orbital area of her eye, applying slight pressure to various places. “Any tenderness?” he asked softly, his breath washing over her while he stayed close in on her. He pulled back, straightened his posture, and asked, “Any pain ever?”
“No,” Connie said, responding to both questions with a single answer, “other than it always feels like something that’s in there, in my head, but not really me.” He didn’t respond to her comment directly. Connie continued, “but it doesn’t really hurt, I mean, really hurt.”
“It’s a little dry in some areas,” Dr. Dunker observed. “As Dr. Keitel noted, there was considerable trauma to your tear ducts,” he said, indicating Connie’s left eye. “Maybe causing a little discomfort from time to time, yes?” he turned his observation into a question.
“Uh-huh,” Connie responded, “That’s why I was anxious to see you. That and I need a doctor here in town, you know, for my eye.” Connie was suddenly feeling self-conscious in her choice of words. She could feel her heart beating and was sure Dr. Dunker could hear it, given his closeness to her. She looked at LuAnne and, for no apparent reason, smiled at her before turning her attention back to the doctor.
“I’ll prescribe another kind of ointment for you to use once a day and some more drops for your eye that you should apply four times daily or as needed. I’d like to see you again in two weeks, when I’ll present some more ideas for making you more comfortable. There are some other things we can do.” He turned to Nurse Tompkins and detailed the prescriptions and then abruptly walked out of the office without saying a word.
The appointment was over, and LuAnne led Connie back to the reception area for some follow-up paperwork with Delia. LuAnne stepped into Delia’s office, which had sliding glass panels above her desk that were open, separating her workspace from the waiting room. Connie leaned forward, from the waiting room, slightly into the open window space overlooking Delia’s desk. From over Delia’s shoulder, LuAnne softly said, out of earshot of the waiting patients, “Connie, it was so nice meeting you. I’ll call you in a couple of days about that job after I talk to the doctor.”
“Thank you, LuAnne,” Connie replied in a similarly soft tone, “Thank you so much for looking into that for me.” And then she added with a smile, “I think I’d like to work here.”
LuAnne picked up on something just then in Connie’s tone and earlier in the office when Connie and Dr. Dunker had been together. She sensed some kind of electricity between the two of them because she couldn’t help adding, “and I think Dr. Dunker would like you to work here too.” She paused over what she thought might have sounded like an indiscretion and quickly added, “We really could use some extra help.”
“Oh, one thing, LuAnne,” Connie added while still leaning over the windowed countertop into Delia’s space, “would you mind if I call you instead? I’m staying at the Catholic Women’s Residence, the one on Farwell, and the rooms don’t have phones. It might be difficult to get a message to me.”
“Fine, call me on Friday at the end of day,” LuAnne said, “I bet I’ll have an answer for you then.”
“Thanks, I will,” she smiled at LuAnne and then Delia before turning and walking into the hallway and out of sight as the door closed behind her.
Delia leaned forward and slid the glass window closed for a moment of privacy and turned back to LuAnne, “What was that all about?”
“She’s looking for a job,” LuAnne replied, “something administrative, where she doesn’t have to stand on her feet all day.”
“Lord knows we could use some help around here. I know that much,” said Delia, “but like I said, what was that all about?”
“What was what all about?”
“LuAnne, you’re holding back. You know what I mean. What was ‘I think Dr. Dunker would like you to work here too?’ all about?”
“Oh, that?”
“Yes, that!
“I don’t know. There was just something about their meeting, you know, when the doctor walked in. I don’t know—hard to explain. He might be interested in her.”
“What! His wife died barely two months ago. Are you kidding?” Delia responded with a surprised, but conspiratorial, whisper.
“Who’s to say how long is long enough? And I’m thinking that Connie Koehler might be interested in him! Hey, who am I to try to explain things? I’m just telling you what I saw. He’d be a lucky man,” she added, “Despite her injuries, she’s a good looking woman.”
The hallway door opened, and Dr. Dunker stuck his head into Delia’s office, causing an end to the speculation. “I’m ready!” he stated. “Both patient rooms are empty. Let’s go!” he said, indicating a desire to get through the day and disappeared into the hallway as quickly as he had appeared. Only a few more patients and then the workday would end, but it would still be a gray day outside. Moments later, George Dunker stood at his office window once again, momentarily looking out over the expanse of gray in front of him.
Nothing had changed—or had it?
∞